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skullrock · 3 years

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stay - Steve x Reader

12 days of Christmas fics, day 6 - stay

pairing: Steve x Reader

summary: Steve thinks it’s too cold for Reader to go home, and they agree. Tipsy shenanigans ensue. smut <3

warnings: gentle smut! alcohol mentions and swearin also

word count: 3.3k

a/n: this boi mouthy as heck ! I like writing talkative Steve so much... anyway ! hope u enjoy this! pls heed the smut caution. you can see the masterlist for tdocf here and join the taglist here.

“Steve, I have to go.”

“One more,” he says, pulling you into him and kissing you again. He tastes like the wine you’d spent the last few hours sharing. He pulls back and smiles dopily. “Okay, wait, one more -“

“Steve,” you say again, pulling away from him, cheeks flushed. “It’s late and there’s going to be snow. I need to leave before I get snowed in.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he says, watching you grab your coat. “Is it so bad to have to spend a night with your boyfriend?”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t have any pajamas.”

“You don’t need any.”

You throw a glove at him. “Perv.”

“Got me.”

You lace up your boots and turn to face him. Steve’s smiling sadly - he always gets like this, tipsy or not. Never wants you to go, ever. He understands you need space sometimes - and so does he - but, god, does he miss you when you’re gone. He holds his arms out and you walk into them, burying your head in the crook of his neck.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you promise. “Unless the snow is bad, in which case, I’ll call you.”

“Not good enough,” he pouts. “Just be snowed in with me. It’s too cold for you to leave.” He smiles. “We have booze here!”

You contemplate it for a moment, but you don’t know how long the blizzard will last. You didn’t want to be stuck in the same outfit for days, and even though Steve insists you can wear his clothes, they don’t exactly fit. So you stand on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Next time.”

He scoffs. “Next time? What if it never snows again?”

“You’re so dramatic.”

He shrugs and kisses the top of your head. “Fine. I won’t make you stay.”

“I’ll see you as soon as I can, okay?”

He nods and crosses his arms, watching as you open the front door of his apartment. You move to step outside, but the reality of the weather slaps you in the face. The roads were covered, to the point where they were nonexistent. There had to almost be a half a foot of snow - the sidewalks were covered. And it was freezing, way colder than it was when you arrived in the early afternoon.

“Holy shit,” you say.

“Holy shit,” Steve repeats behind you. “Did we make out that long?”

“How did it show this much in eight hours?”

Steve makes an I don’t know noise and snakes his arms around your waist. “Looks like you’re gonna have to stay.”

You shut the door and turn to face him, trying to hide your smile. “You did this.”

“I did,” he says, pulling you inside more and stumbling slightly. “I paid Jack Frost one million dollars to make a blizzard.” He frowns slightly. “Do you want me to drive you home?”

“No way. You can’t drive as is, let alone with snow on the road and wine in your system.” Steve rolls his eyes and you kiss his jaw. “I guess I can spend the night.”

Steve smiles and fiddles with the zipper on your coat. “Take this stupid thing off.”

“Oh, you want to pick right back up, huh?”

“Always,” he says, absentminded, tugging your zipper down. “I think our session got cut… short.” He leans down to kiss under your ear, and you groan.

“Can you not be horny for five minutes?”

“Never in my life,” he murmurs, pushing the coat off of your shoulders. “Want me to get your boots?”

“I can,” you say, smirking. You turn around and bend down, making Steve groan, as you untie them.

“It’s not my fault I’m always horny when you do that.”

“What?” you say innocently. Alcohol always left you feeling a little bolder. “I’m just untying my shoes.”

Steve moves to the couch, waiting for you and turning a random channel on to act as ambient noise. The TV plays How The Grinch Stole Christmas, and you scrunch your nose as you come to join him.

“We can’t watch the Grinch while we fuck,” you say.

Steve reaches out to pull you onto his lap. “Why not? It’s festive, it’s fun, it’s definitely sexy -“

“Steve, you have to find something else!”

He rolls his eyes but grabs the remote and flips until he finds another movie. This time, he settles with A Christmas Story.

“Not this, either,” you argue. “There’s kids in it.”

“They aren’t watching us!”

“Well -“

Steve kisses you roughly, which easily shuts you up. He smiles against your lips and murmurs, “That worked.”

You pinch his side and he jumps before kissing you again, pulling you as close to him as possible. He loves feeling your warmth against his chest - being close to you was the happiest he ever felt. He groans when you wrap your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly, just enough to rile him up. His hand ghosts at the hem of your shirt before he slides up to cup your breast.

You gasp. “Fuck, Steve.”

“You like that?”

“No, you’re freezing.”

Steve laughs loudly. “I can warm it up right here, then.”

“Whatever works,” you say, and sigh when his lips meet your neck, sucking gently at the skin. He flicks his tongue out before sucking again and moving down, placing careful kisses where he knows you like it. You grind down on him and he moans, bucking his hips up to make you moan.

“You sound so pretty,” he says, gently moving his fingers over your chest. “Look pretty, too.”

“So do you.” You tug at his hair again and he moans once more. “So pretty, Stevie.”

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he says, moving his hand from under your shirt and tugging on it. “Can I see you?”

“You mean the girls?”

“Hell yeah,” he breathes, and helps you move your sweater off.

He’s seen you countless times like this, but the sight always makes his breath hitch. All of you was beautiful - the softness, the squishiness, the curves. You were so soft to touch - and Steve moves his fingertips over your skin, admiring that fact. He smiles when you moan, bucking against him. His hands move to your bra, but just to tease you, not to take it off.

“You were so eager earlier,” you whisper. “And now you want to stall?”

“Not stalling,” he whispers back, eyes tracing over your body. “Just admiring.”

You blush and bite your lip as his fingers move to the band of your bra, unclasping it. He sits the bra aside and stares again, biting his lip too, before reaching out to touch you. You grind on him again as he pinches and squeezes, trying to get him to do more.

“Hey,” he says suddenly, looking up at you. “I want to take my time, okay? Show you how much I love you.”

You smile and run a hand through his hair before moving to grip his shoulders. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he says, smiling, and then leans forward to kiss along your chest. You groan but stay still for him, trying to be patient as he works on you slowly. It’s kind of torture - you’d been fooling around all day just to be teased again. But Steve’s look of pure adoration makes the wait worth it.

“Steve,” you moan, his lips meeting one of your nipples.

“What?” he asks, pulling back and smirking.

“Don’t be a dick.”

“Maybe if you asked nicely….”

You roll your eyes. “Steve. Play with my tits.”

“Please?”

“Please.”

“You’re so polite,” he jokes, then leans forward again to suck a nipple into his mouth. Your hips buck and he moves a hand down to gently grab your waist, steadying you. You dig your fingers into his shoulders as he continues, rolling his tongue over you before sucking again, nipping gently to make you squirm. His grip on your hip becomes harder the more he gets into it, and he’s soon letting out little moans of his own.

“M-more,” you moan, grinding on him. “Please.”

Steve smiles and kisses up your neck again, once more sucking on the sensitive skin there. Frustrated, you grip his hair and tug his head back before littering his neck with kisses, flicking your tongue out just as he was with you. Steve groans and bucks his hips, mouth falling open at the feeling.

“Such pretty sounds, Stevie,” you mock, whispering into his ear. “I think you have too many clothes on.”

“Up,” he breathes, and you roll off of him, working to unbutton your pants as he rips his own clothes off. He sits, and you slide off the couch and onto your knees, smirking as you place yourself in front of him. He’s already hard, tip pink and leaking, and he looks lost for words as you look up at him.

“Someone’s excited.”

“I… yeah,” he says, staring at you with blown pupils.

“Don’t watch the TV,” you say, and he shakes his head fervently.

“No way,” he promises.

You kiss the inside of his thigh gently, trying to hold back a smile as he already starts squirming above you. You alternate thighs with each kiss, moving slow and gentle, flicking your tongue out to make him huff. You kiss at the base of his cock, then up, finally licking at his tip. He groans and throws his head back, but you pinch him gently. “Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

“Trying,” he pants, looking back at you. “You’re too hot.”

“I know,” you tease.

“Maybe….” he trails off as you lick his tip again, but you stop.

“No, say it.”

Steve bites the inside of his cheek to keep the laugh from bubbling out. “Maybe you could, like, melt the snow.”

“Steve, shut up,” you laugh. “I’m trying to blow you and this is what you give me?”

“You should know how I act by now,” he says, and then gasps when you wrap your lips around his head.

Steve is never quiet. Ever. But he’s especially never quiet during sex. Whether that’s talking, or moaning, or just babbling, he can’t shut up. Add alcohol and he’s a blabbering mess. You listen as he groans and swears above you, taking him in more and more with each bob of your head. You move your hand to his base and move your head in tandem as you pump him.

“Oh, fuck, yes, like that, good -“

“You taste so good,” you moan, moving to kiss his tummy before taking him into your mouth again.

“O-oh, oh, Jesus,” he breathes. “Keep - please - talking -“

You move off of him, continuing your movements with your hand. “You’re so handsome, babe, just look how pretty this cock is.”

“Yes,” he moans, reaching his hand down to tangle in your hair.

Your cheeks redden before you say, “You want me to fuck myself on it?”

Steve moans loudly and pulls you up suddenly, laying you on the couch. He moves to the end of it, trying to face your wet core, but his legs dangle miserably off of the couch end.

“We can go to bed,” you start, but Steve cuts you off.

“Can’t wait,” he says, pulling you towards him awkwardly. “I - god, this hurts my dick-“

“Your bed is -“

Steve’s mouth on your clit makes you interrupt your sentence with a moan. He pulls you closer, licks a stripe up you, before sucking gently at your clit.

“F - Steve -“

“Could eat you out forever,” he groans, pressing a kiss to your clit. His eyes dart up to you and he’s temporarily distracted by how beautiful you look - like an angel, quite honestly. “You’re so gorgeous. How did I get so lucky?”

“I’m only in it for the money.”

“That sucks, because I have none,” he says, then leans forward to flick his tongue against your clit.

“G… good thing… you have a… nice dick,” you pant, and he smirks into you, gently fucking his tongue into you for a few moments before leaning back.

“I’m funny, too. And handsome. And athletic.”

“And smart, and brave, and the nicest person I’ve ever met.” You reach down to run your hand through his hair and he smiles gently up at you.

“Do you want to get off, or keep complimenting me?” He kisses your thigh. “I could go with either.”

Before you can answer, his mouth is on you again. He swirls his tongue around your nub and then fucks his tongue into you gently, never taking his eyes off of your face as he does. He feels himself leaking as you writhe under him, moaning out his name, trying to grind yourself on his face.

“Patience,” he says, pulling away. “Just relax, okay?”

“O… okay.”

Steve works on you again, forcing himself to go slower this time, moving his tongue gently around your core. His legs hurt from hanging off the end of the couch - he thinks it has to look comical - but he doesn’t care. He only cares about you and your pleasure, making you feel good, showing how much he loved you. When your legs start to shake, he pulls back, smiling smugly at you. “Coming so soon?”

“You’re good,” you say, sitting up so that he can awkwardly maneuver himself back onto the couch. You straddle him again, both of you moaning when the head of his cock presses against your folds. You kiss him as passionately and as slowly as you can, moaning when you taste yourself on him. Steve once again pulls you as close as possible, running his hands along your back slowly. Everything was slow, and as much as you wanted him, this felt good, too.

“Hold on,” he pants. “Gotta get a condom.”

“Whyyy,” you whine, climbing off of him. “Can’t you just grow one?”

He scrunches his nose and stumbles again as he heads for his room. “Gross!”

He comes back from his room with a condom and lube - why he wouldn’t just take you to the bed, you don’t know - and he stands in front of you. “How do you want this?”

“Let me ride you,” you say eagerly.

Steve smirks and sits, rolling the condom onto himself. “Just can’t resist me, huh?”

“We would have sex either way,” you say, straddling him again. You take the lube from him and pour some onto the condom, making him groan.

“Yeah, but you’re so obsessed with me,” he says.

Your brain hurts as you try to understand what he’s saying, the alcohol not helping. “Your penis would go into my vagina in literally any position.”

“Yeah, but you want to top me so bad.”

“Do you want me to tell you I love your cock?”

“That would be nice,” he smiles.

Without warning, you sink down onto him, slowly, but enough to make his mouth drop. You bite your lip as you sit on him, feeling him twitch inside of you, and you rest when you’re fully seated. Steve’s still, somehow, pleased into silence, staring at you with his mouth open. You lean forward and press your lips against his ear. “Your cock is incredible.”

Steve groans and grabs your hips. “More, please?”

You rise up slowly, then move back down slowly. Steve’s head lolls back to the couch, but you follow his ear with your lips. “Fill me up so good, baby.”

“Yeah?” he asks, licking his lips, voice cracking.

“So fucking good,” you promise, moving your hips again. “You’re so cute, Steve.”

He mumbles a thank you and you kiss his cheek before picking up the pace, hands on Steve’s shoulders. His mouth falls open and he gets loud again, speaking gibberish and swearing, slowly rocking up into you to meet your hips. Your mouth falls back open when he moves a hand down to circle your clit with his lean fingers. “Oh, fuck, Steve!”

“Yeah?” he asks, fingers digging into your hips. “Feels good?”

You can only nod, continuing to ride him, until he suddenly starts thrusting up into you. He’s quick and hard, and you lean forward to bury your face into the crook of his neck as he continues. He wraps an arm around the back of your waist, his other hand still working at your clit.

“You feel so good,” he groans. “Squeezing me so tight. So hot.”

You laugh suddenly, but Steve’s pace doesn’t falter, even though his brows quirk together.

“Am I go- shit - gonna melt your dick?”

Steve laughs, then moans. “Y… yeah, maybe.”

You grab his face to kiss him as he continues. You almost die when he slides his tongue into your mouth, cock hitting just the right spots. You know you’re close, but you want to focus on Steve, so you move your feet to pin his legs to the couch.

“What?” he pants. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“Wanna be nice and gentle with you,” you whisper, and then start riding him again, slow and deep. Steve moans and presses his hips into the couch to prevent himself from fucking up into you. When you move to suck on his neck again, he whines, and tries to move your hips down on his cock faster.

“Patience,” you moan.

“Goin’ crazy,” he moans. “I’m… I’m close, sweetheart-“

“Come for me, baby boy,” you whisper, right into his ear, making goosebumps form on his skin. “Wanna feel you come in me, sweet boy. Want you to feel good.”

Steve squeezes his eyes shut and works his fingers against your clit quickly, trying to get you to come with him. You gasp and shudder into him, moaning “I’m close,” into his ear, and that’s when he finally lets himself come undone. He shivers and moans loudly, eyes rolling back, thrusting up into you gently. You come soon after, shaking on him, pressing yourself against his chest.

“Shit,” he breathes after a moment. “Holy….”

“Yeah,” you agree. “Yeah.”

“You okay?” he asks, folding his arms around you, keeping you close to his chest.

“Hell yeah I am,” you laugh. “You?”

“Never better.”

You kiss for a moment before sliding off of him. He ties and throws away the condom before joining you on the couch, chest pressed against yours. He kisses you again, gentle and light. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you murmur. “You’re so good and handsome and kind, Stevie.”

He moves to rest his head on your chest, eyes falling shut as you play with his hair.

“Did you tell Jack Frost you needed it to snow to get laid?”

Steve smiles into your skin. “I know I don’t need snow to get you to sleep with me.”

“Just a bottle of wine, right?”

“Noooo,” he says. “You wanna fuck me all the time.”

“True,” you say, pressing a kiss to his head. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

His eyes drift shut as you both watch the end of A Christmas Story, listening to your heartbeat as he holds you.

“Do you wanna move to your bed now?”

“No,” he yawns. “It’s not time to sleep yet.”

“You’re falling asleep right now, Steve.”

“No I’m not,” he says, closing his eyes again. “I’m just laying here.”

You laugh. “You’re impossible, Steve Harrington.”

Steve smiles sleepily. “And you’re beautiful.”

===

steeb tags: @harrington-ofhawkins @harringtonisadingus @sassisaluxury @gothackedalready @willowrose99 @pxtrickhxckstettxr @harringtown @m-blasterrr @anerroroccurrrrred @marvels-gurl @the-almond-dinger @ssanjuniperoo @darth-el @kurtsbuckethat @yall-wildin-like-siriusly @astil-be @troop-scoop @ilovebucketbarnes @punchdescartes@metuel18 @dark-academics-and-florals @simplesammyx @lukeskisses @write-from-the-heart @bethhxrmon @flyingrichardgrayson @scoopsahoy @strangest-hour @lucifer-reads @stevexscoops @prettysbliss @patientplum @theworriedman

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut #ns/fw #smut #sorry this is late!!!#better l8 than never!

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notmrskennedy · 3 years

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Bites and Bullet Holes

(Spencer Reid x Female leaning but sorta GN! Reader)

Summary: Spencer, during college, was bitten by a dog. Working a case involving dogs brings back old memories and friends...

W/C: 3,384

Warnings: Dog bites, bullet holes, bad writing?

A/N: Guess what I found y’all? I haven’t edited it one single bit but I hope it goes over well anyway. When I was working at the kennel I kept having anxiety over one of my kids getting into a fight so I made this. Be a little extra gentle with this one.

---

As he leaned over the victim, he made the mistake of thinking about you. Spencer thought he’d gotten over it. The whole randomly thinking about you thing—the thing that’s happened too many times before. He’d chalked it up to you being best friends 15 years ago. Told himself that it’s normal to miss your friends from college.

But over a dead body? This was new.

Though he supposes the dead girl could’ve looked like you in another timeline. There’s facial structure similarities—at least to you 15 years ago at 19. She’s been strangled with her dog’s leash and there’s some unspoken quality about her that just…jerks him into nostalgia over you.

(You are probably the one that got away, but if he’s being honest, you live in DC. He could go see you right now if he wanted to.)

Morgan leans over Spencer and points at the dog leash. “It had to be someone she knew if the dog went off with our un-sub.”

Spencer nods, fidgeting with the 15 year old scars on the inside of his wrist. Whether or not Morgan noticed, he thankfully doesn’t press. Spencer is having enough trouble stamping down that knee-jerk reaction to think about you, let alone if Derek thinks to point out the magical, ‘hey weren’t you bitten by a dog?’

Spencer doesn’t remember the incidence well enough to comment. He wonders if you do.

“We’ll have to check shelters for the dog,” Spencer remarks. “3.3 million dogs enter shelters every year in the US.”

Morgan nods, pulls off a glove, pulls out his phone. Spencer looks around the park. Behind the police tape are plenty of people walking their dogs. The sorts of breeds that you’ve gushed about 15 years ago. His brain knew too much about dobermans, shepherds, mallinois—he could even hear that pretty little gasp you had when you’d point out a particularly well trained monster of a pet.

Spencer wonders if you ever did anything with your finance degree, if you even ended up finishing college at all. You’d come close to dropping out over calculus—he hadn’t been around long enough to help you through the even harder stuff. This wasn’t the first time he’d wanted Garcia to look you up, but it was the first time he’d considered it.

“Music to my ears, mama,” Morgan laughs into the phone and Spencer tunes back in.

“I’ll get that puppy BOLO out,” Garcia chirps back. Spencer can imagine her wringing a fluffy pencils through her fingers. “We’re going to find this doggie and make sure that psycho didn’t get him too.”

Spencer smiles despite himself. Penelope would’ve liked you.

JJ sets coffee down in front of his stack of files. She smiles, gracefully sits down next to him. Spencer tries his best to ignore her insistence. Tries to ignore the ever prominent eye contact screaming ‘We’re going to talk about something uncomfortable!’

“So, Spence,” she says, pausing for his attention with a sip of her own coffee. He looks up for half a glance before going back to the files. He doesn’t know why, but he’s sure there’s something in this stack of work the first victim had brought home with her. They all knew the un-sub, he had to be somewhere.

“Spencer,” she says more insistently. He makes the mistake of looking up, of letting her place a hand on his. She gently turns the wrist over and pointedly glances towards the teeth marks. “Are you doing okay?”

He opens his mouth, but decides some things are better kept to himself. He thinks about saying that no, he wasn’t alright, that being plagued by thoughts of the first-love-of-his-life is haunting him more than the dog fight.

That he can see your face in each of these victims. In their dogs. In the places they died.

Dogs didn’t like him. They never did. The dog bite wasn’t the big deal out of the altercation.

JJ won’t understand, so he offers her a truthful smile and says, “I’m okay. Seriously. More than 4.5 million people are bitten by dogs each year. I’m not special.”

JJ nods. Spencer goes back to his files. He forgets to hide his lovesick agony. JJ forgets not to notice.

It’s 4AM and he knows he’s remembering it wrong. That the dog hadn’t been that big. That the teeth hadn’t really gotten him that bad. The bright red devil eyes and thousand yards of slobber were more than grossly incorrect.

He sits up in bed and forces himself to remember the parts that were real. How real you had been. Before and after.

Your car had broken down as you were leaving for work—already late—and you’d begged him for a ride. Promised calculus homework on your boss’s couch and only having to let the dogs out. No shit. No bleaching crates. No nothing. Just you, him, and some calculus homework.

He’d caved. Now, running his hands over his eyes, he laughs at how obvious he had to have been. A skinny little 19 year old pimple of a boy majorly crushing on the first person to pick him out of a crowd and decide they’d be friends. The first friend who’d forced him to a tailgate at a football game. The only person he’d do absolutely anything for.

And it was just like you promised. Your cute little nose wrinkle. Your horribly frustrated glares. Your over dramatic ‘I’m dropping out!’s every fifteen minutes. And it’d been great until you both heard a thunderous snap of a wooden fence and the wildest, most murderous howling he’d ever heard.

You’d both bolted for the door, scrambling to get through the gates into the back. There’d been a moment of calm. Another beat. Another. And…you both had stumbled around the corner to find the next door neighbour’s dog, broken chain, trying to kill one of the kennel’s dogs.

There had been no moment’s hesitation on Spencer’s part. He’d stupidly rushed forward, lodged his hand between the neighbour’s mutt and the sweetest dog he’d ever met. He’d yanked her free from the mutt’s jaws, only to find his own wrist dragging along the teeth.

(He realised later that he’d always had a propensity to run head first into danger. No calculations needed.)

There’d been two beats for the dog to process it’s chew toy was in Spencer’s arms. To process that Spencer made a better victim. That Spencer’s throat and limbs were softer and easier to tear. Thankfully, he’d scrambled back enough that when the dog launched, it didn’t catch flesh. It chomped on air. Less than three inches from him.

Fangs. Tightened lips. Black gums. Slobber.

The mutt could be equated to Stephen King’s The Sun Dog. Always hesitant to process his trauma, it’s the one book—gifted by you during a Halloween birthday for him—that sits untouched on his bookshelves. There’s too much of you in the inscription in the cover. Too much of that horrible mutt in the pages.

The next part of the night blurred in his memories. In his near perfect memory, it blurred. Trauma, right?

You’d screamed. You were in front of him. You had the dog’s chain in your hands. He was running. The dog was heavy in his arms. His arm stung. You were screaming. He should’ve gone back.

Five god-awful minutes later, you’d come into the house. Limping. Clutching onto your arm. You’d taken one look at Spencer running his wrist under the tap and forgotten about your own injuries. Despite the blood dripping off your arm. Or the quiet yelp every time you stretched. You’d barely taken ‘I’m fine, you’re the one bleeding’ as a reason to not bandage him up first.

The only thing that calmed down the dream every time he had it was the memory of holding your hand while you got stitches. How your face pinched with the pain. How you’d said, ‘next time, it’s your turn to take the bullet.’ How he’d smiled and promised.

Spencer watches the clock tick by and decides it’s too late to go back to sleep. Hotch’ll be up in an hour. No need to delay his start. Women were dying. Women you would’ve been friends with.

“Okay, crime-fighters, I found our connection,” Garcia chirps over the speaker phone. “All of our victims attended very specialised dog training courses at a facility just outside of DC. The owner said they’d send in one of their trainers to talk to you. Should be there anytime now.”

“What kind of specialised training?” Emily asks. Spencer feels like he should be contributing, should be processing any of this, but his head is pounding. He doesn’t have a hangover, but god does it feel like it.

Garcia hums as she types. “It’s a military facility. Awww, they’ve got puppy pictures on their website!”

“Garcia—“

“Right, right. It’s a top notch facility and oh! A bunch of the FBI dogs graduate from there. I wonder if they get little caps and gowns and—“

“Hey, baby girl, the trainer’s here. We gotta run,” Morgan interrupts, though he’s all smiles to stare at whomever is plaguing his interest.

There’s another squeal of please get puppy pictures before the call cuts and Spencer finally has the self preservation to look. And god does he look.

15 years has made no difference on your skin and he can’t believe he’s not staring at you from across a lecture hall. The only indication you’ve changed is the nervous smile you’ve plastered on and the dog at your side. Every fun fact about german shepherds instantly crosses his mind and he can’t help but drop his jaw a little further.

It sinks to the floor when you spot him and wave. You wave. At him. In front of coworkers.

He’s out of his seat before he can stop himself. That easy smile reserved for movie nights falls back into place on your lips. Twinkles in your eyes. 15 years haven’t passed. Maybe he needs to check for pimples again.

“Y/n,” he croaks and the same time his name leaves your lips. The dog at your side stands and you correct the gesture with a harsh word in what he’s sure is German.

“FBI, huh?” Your eyes trail over every inch of him, crossing your arms in a relaxed, familiar kind of way. “I expected more math, Mr. I Like Derivatives.”

“The shepherd there doesn’t look like finance either, y/n,” he teases back like no time has passed. Like he doesn’t immediately feel incredibly guilty for ditching you for the academy.

“Oh come on,” you huff, “you really think that I was cut out for an office job? I lasted six months.”

And before he can warn you, even think about warning you about the team that’s slowly creeping up behind him, they are all suddenly there. Very keen on knowing the ins and outs of how you know Dr. Spencer Reid.

“Reid, you gonna introduce us?” Morgan smirks, clapping a painful hand on Spencer’s shoulder. You busy yourself with petting the dog at your hip, looking everywhere but Morgan’s insistent gaze.

“Guys, this is my friend y/n from college.”

JJ raises an eyebrow at the lack of explanation, but plows ahead with introductions. Takes charge of guiding you to an interview room. Gets through the entire interview without once asking about your relationship with him.

Morgan watches Spencer rubbing the scars and makes the leap. “You okay, kid?”

Spencer breaks from staring at your face as you talk about getting your start in Germany—Germany—and swallows. This was fine. It’s okay to tell his friend—his brother—about the story he’s never really talked about.

“I stupidly put myself in the middle of a dog fight,” Spencer grits out, flexing and un-flexing his fingers. Every scar burns and he can’t help but stare at your smile again. “Y/n saved my life. She choked out the dog, Morgan, before he got a hold of me. Left the hospital with 12 stitches.”

“Oh,” was his all too helpful response. They both turned back to the interview. How everything jovial about your entire countenance shifted once JJ started mentioning the victims.

“Look, Agent Jareau,” you say, leaning dangerously far away from the conversation, “They are—they were really smart women with some dangerous dogs. I don’t know—I just—there’s a lot of sickos out there.”

Every profiler within a 20 mile radius can hear the change in tone, can hear the fear. Spencer knows a lot can change in 15 years, but he thought for sure you’d never become a serial killer. He doesn’t know if it’s all his years in the bureau or if he’s still too attached to you, but you don’t seem like the killer. Not like JJ seems to think so. Sure, you’re terrified, but the dog you have is nosing your arm. Giving you big ole puppy eyes. Spencer doesn’t think a serial killer can pour that much into a relationship with an animal.

“What do you mean?” JJ clocks the movement and switches to a maternal type of body language, tone. “Is there something going on?”

Your hand pauses on the dog’s head, and it noses your hand into action. “I, uh, just got a weird letter two weeks ago. It wasn’t—it was just weird. Off-putting.”

“Right before the first victim,” Spencer mutters. Weird letters indicated stalking. Victims with you as a central point meant stalking. Stalking meant you were probably next. Oh, god, you were next.

JJ stretched a hand across the table and took yours. “You’ll get through this. You’ll get through this, y/n.”

Spencer didn’t know what to do with his hands. It was so much worse than normal. Should he stand? But what should he do with his hands because crossing them seemed too defensive? Or should he just sit down? But where? And was that rude?

Instead, he just took the cup of tea you offered and followed you like a lost puppy. Granted, it was your house and he was definitely lost. He also felt vaguely at home—there were a decent amount of bookshelves by his standards and even more mismatched furniture than he had. The house was well cared for and when you sat him down on your couch, you swept away a stack of training manuals, all sporting worn covers.

Was it wrong to feel like he was settling onto your old apartment couch for movie nights?

You puff out a breath of air and lean your head dramatically into the back of the couch. “So, since you’re my FBI escort, is it wrong to ask if you still like cheesy 90s movies?”

He shakes his head. Grins. “You still have Legally Blonde?”

You just giggle as you head for a stack of movies. You strike up some conversation as you rummage and he knows he’s hooked all over again. It’s going to take weeks to get over you again. It’d taken months the last time, and he feels slightly less attached this time. But did he really think it would take more than a simple question about the latest thing he’s read? He wishes he knew you better, just as well as you seem to still know him.

Though by the end of the movie, you’ve both returned to your college days. Practically curled into each other’s side. You still have horrible commentary about the movie, peppered in with Spencer’s annoying movie trivia. If it was anyone else, he figures, he would’ve been kicked out long ago.

You still distinctly smell of vanilla, flailing the scent around as you move closer and further and closer again. You wear enthusiasm with your whole body and if you aren’t turning rapidly between facing Spencer and the movie, how could you possibly begin to explain correctly?

Your shoulder keeps a constant pressure against his, your knees half over his thigh. There’s too many instances of hollering and laughing that you grab onto his knee to steady yourself. If this hadn’t been a protective detail, he might’ve lost his mind.

Thank god for focus. Work. Work. Work. Not your hands on his knee. Definitely not your smile as you declare your affection for scented resume stationary. Totally not how hot it’s getting under your too affectionate gaze.

“Spence, I really missed this,” you whisper, nudging your shoulder with his. “I know it’s weird to be thrown together after 15 years, but I—I missed you.”

“I—“ missed you too; fell in love with you in college; think I love you now.

But there’s no time for heartfelt declarations when someone’s incessantly banging on the door. Spencer’s got half a mind to get the door for you, holster his gun, focus on keeping you safe. The banging doesn’t soften as he calls out that he’s on his way. If anything it gets worse.

And it should’ve been the first red flag of the night.

Spencer opens the door and thinks very loudly, “why the fuck do I always run headfirst into danger?”

Their un-sub, a buzzcut that looks more Army that not, shakes a pistol at Spencer and demands to be let inside. There’s only so many ways to defuse the situation, so he back ups, tucks you behind him. Their un-sub winds a little tighter, shaking like one of those monkeys with cymbals.

“McLaggen?” you whimper behind Spencer and the Army man fires a shot into the floor. You grip tighter onto Spencer’s shirt, digging in your fingers dangerously close to his skin.

The buzzcut is red, boiling over with rage, words bubbling out of his throat. “Y/n, I just can’t stand to see you with them. You never notice me. You’re always working, so I thought I’d get your attention. Cut the competition. I just—you mean so much to me, y/n. You mean too much.”

Spencer is sure he won’t remember this day accurately as he pushes you just a little further behind him. He’s about to do something so incredibly stupid. Dear lord, why the fuck is he like this? And he lunges.

The gun’s trapped in both of their hands. There’s one more bullet fired—at the ground he’s sure. There’s a squeak of fear. Just enough of a distraction. One more ounce of weight thrown around. One more lasting punch. McLaggen lands on the floor. The gun skitters away. McLaggen groans as he’s handcuffed.

You gasp and he realises immediately that he’s bleeding. That he’s on the floor. That there is a bullet lodged in his thigh. Again.

One string of swears later, you’re on the phone with 911. Yes, he’s shot. Yes, there’s another in handcuffs. No, I’m not a whore, send the damn ambulance.

You take his hand as he lays there, much like he did in the hospital 15 years ago. Unlike then, you’ve got tears pricking at your eyes. You’re sniffling like a school girl, and he’s not sure if you’ve said that aloud.

“Spencer!” You wipe a stray tear. Squeeze his hand too tightly. “Why the hell, you freakin’ moron, did you take a bullet for me?”

He laughs, bubbling up out of his chest before he can stop it. You are too pretty to be this upset at his laughter. You are too lovely to be worried about him. To still be worried, like nothing has changed one bit.

Every inch of him is trembling. Blood loss and bullets are bitches.

“Y/n,” he wheezes through dry lungs and more leg pain than he remembers there being, “I promised.”

You blink your eyes. What the hell are you talking about, Spencer Reid, you absolute idiot?

“I promised I’d take the next bullet. In the hospital.” He grins, groans as he moves to drag you into a hug. “I’m a man of my word, y/n, and I promise that if I keep the leg, we’re going out. Properly.”

“You’re lucky I like you,” you grumble into his ear and squeeze his neck tighter. If the paramedics don’t bother to pull you off, who’s to say you won’t stay like that forever? Attached to the loveable, danger prone idiot, who traded dog bites for bullet holes?

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #reid #spencer reid x reader #reid x reader #reid x y/n #please i beg of you be gentle

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alloftheimaginess · 4 years

Note

Can you do a supernatural cast series where you’re the wife and you do different interviews, like the videos on YouTube like Ad or thirst tweets or just answering fan questions whatever plz. If you have questions just message me and I’ll try to explain it further

Lol sorry it’s been like four months so don’t hate me but it’s been hard work juggling trying to write, school and work so sorry. I think it sucks but hopefully you’ll like it and I’ll be tagging the other parts in this one

Burning Fan Questions

Other parts

Alexander Calvert

Misha Collins

Jensen Ackles

"Hi I'm Yn Padalecki and I will be answer the fans burning questions about my life" I say smiling at the camera as I grab the bucket that's full of questions.

"I'm super nervous for this because before I got here Jared double dog dared me to answer literally every single question so I can't use my skip button" I say and the crew behind the camera laughs.

"Please for the love of god let their be questions to embarrass Jared more than me so he can eat it" I say giggling.

"First question" I say grabbing a folded up piece of paper from out the bucket.

"Who is the rudest celebrity that you've ever had the chance of meeting?" I read and I laugh.

"Oh that's a lot of them, there's an unsurprising amount of rude celebrities who think that they own Hollywood" I say laughing.

"But enough stalling because I have to answer this question anyway, the rudest celebrity that I've ever met was Christian Bale, no offense but he was a total dick to literally everyone around him, on set, off of set just everywhere" I say digging around the bucket for another question.

"What scandals has your team had to cover up?" I read and I start laughing.

"Noooooo" I say laughing even harder because I know I have to tell them.

"Okay okay. When I was 23 I had first met Jared and we got caught you know doing the deed and then the pictures were about to go out and they had to buy all of them back for double of what they were going to get" I say laughing shaking the bucket up and grabbing another one out.

"Have you ever used your celebrity status to get something for free?" I read.

"One time when I was out my daughter, Harlow we were getting frozen yogurt and I left my credit card at the restaurant we were at before without realizing it and at the register she goes oh my god are you Jared from supernatural's wife and when I'm with my daughters I usually pretend like I'm not but I totally knew she was going to give us the yogurt for free so I was like yeah, and then I asked her how she was and she was like oh this is totally on the house" I say laughing.

"I eventually went back and tipped a massive tip because I didn't pay last time" I say.

I grab another one out and I put the bucket down opening it "how many kids do you actually want?" I read.

"Well I already have two now but I'm aiming for at least five" I say laughing.

"I have a big family I'm one of 9 so I've always wanted a big family but not as big as mine so four or five would be a perfect size family for me, I honestly have a enough love for a million but four or five is definitely good for me" I say grabbing another question.

"If we came to your house what would we find in your cabinets food wise?" I read laughing.

"What an interesting question" I say.

"Everyone in the Padalecki household has their own cabinets because they are huge smackers. Harlow's is filled with the stuff she likes such as teddy Grahams, fruit roll ups, dried Cranberries, jolly ranchers stuff like that. Mine is filled with little cakes, gushers, banana chips which I swear by, peanuts, popcorn and Jared's, he has tons of candy, he is absolutely in love with white chocolate macadamia cookies and he always has those in his stash and Kiernan she's still on baby food so she's fully stocked on that" I say grabbing another question out.

"If you had to marry anyone that has starred along side your husband in his show supernatural who would it be?" I read.

"Oh hmm" I say laughing.

"Okay, Jensen is like Jared's best friend but I'm way closer to Misha so I'd definitely have to say Misha but no offense to his wife because I'd totally marry her as well or maybe even Rob, I love that man to pieces, he's a really good friend but then there's Rich, no offense to his wife Jaci but Rich and I have the best dance off's so that would be something to look forward to" I say laughing as I grab another question.

"If you woke up in Jared's body and had to stay in it for a day what would you do?" I say laughing.

"Easy, I'd leave myself little notes with plans for tomorrow so when I switch back he'll have to go through with them and we could have a perfectly planned out day because I planned it" I say laughing.

"If you go out to dinner with your non-famous friends, do you all still split the bill or do you pay?" I read.

"It depends really, my childhood friends don't like for me to pay for their stuff so we'll all split the bill but if I'm the one inviting everyone out then I'll pay before hand because then it'll be a lot of work trying to break it up" I say grabbing another question.

"What's one thing that Jared does that absolutely pisses you off?" I read cracking up.

"Breathes" I say smiling at the camera.

"I'm just kidding" I say laughing.

"When I'm super busy and like concentrating on my work he'll come over and innocently wrap his arms around me but then when I'm not paying him enough attention he'll start softly biting me and while I'm trying to work that can be so annoying" I say.

"What was the worst rumor that has been spread about you?" I read.

"I've had some pretty bad ones that I like to pretend didn't happen because they were literally so outrageous but I guess the worst one was that I was cheating on Jared. A few years back Harlow and I flew to my hometown for a few weeks and we spent Halloween out there and my twin sister and I dressed up as Sally from nightmare before Christmas because we've always done matching costumes whenever we're with each other and I posted a selfie on Instagram so everyone knew what I looked like but no one knew my twin sister was dressed identical to me and she took Harlow around with her now husband while I helped my parents be set up for the party and the paparazzi caught them together while they shared a kiss and while Eric played with Harlow and she was giggling and they put the photos on the front of the magazine and I was getting so much hate before I even knew what was going on and I was getting calls from our friends and they were asking me like how I could do that and then I had to go and post my pictures with my sister and write this long ass message about it and it was super bad" I say moving on.

"Who do you look up to the most, and what qualities do you love about that person?" I read.

"My grandma, she pretty much raised me. My parents weren't around often so I had to live with her for like 5 years, me and all of my siblings" I say digging in the bucket.

"But the qualities that I love about her is one, the fact that she is the strongest person I've had the honor of meeting" I say holding up one finger.

"Two, her boldness is like unbelievable. I took her to the oscars and she started flirting with The Rock and that's when I realized my grandma was my hero" I say laughing and I pull another question out.

"What's something you did as a child that no one knows about outside of your family?" I read.

"For two years I only spoke in a British accent, I had everyone confused at school because I never broke" I say laughing.

"How often do you and Jared have sex?" I read burying my face.

"No, I'm not going to be embarrassed. Sex is a normal thing, it brings about joy, relaxation, sometimes accidental pregnancies" I say laughing.

"But back to the question, I don't know. He's gone for like nine months out of the year but if he has a three day weekend or whatever then we'll spend a night together but when he's home in the three months he's off of filming it's literally whenever the kids are gone if even just for 20 minutes. We try to keep it as normal as possible" I say laughing.

"What's the last text conversation you had?" I read pulling out my phone and I laugh.

"I texted Robert about his new Batman movie because it was announced the other day and I just seen it this morning so I had to quickly congratulate him and he tells me that while I'm super late he still appreciates it and won't hold anything against me when it's time to hand out movie tickets and I said I'd never forgot about you shiny and he sent the middle finger emoji" I say laughing.

"What are your pet names that you and Jared have for each other?" I read.

"Ha, finally a question that he'd normally not talk about but I was dared so I call him Bubba or bubs" I say laughing.

"Literally it's how he's saved in my phone and he thinks it's so embarrassing" I say pulling my phone out and showing his contact name and photo.

"He's Bubba and he calls me a lot of different things but the one he always goes back to is beautiful or baby" I say smiling at the camera.

“Do your siblings and Jared get along?” I read and I laugh sighing.

“Like I mentioned earlier I’m one of nine so that’s eight siblings and then all of my siblings are older than me. I’m the baby and they are all married so my older brother and his husband love Jared and Jared loves them, we’re actually both of their kids godparents but then with my third oldest sister she doesn’t like me so she doesn’t like Jared by default you know” I say grabbing another question.

“Okay this is a question I have to know how often you do and Jared shower together?” I read laughing.

“Do you have to know that?” I ask laughing harder.

“Sorry to let you down but we don’t really, we’ll not anymore with kids it’s best one of us is out the shower while the other one quickly showers because we can’t leave them along for too long” I say knowing that my answer is not what they were expecting.

“But before kids it’s was an every morning thing we did together before heading out for our different business or whatever we had to do that day” I say.

“Did you have an oh shit moment at your wedding, and if so what was it?” I read and I nod.

“Yeah actually I did. But it’s been so long since we got married that I actually forgot until I read this question. My brother bless his poor heart showed up drunk like he was pregaming our wedding and the security didn’t know he was my brother so they were like kicking him out and my sister runs in like “oh my god Yn, the security just kicked Kalin out” so I’m like half dressed and I go down to try to figure out what the hell is happening and then I meet up with him and he throws up all over me like I’m talking full body covered and the make up artist just left and I had to shower and call her back so she could come fix my face and it was very traumatizing because it was so gross” I say laughing.

“But the whole wedding was beautiful and he didn’t drink at all” I say.

“If you had to pick a song from the late 10’s-2020 to be you and Jared’s couple song what would you pick?” I read and I awe.

“That’s a cute question. I guess I’d have to say Flicker by Niall Horan, we danced together to that song when Alex Calvert and his wife got married and it literally felt so magical and now whenever I hear it, it takes me back to a happy place and I just think about slow dancing with my best friend and husband” I say smiling.

“Do you and all the wives of the supernatural cast get along?” I read and I quickly nod.

“Those girls are some of my best friends, they know what it’s like to have a family and their husband work on supernatural so automatically we have something to bond over also with Alex’s wife she has a massive family so we often talk about the drama and problems that come along with it” I say laughing.

"Last one. What celebrity have you had beef with?" I read laughing.

"Daniel Radcliffe" I say quickly.

"But it was when we were younger filming the Harry Potter movies. We didn't like each other for like the first 4 movies" I say laughing.

"Our characters were close in the movie but on set we hated each other, I don't know why and I don't think he does either, I guess our energies just clashed but when we got to order of the Phoenix and we talked it out before we started filming and have been best friends in person ever since" I say laughing and tipping the bucket over.

"That was my last question. I'm Yn Padalecki and this has been answering fan questions. Thank you for watching and I hope you got a laugh out of at least some of these questions or you learned something you never thought you would learn about me" I say smiling at the camera

#jared padalecki #jared padalecki x reader #jared padalecki x you #spn cast #supernatural cast x reader #sam winchester #jensen ackles #misha collins #alex calvert #Spn cast x reader #cast x reader #reader insert #supernatural #celeb!reader #famous!reader #actress!reader #celebrity!reader

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ssa-babygirl · 3 years

Text

Out of my League [Part 6]

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Single mom!Reader

Word count: 3.3k

Summary: JJ gives you some bad news and Spencer feels like he’s only making matters worse. For both of you.

Warning(s): Angst, mentions of grief and death, allusions to relapse, swearing, mentions of drinking, this is lowkey a mess so i may have missed a couple of warnings

Author’s Note: IT’S HERE!!!! YAY!!! that’s the happiest you’re gonna be all chapter. The next one may take a bit of time and i am SORRY for that because this may or may not have a sorta cliffhanger you should just read it to find out!! also heads up there are a lot of perspective changes later on please just imagine how it would be cut together in a movie that’s how i wrote it OK ENJOY DON’T BE MAD JUST TRUST ME OK??

[Previous Part] [Series Masterlist]

Washington, D.C., 2011

(Reader POV)

You’d gone to three different funerals since moving to D.C. Three more than you would have liked, obviously, no one ever really wants to go to a funeral.

The first had been your father’s. You had Jamie and your mom, but you needed Spencer. He was out on a case and you couldn’t blame him for not being there, but he made up for it a million times over. Your dad’s death wasn’t unexpected, and while it hurt to say goodbye, it was relatively easy to move on.

The second had been for Aaron’s ex-wife, Haley. You didn’t really know her, but Aaron was your friend and you wanted to support him. That and Jamie got along very well with Jack, acting almost as an older cousin, and you know how important family is when you lose a parent.

The third and most recent funeral was the worst one: Emily’s. She was there one day, raring to go and take on the world, gone the next.

The day you found out was just terrible. JJ had called you herself to tell you. You managed to stay calm until you hung up, when you practically threw your phone onto the kitchen table and collapsed into a chair, tears pouring down your face as silent sobs wracked your body.

Jamie ran in at the sound of you crying, “Mom? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

You shook your head, unable to speak. Jamie wordlessly wrapped his arms around your shoulders and held you as you struggled to regain your voice. When you could finally breathe and relay the news you just received, you choked out, “Aunt Emily died last night.”

Then Jamie started crying too. He curled up into your shoulder and sobbed into your shirt, soaking you to the skin, almost like he was little again. You crumbled at the sound of his whines and cries. Every part of your chest ached with the weight of your grief.

“What happened to her?” He finally whimpered.

“She has a dangerous job,” You didn’t even notice the tense you used, “A bad man was after her.”

“Well, is everyone else okay? What about Uncle Derek? What about Doc—”

“Everyone else is fine, baby, no one else was hurt. Doc’s fine.”

You sat still for God knows how long, silent, clutching each other like a lifeline, praying this was all just a dream and that you’d get a call from Emily telling you it was all some sick joke. Of course, you’d be furious with JJ, but at least there wouldn’t be a hole in your family where Emily had once been.

Your mother came over to help you cook, the same role you had taken years prior while your father was sick. She consoled you and Jamie for the next two days and then drove you to the funeral. You got out of the car and walked in silence to the church, clutching Jamie’s hand as you entered.

Aaron was the first at the door. He wasn’t one for hugs, but when he saw you, exhausted and barely standing, he pulled you and Jamie in tight. The hug was brief, but it helped, God, did it help. Dave was just behind him, and he didn’t hesitate. He ruffled Jamie’s hair and gave you a kiss on both cheeks. JJ was holding Henry in the corner, and Will gave you a weak smile. Derek and Penelope were holding one another, both shaking as they cried. Your grip on Jamie’s hand grew tighter, tighter, tighter until you saw him.

You then dropped Jamie’s hand as you ran over, arms open wide as your son followed close behind, “Spence--”

He returned your hug instantly, burying his face in your hair, “I’m sorry I didn’t call--”

You felt Jamie join the hug, but you kept your head buried in Spencer’s chest, “No, I’m sorry too, I didn’t know what to do.”

“Me neither.” He pulled away, wiping away some tears and sniffling, “I’ve just been holed up in my room reading Vonnegut all for the past three days.”

Of course, “What books?”

“Mostly Slaughterhouse-Five, it was her--”

“Her favorite,” You nodded as you spoke the last part in unison with him.

“Yeah. I read it out loud just…” His voice cracked and the words looked painful to get out, “Just in case she could hear me.”

Your heart broke imagining him wrapped in blankets, eyes rimmed red as they glazed over the worn-out pages. You ached at the thought of his voice cracking just as it did before as he read for hours and hours, begging the universe to let Emily hear him, “She did. And she loved it.”

“I just hope she didn’t realize I was crying,” he muttered, and it shattered you, “She wouldn’t want us to cry for her.”

“You’re right, but I know she’d be unbelievably offended if we didn’t cry just a little bit,” Spencer’s tearful smile was enough to make you feel slightly better. There was still hope.

Your mom took Jamie home after the wake, knowing that you needed time with the team to feel like a person again. You went home with Spencer. He shouldn’t have to be alone anymore.

“You’re really good at taking care of me,” he smiled weakly, sipping the tea you made for him.

“Yeah, I had a good teacher.” Your mother was always there when you lost someone. You had your ups and downs, but she was a good mom.

“Does it get easier? Losing someone?”

“No. It always hurts just as bad,” you sigh, “But moving on used to be a lot harder.”

“Do you still miss him?”

“Of course I do, but less than I used to.” You still talked to your dad sometimes, something you did as a kid when he wasn’t home, just telling him about your day or narrating what you were doing. Even after all these years, you still found yourself explaining to no one that you had to run to store and buy bread to make Jamie’s lunch.

“I see little pieces of him everywhere I go. Jamie has the same exact smile. His favorite book when he was little was the same one my dad read to me. No one ever really leaves. Family, friends, they stick with us.”

“I’ve never lost a friend before. When Gideon left, I knew he was out there. Same with Elle. I could have Garcia find them right now and call them up to see how they’re doing, but Emily--” his voice cracked too much for him to want to continue, so he dropped it altogether.

“Did I ever tell you about my college roommate, Juliet?”

“No.”

“We were best friends. We did everything together: Movie nights, parties, all that. The night of our last final senior year, we decided to go clubbing to celebrate.”

You told him the whole story. The drinking, the dancing, the guy. You don’t remember his name, but you remember trusting him. He was sweet and Juliet liked him, so when she came to you at the bar after dancing with him telling you she was going home with him, you let her.

“I was happy for her! She had just gone through a breakup a few months before, so it was nice to see her getting some,” you let out a weak laugh, “I remember the last thing I said before she left was ‘Okay, have fun, call me in the morning, we’ll get brunch. I love you.’” Spencer winced, almost as if he knew where this story was going. Given his line of work, he was expecting far worse, but he at least knew that we didn’t get lunch the next morning.

“I went home a little bit later, I got bored, so I got a taxi home.”

You close your eyes and sigh deeply, “I’m in the back seat when I get a call. It was Juliet’s phone.”

“She wasn’t calling you, was she?”

“No, it was the police. Juliet didn’t have a good relationship with her parents, so I was her emergency contact.” You had to plan the funeral, invite her parents, look them in the eye and lie to them that Juliet wanted to make amends with them. The horrified guilt on their faces almost made it worth it, “The car she was in got t-boned when the guy ran a red light. He wasn’t as sober as we thought he was.”

“She didn’t make it.” Spencer guessed for you.

“No. She was dead before they got her out of the ambulance.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. If Juliet hadn’t…” You still couldn’t bring yourself to actually say it, “I wouldn’t have moved home, I wouldn’t have gotten back with Kyle, and I wouldn’t have Jamie. I don’t wanna tell you that something good will come out of this, because that’s a horrible thing to hear, but looking for an opportunity to find something good can’t hurt.”

“I can’t just look for something new when all i can think about is how I should have been able to help!”

“You really think I didn’t blame myself for what happened to Juliet? That every night for years after I thought I could have done something differently, and sure, I could have, but it’s not like I knew what was going to happen, and I couldn’t keep blaming myself.”

“It’s not the same, you don’t get it.” His fingers ghosted over old scars on his forearms, scars you didn’t want to think about where they came from.

“I do, Spencer. Emily was my friend too. And because she was my friend, I know she would never let you blame yourself for it. She knows you can’t save them all. All we can do is save ourselves,” you took his hand in yours, he still tensed up, “‘cuz that’s all the people we lose want us to do.”

He turned his head up from the floor and met your eyes. Once you gazed into those deep hazel irises, the tension in his hand melted away. His shoulders slumped, and he let out a deep breath, squeezing your hand like a lifeline, “Thank you.”

“Of course, Spence.”

“I’m sorry for snapping.”

“You apologize too much.” You had nearly forgotten exactly what he said to you that night in the hotel bar in Vegas all those years ago, but clearly, he hadn’t, he couldn’t, and he didn’t, because after a few moments of staring into your eyes and slowly drifting towards you in peaceful silence, he closed the gap between you both and kissed you.

Spencer Reid was kissing you.

This was happening.

Nearly two decades of being friends--

Years of being totally, ridiculously, and most importantly, cluelessly in love with each other, Spencer Reid was kissing you. You were almost so overjoyed at that moment as you started to kiss him back that you nearly forgot that your friend was dead and you were supposed to be comforting him. This wasn’t comfort, this was what Kyle did to you all those years ago.

You broke the kiss before he did something he’d regret, “Spence…”

“Oh my god,” he removed his hands from your face and shifted his entire body away from you, “I’m so sorry.”

“No, don’t-”

“Oh my god, I’m an idiot!” He ran his fingers through his hair, pulling at the strands as his hands landed at the back of his neck, forcing his head to stare in his lap.

“No you’re not! Hey. Genius. Look at me.” He didn’t. “You’re not. You’re just in a bad place, I get it.”

“No you don’t. This time, you don’t.”

“What do you m—”

“Look, I don’t wanna kick you out but I really think you should leave.”

“Oh… yeah… sure… okay.” You slowly rose from the couch on weak knees. Whether it was from adrenaline or anxiety, you couldn’t tell.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be! Just… please, take care of yourself?” You glance around the room for your belongings, “Shower, eat something, get some rest, please. And call me if you need anything--”

“Y/N, please, just go.”

You felt tears sting your eyes as you reached for the doorknob. You turned your head just enough to look over your shoulder to say, “Goodnight, pretty boy,” before you left. You closed the door behind you and leaned against it, breathing heavily.

(Spencer’s POV)

Why was I kicking her out?

Why was I telling her to leave?

Why was I pushing her away?

Why did I kiss her?

Why did she push me away?

Why did she call me “pretty boy?” She never--

The pieces fell into place as they often do, all at once with the force of a car slamming into a pole at fifty miles per hour.

“Goodnight, Pretty Boy.”

“Goodnight, Princess.”

She remembered that night.

She remembered that night when I drove her home and put her to bed and--

And I told her I had a crush on her in high school.

And I almost said I loved her.

And I almost kissed her then.

God, I wish I had. Any time would have been better than now.

(Reader POV)

You didn’t know you could miss someone so much while they were behind just one door. You could’ve turned around right then and knocked and waited for him to be ready to talk about what just happened. About him kissing you. About you kissing back. About you stopping him. About that drunken night when you let it slip how pretty you thought he was.

You should’ve just waited.

But you couldn’t stand to be that close to him while he wanted to be as far away from you as possible.

So you ran.

You practically sprinted down the stairs and out of his building as quickly as you could, getting in your car and pulling out of the parking lot and getting the fuck away before you hurt anyone else, including yourself.

(Spencer POV)

I couldn’t just let her walk out like that.

I had to say something.

I had to go after her.

I had to get her back.

I needed her.

But when I opened the door, it was like she had never been there.

I leaned on my door frame staring at the staircase down the hall, wishing I had the energy to run after her, to catch her before she reached her car, to stop her from driving away, to tell her I was sorry, to beg her to please, please, come back upstairs and talk to me, but my feet were fixed to the floor and my legs were weak. I just closed my door with my back and slid down to the floor, unable to bring myself to cry anymore. I sat there for god knows how long until I found the energy to crawl over to the coffee table where I had left my phone, picked it up, and dialed a number.

(Reader POV)

You jumped slightly at the sound of your phone ringing, you shuffled through your bag in the passenger seat, desperately trying to find it before the light turned green. Some foolish part of your mind told you it was Spencer, you wished it was Spencer, you wanted nothing more than to turn your car around and talk it all out with him, tell him you were sorry, that you loved him, that you needed him, but your heart sank when you looked at the screen and saw the number.

It was a just fucking spam call.

You threw your phone back in your seat and beat your fists against the steering wheel, groaning and wishing the fucking light would just turn green already. When it finally did, you slammed on the gas a bit too quickly, sending the car jolting forward. You barely stopped the entire rest of the ride home, the universe must have sensed your impatience. As you finally pulled into your driveway, your skull felt as though it was packed with cotton, your tear tracks drying on your cheeks.

You raced up the steps to your door, fussing with the keys and trying to unlock the door as quickly and quietly as possible. You inevitably made noise as you entered, prompting a light to turn on in the living room. Your mom rose from the couch she had been sleeping on, her face dropping from annoyed to concerned.

“Toots, you’re home already? I thought you wouldn’t be back until morning.”

You had thought that you were fresh out of tears, but apparently, you still had more to spare, seeing as you broke the second the words left her mouth.

“Oh my, what happened?” She raced towards you, wrapping you in a hug, “Is Spencer okay? Did something happen?”

As confused and sad as you were, you couldn’t stop the smile that had suddenly appeared on your face, “He kissed me.”

“He what?” She broke the hug, holding your face in her hands and wiping tears off of your cheeks, “Then honey, why on Earth are you here?”

(Spencer POV)

“You kicked her out? Why?”

“Why do you think I called you, Jennifer? What do I do? How do I fix this?”

“Well, what exactly happened?”

“I freaked out, she came over, we talked, I,” I took a deep breath and braced myself for her reaction, “I kissed her—”

She almost choked on her coffee, “And you didn’t lead with that? Don’t you think that’s a little important?”

“I was trying to avoid reliving it for as long as possible.”

“You’ve wanted this since high school, why wouldn’t you want to relive it?”

“She pulled away.” There was no anger or sadness behind my words. I don’t sound hurt as I recount the scene, “She took my hand, I kissed her, she stopped me.”

JJ’s hand brushed over my shoulder and I flinched away slightly.

“I apologized immediately, she wasn't mad or anything, I just…” I trailed off, unable to admit that I just couldn’t look at her anymore. I never thought I’d get tired of seeing her face, but I had needed her to leave. When she pulled away, all I could think about was the sound of Alexa Lisbon sneering at me as Kyle and his goons tied me to that goal post.

“She wanted to help me, and I know she did, but…”

“She couldn’t.” JJ finished my sentence.

I shook my head, “Not this time.”

“But now you want her to come back?”

“And I don’t know how to tell her that because I fucked up.”

“What did she say after you told her to leave? Did she just go?”

(Reader POV)

“I told him not to feel bad and to take care of himself.” You hadn’t had time to tell him how much you wanted to kiss him but neither one of you was in the right state of mind for that.

“Right, yeah, and did he say anything else?”

You winced at the memory of how his voice sounded. “He kept telling me to leave, so I just went for the door and said--”

(Spencer POV)

“‘Goodnight, pretty boy,’” I grumbled, “That was the last thing she said.”

“Okay?”

“She never calls me Pretty Boy.” I told her the whole story. When I was done, her eyebrows were drawn together and lips were pressed together in a thin, worried line uttering, “Spence…”

“What?”

She sighed, saying nothing and smirking slightly to herself, but saying nothing.

“Jennifer.”

“She loves you, genius.”

“Then why’d she leave?”

“Because you told her to. And…” she hesitated, almost scared to say anything else. I was scared to hear it. JJ took my coffee away and dumped it down the sink, a silent indicator that I had enough and needed to go to bed.

She turned back to me and leaned over the table again, making sure I'd look her in the eyes, “She’d do anything for you.”

I just stared down on my hands on the table, unable to say another word, unable to defend myself, unable to fight anymore.

Because I knew she was right.

Taglist~~~

Lmk if you wanna be added! Some names didn’t work so if you don’t see your name as a tag just dm me a url and I’ll try to fix it

@lawnmoa @ellvswriting @baby-pogue @purelyprentiss @confused-and-really-hungry @thatsonezesty13 @deni-gonzalez @irjuejjsaa @randomfandomshitposts @bisoner @moonstarrnghtsky @smurfflynn @eldahae @t0xicllama @undeniablyyou @staplernpaper @theweirdobella @sammypotato67 @k-k0129 @helloniallslovelies @dazzlingnights @uhuhuh @booksarekindaneat @crimeshowtrash @carlgrxmes @collectiveuniverses @annesauriol

#spencer reid #Criminal Minds Reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #CM #cm fan fiction #cm imagine #mgg fanfiction #mgg imagine #mgg x reader #mgg smut #mgg #mgg angst #spencer reid angst

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feferipeixes · 3 years

Text

Still Alive

After Dipper learns that this whole "being a demon" thing means he's going to live forever, he and Mabel talk about the future, and what he's going to do when everyone he knows dies. It's not until much later that he starts to realize that they'll never truly die -- just like he'll never truly get sick of ice cream.

Thanks to @toothpastecanyon for beta reading!

(See the most updated version on AO3!)

===

“If you could choose one project to do and be guaranteed that you’d finish it eventually, no matter how long it took, what would you do?”

“Hmm....” Mabel replied, itching her scalp with a plastic hand clapping toy. “Oh! I’d get my hands on the Ultimate Magical Shimmering Rainbow-splosion Fluffykins doll! There’s only five hundred in existence -- they’re super duper rare!”

“No no no,” Dipper countered. “That’s too easy, and too short. All you’d need to do is set up some eBay alerts, bribe a few people, maybe sneak into the FluffCorp factory building. Not even -- you could just snap your fingers -” (he snapped his fingers for effect, causing a puff of blue flame to momentarily appear) “and conjure it.”

“I can’t -” Mabel started, but Dipper kept talking over her.

“I’m talking about something really unprecedented. Something that would take a long time, something you wouldn’t ordinarily be able to do. Something that would change the world.”

“Oh, I get it now!” Mabel tossed the toy aside and flipped over, letting her head dangle off the end of her bed. “I’d call you a dork a million times.”

Her brother scowled at her and jumped out of his chair and into the air. “Hey!” he yelped over Mabel’s laughter. “I'̼͚̻͓͎̲m̡̖̰̘̣͎ ̖͇̕n̛̻ơ̰t̷̟͇̱ ̝̺̻a̳̦ ̪̟̮͖ḑor̞͓̭k̟̤̖!̛͍ And even if I was, that wouldn’t take you very long! At, uh, a rate of, let’s see, you could probably say ‘you’re a dork’ at least 30 times per minute, and if you didn’t ever sleep…”

Mabel watched the red tinge fade away from his features as he paced around in mid air, doing math in his head. “Yeah. You’re totally not a dork, Sir Maths-a-lot. You sure showed me.”

“- It wouldn’t even take you a month,” Dipper finished. “Besides, how would that change the world?”

“Hmm, well if I call you a dork enough times,” Mabel answered, “maybe my big scary demon brother would decide he doesn’t want to be a dork and instead he’d do something with his cool magic powers that ends up making the world a better place!”

“Mabel?”

“Yeah bro-bro?”

Dipper frowned at her. “Your face is turning purple.”

“Touche,” she replied, rubbing her chin very seriously. She slid the rest of the way off the bed and clutched her throbbing head. “Owww…”

“That's what you get for giving me dumb answers,” Dipper quipped, arms crossed.

“You mean for giving you fun answers,” Mabel corrected, and then winced at another sting of pain. “Why are you asking me these weird questions anyway?”

A panicked look flickered across Dipper's face, and his feet touched the ground. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Mabel, still massaging her temples, pushed herself semi-upright to give her brother a look. “Come on. ‘What would you do if you had all the time in the world?’ ’What movie could you watch a million times and never get sick of it?’ ’Do you think Stancakes have a shelf life longer than 100 years?’ Something is clearly up.”

Dipper giggled awkwardly (was there any other way he could giggle?) and stared at the ceiling. “Nothing. It's nothing!”

“What, are you really not gonna tell me?” Mabel pushed. ”What if I tickle you?”

Her brother recoiled in horror. “You wouldn't.”

There was a tense silence as the two twins considered whose was the stronger will: the expert fighter with a plethora of torture tactics at hand, or the demon. Mabel narrowed her eyes. Dipper sharpened his claws. No words were exchanged. The room was perfectly still.

Mabel jolted forward half a foot and Dipper shrieked.

“Okay, you win, just don't tickle me!” he begged, throwing his hands up. “I'll tell you!”

“Good,” Mabel replied. “Things were about to get ugly. Spill it, bro-bro.”

Dipper sighed. He dusted himself off -- a habit he'd gotten into lately even though he was pretty sure nothing he could do would make his orange shirt and vest look any less weird with his new body.

“Remember… Remember the thing I told you the other day, when I had that infodump and learned more about my powers?”

“Oh yeah,” she said. “You found out that your omniscience tells you whenever anyone farts.”

“No!” he squeaked. “Although, you are right, it does do that and it's annoying, especially because now I can smell it from like a mile away.”

He wrinkled his nose, staring off into space for a minute before shaking his head. “But that's not what I mean. I'm talking about… how I'm never going to die.”

It had been about a week since Mabel had walked into the living room to find Dipper writhing and sobbing on the floor. She remembered the way he’d looked right through her, how he hadn’t seemed to even notice her presence when she sat him upright, how he kept muttering “still alive, still alive” over and over again, and it hadn’t made any sense to her then, but when he finally snapped out of it and was able to vocalize what he’d seen…

She shuddered at the memory of it.

“Since then,” Dipper continued, “I’ve been thinking about how I’m going to deal with it. And I had this idea that I could come up with things to do to fill the time.”

“What, so you’re going to plan out your whole life?” Mabel asked, incredulous. “Let me guess -- you’re making a checklist? Hah! Can you imagine?”

She giggled, and then he reached into his vest and pulled out oh sweet Moses.

“I’ve already got some good stuff on here,” Dipper said, ignoring or not noticing his sister’s flabbergasted expression. “I’m gonna learn how to make a sword by hand. I’m gonna watch all of Tiger Fist backwards to see if there are any hidden messages. And there’s this spa getaway weekend that the Multibear invited me on -- shoot, wait, he’s gonna be dead by then, umm…”

Mabel raised an eyebrow as her brother started scribbling on the checklist. “Dipper. This is obsessive even for you.”

“What would you know?” he shot back. “You’re not the one who’s immortal.”

“I know how to have this thing called ‘fun’,” she replied. “Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

He grumbled at her, eyes locked on his checklist. He couldn’t believe he forgot that the Multibear spa trip thing was a limited time offer. That kind of stuff was slipping his mind more and more these days, like the time Mabel asked him to play cards with her and he was so busy alphabetizing his Sibling Brothers books that he neglected to respond to her for three days.

Although, now that he thought about it, that might’ve been before he became a demon.

Something damp and cold hit Dipper in the face, and he spluttered in surprise. “What was that?” he shouted. One of his flailing hands happened to close on the object as it fell, and he held it up to the light.

“It’s a popsicle, doofus!” Mabel said. She’d fetched two from the minifridge in their room while he was distracted, and was busy licking away at her own, which was chocolate. “Remember those?”

He wrinkled his nose. “I don’t have ti-”

“I’ll throw another one at you,” Mabel interrupted.

“- I guess I could have some ice cream,” Dipper finished.

He floated over and sat on the floor next to his sister. He removed the paper from the popsicle and gave the object a sniff. The aroma of orange and vanilla caressed his sensitive nose, and he realized how long it’d been since he had any sugar. Without a second moment’s thought, he threw his head back, stretching both his neck and jaw further than they were supposed to go, and placed the entire popsicle -- stick and all -- into his gaping maw.

“See, what’d I tell you?” Mabel said, smirking at the satisfaction on her brother’s face. She reached up with her popsicle to scratch an itch on her nose, and then went right back to eating it. “I always know what to do with my time. I wonder what it’d be like if I lived forever…”

Dipper eyed the glob of chocolate ice cream on the bridge of her nose. “The world would probably be a much more chaotic place.”

“You mean a much BETTER place!” she declared. “Everyone would have fun and ice cream all the time!”

He grinned. “You’re right. It would be a much better place. Because my best friend would be there.” Mabel looked at him, a twinkle in her eye and ice cream all over her face, and his grin fell away. “I guess this is what you felt like when I said I was going to be Grunkle Ford’s apprentice, huh. I’m such a shitty bro-”

Mabel at once had her hands on his face, squishing his cheeks together so he’d stop talking. “Nuh-uh. Bro-bro you’re gonna stop hating on yourself Right. Now.” She was still smiling, but her tone had twisted into something harsh. “Okay, sure, I’m gonna die someday and then you’re gonna have to figure out what to do on your own. But I’m not ready to think about that and neither are you! We’re hecking 13 years old! We should act like it, while we’ve still got the chance. Please don’t make me think about dying yet.”

Dipper winced, and she let go of him. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“S’okay.” She patted him on the back, harder than he’d been expecting, and he was so surprised that he coughed up the popsicle stick he’d eaten earlier.

For a minute, neither of them said a word. Dipper lifted a hand to his face, where he felt something sticky.

“You got chocolate on my face.”

“Yeah. On your vest, too.” She stuck her tongue out at him. “What are you going to do about it?”

He looked at his hands, still small and smooth like a child. With a thought, he bathed both hands in a blue flame, searing away the chocolate and leaving them clean, just the way he liked them. Then he cleared his throat.

“I’m gonna chase you around the house,” he stated matter-of-factly.

Smiling ear-to-ear, Mabel jumped up and ran to the wall. “You’re nuts if you think you can catch me, even with demon powers!” Cackling, she threw the door open, which bathed her in a blinding white light.

Dipper thought about his infodump from the other day, thought about the part he hadn’t told Mabel, the tiny glimpse he’d gotten of his sister when she’d been old, pale, and still -- too horribly, horribly still. It was just a glimpse, but it haunted him -- the thought that one day there wouldn’t be a single trace left of Mabel Pines anywhere in the world. She was right -- as always -- that he was obsessing, that he was letting a thought hurt him when it didn’t have to.

He wasn’t ready to think about growing up yet, either. No matter how strong the pull to obsess was, he had to find a way to fight it.

“You can’t get away from me!” Dipper roared, and flew after his sister into the future.

---

"Wahoo! That was a great idea -- getting ice cream -- Dipper! I feel so much better! You always know how to cheer me up."

Dipper, clad in his usual human disguise, collapsed onto the bench with a grunt. "I dunno, this stuff tastes off. You’d think with all the technological advancements since the Transcendence that they’d have found a way to perfect ice cream."

His friend Arin, who was somehow managing to carry five popsicles in two hands, nodded with a serious look on her face. "Yeah. Oh sure a lot of old timey diseases were eradicated and we've got flying cars and stuff. But not one of these ice pops actually tastes like orange!"

She stared at him for a beat longer, then finally broke into snickers. One of the popsicles fell out of her hand, and a stubby arm immediately shot out from under the bench to catch it.

His face twisting in confusion, Dipper bent over to look under the bench. There were two gnomes right beneath him -- one of them hissed when they saw him, making him jump and making Arin laugh even harder.

"Ha-ha, okay," Dipper said, hand on his chest like his heart was racing. Despite this, he couldn't keep a small smile from creeping onto his face.

So much had changed in the last five hundred years, and yet so much else had stayed the same. Wars were fought, societies had formed and collapsed, but people were still people, and Dipper was still Dipper. Even though he’d had more than a few incidents where his demonic nature overcame his humanity, he always seemed to land back on his feet again eventually. Sometimes all it took was a friend.

Right now, his friend was a girl named Arin who he’d saved when someone else had tried to sacrifice her to him. He remembered how grateful she’d been, how she gave him a hug despite him being a void black monster splattered with blood, and how she then spent 20 minutes chatting with him about dragons even though she’d just had a very traumatic experience. She seemed, in other words, cool. So he later presented himself to her as fellow undergraduate student Dipper, without revealing that it was him who’d saved her that night, and they’d been good friends ever since.

Arin sat next to him and started taking bites out of her ice pops. "Yknow, the Transcendence-era wasn't that great," she said, although with her mouth busy it sounded like she was drowning.

Dipper's brow creased. "What do you mean?"

She gulped down the hunk of ice in her mouth. "No offense -- I know you're totally obsessed with Transcendence history stuff -- but that was soooo long ago. There's no one left who was alive back then, except like vampires I guess. But vampires don't eat ice cream so it doesn't matter."

Dipper bit back the urge to say "I know a vampire who loves ice cream as long as there's blood in it". What came out instead was "So?"

"So!" Arin shoved an entire popsicle into her mouth, and then had to take a minute to cough up the stick. "S-so," she continued amid gasps, "no one knows for sure what ice cream tasted like in the year 2012. And that includes you, Mr. Argues-With-The-Teacher! For all we know, old timey ice cream tasted like sawdust!"

Dipper considered his chocolate popsicle, which he's barely looked at since the first taste. "I guess you're right." He gave it another wary lick.

It didn't taste like chocolate the way he remembered it, but it was close enough.

"Do you ever think," he asked, unable to meet his friend's eyes, "about all the stuff that used to exist but doesn't anymore? All the ideas and food and... people?"

Arin groaned. "Is that what this is about? My best friend of the past 2 years -- secretly one of those 'I was born in the wrong century' people?"

"No!" he shot back, before taking another lick of the popsicle. "I just think it's sad that stuff goes away and no one's there to remember it."

"Well, maybe no one remembers that stuff, but that doesn't mean it's forgotten."

Dipper looked up. "Huh?"

Arin scarfed down her remaining two popsicles, which had begun melting onto her hand. "People die and ideas change and the world moves on. It happens constantly! But those people influenced their friends and their family and their coworkers. Who in turn influenced other people. Those people might be dead, but they live forever in the words and actions of everyone who came after."

Dipper just stared at her, jaw dropped. "Where did that come from?" he managed to get out. "Five seconds ago you were gagging on frozen sugar! You're not allowed to be this insightful!"

"Sugar rushes always make me super thoughtful," Arin said, patting him on the back. "It's 'cause I'm a genius. I'm probably gonna crash hard later though. Also by the way your ice cream is totally melting."

"Ah, shoot." Dipper hurriedly tried to catch the melting ice cream with his tongue, and Arin giggled again.

"The point is," she said, "if you've always got your head stuck in a history textbook, you're gonna miss out on the present. If you're always thinking about the dead guy who invented ice cream, you won't be around to eat any with me."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," he said. He felt an itch on his nose, so he wiggled it. "Thanks, Arin. I feel better- why are you looking at me like that?"

Arin was indeed staring at him with a perplexed look on her face as if she was not the one who'd just swallowed a metric ton of ice cream. "Why do you do that?"

Dipper frowned. "Do what? AGH-"

He yelped as Arin whipped out her phone and snapped a photo of him, blinding him with the flash even though it was a bright, sunny day out. "What was that for?"

She didn't say anything, simply handed him her phone. It certainly was not the best photo ever taken of him. It was blurry, his hair was a mess, and his mouth was contorted in shock.

On the bridge of his nose was a dollop of chocolate ice cream.

"You do it every time we get ice cream," Arin said, taking her phone back. "I mean, you call me weird, but I'm not the one always itching my nose with an ice pop."

"Oh," Dipper said. He paused and looked at his fingers, which were all chocolate-y too now. "I didn't even notice I was doing it."

"Suuure, weirdo," Arin chuckled. She stood up, wobbling a bit as she did so, and steadied herself on the back of the bench. "Listen dude, this was fun but I think the sugar's starting to hit me. I'm gonna head back to the dorm before I collapse. Wanna hang out later?"

"Definitely!" Dipper replied. "You should get some rest! Try not to give psychological counseling to anyone on the way -- you're gonna burn out your brain!"

He waved at his friend as she staggered away, and watched her until she turned a corner around a building. Then he sighed, and wiped his nose with his finger.

"Hey Mabel," he whispered, looking at the chocolate he'd collected. "It’s me, Dipper.”

A passing jogger sent a pointed look at the young man who was talking to his finger, but Dipper ignored them.

“I seem to remember you saying something to me about living forever. You said that one day you’d be gone, and I’d have to find a way to carry on alone.” He thought about Arin’s words, and felt something swell in his chest. “But I guess you’re still alive after all.”

He sniffed, and looked up at the sun as it started to bathe the sky in the pinks and purples of evening. He saw people in flying cars, people rushing through pneumatic tubes, people high fiving on jetpack because it was a wonderful day to be out. And he thought about what Arin said; thought about all of the sicknesses he'd seen friends and family afflicted by that no one ever had to suffer from again. He thought about all the preters he saw walking freely and happily on the campus, without worrying that they'd be attacked.

"And you were right," he said. "The world is a better place."

Dipper licked the remaining chocolate off his fingers, and got up. As he headed back toward his dorm room, he wondered what other legacies his loved ones had left in him.

(AO3 link)

#gravity falls #transcendence au #dipper pines #alcor the dreambender #mabel pines #fic #my stuff #long post

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particularemu · 4 years

Text

Brokenhearted | A Lee Minho/Lee Know Scenario

Word Count: 1531

Type: Like 90% Fluff and 10% Angst

Warnings: heartbreak, unreciprocated feelings

Prompts: 8 (Forget it. You fucking suck.)

Author’s Note: Sorry this took me like 4 months to finally complete. I had a bitch of a time writing this one for some reason.

I’m not taking requests from this list anymore, but the prompt is from this prompt list.

Being in love with your best friend is pure torture.

Being in love with your best friend when you’ve already confessed? EVEN WORSE.

You sighed as you piled a handful of popcorn into your mouth, wide eyes fixed on a cheesy rom-com as you munched on the popped kernels. Minho always made fun of you for watching such pointless movies, but you didn’t care. There was something relaxing about watching two teenagers fall in love despite all the pointless drama surrounding them. You loved movies that had a happy ending.

If only you were so lucky…

Oh, how you wished your confession ended in a prom date, a first kiss, and a lasting relationship… Now you just lived through twenty-something year old actresses, imagining you and Minho as the main leads.

The memory of your confession was fresh in your mind as if it happened yesterday. You were a bright-eyed second-year in high school, hoping to confess to your long-time crush, Lee Minho. The boy was smart, good-looking, talented, and he had a great personality. The two of you weren’t that great of friends, but he hung around your friend group often. Often enough for you to fall head-over-heels for him. The two of you always seemed to click when he hung around your friend group.

Eventually your feelings became too much to handle and you, thanks to the help of your best friend, decided to confess to him. Nothing was going to happen between you two if you didn’t tell him how you felt! Besides… you two got along really well. That means he’s going to say yes right?

Oh, how wrong you were…

You headed up to Minho, note in hand and poured your heart out to him, hoping — praying that he would feel the same way. Minho crushed your heart with eight simple words.

“I’m sorry. I don’t feel the same way.”

You were absolutely heartbroken.

A few days later, Minho happened to see you sitting by yourself at lunch. Instead of sitting next to his buddies from dance class, he decided to keep you company. Minho sat his lunch tray across from yours and took a seat, bright eyes watching you as you finished extra homework.

“Why are you here?” You didn’t want to sound like a bitch, but you were still pretty angsty after having your crush snap your heart into a million pieces. Not that he intended to…

“You’re alone.” Minho shrugged as if it was no big deal. “Everyone should have a little company.” The boy chuckled and took a bite of his lunch, eyes fixed on the frantic scratching of your pencil.

“Isn’t it weird for you?” If it wasn’t weird for him, it sure was for you. You couldn’t help but imagine him sitting next to you every day during lunch, talking about his day, watching him during dance competitions, kissing those plump lips…

Okay, you were letting your mind wander again.

Minho tilted his head in confusion. “Why would it be weird?”

It was really weird.

Despite the awkward conversation the two of you shared, you still enjoyed seeing his face. Even if you weren’t dating him, you were happy that he still considered you a friend.

And friends you were!

Over the next few years, Minho became your partner in crime. The two of you were best friends, attached at the hip. You were never away from each other. Unfortunately, your feelings for him never faded. In fact, they got stronger the closer you got with the boy.

Even five years later.

Minho barged through the door and tossed his jacket on the end of your couch. “Are you really watching this garbage again?” He chuckled. “You’ve seen it five-thousand times already.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the boy. “No please, let yourself in.” Perhaps giving your best friend a spare key to your apartment was a bad idea... “I come bearing gifts.” Minho chuckled and tossed a candy bar in your direction. “Think fast.”

You beamed at the chocolate bar as you hopped off the couch, throwing your arms around him. “How’d you know I wanted one of these?” You squeezed Minho as hard as you could, making the boy groan.

“Too tight.” Minho dramatically fell to the ground, sending the two of you into a fit of giggles.

“God, you’re so dramatic.” You held your hand out to the boy, smiling when his hand rested in yours. God, you wished…

“You always want candy.” Minho chuckled. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

“Yeah?” You crossed your arms over your chest. “Why are you here then?” As if you don’t enjoy his company.

“I’m here to ask about that boy you were talking to.” Minho wiggled his eyebrows as he opened his own candy bar, taking a giant bite from the crunchy chocolate. “The one you have a big fat crush on.”

Ouch that hurt. Why did that hurt?

“I don’t have a crush on anyone.” You mumbled, taking a bite of your chocolate bar, hoping a mouth full of chocolate would keep Minho from asking more questions.

Minho rolled his eyes. “Yes you do. What’s his name… Chan? I think his name is Chan.” Minho snickered. “Come on, quit playing games. You can tell me anything.”

Could you? Of course you knew that you could trust Minho, but you felt like telling your best friend of five years that you never stopped loving him wasn’t the best idea. What if things didn’t go well? Instead of sticking around this time, he might just leave you…

You couldn’t stand the thought of losing your best friend, but what if… What if you had the chance to be happy with him? Maybe it was time…

“Can we talk?” Your voice was small, fear taking over your usual confidence. “We need to talk.”

Minho chuckled. “Talk about what? Your new boyfriend?”

His words hit harder than they should have. Minho was just teasing you, like he always does and yet you took offense this time. Why couldn’t he see that you loved him?

“You know what? Forget it. You fucking suck.” You rolled your eyes at the boy and stormed off to your bedroom, slamming the door behind you.

Minho tilted his head to the side in confusion as he followed after you. He was beyond confused. You’ve never been this pissed off at his antics. Usually you would laugh along and tell him he was an ass when he got out of line. What happened this time?

Minho knocked on the door, “Hey, I’m sorry. I’ll listen to you this time.” His brows creased when he heard you quietly crying on the other side of the door.

Fuck…

He didn’t realize he hurt your feelings this bad. “Hey, I’m coming in.” Minho slowly opened the door to see you curled up in your bed, hugging the fuzzy blanket he got you for your birthday to your chest as you cried. “Aww, sweetheart.” Minho rushed to your side and rested his hand on your arm. “I was just playing.”

“You’re so fucking dense.” You snapped at Minho, wiping your tears as you brushed his hand off you. “I can’t love anyone else because I still love you.” You scooted away from Minho, trying to distance yourself from the boy as if it would protect you from his response. You’ve done this before, and now you’re about to repeat history. You knew there was no possibility with him and yet, you couldn’t avoid falling in love with him. You looked over to see Minho frozen in place. You couldn’t bear to hear another rejection. “Can you please leave?”

Minho’s eyes widened even more if that was possible. “No.”

“Minho please just go.” You whined as you turned your back to him.

“No.” Minho responded. “I can’t leave you like this.”

“Fucking go.” You used all your strength and pushed on Minho’s chest, knocking the boy off the bed. “I can’t do this again please just go.”

Minho quickly rushed to your side, taking your hands in his. “Listen to me. These past few years have been the best years of my life.” Minho smiled sadly. “I know I told you I didn’t feel the same way, but sweetheart that was five years ago.” Minho chuckled. “We’re old now babydoll. We’ve grown up.”

You sniffled and pulled one of your hands away from his to wipe your tears. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Minho snorted. “I’m trying to be romantic.”

“Just tell me how you feel.” You sighed and tightened your grip around his hands. “Please just tell me.”

Minho smiled. “I started to fall for you the more we hung out, but I didn’t want to hurt you by digging up old memories. I wasn’t sure if you liked me anymore.” He paused. “Damn, I wouldn’t have liked me. I was a dick.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “No you weren’t. You were sweet.”

“I was an ass. I rejected you and then —”

You silenced Minho with a kiss. Finally, after all these years, you finally got to kiss the man of your dreams. You finally got to feel his lips against yours, and it was pure bliss. You leaned forward, smiling into the kiss as he wrapped his arms around you.

“Wow.” Minho chuckled. “How long have you wanted to do that?”

“5 years.” You kissed him again. “You still fucking suck, but I love you.”

Minho smiled brightly as he laughed. “That’s fair. I love you too, you dork.”

Tags: @jisungsjheekies @channiesmixtape (my tag list smol lmao. I can’t remember if I had one before I left aj;sdlkfj;asldkfj)

#lee minho imagines #lee know #lee minho #lee know scenarios #lee minho scenarios #lee know fluff #lee minho fluff #lee know x reader #lee minho x reader #lee know x you #lee minho x you #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #fluff #kpop fluff #my writing

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starlocked01 · 4 years

Text

Nothing but the Truth

AO3

Masterpost- Previous- Next

Summary: The twins throw a sleepover and everyone gets more revelations than they bargained for.

Content Warning: Anxiety, mentions of eating non-food items

Day 15 pre-Dukexiety/ pre-Rosleep/background Loceit- It is impossible to lie to your Soulmate

Virgil couldn’t stop tapping his foot as he watched mailboxes and telephone poles flash by the car door window. There were about one million things that could go wrong tonight and he was trapped thinking through every single one of them. Roman was his bestest friend in all of the second grade, and he didn't mind hanging out with Roman’s twin brother Remus or their friend Patton, but a sleepover? Away from his safe bed where dad checked the closet for monsters every night and left the hall light on to prevent vampires from sneaking in to bite him? Virgil almost wanted to ask dad to turn around now, but then he worried that Remus would find out and call him a baby.

Virgil was no baby. And he certainly couldn't let Remus know he was scared.

They pulled into the driveway and Virgil very bravely grabbed his purple spider backpack and favorite pillow and climbed out of the car. He took dad's hand and they walked up to the front door together.

"Go ahead and ring the bell, Virge," dad smiled at him and pointed to the doorbell. Virgil had to stand on tiptoes but he managed to hit the button. He jumped at the loud bell tone from inside the house and the subsequent scrabbling of running feet and a dog barking.

He'd forgotten all about their dog.

The inner door swung open to reveal Roman standing there with a huge grin on his face. Virgil could see the missing tooth that had "fallen out" earlier that week.

"DAD! VIRGIL’S HERE!" Roman shouted back into the house. Suddenly a dog nearly as big as Virgil came running up to the door, pulling Remus along with him. Virgil was very happy there was still a screen between them.

"Damn it, Nagini!" Remus swore, trying to hold the dog back, "Roro, help me!" Roman jumped to grab her collar as well and they both tried to pull her from the door.

"Virgil, if you pick up any swearing from Remus we're going to have to have a serious talk about your choice in friends," dad reprimanded as Roman and Remus' dad came into view.

"Logan! I'm so glad Virgil could come over tonight. Roman would not stop begging for a sleepover," their dad said with a smile, taking Nagini's collar from the twins and easily holding her back from the door, "please come in."

"Thank you, Janus. He needed more convincing than I did," Logan smiled at the other dad, ushering Virgil inside.

"The twins have been such devils lately," Janus sighed, "you're so lucky that Virgil is so calm."

Logan chuckled, "we have our fair share of quirks, I assure you. Kids, go ahead and go play. Your father and I are just going to talk for a bit."

Virgil looked up curiously, "Dad, why is your face so red?"

Logan flushed all the harder at the question and glanced at Janus, "because we're going to talk for a little bit. Don't worry about me. Go have fun, my little warrior."

Virgil smiled and ran off to the playroom with Roman and Remus.

"Nice save," Janus smirked.

"I wouldn't lie to my son even if you weren't in earshot," Logan quipped back.

"Virgil!! We're gonna have so much fun tonight!" Roman bounced excitedly, holding onto Virgil’s sleeve.

"Yeah! We're gonna make zombie slime that's gonna taste like braaaaains!" Remus grinned and rubbed his hands together like a movie villain. The twins were nearly identical except for the bright streak of silver hair Remus had and remarkably different personalities.

Virgil was decidedly less excited than the twins, convinced that touching zombie slime would turn him into the walking dead. He didn't want to know what brains taste like.

"When's Pat gonna get here?" Virgil asked with a half-smile.

"Oooh does Virgie have a crush?" Remus cackled.

"No! I do not have a crush on Patton!" Virgil pouted.

"Yeah, Remus, Virgil doesn't have a crush like you do," Roman stuck out his tongue and ran away as Remus tried to tackle him.

"Shut Up, Dirtbag!" Remus' tackle missed and he crashed into the toy box sending toys crashing all over the room.

"Are you boys okay in there?" Janus called from the other room.

"Yes," Virgil and Roman both called back in unison

"No," came Remus' muffled voice. The other two walked over to pull him out of the box as Logan and Janus both walked into the room.

"Christ! Look at this mess. Remus, what's broken?" Janus bent down to his son.

Remus sniffed, "my heart."

Roman took a not-very-discreet step backward and Virgil went to hug his dad's legs. He didn't mean to hurt Remus and he was sure it was his fault and he'd be sent away to never see his friends again.

Janus sighed and offered Remus a hug which the boy gladly accepted, "what happened?"

"Ro is teasing me," Remus mumbled, "but I'm okay! Don't send Virgil and Patton home just because I'm a baby!"

"Okay, no. You are not a baby for feeling hurt when someone is mean to you. Roman? Why were you teasing your brother?" Janus pinned Roman in the middle of his escape with a piercing stare.

"Ahm…. No reason," Roman lied.

"Roman…"

"He was teasing Virgil. I'm sorry please don't make Virgil leave," Roman blinked back tears.

Janus pinched the bridge of his nose, "none of this explains how Remus ended up in the toy box."

Virgil tugged on his dad's sleeve, "dad, are we gonna have to leave if we can't play nice?"

Logan shared a look with Janus then turned back to Virgil, "no, we are not leaving. You all have been planning this party for months and have worked hard to be well behaved. I don't think one little fight is going to negate that." Virgil nodded slowly.

"Daddy, my shoulder hurts," Remus whimpered.

"Alright, Roman, five minutes in the time out chair. Please consider why it is not fair to Remus or Virgil to tease each other. I'll be back when your five minutes are up. Remus, let's go get some ice and talk about why it's not nice to make fun of your friends. Logan, I am so sorry. You see what I have to deal with?" Janus chuckled helplessly, picking Remus up with a grunt as Roman sulked over to a chair in the corner. The doorbell rang and Roman swiveled around to jump up and get the door. "No! You're in time out! That must be Emile with Patton. Can you get the door, dear?"

Logan blushed and nodded, grabbing Virgil’s hand to walk back out to the front door. They opened the door to find Patton and his older brother standing there with a very frazzled looking father.

"Oh, Logan! I thought that was your car! How are you doing?" Emile gave him a weary smile.

"The usual. Virgil’s a little handful but nothing we can't work out together. How are you and the boys?"

Emile groaned as Logan ushered them in. Virgil waved at Patton who waved back excitedly. He was already wearing a dinosaur onesie even though bedtime was hours away. The adults talked in hushed whispers in the foyer that Virgil couldn’t understand.

"Hi, Virge! Where's Remus and Roman?" Patton asked Virgil quietly.

"Uh.. in trouble.." Virgil muttered.

"What?? How?" Patton looked crestfallen, "is their dad gonna send us home?"

"No, definitely not," Virgil smiled at Patton, "it was just a little argument."

"God, you babies are boring!" Patton's older brother Remy scoffed. He was in 3rd grade so Virgil figured he must know what he's talking about.

Janus and Remus emerged from the kitchen with the young boy holding an ice pack to his shoulder. Janus pushed Remus towards the kids standing in the hall and joined the other adults in conversation.

"Don't worry, V. I'm okay and Dad promised you guys can stay! Hi Pattycake! Hi Name Theif!" Remus grinned, the pain and embarrassment were already forgotten.

Remy rolled his eyes, "I'm older than you, twerp."

"Remy, be nice to my friends!" Patton whined.

"Why should I be?"

"Thank you again, Janus. We really owe you one this time. I'll go get his stuff from the car. You'd think with three adults in the house we wouldn't have scheduling issues like this," Emile quickly jogged back out to his car, bringing back two sets of sleepover equipment.

"Fudge! Dad's leaving me here too!" Remy groaned. Virgil was a bit intimidated but refused to show it.

"Alright let's go get Roman so your fathers can get on with their lives," Janus corralled the kids back to the playroom, winking at Logan as he and Emile left.

Roman immediately bounced up from the chair as soon as the others returned. He rushed over to Remus and wrapped him in a hug, "I'm sorry!"

Remus grinned, "'s okay!" he hugged Roman back tightly and Janus sighed a small sigh of relief.

"Okay, children, ground rules. One, if anything breaks or anyone gets injured you get me immediately. Two, and this is mostly for you, Remus, no eating anything that isn't food-" Remus grumbled at this but nodded, handing his dad the half-melted ice pack "-lovely. And finally three, bedtime is non-negotiable. You have to be quiet after bedtime. Other than that, just don't maim or mock each other and tonight will go just fine," Janus gave the children a sly grin and left the room.

"Ugh! Why am I stuck with you babies?" Remy moaned.

"We're not babies, Rem!" Patton huffed, "you're not that much older than us."

"Besides, babies don't get to play with slime!" Remus grinned, running over to a supply cabinet filled with crafts.

"Wow. I'm so not impressed," Remy made a confused face but shook it off, "why play with slime when we can play a grown-up game?"

"Grown-up game?" Virgil asked quietly.

"I don't trust it. It's bound to be something boring like taxes!" Roman pouted, kicking a stuffed animal.

"Let's play Truth or Dare," Remy smirked as the others looked at him with confused stares.

"How do ya play that?" Remus asked, intrigued.

"Can't we do something else like color?" Patton asked hopefully.

Remy rolled his head from shoulder to shoulder, cracking his neck audibly, "listen up, we're playing and I'm only going over the rules once. We all sit in a circle and take turns choosing someone to ask 'truth or dare?' and that person has to choose whether to answer a question truthfully or accept a challenge that they can't back outta. Once they pick, the person who asked them picks a question or challenge. Got it, babes?" the others all nodded solemnly, "perfect. Maybe this won't be a wasted night yet."

They all gathered in a circle in the middle of the room. Remus was clutching a stuffed squid and Virgil was chewing on his nails.

"Oh! Oh! I wanna go first!" Roman bounced in his seat and made a show of studying everyone before landing on his choice, "Patton, truth or dare?"

"Ummm truth!" The boy squeaked.

"Alright, uhhhh do you like cats?" Roman asked accusingly.

"Yes!" Patton beamed, "but dad and papa say I'm allergic to them."

"Noooo you have to ask juicy questions!" Remy whined.

"Oh uh, Patton do you like juice?" Roman corrected.

Remy smacked his forehead as Patton cheerfully replied, "yeah I like juice too!"

"Let me show you how it's done. Virgil, truth or dare?" Remy stared him down with piercing eyes and everyone else turned to watch for Virgil’s response. He could feel his pulse rise with the fear of being put on the spot.

"Uh dare?" Virgil asked, pulling his hood up over his head.

"I dare you to go eat some glue!" Remy smirked.

"Ooh, yummy!" Remus grinned

"But wait-" Roman started.

"Mr. Prince said not to eat anything that isn't food. That's an illegal dare, Remy!" Patton interrupted in protest.

"Truth or Dare doesn't play by house rules. You gotta do it, Virgil, or you're a loser baby," Remy continued to smirk, nodding over to the supply cabinet.

Virgil stood with a gulp. He would not let any of them call him a loser or a baby. He walked over to the supply closet and grabbed a bottle of white glue. The label said non-toxic, but what if it glued his mouth shut and he could never talk or laugh again? What if it just sat in his stomach forever and captured all the brussel sprouts he hated eating so they never left? What if he-

"Just do it we don't have all night!" Remy bossed him from the circle. Virgil took a deep breath and squeezed some glue on his finger before quickly shoving the finger in his mouth. He wanted to gag because the texture was so awful but he swallowed as best he could and showed the others his clean finger.

"Wow Virgil, you're so brave!" Patton smiled at him.

"Humph! I do that at least three times a week!" Remus smacked his hand over his mouth.

"You told dad you stopped! Liar!" Roman accused him. Remy just laughed at the small pool of chaos he'd created.

"Okay my turn, Remus, truth or dare?" Patton asked, rocking back and forth on his seat on the floor.

"Truth!"

"Okay, do you like dogs?"

Remus gasped, "Nagini! I wanna go get her!"

"No, Remus! Dad probably put her outside so she doesn't eat Virgil," Roman rolled his eyes and Virgil added a new thing to his list to look out for in his nightmares.

"No! You have to ask questions that people won't want to answer. Like about crushes or secrets or stuff like that! What fun is it if the person wants to tell the truth?" Remy groaned.

"Sorry, Rem," Patton whimpered.

"Well, it's my turn. Remy, truth or dare?" Remus grinned at the older boy.

"Truth. Do your worst." Remy stared back cooly.

"Have ya ever pooped in the bath?" Remus' smile turned wicked and the others gasped while Remy sputtered.

"N- n- how- yes," he looked mortified and buried his face in his knees as the others laughed. Remy had tried so hard to lie and save face but couldn't, and not because of the social contract of the rules of the game. He physically could not force himself to lie. Which meant his own crush was a lot bigger deal than he wanted to admit and he'd just told his soulmate one of the most embarrassing things in his life. "Oh my gawd, just kill me now."

"It's okay Remy, I'm sure it's happened to almost everyone at some point," Virgil was still snickering and realized it was his turn, "Roman, truth or dare?"

"Dare!" Roman puffed his chest out in confidence.

"Okay.. I dare you to climb that bookshelf," Virgil pointed to the shelves in question.

Roman popped up from his seat on the floor, "easy!" he scurried up until he could touch the ceiling but paused, clinging to the shelves, "I think I'm stuck."

Remus jumped up, "don't worry, brother, I'll catch you! Jump!" Roman let go and fell back. Remus caught and promptly dropped Roman.

"Oops… Ro are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Remy, truth or dare?"

Remy weighed his options. He wouldn't be able to lie if the question was too embarrassing so he scowled, "dare."

"I dare you to go sneak ice cream bars from the freezer for everyone," Roman grinned, dusting himself off.

"Whatever, that's so lame and easy," Remy stood and started out the playroom door.

"You won't be saying that if dad catches you," Remus giggled.

"Okay if Remy's gone I think that means it's my turn," Patton chipped in, "Virgil, truth or dare?"

On one hand, Patton couldn't possibly ask him to do anything as dangerous as Remy had. On the other hand, Virgil was starting to feel sick and didn't want to get up, "truth…"

"Okay," Patton furrowed his eyebrows with concentration. He didn't want to ruin the game anymore with baby questions, "um, have you ever kissed someone?"

Virgil felt frozen in time. His mind flashed back to a spring day on the playground when he'd just wanted to know if he'd like kissing and what it was like and Roman had volunteered to let him try with him. They'd agreed to never speak of it again. He could see Roman blushing and Remus and Patton staring at him with anticipation. He had to lie to protect his best friend.

"Yes," Virgil smacked his hand to his mouth. That was absolutely not what he had intended to say. He could see Roman panicking now too. Oh no, did Roman hate him? Remus looked upset and Patton looked shocked. Neither had noticed Roman's face yet but Virgil could see the next logical question forming on Remus' lips.

"Who?"

Virgil turned away from the group and started to cry. He didn't want to answer because he didn't think his mouth would let him lie even if he tried. He felt a weird tug in his gut compelling him to tell the truth.

Wait. Did that mean that one of these boys was his soulmate?

"I think it was Elliott," Roman lied shakily. Virgil nodded, relieved of having to tell them himself and willing to go along with the lie. That meant his soulmate wasn’t Remy or Roman.

Remus crawled around to sit in front of Virgil, holding Sir Squiggles the stuffed Squid out to him, "Virgil, it'll be okay. I'm sure your soulmate will understand," Virgil took Sir Squiggles and nodded, not wanting to make eye contact with Remus. Sir Squiggles felt sticky and Virgil’s stomach was aching already. This was supposed to be a lot more fun.

"Ugh this is getting boring," Roman whined, "Remus, truth or dare?"

"Dare," Remus answered without thinking.

Roman got a wicked gleam in his eye, "I dare you to kiss your crush."

Remus glared at his brother and tried to say that he couldn’t because he wasn't in the house, but found that he couldn’t say that. He knew full well Virgil was sitting right in front of him but he couldn’t bring himself to lie and save himself.

Uh oh. That meant Patton or oh please be Virgil was his soulmate.

Remus knew there was no way out of it so he decided to come clean. As he knelt there in front of Virgil, who was looking at him expectantly, he grabbed the other boy’s hand and kissed his knuckles. Both of them blushed.

"That's cheating!" Roman protested.

Patton laughed, "you never said where to kiss. I say it counts," his laughter died down into giggles and he started singing, "Remus has a crush on Virgilll!"

"That's not fair!" Roman whined.

"What's not fair?" The adult voice from the door startled all of them.

Janus stood there with a guilty-looking Remy. The other boys froze in place, Remus subconsciously shifting to put himself between his dad and Virgil.

"Okay, better question, who tried to trick Remy into stealing ice cream?" Janus looked around at each of their faces with a hard glare. None of them could look him in the eye.

"It was a dare," Roman sniffed, knowing he was going to get in trouble for the second time that day, but unable to lie and make up a cover story.

"Am I that scary that my own children can't ask me for ice cream?" Janus pretended to be offended before pulling out ice cream bars from behind his back. Everyone jumped up to grab one and Remy broke into a grin, giving Janus a high five. "You are one talented little actor. You all keep playing nice, okay?" Everyone nodded as Janus turned and left the room again.

"Oh my goodness, did you get caught?" Patton asked in a hushed whisper.

Remy struggled for a second before answering, "no I just went and asked for ice cream," he sighed and shook his head, "that's it I'm done with truth or dare. It's no fun if you can't lie and fake people out."

Roman gave an offended gasp, "how dare you?! You're the one who suggested it!"

"Wait, you can't lie? That would mean…" Virgil trailed off. What a weird coincidence it would be if both he and Remy were in the presence of their soulmates. Unless… no…

"Not that I wanted to lie to you guys, but I felt it too," Roman interrupted Virgil’s thoughts.

"Samesies," Remus chuckled.

Patton looked down at his slippers, "aww that's nice for you guys."

"So… who is who's soulmate?" Remy looked between the brothers. He definitely had a preference but that's not how soulmates worked.

Remus stood and grabbed Virgil’s wrist, heart beating wildly in his chest. He pulled him out into the hallway towards the front doors away from the others.

"What are you doing?" Virgil asked.

"Testing. Ask me something I wouldn't want to answer." Remus stated with determination in his eyes.

"Uh, do you still sleep with Sir Squiggles in your bed?"

Remus' eyes flashed with fear, "yes because I'm a baby who's still scared of the dark."

Virgil smiled, "me too. And I would never tell anyone else that."

Remus giggled, "wow, somehow I don't even want to lie to you… and I can't… did you really kiss Elliott?"

"No…" Virgil looked down at the floor. Of course, his soulmate would ask the one thing he really didn't want to admit, "it was actually Roman. I'm sorry, I didn't know…"

Remus looked sad but nodded, "I did say that your soulmate would understand. And I meant it. I understand. I'll just have to prove I'm better than him!" Virgil snorted, trying to hold back giggles. He felt much better.

"Um guys, we're gonna make slime now," Patton interrupted from the hallway, "and Remy and Roman are pretty sure they're soulmates."

Remus' eyes gleamed, "slime!" He ran back to the room leaving the other two behind.

Virgil smiled, "hey Patton?"

"Yeah?" Patton looked up and quickly smiled.

"We're gonna be friends forever, right?" Virgil asked.

Patton's smile broadened into a genuinely happy expression, "of course!"

Virgil opened his arms as an invitation for a hug which Patton gladly accepted.

"Now let's go make slime!" Virgil grabbed Patton's hand to drag him back to the playroom.

That night, Virgil lay awake in his sleeping bag, staring at the ceiling. No one had checked the closet or left a light on, and even with all the fun they had, he was still feeling pretty scared in the dark.

Something soft, squishy, a little sticky, and covered in tentacles landed on his face. Virgil tried to muffle his startled yell and quickly discovered Sir Squiggles was the offending toy.

"Psssst Virgil," Remus' whisper came from the bottom bunk bed right next to Virgil’s sleeping bag.

"What?" Virgil whispered back.

"Are you too scared to sleep too?"

"Yeah," Virgil sat up and could look Remus in his eyes.

"Get up here, we'll protect each other."

"What will everyone else say?" Virgil hissed.

"Who cares? Please?" Remus smiled and Virgil nodded in the dark. He slid out of his sleeping bag and grabbed his pillow and Sir Squiggles before climbing in the bunk.

"What are you scared of?" Virgil whispered as Remus shifted to give him more room.

"Ninjas. They can hide in the dark and attack when you least expect," Remus' eyes went wide but Virgil smiled.

"I'll fight 'em. I know karate," Remus smiled and gave him a hug.

"What about you, Virge? What are you scared of?"

"The monsters in the closet," Virgil couldn't make eye contact but Remus smirked.

"I'm scarier than anything in there!" Remus boasted, voice trailing above a whisper.

"Shhhh"

"Sorry."

"It's okay. Thank you, Remus," Virgil smiled and snuggled under the covers. It had been a pretty great first sleepover after all.

Tag List: @tsshipmonth2020 @stoicpanther @ifrickenhatedeverythingaboutthis @idontgiveafuckaboutshit

#dukexiety #rosleep #loceit #kid sides #Soulmate September 2020 #tsshipmonth2020 #all the kids are platonic rn don't at me #brotherly creativitwins #this melted my heart while writing #I miss my dukexiety boys #me: let's catch up on the prompts!#also me: 4k oneshot fic

87 notes · View notes

waveypedia · 4 years

Note

“I’m in love…shit” the quintessential gyro

Gyro never meant to get attached to Fenton.

If he had known the bumbling, awkward, cheerful coworker would carve out a little nook for himself in Gyro’s heart, Gyro would have fought his superiors twice as hard on hiring an intern.

He had already given every excuse he had, but Scrooge was worried for him alone in the lab day after day, and the Board was tired of shoving precious funding at doomed inventions that blew up in their faces.

(Gyro was tired too.)

But somehow Gyro’s sheer force of will wasn’t enough, and he ended up saddled with the literal ball of sunshine and energy that was Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera. The duck essentially transformed into a mini hurricane in his precious lab, wreaking havoc and wrecking Gyro’s concentration. He never seemed to tire, both physically and emotionally, no matter how much meaningless work and hurtful insults Gyro threw at him.

Gyro never remembered dancing on Dr. Akita’s heels and shoving his thousand inane ideas in his mentor’s face. Yet Fenton greeted Gyro every morning with his too-bright grin and a plethora of new ideas. He followed Gyro around the lab like an unwanted puppy, asking a million questions a minute, forcing Gyro to multitask and make mistakes on his precious inventions. He also seemed to have a special knack for popping up in Gyro’s personal space right as Gyro was about to finish an important and tenuous process, startling him and, more often than not, making him mess up and have to start over.

Gyro did not regret making the bathroom his workspace, which was rather immature by his standards, but Fenton took it in stride, just like everything else. He didn’t even realize right away! What an idiot.

Although, the personal space and questions may have been the only characteristic of young Gyro that Fenton didn’t adopt. Despite them having zero similar physical characteristics, the younger duck served as a painful window to Gyro’s past self.

Gyro… didn’t really know how to handle it. He certainly was no Akita; he lacked his old mentor’s eerie calmness and quiet confidence in spades. But Fenton was unmistakably Gyro, but a Gyro lost to time, a Gyro that crashed and burned and died twenty years ago.

Sooner or later, something was going to to go horribly, terribly, miraculously wrong. Something was going to break Fenton’s spirit forever. It would break him, like how 2-BO broke Gyro, and how the Spear of Selene ensured he would never recover.

Fenton was just a disaster waiting to happen, and as Gyro’s intern, Gyro would most likely be there for his failure. The thought of essentially watching a repeat of 2-BO from the outside, watching Fenton’s unshakable friendliness and passion crumble and shatter irreplaceably, terrified him. It was like watching a horror movie with dramatic irony, where the audience knows about the killer but the characters don’t, and the audience just watches them die slowly one by one, with the sickening sensation that something bad is about to happen and there’s nothing they can do to stop it.

Truthfully, there is something he could possibly do. He could talk to Fenton, but the thought of laying all his failures and terrors bare on the table terrified Gyro. For all his scientific genius, he is a disaster in a conversation, and not even Fenton’s inconceivably strong friendliness can save him. He can’t go to Mr. McDuck about it, because his boss would probably tut gently and pat Gyro’s back awkwardly and spout nonsense about rewriting history and we can handle it and good on you, lad, you care about him!

Wait. Since when did Gyro give a shit about Cabrera?

Only because watching Fenton skip and stumble down his old path, knowing only disaster and hardship awaits him at the end, felt like someone cut open old wounds that never really healed.

He didn’t care. No, sir.

And then, the unthinkable happened.

When Gyro, Fenton, and a few of the McDuck clan ended up in danger, Fenton hotwired Project Blatherskite. It was still under construction and never meant to be used as anything vaguely resembling a superhero, but here they were.

“How could you be so stupid?!” Gyro snapped at Fenton over and over in the aftermath, but he was drowned out by the adrenaline-infused praise of his peers and Beaks’ creepy hero-worship. Scrooge, Dewey, and Launchpad seemed to have somehow developed the idiotic idea that Gizmoduck was prescisely the superhero Duckburg needs, and that Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera was just the duck to wear the suit. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Like all well-written dramatic irony, Gyro saw the picture fall into place before it happens. The Gizmosuit will be Fenton’s downfall the same way 2-BO was Gyro’s. His intern was about to crash and burn, and there was nothing Gyro could do about it since no one seemed to listen to him.

He felt like screaming and screaming until his throat was hoarse and his voice was gone, but it wouldn’t make a difference.

He was only a kooky, crazy scientist with a sharp tongue and a pessimistic, nihilistic worldview in their eyes.

So he took matters into his own hands and fired Fenton and the first sight of heroic activity.

Really. A robotic suit built by Gyro Gearloose supposedly protecting a city? Yeah, please. Gyro may be an idiot but he’s learned from his mistakes. He knew Gizmoduck would be Fenton’s 2-BO already, thanks universe. He was just trying to minimize the damage. Fenton would have to get hurt whatever happens, but at least maybe the city of Duckburg can remain standing for another day. Unlike Tokyolk.

But the firing blew up in Gyro’s face, and Scrooge, crazy and reckless old man he was, hired Cabrera back. As a fucking superhero.

As soon as Mr. McDuck was out of sight, Gyro slammed his back against the hospital wall outside of Fenton’s room and let his knees give out, sinking into gravity’s embrace on the cold, hard floor. He buried his head in his hands, bunching his fingers into fists under his glasses. Hot tears pricked against his eyelids.

He had failed. Failed to protect Fenton from the casualties of the Gizmosuit. Failed to stop it from happening again, with more fatal results next time, despite his vehement protests.

He was going to watch Fenton’s spirit get crushed, or worse, watch Fenton die, in this stupid suit, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Fenton’s scary mom came around and berated Gyro for firing her son and letting him get into danger. Gyro wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. He had been trying to prevent Fenton from getting into danger!!

“Have a heart,” Officer Cabrera had snapped at him. “See if you can find the ability to actually care a little bit about my son.”

That’s why I did what I did, Gyro wanted to scream. And then he froze, because he doesn’t care about Cabrera.

Does he?

Oh fuck, he does.

Gyro would have buried his head in his hands had it not already been there.

Caring only makes it harder.

He cared about Dr. Akita, and 2-BO, and look where that got him. He cared about Della, who was lost to space because of an invention Scrooge trusted him with making. He cared about Lil’ Bulb, which got him stolen by Mark Beaks and twisted into a trashy piece of tech that nearly killed them all.

He still cares about all of them.

As time went on, and Gizmoduck became a household name, no one seemed to catch onto Gyro’s fears. Not even when Fenton nearly died, twice in five minutes, and Gyro had to rebuild the entire suit from scratch instead of letting Gizmoduck die out like a sane person. Not even when Mark Beaks’ insane obsession with Gizmoduck ended with Huey and Webby in danger, Gyro himself locked in a closet and electrocuted (he’d very much like to have a talk with Ms. Dee for that offense) and Fenton’s secret identity in the hands of a very dangerous woman. All so Beaks can feed his stupid ego.

Gyro’s daily nightmares, once filled with images of 2-BO wreaking havoc on Tokyolk and Della vanishing from any and all communications permanently, had a new element to them. Fenton, sometimes in his Gizmosuit, sometimes without, dies and fails and breaks in a million different ways each time. Gyro woke up screaming every night. It never got easier.

He can no longer play at not caring about Fenton.

Then Della came back, crashed a Spear of Selene outfitted with more gold than original parts, but it was a Spear of Selene all the same, and it brought Della, alive and well. The Spear of Selene had doomed her, but Oxy-Chew had saved her. When Della squeezed all life out of him in a tight hug and then punched him in the arm because black licorice, Gyro?!? Seriously?! Gyro didn’t know how to react.

He had always thought his invention killed her, but it turned out to have saved her.

Gyro’s worldview, previously unshakable, was suddenly rocky, cracks winding through the foundations, with this discovery.

Maybe his failures weren’t as black-and-white as they seemed. Maybe he wasn’t an irredeemable monster.

Maybe Fenton won’t fail at all.

It all came to a head one day when Huey brought 2-BO, somehow alive but malfunctioning, into his lab. Gyro shoved down his long-lost, precious memories of 2-BO in Akita’s lab before he- it- destroyed the city it was supposed to protect. They returned to the site of Gyro’s greatest failure, where he broke the way Fenton might will soon, and Gyro’s careful plan falls apart.

Just like the Spear of Selene, Gyro realized he was wrong. Tokyolk’s destruction was never his fault. It was never his failure or his weight to bear. It was Akita’s, not his or 2-BO’s.

And when he rises from his slapfight with his former mentor to see his invention, riddled with Akita’s corruption, towering over Fenton, helmetless, injured, and vulnerable, he had a lot of decisions and epiphanies to come to in a split second.

2-BO- Boyd- was not evil. Gyro wouldn’t let Akita’s tampering bring death and destruction to Tokyolk, again, and to Fenton.

Tokyolk may have never been a true failure of Gyro’s, but he still won’t let Fenton fail here.

He brought Boyd back in a way he never would have thought of previously. He had acquired a kid now, and that means it’s time to come clean to Fenton.

His intern- no, coworker- accepted Gyro’s terrors more easily than he expected, and somehow weaseled Gyro into promising to call him the next time he has a nightmare.

Gyro didn’t expect to keep that promise, but he did. And he called again, and again, and again.

And somehow that turned into a budding friendship, one based on a mutual passion for science and care for each other.

Because Fenton cared about him, Gyro realized one day with a shock, the same way he cared about Fenton.

Gyro buried his head in his hands and hoped he was done with heart-stopping epiphanies. But he wasn’t, not yet.

He had one more to go, and it came at one of Mr. McDuck’s fancy company parties that his kids and Mrs. Beakley had weaseled him into spending a lot more money than he would have liked. Gyro allowed himself a small chuckle at his boss’ indignation before he dragged Fenton off to make fun of all the frivolities of the party.

As he and Fenton pushed their way through the mingling crowd towards the food table, Gyro hapazarded a glance back. Fenton, clad in a white-and-lavender tux that he had blushed and fingered at Mrs. Beakley’s inspection of it before the party, claiming it belonged to his father. But it fit him well, and accented the soft color of his feathers. The warm yellow light of the candles and chandeliers did as well, and as Fenton passed Launchpad his face lit up in a brilliant smile that warmed Gyro’s heart and brought a small smile of his own to his face.

Then it dropped just as suddenly.

I’m in love… shit.

Gyro stiffened and dropped Fenton’s hand, causing the aforementioned duck to immediately pause his quick greeting to Launchpad and whip around towards Gyro, his beautiful face twisting in concern. Gyro waved him off and sprinted away, ignoring Fenton’s cries of protest and worry, and dove into a small storage closet stocked with brooms and mops. (Mrs. Beakley would be furious if she found him here.) He slammed his face into his hands and dropped into a crouch on the floor.

Stupid, stupid, stupid…

How on earth was Gyro supposed to handle this?! He had just gotten used to Fenton as a coworker and friend.

Surely Fenton would resent him if he confessed and upended their already tenuous relationship.

A small, hesitant knock sounded on the door. Gyro groaned. Ugh, speak of the devil…

“Uh, Gyro?” Fenton’s voice drifted through the door. “Are you in there? I thought I saw you run in here… I could have lost you in the crowd, but you kind of stand out… I know you don’t like parties, but it’s not like you to run off unless something’s really wrong…”

Gyro stayed poised on his toes to run, despite the fact that he was trapped in a tiny supply closet with nowhere to go. He didn’t trust himself to reply, so he stayed there silently, holding his breath in anticipation.

After a moment of silence Fenton groaned and dropped his head against the door. The bang startled Gyro, his already-racing heart speeding to new heights.

“Ugh, stupid. Talking to an empty supply closet.” Fenton muttered to himself. Gyro’s heart ached, especially since he really was listening.

“Fenton, it’s okay. I’m in here,” he called nervously. His voice was quiet, never rising above a whisper, but somehow it reached Fenton’s ears and he heard the other duck slump against the door in relief.

“Oh, good. I was worried about you, Gyro,” Fenton replied softly. Gyro thought he might have heard a bit of affection in his tone, but he scoffed to himself. Obviously not.

Fenton was an idiot, but even he wasn’t enough of an idiot to actually care about Gyro. Not in the way Gyro apparently cared about him.

Ugh, love was stupid. Harder to figure out and navigate than friendships, and that was saying something! And it was on its way to destroying one of the only precious friendships Gyro had managed to secure.

Ugh. If only he was aromantic like Huey, who had nervously come out to him recently. So much easier.

(Huey would happily debate him on this later for sure.)

“Gyro?” Fenton called again, and Gyro realized he had never replied to his worried coworker. Another failure.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he replied back awkwardly. His tone was stilted and hesitant in a way that juxtaposed his usual unshakable aggressiveness and bluntness, which gave Fenton pause and only made him more worried.

Fenton hesitated for another moment before calling a worried goodbye and ducking away, probably to find Della or Mr. McDuck. Gyro groaned and cursed his own misfortune.

He knew he cared about Fenton, and he had for a long time. So why did it have to get infinitely more complicated?

He pulled out his phone to text Della and Launchpad. They both had been through many relationships, and knew the ups and downs well.

Gyro sighed heavily and rubbed at his forehead in frustration.

Somehow he’d figure this out. He just had to make sure his stupid feelings didn’t get in the way of his friendship with Fenton.

Since there was no possible way Fenton could reciprocate them, right?

HI I FINISHED A WRITING REQUEST FOR THE FIRST TIME IN TWO YEARS DFGHKL;LKHGFGHKL LET’S GO this actually isn’t one of the old ones i got it recently so it doesn’t feel like a full victory but we’ll get there!! I’ve actually been in major writing block recently so I wasn’t expecting to write today, but I woke up this morning with this idea and wrote this in two hours (which is why it’s so bad sdfghgfd) but i finished it and i’m so happy enjoy

this ended up being a little more of a gyro character study than i intended and it feels shitty and a lot like my old writing sorry. it’s unedited mostly, so i apologize for any grammatical errors.

anyway hope you like it! thanks for reading! if you liked this (why) check out my other writing under the #my fanfic or #wavey writes tags, at my ao3 analyticamethyst, or at my wattpad PurpleDragon2003 (I’m not really active there though). I also might open writing commissions soon, so if you like my writing and you’re in a position to commission me please keep an eye out for that! Thank you I love you so much <3 <3

#ducktales #ducktales 2017 #dt17 #gyro gearloose #fenton crackshell-cabrera #wavey writes #my fanfic #ducktales fanfiction #fenro #fenton crackshell cabrera

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snarkwrites · 3 years

Text

07 | gangsta ; sweetpea

Notes:

So.. the sexual tension. The longing. The lingering touches and all that awkward but cute shit.. That’s starting here. Can we say sloooow burn? Because considering I’m now six chapters deep and they really haven’t... Done too much as far as touching / flirting / interacting, yeah.. That’s what this is. If you weren’t looking for a slow burn, I’m honestly not sure what to tell you? Other than oops? There’s been a few days pass between last chapter and this one. It’s alluded that Sweetpea and Alyssa have been bumping into each other over the course of.

This chapter came to me on a whim. Because I thought it’d be cute / awkward / funny to have one or ther other fall asleep in class, so here we are. The things my brain does to me at 9 pm, i s2g.

Warnings:

non canon compliant - this is the biggest warning, so if you’re into things that follow exact canon plot you are... definitely not going to like this. angst & slow burn, heavy sexual tension starting now, actually - this is just so everyone who started reading this thinking the smut would transpire in a hurry knows that apparently, it is not. violence / swearing & fighting, possible underage drinking and other shenanigans - look.. it’s high school. shit happens. also apparently, my ofc Alyssa uses the word fuck like all the time?... eventual sexual content / a virgin original character - this one is self explanatory. yes, i plan to write a smutty chapter in this at some point. when? i don’t rightly know. it’s got a while before we get there.

Pairing:

Andrews!Sibling OFC, Alyssa x Sweet Pea

Other Parts:

[ one - two - three - four - five - six - soundtrack ]

Other Stuff:

[ faq - tag list doc ]

Tagging:

@brithedemonspawn is the only person on my Riverdale tag list. If you’d like to be tagged for this story by all means.. Please let me know. Please, I beg. It’d make me super duper happy!!!

SEVEN.

“Where’d you disappear last night, man? It’s only the second night this weekend...” Fangs asked the question, gazing at Sweet Pea expectantly. Sweet Pea shrugged and grumbled quietly, “Went for a walk.”

“Where?” Fangs asked.

“Around, okay?” Sweet Pea snapped.

Fangs smirked. Teasing him with a laugh, “By around, you mean you wandered off and found yourself over on the North side.”

Just the way Sweet Pea tensed told the tale in it’s entirety.

And Fangs smirked to himself. “Did your little walk wind up with you walkin past a certain red-head’s house?”

“The park.” Sweet Pea answered. He scowled at how easily Fangs seemed to be able to read him. And for a few seconds, maybe he panicked. If Fangs could pick up on the whole thing this easily, did that mean Alyssa could?

,, you better hope not, otherwise, everything will get awkward. She’s never going to go for you. You need to do the smart thing and get over her already.”

“So you did find her. What the hell was she doing out at the park by herself?” Fangs asked, a brow raised. Sweet Pea was a million miles away and just seeing him like this had Fangs smirking to himself about it because Sweet Pea was not the kind of guy who got like this.

Apparently, Fangs mused to himself, there was a first time for everything.

“Walking her dog, I think. Or laying on the grass, looking up at the sky and talking to the dog.” Sweet Pea chuckled. Smiling to himself a little because he knew Fangs wasn’t really paying him any attention. Too busy watching the Keller guy walk past. Sweet Pea cleared his throat.

Fangs snickered. “Yeah, that sounds like her.” he mused aloud, distracted.

Sweet Pea muttered something. When Fangs asked him to repeat it, he refused entirely. The two fell silent as Cheryl, Toni and Alyssa made their way over.

“Sorry, we had to pull this one out of bed. Again. Because someone decided she just had to watch all of the Saw movies last night.” Cheryl explained, with Toni snickering and adding on, “We had to physically remove her. And she is violent when she’s mostly asleep. I thought I was going to lose an eye in there.”

“I thought I was swinging at that fucking little creepy puppet from the movie, okay?” Alyssa yawned, hugging herself between Cheryl and Toni. Apologizing to both.

Sweet Pea found himself gazing at her. A brow raising when he realized that her eyes weren’t green with a hint of brown, but brown. A deep dark brown, at that.. And that she was wearing glasses today. Thick ones. ,, and honestly, I prefer it.” the thought came but he was quick to shove it down. Or he tried to shove it out.

“You wear glasses?” he questioned.

“Not normally, but my brother scared the shit out of me pounding on the door and I dropped a contact down the sink.” Alyssa grumbled.

“Clearly, she is not a morning kinda girl.” Fangs chuckled, stepping away when she raised her hand to take a lazy swing at his upper arm and pouted up at him.

“Not when I only went to sleep at 3? Or was it 4?” Alyssa shrugged.

They started down the hall, splitting up to go into their respective classes.

Alyssa settled into her seat and Sweet Pea opened the textbook, putting it between them. When he happened to look down because he felt pressure against his side, he found her leaned against him, snoring quietly.

He glanced towards the front of the room. Mr. Keaton hadn’t noticed yet. Carefully, he moved his arm. Leaning down, muttering against her ear, “You gotta wake up now, Cherry.” making her shiver as a result and huddle against him even more stubbornly refusing to move.

“Uh uh. Warm.” she squirmed around as if she were trying to get comfortable. Tucking her feet beneath her in her chair. Sweet Pea grumbled, poking at her until she woke up. Trying to stop himself from having any sort of reaction to the way it felt to have her pressing against him. Because honestly, it was something he could definitely get used to. Even if he’d die a thousand slow and painful deaths before he admitted that to anyone, let alone himself.

Chuckling and giving her a smirk as soon as he saw the way she blushed. Leaning in to mutter quietly, “Careful, cherry. People might start talkin.” in a teasing tone.

Alyssa shrugged as she muttered quietly, “Honestly, I’m out of fucks to give.” and then rubbing her eyes and yawning. Going quiet as she tried to focus on the open textbook between them. Brushing against Sweet Pea’s side a time or two just so she could get a better look at the page closer to him.

Quick to pull away, making him pout to himself when he knew she wasn’t looking and nobody else was paying attention either.

By the time the bell rang, Sweet Pea definitely needed the long walk to his next class on the other side of campus just to even attempt pulling himself together.

Having her right under him for an entire class period. Now having her make best friends with Toni and Fangs. Constantly being around her. Being reminded that he wanted what he felt he couldn’t have.

It was.. Really starting to drive him crazy.

,, and now, you’re actually getting to know her and it’s making it harder to keep her at arms length..” the thought came, taunting him until he swung at his locker door in anger.

Sooner or later, something had to give.

#sweetpea fanfiction #sweetpea imagines #sweetpea fanfic #sweetpea fic #sweetpea imagine #riverdale fanfiction #riverdale fanfic #riverdale fic #my writing ; sweetpea #my fanfiction ; sweetpea #my fics ; sweetpea

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writeyouin · 4 years

Note

Hello! I was reading some of your transformers x reader and i enjoyed them way too much, i wondering if i could please request some poly combaticons x reader fluffiness??

Poly-Combaticons X Reader - Hostage

A/N – Yoga is harder than I thought. Man, I am like the least flexible person ever.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

Swindle vented air loudly through his systems, sighing boredly. Just like the other Combaticons, he was tired of being left behind on missions. It was almost like Megatron didn’t trust them, which was crazy, because it was he who had ordered their rescue from imprisonment, right? At least, that’s what he had told them on Cybertron after he had reprogrammed them to only follow his orders; none of the Combaticons would ever know any different.

“Where’s Vortex?” He asked, hoping that the insane bot might be good for a laugh.

“Probably off causing trouble,” Blast Off replied, checking himself out in the shiniest part of the chrome wall.

Onslaught hummed, making some notes after examining a slide under the microscope, “As long as I have some peace to finish my experiments for Lord Megatron, does it really matter where Vortex is?”

“GUYS, GUYS,” Vortex called out excitedly, running in. “YOU WON’T BELIEVE WHAT JUST HAPPENED!”

Onslaught cursed his luck, knowing he would never finish his project with Vortex yelling like that.

“WHAT IS IT?!” Brawl roared huffily, eager to pick a fight with just about anyone that happened to be nearby, if it would distract him from his boredom.

“ORDERS FROM MEGATRON. GOOD ONES. REALLY, REALLY GOOD ONES. ALMOST AS GOOD AS BEING ATTACKED.”

None of them really understood why Vortex loved surprise attacks so much, but they at least understood his frame of reference for excitement.

“Megatron’s back?” Onslaught asked, thinking of his unfinished project.

“NO, BUT HE SENT LASERBEAK BACK WITH SOME ORDERS.”

“What’ve you got for us?” Swindle asked, already coming up with a scam that would make the others do his work for him if he didn’t like the job.

“There’s a human hostage in the holding cells. Megatron said we must not let the Autobots take it back at any cost.”

“A human?” Blast Off actually managed to look away from his reflection for a while. “That could be interesting, I suppose.”

“UGH!” Brawl exclaimed exasperatedly. “WHAT GOOD IS A HOSTAGE THAT YOU CAN’T FIGHT. I WANT A REALLY GOOD SCRAP.”

“Come on,” Onslaught said, leading the way to the holding cells; at the very least, he might get some interesting research done on human physiology and behaviour. At Onslaught’s word, they all headed down to see the prisoner, hoping to alleviate some boredom, if nothing else.

None of them knew what to expect since you were the first human they had seen outside of TV. As such, once they all got to the door, it was decided they shouldn’t alert you to their presence until they were sure of how best to guard you; that decision greatly annoyed Brawl who never hid from anything.

“Wow…” Blast Off whispered, “(S)he looks so…sad.”

The five bots fell silent, frowning as they each thought about their millions of years imprisoned with no hope of escape; it was torturous. No doubt, you were also suffering with nobody to talk to and no stimulus to keep you entertained. At least when the Combaticons were bored, they had each other to talk to; this just seemed cruel. Even Brawl was uncharacteristically quiet, thinking about the painful years of solitude in which nobody even spared him a thought.

Vortex stayed as quiet as he could for as long as he could, totalling a record time of two minutes and ten seconds of silence. After that, he bounced on into the room, “Hey human, how are you? Are you bored? I bet you’re bored; I would be bored in there.”

Onslaught and Blast Off face-palmed, while Swindle watched snickering, and Brawl rolled his optics at his team-mate’s stupidity.

You stood up upon seeing the Decepticon enter the room. He was one you had never seen before on any of your missions with the Autobots and you wondered what his personality was like compared to the other Decepticons.

“Hello,” You greeted openly.

“Hey,” Vortex beamed, surprised you weren’t like the other humans the Decepticons had discussed in front of the Combaticons; he had only ever heard Starscream saying how they were frightened of everything, including their own shadows.

“Are you new?” You asked, your curiosity outweighing your sense of danger as it always did. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“Me, new? That’s crazy,” Vortex guffawed. “I’m super old. You’re the new one.”

You chuckled, “Yes, I guess I am.”

“GUYS, GET IN HERE, IT’S FRIENDLY, AND FUNNY TOO.”

You watched the door as three other bots sheepishly made their way in, the fourth stomped in grumpily, making sure to make a lot of noise.

“Oh, are these your friends?”

It was Onslaught who answered, “We’re his team.”

“Yeah,” Blast Off laughed, “I’m the handsome one.”

You smiled, noticing they weren’t like the other Decepticons; at least these five talked to you. “And do you have a name or am I stuck calling you handsome?”

“I’m Blast Off, our fearless leader here is called Onslaught. This glitch-head is Vortex,” Vortex pointed to himself proudly, despite the insult. “This is-”

“I’m Swindle,” The bot replied, winking at you. “You need something, you come to me first. I can talk my way outta anything and everything.”

“And last but not least is Brawl.”

“AND I’M OUTTA HERE,” Brawl huffed, still wanting something to fight.

“Ah,” You smiled knowingly.

“WHAT’S THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?” Brawl demanded, hitting the bars of your cage.

“Hey, I meant nothing bad by it. I could just tell by your cool attitude that you’re the strong one of the group. Man, I bet you could take anyone in a fight.”

“Heh,” Brawl guffawed bashfully. “If you think I look strong now, you should see my alt-mode.” With that he transformed into a tank, showing off his bulk and strength by blasting a hole in the ceiling.

You couldn’t help but smiling at the display Brawl put on just for you. Soon enough, all the Combaticons were competing for your attention, turning into their various alt-modes and asking whose was best. Even the level-headed Onslaught couldn’t help admiring your tactful answers as you said what you liked best about each member of his unit, including himself.

There was no doubt that the five would have stayed and talked your ears off forever, had you not eventually fallen asleep. Watching you slumber so peacefully, sure they had put the smile on your face, each of the Combaticons felt joy warm their cores. In just one day you had become so precious to them and all because you listened to them more than any other Cybertronian ever had.

“Let us all admit that we are feeling the same thing for this organic,” Onslaught whispered, resting his helm against the bars of your cage.

The other bots murmured in agreement.

“Then let’s bust her out,” Brawl growled. “We have more than enough firepower to do it.”

“Yeah,” Blast Off agreed, “And nobody could look as good doing it as we could.”

Vortex started shaking excitedly, “Oooh, I sense a prison break coming on, just like the human movie, Impossible Mission.”

“It was Mission Impossible, you dolt.”

Onslaught sighed, “You’re forgetting that we’ve got direct orders from Megatron to make sure (s)he doesn’t escape.”

“Do we though?” Swindle asked mischievously. “As far as I’m aware, our orders were to ‘make sure the Autobots don’t take her at any cost.’ I don’t see any Autobots here, do you?”

Onslaught considered that momentarily; Swindle really could find a loophole in anything. “Well…as long as we are all in agreement.”

As if in response, the team started their combined transformation into Bruticus, leaving room for Onslaught to join in. He did so happily, feeling the freedom and power that came with combining.

“Bruticus rescue (Y/N),” The now giant bot said monosyllabically. “(Y/N) belongs to Bruticus now.”

You had long since gotten over the shock of being kidnapped for the second time that day; it helped that your new-found captor was actually the five Combaticons you had met earlier that night. All the same, you weren’t sure what was going to happen next and it seemed that Bruticus didn’t either.

“So,” You wondered how to broach your next question, “Where do we go from here?”

Bruticus shrugged his shoulders, then lowered his servo to let you down onto the beach shore. “Bruticus don’t know. What human want to do?”

“I- Hmm… I’d like to thank you for the heroic rescue.”

Bruticus’ fans started blasting in what you had come to know as a Cybertronian blush.

“And I would like to invite you to come and visit me in my home whenever you want… even though we’re really far away from it right now.”

“Not far for Bruticus. I can take you home right now.”

“Really?” You half laughed. “You would do that for me?”

“Yes, Bruticus like new friend.”

You weren’t sure how to react to that. To be perfectly honest, you were wondering exactly what you had said or done to make the Combaticons like you so quickly. If you could make the other Decepticons like you just as much then maybe you could make life a lot easier for the Autobots in the process. Either way, you were glad you weren’t a hostage anymore, though you still had no idea quite how enamoured the Combaticons had become with you in just one night. Humans had a word for how the Combaticons felt about you; they were smitten.

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oikawa-tuwu · 3 years

Text

Sitting Room (gn!Reader x Tendou)

Rated T, 2.3k words

Not Home for the Holidays Masterlist

"We're snowed in."

Once upon a time, waking up to a winter wonderland of snow outside your window was something to be excited about. It was the first snow of winter, a sign that the holidays were soon to come! Time to make snowmen and drink hot chocolate and bring out the big old bin of decorations from the attic!

Now, some decade and a half later, all the sight of the snow does is fill you with an inescapable dread.

Someone has to scrape the snow off those sidewalks. Someone has to worry about the heavy snow bringing down a power line. Someone has to put salt on the pavement to prevent ice so someone doesn’t get sued.

And yes, that someone is you, so you roll out of bed, into your best winter clothes, and hurry downstairs. If you’re fast, maybe you can get most of it done before you need to make breakfast. It's not a huge rush; you only have one guest right now, a tall man with red hair, and from the last couple days, you already know likes to sleep in. This snow, however, needs to be gone before your new guest arrives today, so snow first, then breakfast.

You take a deep breath, embracing the warmth of the house for just one last measly second, and go to open the front door.

It doesn’t budge.

Frowning, you double-check the lock, making sure the deadbolt is in the correct position. It is, so you try the door again.

It doesn’t budge.

You push harder.

It. Doesn’t. Budge.

With a grunt, you shove your entire body, every ounce of force you can manage, half-asleep, at seven in the morning, against the door.

It budges. Just a little, just a tiny crack through which you can see the… four feet of snow.

You’re snowed in.

Wonderful .

Shedding your winter gear as you go, you make your way to the sitting room, trying to figure out the next step. Maybe you could call for help? Pay a couple local teenagers to shovel your door free? You have to let your guests in and out somehow , what the hell were you going to do about this new guest-

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. Your work phone, so you dig it out of your five million layers, answering the call without even reading the caller ID.

“I have to cancel my reservation,” says the voice. “My train got cancelled because of the snow.”

You hang up the call with mixed feelings. That solves some of the urgency, but you would be lying if you said you weren’t disappointed about the missing income. Still, it gives you time to breathe, and think, and you hold your head in your hands for comfort.

You’re sitting there for so long (maybe you accidentally fell back asleep?), that when you look up, you jump. Your guest is awake, leaning against the entryway into the sitting room, one confused eyebrow cocked as he looks you up and down.

“We’re snowed in,” you say.

“I don’t have anywhere to go,” he says, nonchalant. He shrugs, gestures to the television above the fireplace. “I can entertain myself.”

For a second, just a single second, you allow yourself to feel relieved. Maybe you’ll get through this after all.

And with that, the power goes out.

“ Fuck. ”

It’s a delicate dance, carefully avoiding being in the same room as your lone guest.

It’s nothing against the guy, Tendou, you believe his name is, but it's… awkward. You can’t leave, you have to use flashlights to get around due to the lack of electricity and lack of sun (thanks again, snow), and you’re lowkey convinced that you’re living in a horror movie, because sometimes you’ll turn around without realizing he followed you into the kitchen and all you see is tall and red and oh my god , oh! It's just Tendou. Again.

You do what chores you can. Changing bedsheets with a flashlight in your teeth, setting out a couple ingredients for dinner (thank god you have a gas stove and can cook dinner at all), vacuuming downstairs ( battery-powered vacuum, thank god), etc.

The lights still don’t turn on.

In all honesty, with the holidays and this storm and on a Saturday , who knows how quickly they’ll get them up and running again.

You check the time.

It’s only eleven.

“Fuck. ”

Lunch is sandwiches. Normally, you don’t serve lunch, as most of your guests choose to go out themselves to get it, but that’s, unfortunately, not possible on this fine day. So instead, you throw together a couple cold sandwiches and bring them out to the sitting room.

Tendou is in there already, lounging on one of the couches, scrolling through his phone. At this point, most of the clouds have receded, so, from the light filtering in through the windows, you can see him without need of a flashlight. It’s a welcome change from the narrow beam that only seemed to pick up his ginormous red hair. When he notices you approaching, he clicks off his phone, and doesn’t quite smile out of joy, but gives an awkward, thankful half-smile, as he accepts the plate of food.

Halfway through your sandwich, the silence starts to grate on you.

“Sorry,” you say, setting down your sandwich. “I guess this isn’t how you imagined your holiday going.”

Tendou shrugs. “You can’t control the weather. Besides, I’m not sure what else I would be doing. I booked this trip on a whim.”

“Really? You don’t have anything that you wanted to do while you were out here?”

Tendou ponders the question, chewing on it like he chewed on his sandwich. Finally, he says, “Maybe eat. Find a local sweets shop.”

“There’s one on main street in town,” you say, and your mouth waters remembering some of the treats you’ve bought there. “They’re very good.”

“Good to know.”

It falls silent again (god, were you tired of the silent ), without even the ever-present hum of electronics to distract. You’re debating between your lackluster prepared get-to-know-you questions (top contenders are What do you do for work? and What’s your favorite food? ), when suddenly and without precursor, Tendou throws down his sandwich.

“I’m bored,” he announces, with the disbelief of a man that had never been bored before in his life. “I lied, I can’t entertain myself. Let’s say the snow never melts, lights never come on, what’s our game plan?

You snort. “ Our game plan? Please, after day three it's every person for themselves.”

“I like the way you think, that fear of being murdered will keep things interesting.”

“Exactly.”

Tendou laughs, gleefully. He laughs, and you realize very quickly that you want to make him do that again.

“I’d bet,” Tendou says, leaning back in his loveseat, a challenge in the curl of his lip. “Thirty-six hours in, one of us is jumping off a balcony to take out chances in the snow.”

“What, you think we can’t handle being around each other alone for thirty-six hours?”

Tendou shrugs. “You did threaten to kill me, your perfectly innocent guest, not thirty seconds ago.”

“Please don’t put that in your review.”

There it is again. That laugh. You’ve only seen it twice now, but you’ve already decided you like the way he laughs, throwing his whole body into it, an already expressive face devoted to that pure joy of laughter and humor.

Just two minutes ago, it had been awkward, silent, cold, but that that ice hadn't so much as broken as completely obliterated, like dropping an ice cube on pavement on a blistering summer day.

It's not summer, it's winter, and yet the chill of the big old house sans the central heating slowly fades away at the sound of Tendou's gleeful laughter.

"Why don't you have any decorations?" Tendou asks, once his giggles have subsided, and he glances about the sitting room. His voice takes a melodic, teasing lilt. "It's the holiday season , isn't it?"

Now that was a question you had been asking yourself recently. Everytime you walk past the attic ladder, you have half a mind to just get it over with, pull out the box and go crazy with the lights and tinsel, but you always hesitate with your hand on the door. Something about this year just didn’t feel real. It felt like you were stagnant in November, a weird limbo where the holidays never come.

It never seemed to feel real until it snowed. The first real snow that sticks.

Well. Crossed that bridge.

“I haven’t put them out yet,” you say, finally. “They’re up in the attic, I just haven’t had time to bring them out.”

“Let’s go then,” Tendou announces, pushing aside his empty plate and standing from the couch. “Lead the way.”

You blink up at him, trying to catch up with his leaps and bounds and grins. “Right now?”

“Do you have something else you need to be doing right now?”

Fair point.

It takes a fair amount of maneuvering to get the both of you into the cramped and dark attic. Thankfully, Tendou was smart enough to bring his phone with him, so he turns on the flash and directs it towards a group of cardboard boxes. There, scribbled with marker, it says holiday decorations , so you make some noise of triumph, carefully sliding between Tendou and another pile of boxes to reach the decorations. Unfortunately (fortunately?), that means the two of you are incredibly close, close enough that your sides brush and you can smell his cologne, something just a touch sweet, like the first whiff after walking into a bakery.

One hand bracing the box, you take a second to relax. It’s too much, him, this, that laugh, too much.

“Need help?” Tendou asks, leaning over your shoulder to peek at what it is holding you up.

You clear your throat, carefully inching around the boxes so that he’s not so close that you can smell that cologne. You go to lift the box, but before you can, Tendou tosses his phone to you, and as you fumble to catch it, Tendou picks up the box instead.

“Could you shine that light on the steps so I don’t kill myself?” Tendou asks, still smiling despite the giant, heavy box of holiday decorations in his hands. Silently, you do, and all three of you: the box, Tendou, and you, make it down the attic ladder and back down to the sitting room in one piece.

Tendou flips open the lid, revealing the mess of blue, white, red, and green.

The both of you get to work.

The first thing to come out of the box is the garland, plastic greenery with little lights, so the first strand goes on top of the fireplace, and as you go to head back into the entryway to wrap the second strand around the stairwell as well, Tendou unearths… the snowman.

It’s an old thing. Small, a little more cream-colored in the places it should really be white colored, with a missing button on its jacket. Where the rest of the decorations are clean, new, commercial, like an artfully staged set for a Hallmark movie, this piece is a little more… homely.

“And who is this guy?” Tendou asks, lifting the plush.

How to explain the snowman? In all honesty, you can’t even remember where it came from. Maybe it was a garage sale, bought as a joke? Maybe one of your employee’s kids had made it, hence why it had never been thrown away. In the end, you suppose it doesn’t matter, because over the years, it became a staple of your holiday decorations.

"Its my snowman. His name is Jeffery."

"Jeffery," Tendou repeats. "Alright."

With a giggle, you take the garland and continue on your way back to the stairwell.

You hear Tendou talking to the snowman, something unintelligible, until you manage to make out the word, "Fireplace."

“If you kill my snowman, I’m killing you,” you shout back, and Tendou’s laugh echoes through the whole downstairs.

When you return to the sitting room, you see the snowman resting peaceful on top of the garland, the centerpiece of the fireplace mantle.

Slowly, the pile of decorations in the box dwindles, and the room looks more and more holiday-esque, fairy lights and snowflakes and candles and garland abound.

Finally, the last decoration, one last snowflake to hang from the wall, is hung up, and the box is empty.

The clock in the corner reads 4 pm, and you wonder where all the time went. Wasn't it just noon?

You glance around the room again. The two of you did a good job, and you’re sure once the lights are on again, the view will be beautiful.

“We did good,” you remark, and when Tendou’s hand slips into yours, much softer and gentler than you expected, you don’t complain about it.

And then, with impeccable timing as always, the power comes back, starting with the hum of the heat making its way through the vents, and then the lamp in the corner flicks on, and then all the fairy-lights, twinkling bright, and, sure enough, its breathtaking in its entirety, and you feel that little rush that comes with the holidays.

You look at Tendou and Tendou looks at you and you both grin.

“We did really good.”

It’s a couple weeks before you check your bed and breakfast’s review page. Probably longer than you should have waited, and immediately there's one review in particular sticks out, so you click the link to read it in its entirety.

Tendou Satori 5 out of 5 stars

owner of B & B threatened to kill me on multiple occasions. 10/10 would stay again.

Successfully resisted the urge to write about Candlenights, you are very welcome. I was also super tempted to roll out the mistletoe this chapter too (it was gonna be hella smooth too), but nah, saving that for another chapter. Maybe I'll write it anyways and post it as an extra or smth. I'll see you in five days for Kuroo's! (Which is actually the first one that I wrote, like two weeks ago! I really like it 😌)

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyu #hq #tendou x you #tendou x reader #hq tendou #haikyuu tendou #hq fanfic #hq x you

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the-darklings · 5 years

Text

—𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒇 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈;

pairing: quentin beck x f!reader

word count: 3.6k

summary: "I’m whatever you want me to be Mr Beck."

warnings: manipulation (of other people), love/hate-rivals relationship, swearing.

notes: Oh man, here we go again!! So this fic is set pre-FFH so no spoilers for the plot of that movie, except Quentin’s past occupation/characterisation.

“unbecoming” mini-series: . . | 02 |

Life was a monopoly of good luck and bad luck.

Which side you landed on depended entirely on you.

That was the first thing he taught you.

And the last thing you taught him.

. . .

“Are you nervous?”

“No.”

Your new supervisor—a man in his late forties, already balding, and clearly cheating on his wife if the way he was keenly eyeing the female employees was any indication—looked up at you with something close to surprise.

“Confident, huh?” he guessed—incorrectly, but you weren’t rude enough to correct him and first impressions matter—rubbing his chin, and grunting under the weight of the safety manuals he was carrying. You had offered to help but pride stopped him from accepting. “Mr Stark mentioned something about that.”

Oh, you bet he did.

“May I ask a question, sir?” you wondered quietly, your words gentle, placid.

The man straightened, and you had to bite back a disgusted grimace at the way he peered at you openly, affected by the mild speech pattern. Too easy.

“Of course, of course,” he said immediately, expression open, “It’s your first day after all. Mr Stark said to give you a full tour.”

“I feel so terrible even asking. But why this division?” you questioned with a well practised awkward laugh, fiddling with your fingers. “I was under the impression that I will be working directly under Mr Stark?”

“Ah, well,” the man began, clearing his throat and you watched him closely from under your lashes. Awkward, fumbling for words—likely for an explanation that would not offend. Hmm. “The Visionary program is the one Mr Stark personally oversees. Teams of the brightest people on this side of the continent gather to build something amazing together. Each year there’s a demo presentation, and Mr Stark picks the next lead project himself. It’s a huge honour and every engineer and developer hopes to end up getting the lead project one day. Of course, it’s something highly coveted due to the scale of attention and funding the lead project gets.”

And that was that.

Idiot. But maybe smarter than you first gave him credit for. It was harder to answer a question without giving a proper answer than it seemed. Your eyes shifted to the man, confused, lost, and he faltered upon seeing your expression.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you told him politely, nibbling on your lip. “I don’t think I really understand what that has to do with me? I’m sorry if I’m being somehow rude—”

“Nonsense,” he cut you off hurriedly, and you took another left, moving deeper and deeper into the building. “It’s just...the team you will be working on shows a lot of potential, but it’s a rather, ah, challenging project to work on, shall we say? Mr Stark believes that placing you with this team for your trial period will give you invaluable experience. Experience that—one day soon—you may even use to run your own team.”

A challenging project, huh?

Interesting.

. . .

You didn’t expect a team of only three people.

Two males and a female.

The woman introduced herself first. Victoria, but call me Vic for short; stern-faced and polite, sporting a pair of guarded eyes and stiff shoulders. The man to introduce himself next was the exact opposite, overly cheerful and open. The type that people liked because he reminded them of golden retrievers with their too friendly, too good nature. His name was Daniel—Dan for short, please; and wasn’t that just adorable?

The last man—the man behind the project and the invention—was called Quentin Beck.

He, unlike the other two, didn’t introduce himself, his eyes glued to the tablet in his hands as he frowned minutely at the screen. He sat hunched over it, seemingly in another world, and from the dim light of the room you couldn’t see more than his profile.

The supervisor called him by name once, twice, making even your two new colleagues exchange looks before Beck finally tore his gaze away, standing to his feet at last.

He moved oddly—smooth, practised—but something from the moment he stood up, to the moment he came to stand before you made something inside you spring to attention.

Most humans walked; hunched, straight, that didn’t matter.

Others strutted; arrogant, conceited, believing that they were the gravity holding everything together whenever they moved.

Many shuffled: awkward, misplaced, seeking comfort in a world that wasn’t going to provide them with any.

Quentin Beck did none of those things.

Quentin Beck prowled like a storm, a dangerous thing, across the room, his gaze a chasm.

Oh, something hummed inside you.

Hello.

. . .

Few things became apparent quickly.

One, Daniel liked to overshare to a startling, almost worrying, degree.

Within the first hour of knowing him, you already had far too much information on him that you still tucked away inside your mind. It was little pieces that make the big picture, and getting the little details mattered.

Daniel was indeed a golden retriever. He lived by himself, loved basketball, Mexican food, reading and taking hikes. He even had a dog, and—admittedly—it was very hard to control your laughter at that one. He sounded like a bad dating website ad but you weren’t going to tell him that.

Two, Victoria was quieter, more observative, though Daniel still managed to let it slip how she lived with her girlfriend and a cat not too far from the Stark Industries.

“A cat and a dog person,” Daniel said with a cheery laugh and a dimpled smile, “As you can imagine, we get on brilliantly.”

Victoria rolled her eyes and you laughed too, adding just the right amount of warmth into your voice.

“I sure can.”

However, the one person you wanted to learn more about—the whole point of this tedious process, according to your supervisor—was mostly quiet.

Sure, he made a comment or two now and again, adding only the bare minimum to the conversation, as well as an occasional hum of agreement or disagreement when a point was raised. But his mind and gaze never wandered far from the tablet in his hand. His entire focus was on it and whatever he was working on.

If anything, the slight downward slant of his mouth and the rigidness of his shoulders told you he was more annoyed about wasting time on this exchange of pleasantries. The dark shirt he wore made him blend into the darkness of the lab, and from this angle, he appeared both taller and gaunter. Ungodly.

“Maybe we can get started?” you wondered, keeping your voice neutral, “I would hate to take up any more of Mr Beck’s valuable time with our chatter. I think we’re boring him.”

His eyes locked with yours, and the glow of multiple computer screens surrounding him made them glow, accenting the rich blue of his irises. His mouth curled into a smile—a charming, polite thing that he had surely used a thousand times to offset the hard, glacial look in his eyes.

Assessing. Demanding. Judging.

You had a hard time controlling your knowing smirk.

. . .

“Holographic illusions,” you stated slowly, dryly. “When the old man said a challenging project, I didn’t now that what he really meant was a dead project.”

Daniel fell silent mid explanation, and even Victoria’s eyes flew to you like what you said was the most horrifying thing she had ever heard.

“Care to elaborate?”

His voice was calm; low, and perpetually pleasant to listen to. You imagined all the times he must have used it to his advantage—surely many, only a fool won’t.

You stood next to the whiteboard delineating the invention proposal, calculations, technological advancements as well as details of the first two prototypes. Predictably both failures. It wouldn’t be presumptuous to assume that prototype number 3 was hardly faring any better.

“Human brain is perceptive,” you told him with equal calm in your voice, meeting his blank stare. “It adapts with startling efficiency. The five senses alone are difficult to fool. Once the mind is exposed to something and deems it unsafe, or in any way unsettling, it rebels. Not to mention that this technology relies far too heavily on sight alone. What if I closed my eyes? How effective will this little light show be then?”

Daniel sucked in an audible breath and Victoria’s almond eyes slowly slid towards the very still Beck. The man observed you shrewdly, silent—and was that a spark of annoyance? Anger?

“Fear,” he stated, a touch colder, rising from his seat behind the table and closing the distance to you. “Wonder. Confusion. Human minds are weak and susceptible to a shift in the natural—safe—order of things. The subject can be aware it’s an illusion, but if the illusion is strong enough to hold them, then the inherent sense of fear will take over. Panic shuts down logic and major motor functions rather quickly. What does that leave us with then, you may ask? Well, it leaves us with a subject that will believe whatever I want them to believe.”

He halted before you, and your head tilted upwards to meet his stare with a slight, benign smile, “Ah, yes. I’m sure Mr Stark will be willing to invest millions into technology that will traumatize people. After all, if I was him, that’s what I would want my company to be known for.”

Something flashed across his gaze then—something dark, something burning—and he leaned back with an easy grin. It transformed his face, only dialling the handsomeness to something near blinding.

“That’s why it’s a prototype, honey,” he pointed out simply, a touch mocking before he turned to Daniel and Victoria, waving his hand in a placating gesture. “Don’t worry, you two. By the time we’re done, the technology will be safe and people will be able to use it without side effects. That’s a promise.”

Holding back a snort, you crossed your arms over your chest. “Unlikely,” you insisted quietly, and Beck glanced back at you, still grinning.

You returned his smile, practically beaming, and it felt like two predators baring their teeth at each other in greeting, in warning.

Hello to you too, the sharpness seemed to whisper.

. . .

The first week was a whirlwind.

You absorbed all the new surroundings and information around you like a sponge. Through gritted teeth and clenched fists, you greeted everyone you came into contact with. It was a tedious affair, and both emotionally and physically taxing, but you had to be seen—had to be presented in everyone's’ minds as a pragmatic, friendly person.

Reputation was everything. One had to guard it with their life if they wanted to achieve anything in this world. Being liked, respected, opened all the doors. Or at least, the majority of them.

Your work kept you busy too.

Beck gave you two days to get acquainted with all the data collected through the project’s lifespan so far as well as the progress of the new prototype.

You finished it in under 12 hours.

He didn’t believe you.

Every question he asked—examining you like one would a bug under a microscope—was met with a flat, slightly bored answer.

“Just to be clear,” you told him, straightforward and unblinking, but smile unfading, “I think you’re wasting your time. I’ve read the briefs, I’ve seen what you’ve done with the technology you have. It’s impressive work, and you’re smart. Yet you’re wasting your time on...this. Even if you could get it to work—”

“I know it may be hard for you to understand,” he interrupted, his voice smooth, but his gaze harsh. He blinked once, expression smoothing, and you knew it was only because Daniel slipped back into the lab after lunch, shuffling back to his spot with an awkward grin in your direction. “But this is my life’s work. You don’t make history by doing something just anyone can. You see, life is a monopoly of good luck and bad luck. You choose which side you land on. I intend to land on the good side by doing something no one has done before.”

“Are you trying to tell me that the outcome of your life is a coin flip?” you repeated slowly, disbelief colouring your tone before you let out a sharp bark of laughter. “That’s complete horseshit.”

“Not if you control the flip,” he argued, but he almost—almost—looked amused. “Not if you know exactly how to throw, turn and drop the coin. Not if you control all the variables.”

“So,” you drawled, spinning in your chair, and cutting a sly look his way, “What you’re saying is that you’re a control freak.”

You expected him to get angry—expected him to let that little something lurking behind his carefully constructed charming demeanour crack and force its way through.

He didn’t.

He only gave you a contemplative, knowing look, “Aren’t we all?”

That, damn him, made you laugh genuinely for the first time that week.

. . .

Quentin Beck was most certainly a control freak.

There was no denying it.

He didn’t let Daniel or Victoria anywhere near his prototype. He allowed them to run and compile test data but he spent all of his time working on the improvements himself. Calculations, tests adjustments; everything was under his careful consideration.

Daniel and Victoria were only used as glorified secretaries.

It was interesting but not surprising to see. You had met both men and women like him before. People who respected and valued their work too much to allow for any mistakes. When it’s your life’s work, you don’t leave anything up to chance. If you make a mistake, then it’s your mistake to make. It was about precaution as much as it was about arrogance. Usually. With Beck though…

“Hey, we’re finished,” Daniel said happily, glancing at his watch and already rising to his feet. “I love you guys, I really do, but I can’t wait to enjoy my weekend. Any plans? Vic? (Name)?”

“We have a dinner planned tomorrow,” Victoria replied reluctantly, but a small smile twitched her mouth, telling you just how much she was actually looking forward to it. “Salma wants to try that new Thai place on the 46th.”

“I heard pretty good things,” Daniel replied with a nod, his eyes flickered to you and you stretched, leaning back in your seat. “How about you? Any dates you’ll be going on this weekend?”

You shrugged half-heartedly, turning another page between your fingers, “I have a date set with a pound of cocaine.”

Daniel stared at you blankly before bursting out laughing, the loud boom of his sniggering almost making you cringe.

“Man, you’re too funny.”

Not really.

You held your thoughts to yourself though. People didn’t like it when you disagreed with them, especially when they were trying to pay you a compliment. It implied that not only you didn’t value their opinion but also shot own their attempt at being nice.

Victoria too was looking at Daniel like he’d sprouted another head and was having a hard time holding back her own laughter.

“Well come on then I’ll walk—”

“(Name) is not done yet.”

Ah yes.

Daniel’s mouth clamped shut, green eyes finally moving towards previously silent Beck. He sat leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, and the faintest glimmer of a challenging smirk across his face.

If last week had proved anything to you, it was that Quentin Beck didn’t like his authority questioned. Ever. You made your opinion on his project clear from day one and it hadn’t gotten any better since.

Beck started out with giving you menial tasks like he did with Victoria and Daniel. But suffice to say, he learned very quickly that they weren’t very adequate at keeping you occupied for long. The faster you finished your duties, the more work he had for you—effectively involving you in his project more than he probably wanted.

Prideful, deceitful man; a man with a thousand faces but none of them genuine.

But he was a clever one too.

Irritatingly so. Conversations with him were as blood boiling as they were mentally stimulating.

Then again, you refused to let him step over you, meeting him tic-for-tac every step of the way with no intention of letting up.

It made him angry—someone questioning and picking apart his ideas and proposals, you could tell. Not that it mattered. You were part of this team. That meant you would see it succeed because you needed to succeed—it was as simple as that. If Beck didn’t listen, you would make him listen. Show him that you could contribute to his project.

“Yes,” you agreed pleasantly, adding a touch of sadness into your slight smile, “I want to finish this tonight. You guys go ahead and have a great weekend. I’ll be seeing you both on Monday. Please give Charlie a kiss for me, will you?”

Victoria nodded—a little stiffly—peering at Beck with a slight frown.

Clearly, the mention of her cat didn’t do much to ease the situation like you hoped.

“C’mon, Vic, we better stop taking up valuable time,” Daniel stated, and you smiled wider at him, encouraging, “Don’t overwork yourself, okay?”

He directed those words only at you in such an obvious manner, you almost groaned. Idiot.

“Sure, thanks, I really appreciate the concern.”

They took their time leaving though, both lingering on different things: Daniel on you, and Victoria on Beck—though unlike Daniel who stared at you warmly—she was giving Beck a cold look.

The silence their absence left wasn’t awkward. If anything, the room seemed to lighten with neither of you looking at each other.

“I was wrong,” you hummed at last, thoughtful, your eyes snagging on a ceiling tile and staying there. “That doesn’t happen often.”

You could practically feel Beck debating whether he should rise to the bait or not.

“About?” was his eventual, uninterested response.

A slow smile stretched your mouth into something devious, “About you, of course.”

And just like that, you felt the weight of his expectant, hard gaze focus on you.

“Oh?” he questioned slowly. “How so?”

Your head turned to him and you stared at each other for a long moment, seizing each other up. It was interesting to be alone with him and see his meticulous construct of charm and control starting to crack.

“I thought it was arrogance,” you offered after another stretch of silence, watching the way his eyebrows drew together briefly. “At first, that is. Now, I know it’s not about your arrogance but rather the fact that you think they’re incompetent.”

His expression remained eerily blank, not giving anything away as he examined you from across the room.

“You don’t really think I didn’t notice how you never allow them to do much of anything around here, right? Not to say you’re aren’t arrogant—you most certainly are—but you primarily don’t trust them to do their jobs well enough. The reason why this team only has three people—now four, of course—is due to the nature of your project and because you make it impossible for people to perform well. All the credit for the invention will go solely to you. Smart. But you’re also isolating yourself. Less smart.”

“I resent your implication—”

You snorted loudly, cutting him off, and even from this distance you could see the way his jaw clenched tightly, irked, gaze hooded.

Idly, you wondered how much longer his act was going to last for.

“I’m sure you do,” you told him flatly, your eyebrows jumping up in amusement. “You do realise that you’re cutting yourself off from valuable sources of information and useful workforce, right? You can get much further in life with a smile on your face than a command. They don’t need to be your friends. In fact, I hope they’re not. Your friends always betray you first because envy comes easily to them. Your enemies though...use them. Pretend if you must. You manage with me, and look how quickly we got through this test data. I read the old reports, it usually takes you a week. We did it in two days.”

A breath; strained and short, and then, "What are you?"

A slight, sweet smile graced your face as you gazed up at him, "I'm whatever you want me to be Mr Beck."

You rose up without another word, feeling the intent—almost physical—weight that was his regard on you as you gathered up your things.

“You’re not done yet,” his words were quiet, soft.

Your steps drew to a halt right outside the door, your hand on the metal handle and you sighed, almost disappointed he hadn’t noticed.

“Actually, I finished an hour ago,” you told him blandly, pushing on the door. “I just wanted to stay behind for a little chat.”

You glanced over your shoulder—just to see his reaction—and what you saw made you pause.

Sometimes you run into people and they’re like the sun; shining and blazing brighter than anyone else in the room, warming you with their presence.

Then, there were people like Quentin Beck. People who had ice running through they veins; people with cold eyes and wicked intentions, no matter how carefully hidden behind a mask of normalcy.

The thing staring at you now with a sly curl of his mouth was only just human.

There was no false charm, no carefully measured smiles or stilted compliments, there was just him and you and the empty space between you.

“Hello, Quentin Beck,” you greeted coolly, knowingly, and watched the way his grin widened dangerously. “Nice to finally meet you.”

. . .

an: these two are absolutely feral and the only way from here is up ayyy

Truthfully, I wrote Reader this way because I don’t see enough opportunist/cutthroat Reader stories around. I know this may not be everyone’s cup of tea but ahhh I still hope you liked it <33 Buckle up, I have some pretty interesting things planned for this one~~

#quentin beck #quentin beck x reader #marvel #mysterio x reader #jake gyllenhaal #marvel imagine #marvel fic #spiderman far from home #spiderman #mysterio #fic: unbecoming series

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zankivich · 5 years

Text

Neighbors: Shawn x Plus-Size Reader: Epilogue Part 1

a/n: we back bitches! I just couldn’t let my babies go yet. I really wanted to see what a future could look like for them. I really wanted to allow them the room to grow and evolve and be deeper, more complex beings. Please let me know what you think. Like honestly. It would mean the world to me. I just wanna talk about them. I missed them. Ok bye.

Trigger Warnings: Weight issues. Trouble conceiving. Smut.

*5 years later*

You always thought that when the other shoe would drop you’d be in a little bit better of a position to handle it. Like at all even. But sometimes that’s not what you get. Sometimes you’re in a med gown with your feet up in sternups while someone is swabbing and poking away at your cervix because your body doesn’t work right. Sometimes that’s all you get.

You vaguely hear the doctor explain to you about the length of time the test would take, how relaxing could help things, that you shouldn’t get stressed out quite yet. It all sort of feels like you’ve got cotton in your ears though. Like she’s talking but you can’t hear and you don’t want to hear you just want to go to bed.

It doesn’t help that they lead you out to the waiting room and he’s sitting there just as nervous and smiley as ever. Somehow he’s gotten so good at keeping your spirits high that you don’t even know how he manages to make you smile in that moment. Really all you wanted to do was cry. You go to fill out the exit paperwork and he’s right there rubbing circles into your back soothingly. You really wanna cry.

“I called your assistant to let her know you wouldn’t be coming in. Figured we could spend the day together, aye?” He hummed against your temple.

You nod silently. Thank fucking god he’s there to drive you home too, because the second you leave that building your eyes glaze over. You can barely see.

He lets you hold his hand, lets you pretend that those aren’t tears spilling silently down your cheeks as you stare out the window.

It’d been a hell of a five years. From the moment Shawn went completely and totally public with your relationship to the moment you moved into his apartment. To the rest of the tour finishing out sort of perfectly. To the vacation to Portugal. To the meeting of his grandmother and Allyiah’s graduation. To this random night in Madeira when you missed a New Years Eve party to make love with the windows open and he had laid beside you and put a ring on your finger with some sappy ass question of allowing him to love you for the rest of your lives. Not marry you, just love you. Wild. To the house you bought together with the stainless steel kitchen and the island you’d always wanted. And then of course there was that day over a year ago when he’d given you the puppy dog face after making you cum before work and asked if he could put a whole ass child inside of you, which had landed you here.

You walked into the house and immediately crawled out of your pants and back into bed. And he’s there almost as fast. His fingers trace out the words, “ i love you” onto your back and he throws his leg over you to smother you the way that you needed. It doesn’t matter though. None of it matters. And his love for you only hurts you more in this moment. Because you don’t deserve it. Can’t return it equally the way the way he deserved.

“It doesn’t matter to me.” He murmured softly. “You gotta know that, y/n.”

You snort softly, tears soaking into your pillow as he lies to make you feel better.

“It’s all you wanted. It’s the only thing you’ve ever asked me for.” You sniffled.

“I--I know. But I’d rather just have you, healthy and happy. That’s the only thing in the world I want, my love. Please don’t be sad.”

“I’m not healthy. I’m morbidly obese and now my uterus doesn’t work because of it.”

The tears come a little harder then and you try to take a breath but it just sort of chokes you. So he rolls you over and settles all of his weight on top of you. His runs his thumb along your cheeks and down over your chin, lips pressing to your forehead.

“That’s not what they said. They just said they need to run more tests.”

“She said my weight was definitely a contributing factor.” You argued gently. “It’s the whole reason my periods weren’t regular growing up. My mom had the same problem.”

“And she had four kids. All your doctor said was that it could make it harder, not impossible. So let’s let them run the tests. I never in a million years want you to blame yourself for this. Either we’ll make a baby naturally or we can adopt or do a surrogate or any of the other million ways people have kids now. This is not a thing to add stress, sweetheart. I hate seeing you sad like this.”

You swallowed heavily and look hesitantly up at him from beneath your lashes.

“If you just would’ve married one of those skinny model types, you’d probably already have a kid by now though.”

His eyebrow furrows and you notice an emotion on his face that he rarely ever shows towards you. It’s anger. He slips off of you and pulls the covers back taking all of the warmth away with him

“No. No, we’re not doing this. I’m not even going to entertain a discussion where I shouldn’t be with woman I asked to spend the rest of her life with me because of something so insignificant. I’m not going to let you sit in this house all day and blame yourself for a body that I’m so incredibly in love with. Get up we’re going out.”

He tugs at your hands until you’re sitting up and then disappears into your closet.

“Where are we going?” You mumbled reaching for the tissues on the bedside table.

“We’re going to go spend the day together.” He huffed pulling out one of his favorite dresses of yours. “We are going to go out to lunch. We’re gonna go see a movie. We’re going to do whatever the hell we want. We’re just not going to sit here all day. Understand?”

He steps between your legs and holds your face in his hands and it really is the most soothing thing in the world. You don’t know how he does it. How he makes it all better. Or, how he puts up with you all the time. How even when he’s clearly irritated he’s looking at you like you’re his whole world. Because you actually, genuinely are.

“Look at me.” He said softly. “You’re everything to me. Everything. And that could never change, no matter what. So never look at me like it could, or should. I love you and you’re it. Tell me you understand that.”

“Understand. I love you.” You whispered.

He smiled down at you. “I love you too. More than anything in the world. Let’s go.”

It doesn’t fix it. Not at all. But it also doesn’t let you stew for the moment. It’s okay. For now.

***

*Shawn’s point of view*

His parents invite them over for dinner. It’s a known thing at this point that the struggle of getting pregnant is taking a toll on them. It definitely didn’t help that the press had gotten whiff of the Mendes’ trouble to conceive. She had only been harder on herself.. He’s afraid to touch her anymore if it means she’s only gonna think about whether her body will cooperate this time. He’s even more afraid to not touch her if it means she’s gonna spend a second thinking he’s not absolutely obsessed with her in every way. All he wants in the world is to make her happy, and he can’t help but think it’s his fault for ever bringing it up to begin with.

His dad pulls them both into a hug and his mum does the same. She’s in that jumpsuit he likes with the gold belt that makes him weak in the knees. There’s wine that’s been sitting in the freezer because they knew she was coming. He pours her a glass and grabs a beer for himself.

“Did I tell you how much I love this outfit on you?” He asked as he hands her her glass.

She smirks. “When I put it on in the house. And when we got in the car.”

His cheeks warm. “Sorry. I still mean it though. I think it’s my favorite. You’re beautiful.”

A giggle passes through her lips and she smiles at him over the rim of her glass.

“Look I know what tonight is about. And I know I’ve been...really difficult to be around lately.”

He shook his head. “Not at all. Not even remotely.”

“I don’t believe you. But, I just….I’m gonna try and do better. So, what do you say we have dinner. Maybe drink a little. Maybe we can have a night like the ones we used to have? Before all of this?”

“Sweetheart that sounds amazing. I’d love nothing more than that.”

He reaches in to kiss her and it’s like the first time. She still makes his fucking toes go numb. She makes his heart flutter and his stomach tighten. He’s so in love with her. He’s never not been in love with her. She digs her fingers in his hair and pulls just slightly and it still gets him going like he’s twenty-three again. And when his fingers find her thighs and she bites at his lip, it’s the closest he’s felt to her in months.

“Shit. I cannot pop a boner in my parent’s kitchen.” He groaned pulling away.

“Like physically incapable or like…?”

“Not funny. Let’s go eat dinner.”

Dinner starts out smooth. It’s catch up and y/n telling his mum how great the food is before they start exchanging recipes at the dinner table. And it’s better. She holds his hand. She tries to let go. He can tell she’s trying, but it’s different than it usually is. Y/n is never not trying. Lately she had been trying so hard that it was painful for him to watch. This time is different because this time it actually works. He can see that she’s not in her head as much and she’s not worrying about everything. It’s exactly what they need.

“So Shawn what’s going on music wise? You working on anything?”

It’s a loaded question. And of course his dad couldn’t have known. At first he put the album on hold to make a baby, and then he kept it on hold when y/n started having trouble so he could be there for her. Every now and again she could hear him argue with Andrew over the phone, or refuse another meeting with the label. It wasn’t that he wasn’t making music. He just didn’t want to do anything that might take him away from her. But somehow that makes her stressed too. Tonight instead of completely falling in on herself she tries to stay in the moment. She takes a bigger sip of her drink.

He slides his hand onto her knee and squeezes gently.

“I’m always working on something.” He chuckled. “Nothing concrete though. Just creating to create. Cause it makes me happy.”

He peers over at her in hopes that it’ll click for her. That he’s happy the way things are. That she doesn’t need to be anything other than what she already is for him.

She smiles and takes another gulp from her glass. But she doesn’t shy away so maybe it’s okay.

Until it isn’t. She finishes her glass before anyone else, and then goes to fix another when his parents start talking about aaliyah and what she’s up to.The final straw is when she gets up to try and help clear the table and she stumbles and drops a plate. His parents stare on with concern, and she’s giggling up a storm. She goes to try and pick up the pieces, but the last thing he needs is for her to cut herself on the glass, so he politely intrudes. She’s not hammered enough to get angry at him yet.

“Hey, honey? Leave it alright. I’ll clean it up. Why don’t you lie down on the couch for a little while until it’s time to go.”

She stares up at him eyes completely innocent in that way that wine does for her. It’s kind of adorable.

“Why? What did I do?”

He smiles. “Nothing. Nothing. You’re perfect. Just don’t want you to hurt yourself. We can leave in a little bit okay?”

“O--Okay.”

Her eyes already heavy before she sits on the couch. He hands her a blanket and knows that she’ll be out like a light. His parents hadn’t really brought them there for dinner anyway. He really was just there to get advice from the only people he knew could make it make sense.

“What’s bothering you kiddo?” His mum asks before he can even take a breath.

He sighed and let his shoulder drop.

“I just feel like I’ve messed everything up. And I can’t really see anyway out of it. She’s--She’s blaming herself for all of this, and I can’t figure out how to get her to stop.”

“Well what have the doctors said? Anything?” his dad asked.

He groaned. “Just that her weight is playing a role in her hormonal imbalance and it’s leading to issues with her fertility. But nothing about her being infertile. It’s just gonna be harder for her, I guess. And I don’t know how to make her believe that I would rather have a beautiful happy life than put her through anything like what these past few months have been for her.”

“That must be so hard for her.” His mum murmured laying her hand on his shoulder. “And hard for you too, sweetheart. Is she talking to someone about it by chance?”

“I try. I don’t think she wants to talk to me because she’s afraid of hurting me. She talks to some of her girlfriends I guess, but we don’t really have any friends with kids. And it’s not like she’s gonna call her mom up and talk to her about it.”

“That’s okay. You can only be there for her and offer as much support as she needs.When’s the last time you two just...went on vacation or got out of Toronto for a little while. Sometimes it’s the environment. Babies can be tricky things.” His mum shrugged.

“Tricky, aye? Was I tricky?”

His dad chuckled. “You sure were. You showed up without even bothering to tell us you were coming!”

“And look at all the good it’s caused.” He grinned.

“Nothing but good, sweetheart.” She smiled.

He peered back into the living room where his person was dead to the world, sleeping the sleep of the innocent. And his heart just felt full and safe.

“I’ll figure it out.” He promised himself. “I’ll figure it out.”

***

*y/n’s point of view*

You are in the middle of a meeting. A rather important meeting one might add. With like spreadsheets and projections and shit. You have a laser pointer for Christ’s sake! So when your assistant let’s your one and only dumbass enter into the conference room with nothing but a shit eating grin on his face and a suitcase, you are certainly at a loss for words. What in the hell?

“I--I...Shawn what are you doing here?” You blinked.

“Sorry ladies and gents I’ve kinda come to sweep you away. I already got the okay from your boss so….let’s go!”

“I’m sorry? I’m in the middle of a meeting babe.” You wave your arms around at the general meeting-ness of the room. “I can’t just leave.”

“Oh. Well that’s cool I guess. It’s just that I got a jet waiting for us, and although they technically can’t leave without us, I’d still like to be punctual. I’ll wait in your office.”

There’s a running joke about the jet. It’s not a joke at all actually. It’s extremely serious. He took you on a jet one time. When you had decided that the concept of marriage wasn’t nearly as important as just loving each other forever, you went on your “not-honeymoon”. On the flight to Italy, he ate you out in the bathroom right as take off happened. It was the best orgasm of your life. To this day every time he brought up that stupid ass jet, your thighs got tight and you got just a little wet. Bastard.

The rest of the presentation is a complete and total wash. Your dumbass is somewhere in your office waiting to whisk you away to God knows where and you’re sitting here talking about revenue? No thank you.

“Everyone have a lovely weekend. I will be back...whenever the hell he brings me back I suppose.” You sighed heading straight for the door.

He’s sitting at your desk with his legs propped up in those jeans that somehow had not changed size in five years with an ass that still made you wanna cry. Rude.

“What in the hell are you doing here?!”

He rolled his eyes. “Well it’s lovely to see you too dear. I’m doing great!”

“Don’t get snooty with me. You know that I’m happy you’re here, although you could have texted. Where are we going?”

“Coachella!” He exclaimed. “You and I are going to coachella. We are going to live our best lives in the most ridiculous, boogie ass, VIP style that you can imagine. We’re gonna take pictures in flower crowns. We’re gonna be surrounded by people half our age and it’s gonna be awesome.”

Coachella. It was something you’d talked about once upon a time ago. Back when what you had was still new and expanding and you were making plans for the future without any thought of what might come later. Something had always gotten in the way. The tour. An album. A movie project. You hadn’t talked about it in years.

“Coachella? What in the hell made you think of Coachella?”

He got out of your chair and wrapped his whole body around you in that way that made your body feel more firmly rooted to the ground. His arms were warm and firm and he nuzzled his nose into yours.

“I thought we might be missing what makes us, us lately? Let’s just go to Coachella. Let’s have a fun fucking time. You don’t need to worry about anything in the world. We can just be us again ya know?”

You frowned softly. “You don’t think we’ve been us lately?”

He sighed. “I think we’ve both been under a ton of pressure, obviously you more than me. I just wanna take you away for a little, baby. I just want you to have fun.”

“Look I know that I’ve been--”

“No. Don’t you understand? I don’t want you to apologize. I don’t need you to make excuses for me. I don’t want you to try and make anything better. I just want you to go to Coachella with me. I’ve already packed your suitcase. Please will you go with me?”

His eyes are set firm in that way that they often times get when something means a lot to him. He’s not giving in, and more than that you can tell it would hurt him if you tried to fight in. Your emotions are a little all over the place in regards to why he felt the need to do this. But honestly, what was the worst that could happen? You weren’t getting pregnant in Toronto. How the hell was California gonna make a difference?

“Okay, okay! I’ll go.”

“Yes!”

He kisses you until your breathless and your toes curl and you can’t remember anything other than kissing him ever. Asshole.

Sure enough he takes you a jet where your friends are already waiting for you. It’s Brian, Stu, Bryan, Connor, your friends Cynthia and Taylor, and...Priyanka. Priyanka had been very annoyed to find out that the friend she made had neglected to tell her when she was solving all her relationship problems that they were Shawn Mendes related. You managed to stay friends from halfway across the world. She had even made a visit to Canada once, and you and Shawn had visited her in Barcelona again. You were closer than close, especially for friends with such physical distance between the two of you. Shawn knew that. Of course he knew that.

After you’ve had enough screaming and squealing over your friends, you decide to actually board the plane. Shawn is always there and waiting with a mimosa and quite expertly rolled, but still fat as all hell, blunt.

“I should’ve married you.” You mumbled reaching for both.

Everyone gets comfy in their seats, and you’re enough passes into your blunt that Stu is making grabby hands for not sharing when Shawn begins to nuzzle into your neck. He knew how sensitive you were there, especially high. Ugh.

“Babe,” He whispered kissing at your throat. “Need you to come with me.”

You whined softly and took another hit.

“Mmm where are we going?”

“I wanna do the thing. Please let me do the thing.”

Your eyes pop open at what he’s implying, and you’re not sure if it’s more intoxicating or sobering. Oh you’d let him do the thing alright.

You practically throw your blunt at Stu before tugging Shawn back towards the bathroom. Giggles bubble up from your throat as he presses you into the sink that’s nicer and bigger than the one you had in your first apartment. You hadn’t felt like this in a while. Playful. Care-free. In the moment.

It feels good. It feels like maybe everything he’d been asking you to do for months. You don’t know if it’s the weed or the mimsoa, or if instead it’s that sheepish fucking smile he gives you when he goes to take your pants off and nearly trips in the small space. In the end it doesn’t matter. You feel yourself falling. Into complacency. Into calmness. Into an ecstasy that has your legs locked around his head once again the moment the plane lifts off. Coachella here you come. Literally.

***

“Americans and your festivals.” Priyanka sighed nestling a flower crown over her headscarf.

You snorted softly. “Still not American, Pri.”

“Yea, yea, you’re the kinder version. I know. What are you wearing to this hotbox?”

Your day one outfit is a white cotton dress that falls off your shoulders and brings attention to your collarbones. There’s a big floppy hat to keep the sun away and sneakers because who the fuck has time for heels? You felt like a fat Florence Welch or a woodland fairy. It was kind of adorable. The fact that Shawn had somehow managed to pack your suitcase to your liking was a standard that you had never thought to set, but it surely came in hand.

The second you step out he’s waiting for you in a floral button up left undone over a tanktop and those damn jeans.He’s got one of those little pens with the cannabis oil in them, and you’ve never loved him more then when he smiles wide and goofy at you as you jump into his arms. Sometimes in your most insecure of moments, you would imagine that look going away, or even dimming in the slightest. But, it never seemed to happen. In over six years together he seemed to only love you more. Wild.

“You look so pretty. Are you excited?” He hummed fingers curving under the swell of your ass beneath your dress.

You bit your lip and pressed a little firmer against him. “I’m excited for something.”

“Sweetheart we should probably at least make it to Coachella before we run off to hook up somewhere.”

You pouted, bottom lip jutting out. “Well who’s idea is that?”

“Weed really does make you horny, aye?” He chuckled. “I promise to keep you more than satisfied this weekend.”

“Yea?”

You licked your lips and made yourself busy with pressing kisses along his jaw and neck.

“You’re gonna be trouble this weekend.”

“You have no idea.”

Coachella is...hot. Mostly. You get the feeling that you’re not exactly experiencing it like a normal person, the second Shawn leads you by your hand past a roped gate. It reminds you of the time you snuck into the VIP section in college, except for now there’s not sneaking in. Your person just leads you right through the entrance. There are big tents set up with misting fans and bars and people in outfits that don’t look comfortable. You’re a pretty big group, but it matches the vast amount of entourages walking around. You think you spot Kime Kardashian in a diamond encrusted tank top, but then you spot hot dogs and those are more important.

In reality there are only five things you needed to experience at Coachella. Weed. Alcohol. Food. Sex. and most importantly Lizzo.

“So is this little wristband of yours gonna get me to the front?” You asked waving your wrist in Shawn’s face.

You were nursing a long island in cup that looked more like a bucket and a hot dog in the other. Your priorities were perfectly in order.

“Not quite. My face should do it. I made a call ahead of time. Lizzo knows we’ll be in the crowd.”

You nearly choked. “Don’t tell me that. I don’t need to know that. I just want to shake my ass in peace, Shawn.”

“And shake it you will, my love. Preferably on me, but I’m open to negotiating.”

You were so crossed at that point your soul felt cross-eyed.

“No negotiating needed. You wanna bend me over, you just say the word Mr. Mendes.”

He raised an eyebrow at you. “You know I think that could definitely get me going. We should explore that at some point. Not in public. But we should explore it.”

“Boo. You’re so boring.” You snorted.

You go see one of the smaller acts where the crowd wasn’t large and no celebrities were there. Connor and Brian are on molly and jump into a mosh pit. Bryan and Stu start grinding to a techno beat immediately. Priyanka and the girls are jumping up and down in pleasure. It’s fun. It’s funner than maybe anything you’d ever done in your whole life. There’s something so freeing about being surrounded by people who are sweaty and drunk and just want to hear and feel the music. It’s incredible in every way. And you can’t get over the fact that he did it for you. That he plucked you out of your own head, out of everything that had been going on the past months for this. It spoke to the idea that maybe your happiness really was all that mattered to him. That as long as it was you and it was him, everything else would work itself out. You just had to get the two of you down. The rest would follow.

You’re sitting on a blanket between his too long legs. You flopped your hat on top of his head and stole the pen from him to take another hit. From where you’re lying he looks like the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen. You fall a little deeper in love.

“Hi.” You murmured as he nodded his head to the music.

He smiled at you. “Hi. You feeling okay?”

“You’re so pretty.” You say instead. “The prettiest fucker I ever saw.”

“How high are you right now?” He asked caressing your jaw.

You shook your head softly and pouted.

“No. You’re pretty, honest! I’m so in love with you.”

“I’m in love with you, too. The love of my life, you are woman.”

“I wanna give you a baby so bad.” You sighed letting your head fall against his collarbones. “I never even thought I wanted to be a mom, ya know? Thought I’d live so happy on my own. But we’d be really fucking good at it.”

His arms were wrapped around you already and he intertwined his fingers against your stomach from behind

“We will be, baby.” He promised. “You can teach our baby to be a total bad ass, how to be strong and fearless and smart. And I’ll teach them out to play music, how to be stubborn. We can both teach them out to be stubborn. And we’ll love them more than anything. It will be perfect.”

“You think?” You grinned tilting your head up to look at him.

He peered down at you with your big ass hat on his head and suddenly the only thing that you could do was giggle your ass off. Definitely still high.

“Are you laughing at me?!”

You shook your head gasping for air. “No! No I’m not I just---that fucking hat, Shawn!”

This sends both of you into fits of laughter. Moment absolutely ruined.

***

“Hey…Everyone is heading to one of the house parties before we come back for Lizzo’s set.” Shawn murmured.

You were dehydrated and still drunk. Getting out of the sun sounded lovely.

“Okay.”

He frowned and wrapped his arms around your waist. “Yea. I was thinking you and I might head back to the house instead for a little while. You know...to relax.”

“Oh. Oh! Yes. Let’s do that.”

“Yea? I thought we could maybe try something, ya know new? Like the other stuff?”

Your eyes widened. “What the hell did you have in mind?”

The past five years had seen many an explorations in the bedroom for the two of you. You dead ass Louis and Clark’d that shit. But like without the slavery and the general white supremacy. Once you discovered you liked having your ass slapped, you found out that there were some other things you liked. You liked when he was a little rough with you, liked being pressed up against something and taken for all you were worth. You liked being restrained, not so much with actual restraints which had taken a handcuff situation, panic attack, and an accidental black eye that meant Shawn couldn’t leave the house for a week, to find out. No need to go back there. Shawn liked praise. Endless amounts of praise. Good news was you liked praising, and he liked punishing. What a life.

Your friends are not even remotely convinced when you tell them you’re gonna stop at the house for a nap. Bryan offers to ride back with you both to grab his fanny pack and Stu very loudly explains to him that you’re going back to fuck. He’s not wrong though. So you skip over towards your car happily with your person because you were too secure in your relationship to get skittish about sex anymore. You were a sexual creature and you weren’t afraid to hide it dammit!

“God I have wanted to touch you all day.” Shawn groaned. Pushing you against the first wall he can find the second the door is closed.

You giggled. “That’s what I’ve been saying! You wouldn’t listen though.”

“You wanted to have sex in a very public VIP tent.” He snorted. “I want you all to myself.”

“Well you got me. Come take care of me, aye?”

“Of course. Anything for you. Come here.”

Did you have a bedroom? Yes. Were you staying in a mansion that probably cost a shit ton? Accurate. But you were a simple girl, with simple needs. And sometimes? Sometimes you just wanted to be fucked on a very sturdy, very expensive, mahogany desk instead.

You reached for the belt buckle on his black jeans already trying to pull him closer than close, already wanting his body on yours.

“Here?” He asked a little surprised but still pressing kisses to your throat.

You moaned. “Now. Need it right now.”

“Fuck.”

You both pull apart from each other just long enough for you to rid yourself of your underwear and Shawn to get his jeans and briefs far enough down his thighs for movement. It’s maybe the most needy that either of you have ever been. You and Shawn thrived in foreplay. Sometimes spent whole hours in foreplay wihtout ever even getting to the sex part. When he shoves his way between your thighs, holding his tanktop up with his hand to spit on his dick as he made his way within you, something animalistic occurs. Your body practically convulses around him. It’s dirty and hot and fast and you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

“Holy fuck you’re so tight.” He groaned against your shoulder. “God, baby.”

“Harder! Just want it harder. Baby please.”

He’s got your thigh propped up on this desk and it’s just the perfect height to have him fucking into you with the stroke from the gods. Crossed y/n didn’t need much, she just kind of wanted to get railed in broad day light. What? Like it’s hard?

He finds a way to get your leg over his shoulder and you back hits the wall and he pushes so deep inside of you, you see stars. He’s rocking himself against that spot inside of you that only he could touch like that. Your back arched and you squeezed your eyes shut in complete and utter ecstasy.

“What’s the thing?!” You gasped fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Huh?!”

“The thing! What’s the thing you wanted to do I’m gonna fucking cum soon.” You whined.

“I read an article!” He panted hips still moving. “That choking makes the orgasm like more heightened. Don’t wanna hurt you. Just wanna make you feel good. Always.”

“That’s so hot. Now--do it now!”

“Just...hit me if it starts to hurt, okay?”

His fingers, long and roughly calloused, gripped experimentally at your throat. At first he’s just touching the skin, just familiarizing himself with what it could feel like. Meanwhile his hips are still slapping against the back of your thighs, the desk beginning to squeak and rattle on its feet. His grip tightens slightly and you start to feel the restriction. His other hand hand digs deep into the wood behind your back for leverage, and he takes you somewhere entirely new.

“Oh my god. I can feel your body fighting for it.” He grunted against your lips. “Shit!”

Your eyes roll entirely backwards and your legs come together in some weak attempt at a defense as your body just kind of explodes on his dick. Is it squirting? Is it just another orgasm? Is he ripping you apart from the inside? Who knows? Not you, that’s for damn sure. The last thing you’re even fully conscious for is your fingers grabbing at his waist to pull him desperately against you. Maybe he cums. Again. You’re not sure. By the time you come too, the entire world is lopsided, and you still can’t breathe.

“We’re gonna have to pay for that.” Shawn wheezed against your neck.

“Mmmm...what?”

“The desk, baby. The desk.”

You peer down at something that isn’t your person for the first time notice that the world had not gone lopsided. Instead some of the legs on the desk had just completely given up at being legs. Oh well.

“That’s hot.”

He chuckled. “Yea? Broken furniture get you going?”

“Mhm. You wanna try and break the bed too?”

“I just came in you not twenty seconds ago.” Shawn sighed running his thumb along your cheek. “But, you’re so fucking sexy. Yes. Yes let’s go.”

“Think you can still lift me?”

He doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead just grabs you up and stumbles his way towards your room. Thank god for gyms and thank god for Coachella. What a hell of a woman.

****

September in Toronto was your favorite time of the year. The temperature dropped a little bit, all of the kids were back in school, just as the city was becoming it’s most beautiful. You thrived in September. And when you were at your happiest it tended to have really good effects on Shawn. He fed off whatever energy you put off, and he loved seeing you happy more than anything in the world. So when some asshole named Andrew decides that he’s going to take the love of your life away from you in PRIME apple picking season, excuse you for feeling like someone was trying to rain on your parade.

“Baby it is a three day trip. We can go apple picking the second I get off the plane.” Shawn assured you as you watched glumly while he packed his life away from you.

“It won’t be the same. The temperature on Saturday was going to be perfect. They have the adult hayrides with the spiked cider and everything.” You mumbled.

He dropped one of his shirts and came to crawl into bed with you, warm hands coming to cradle your face like always.

“And it will be just as perfect when I get back. Because I’ll be with you. It’s just a quick trip to New York to meet with the label. I’ll be back before you know it.”

You fist your fingers in his sweatshirt in a feeble attempt to keep him there with you.

“That’s not true. I always know it when you’re gone. Always.”

He sighed softly. “I know. It gets a little harder every year to be away from you too. But three days, and then I’m yours. We can pick apples and make our own cider and bake your famous apple crisp and watch movies. You can not go into work. It’ll be perfect, aye?”

You frown but he kisses at your cheeks and your lips until you smile for him. It’s so annoying.

“Besides by the time I get back you’ll be in your ovulating window. I’ll be back just in time.”

You had drastically shifted your approach post Coachella. Shawn stopped making appointments with the gynecologists and the fertility specialists. You’d had a really vulnerable and honest conversation that hurting yourselves mentally and emotionally wasn’t going to be the way you became parents. So the plan became to just take the pressure out of it. You still had sex during your ovulation period every month, amongst a lot of non-ovulation sex as well, and if after a year you got nothing than it would be time to look into alternative options.

You scrunch your face up as he presses more kisses against your neck.

“You track my ovulation?” You asked.

“Yes. It’s incredibly easy on this little app I have. Now don’t be sad anymore, please?”

Your fingers scratch at his scalp and he practically purs still.

“Fine.”

“I love you, don’t ‘fine’ me.”

“I love you too.”

Shawn heads off to the airport leaving you home in a big ass house by your lonesome. You get the fireplace going and set about making yourself something for dinner. Nothing feels off at all. It’s just a normal day. You have to decide whether to do stir fry or tacos, but that’s about it. You set up the rice cooker before hopping into the shower for a much needed jam session with one of your favorite playlists. You figure a deep conditioning might do you some good since your person isn’t even around to play with your hair tonight.

You’re at the island chopping onions when your eyes trail up to the calendar on the fridge. It held random dates, usually when Shawn had business to attend to, so that you weren’t in the dark. You peered at the calendar and just noticed your ovulation dates and your period listed in pink marker. Shawn had taken to putting them up there for his own memory. And mostly because you were god awful with dates, which in hindsight was very telling.

You peered back down at the cutting board as you diced your onion before a little bell went off in your tummy. Your eyes moved back up to the board as your hand kept moving on the cutting board. There wasn’t time to question anything as you sliced your finger like an amateur.

“Shit.” You hissed as your finger pooled with a little droplet of blood.

You headed straight for the sink, letting the water turn red for a few seconds as you cleaned your wound. It was the visual of the blood that convinced you to count backwards. Again you were shit at time so you had to do it twice. But sure e-fucking-nough you might just be the dumbest fucker alive.

You ran straight for your phone dialing up the only number you could think to call in times of crisis, food and everything completely forgotten.

“Oh thank God you called.” Stu whimpered. “The in-laws are here and if I have to listen to Betty tell me one more time that my fucking crudite is wrong I’m gonna fix her a crudi-taint and call it a day.”

“This is an emergency, bitch. Forget the crudite!”

*Forty-five minutes later*

“I got one of every color and kind! A gallon of apple juice and also a snickers bar because I am stressed and I don’t even have a uterus!”

***

*Shawn’s point of view*

He stopped at some really bougie ass boutique and bought them matching scarves on his way home. He thought it might be a good “honey I’m home, please don’t hate me” gift. The meeting with Andrew had been to discuss some soft releases the label was looking to him to put out. He had some friends who needed features and wanted him to get on them. It would be a build up to his first album in three years. Which meant he kind of needed to make an album. That was a problem for another day though. For now he just wanted to take his person apple picking.

“Babe?!” He called dropping his keys into the bowl and tugging his bag behind him. “I’m ready to pick apples!”

She’s not in the living room. Sometimes when he had to go away she would take to the couch instead of their bedroom in protest, but the blanket on the back of the couch is still folded. The dining room is immaculately clean, which throws him slightly for a loop. Then in the kitchen he comes across a massacre of treats. She’d really gone to town. There was a cake, brownies, and fudge at first glance. He peered into the freezer to see that she’d somehow found the time to make three different flavored ice-creams from scratch. Wild. He wasn’t concerned because she always did stress baking when he was away, even if this time was quite...intense.

“Honey we’re gonna have to start donating your stress baking! It’s gonna send us both to an early grave.”

He reached for a piece of fudge anyway and took to the stairs when his very lovely human neglected to meet him downstairs.

He finds her in their bathroom cleaning the tub. With a toothbrush.

“Y/n? What’s going on?”

Her head popped up, her eyes widening.

“You’re home.”

He nodded frowning at her. “I”m home. Come here.”

He reached for her hands, helping her off the floor. His arms snuck under her big t-shirt tracing at the soft skin of her hips. She was tense enough to burst, but she seemed to lean into his touch.

“What’s up? What’s going on with you?” He asked softly.

“Why would you think something’s going on? Nothing’s going on.” She lied.

“Since when do you clean the bathtub with a toothbrush? Or at all for that matter. I always clean the bathtub.”

“I don’t know. I just figured I’d get some stuff around the house done. No big deal.”

“Okay. And the bakery pop up shop you started in our kitchen?” He chuckled squeezing her tight. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? You know you can always talk to me.”

She sighed, her arms coming to wrap around him as well.

“I’m okay, honest. Guess I just got a little anxious with you being away is all. I’m good now. I promise.”

He nuzzled their noses together and kissed her for the first time in what felt like forever.

“Okay. Maybe some apple picking would help? I hear they have adult hayrides with spiked apple cider.”

She smiled for him finally. “Yea. That would help.”

His favorite y/n was always y/n in the fall. Her soft, cozy sweaters, boots, and those leggings that mapped her thighs out perfectly. She was so beautiful it hurt. When he wraps her new scarf around her neck for her and she shimmies her shoulders a little, his heart soares. God he loved her. He loved date nights, he loved spending time with his best friend, and he loved showing her off to the world. It was his favorite thing in the world to do.

She loves apple picking. And so they drive out there armed with baskets and bags galore. Without fail every year by the third or fourth week, she will be pissed off at how many apples he “let her buy”, as if he has a say in anything that is taking place. But, in the moment it’s the cutest shit ever. And he takes pictures of her leaning up into the trees to get the best choice. They feed each other apples and kiss under one of the trees. It’s sort of perfect.

He saw a family packing up their car as the sun began to set and the air got colder. He watched a mom lift her son up in the air and kiss and hold him close. It caused a painful squeeze in his chest, and he was thankful y/n wasn’t around to see them. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about family trips to the orchard. He had. He thought about chasing tiny legs through rows of trees, of stopping grabby fingers from digging gross apples out of the dirt. He knew y/n and him had had quite the different upbringings, but this was what he’d always wanted. But, he meant it wholeheartedly when he said he’d rather have her than anything else. He believed wholeheartedly that she was meant for him and he for her, that their energies had probably started as one once upon a time, and that he wasn't meant to be without her. Whatever his life was meant to look like, it had to revolve completely and totally around her. There was just a tiny, selfish part of him that would like to be able to have them both.

When the backseat is overloaded with apples, they walk hand in hand to the store they have set up. The sun sinks low in the sky and there’s a little folksy band playing by an open campfire. There are twinkly lights and tables set up all around. It’s kind of romantic as all hell. She smiles at him like she always has, like somehow he’s worth as much to her as she is to him. He’s so fucking in love with her, it’s insane.

“Do you want me to get us some of those hard ciders before the hayride?” He asked squeezing her fingers.

She shook her head. “Actually can I try one of the cider slushies instead? Wanna switch it up.”

“Of course. I’ll be right back.”

They climb into the hayride just like all the other couples. Toronto is home and it really feels like home because no one shoves a camera in his face when he’s trying to cuddle with his person. And that feels really important to him. Her privacy, her happiness. It’s all he cares for.

“You happy?” He asked squeezing his arm around her.

She nodded and tucked her face into his neck. “So happy. Love you, ya know.”

“I love you too. So much.You’re the light of life.”

“Stop it.” She giggled.

“No. Never. You’re everything.”

“Yea...You are too.”

They order chinese food on the way home. She takes a shower with him and lets him run body wash over the parts of her that he cherishes the most. They climb into bed together, soft and warm and sated. He finds himself hopeful that every day will be this way, that every night could find him so lucky.

“Shawn?” She whispered, her fingers tangling in his necklace.

“Yes, my love?”

“I gotta tell you something...Or I guess maybe show you something.”

Her fingers trembled against his throat, and he knew they were finally getting to what must have caused her to bake everything they had in their home.

“Okay.” He murmured calmly. “You can always share anything with me. You know that, right?”

“Yes.” She smiled. “Yes, I know.”

She leaned up out of bed and reached over to the nightstand on her side. She hid it behind her back and turned to him, the suspense slowly driving him insane.

“Baby, what is it?”

There are moments in life that you never forget. Moments that, on your deathbed you could recount with startling clarity, right down to the way the air felt. This was that moment for him. He remembered that her night shirt was black and white stripes. She was wearing black underwear that night with a lacy back. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, and she smelled like apples and cinnamon and lavender and smoke. Because even after a shower the campfire smell would stick around for days. Her eyes had a wicked glint to them. A happiness so vast and so deep that he wanted to cry just looking at her. And then she holds it out for him and it’s like his world explodes, or expands infinitely, because there it fucking is. Right there.

“But--what? Is….is it?...is it?” He mumbled like an idiot his heart picking up speed in his chest.

The glint turns to actual tears in her eyes and she nods softly at him.

“I took fifteen of them. And the doctor fit me in last minute to make sure. I’m a little over a month along.” She tells him.

“I’m--I’m gonna be a dad?” He whispered, his throat closing up. “You’re gonna be a mum?”

“I hate to burst your harry potter bubble, but our little bean is most certainly going to call me mom.” She giggled. “It’s real. I promise. I’m pregnant.”

And he just fucking falls apart. It’s the hardest he’s cried since he broke his ankle at age thirteen. And he has to keep blinking through every tear because he needs to see her, needs to never take his eyes off her again, because she’s everything. She’s giving him the greatest gift in the world. As if giving herself to him had not been too much, had not been more than he could ever deserve. She was going to create life with him, for him. She was going to be the mother to his baby.

He’s never hugged anyone in his life as hard as he hugs her then. Like tackles her down to the bed and squeezes the hell out of her. She laughs and they cry and they hug and they kiss. It’s the greatest happiest he’s ever known.

“ I love you so much.” He gasped. “We made a baby. We’re gonna have a baby.”

She nodded running her fingers through his head. “We’re gonna have a baby.”

There’s more laughter. There are a hell of a lot more tears. And he completely pulls her body into his own and refuses to let her go. Not that she’s asking. It’s his baby after all. His babies. Holy shit.

“There’s something I gotta do.” He whispered in her ear.

“Yea? What’s that?”

He crawled gently down her body nestling himself between her legs. The second he reaches for her t-shirt she giggles and squirms.

“Are you really gonna eat me out to celebrate me being pregnant?”

He stared up at her, mortified from between her legs.

“No! Oh my god, y/n. Our child can hear you! I simply came down here to kiss your belly and talk to my baby in there. Get your head out of the gutter.”

She rolled her eyes. “The baby doesn’t have ears yet jackass, but excuse me.”

“Don’t listen to her baby.” He grumbled rubbing his thumb into soothing circles along her belly button. “Daddy is gonna sing to you all the time. I’m gonna take such good care of you and mommy forever okay?”

She lets him talk to her belly for the rest of the night. It’s the most incredible thing he could ever ask for.

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prettywordsyouleft · 5 years

Text

Overheard

Summary: Even though you loved Taekwoon, being the partner of a celebrity always came with hearing what others thought of you.

Pairing: Jung Taekwoon (Leo) x reader

Genre: married idol au / angsty fluff? Tbh I don’t know what to label this one

Warnings: feelings of insignificance

A/N: requested by anon. I really loved that k-drama but gosh it’s been forever since I watched it. I think I remember the scene you mean though. Either way your request spurred me in this direction. Sorry it’s not a boyfriend story but I’m sure this detail change shouldn’t be too much of an issue!

Word count: 2599

You were used to the underhanded comments. You had heard them for as long as you had been dating Taekwoon. At first, they hadn’t bothered you as you had anticipated the backlash of disgruntled fans. But you loved Taekwoon more than anything else in this world. You were genuine, heck you had risked your job as VIXX’s senior coordinator just for your love. In your eyes, putting everything on the line for Taekwoon had meant something major to you.

To others though, your actions were seen as the problem.

“How convenient, the star who fell in love with the staff.”

“She’s only after her quick grab on fame herself. Did you see her? She’s not pretty at all, so she couldn’t get into the limelight in any other way.”

“She had to have seduced him. There’s nothing special about her. Wow, what does oppa see in her? She’s just old and frumpy.”

It hadn’t been your idea to go public with your relationship. It had remained a secret for an entire year because of the implications dating you had for him. Taekwoon hated hiding how much he loved you, yet you knew how much more he had to lose than you did. Your career was a huge part of you, and you had worked years to get up to this point. Even if you were an essential key to the smooth running of group and individual activities, you knew your role could ultimately be replaced and you could work elsewhere if needed. Yet his singing career could be shattered forever if the public took your relationship negatively. And because of this, you had broken up with him several times, not wanting to be the cause of ending his hopes and dreams just because you held feelings for him.

Those intense feelings brought you back to his side every time. It was the way he would look at you as if you were the only one he saw in this world that helped you through when the relationship suddenly was released by Dispatch, and his endless reassurances that you would both be okay was how you overcame the backlash. Most fans accepted Taekwoon’s happiness with you at his side, and the comments lessened.

But they never quite stopped.

Now, five years on, married and with children, you had hoped that your place at Taekwoon’s side would be measured up by the true definition of love and balance. You had done more than enough for the entertainment industry and had even gained endorsements yourself when you were newlyweds and again when you were pregnant with your first child. It had enabled you to use your position to voice things that mattered to you, and to other women alike. You had become an ambassador of women’s rights and supported many pregnancy and motherhood led initiatives.

Instead of seeing it as receiving fame by being Taekwoon’s wife, you had continued to use your strengths as a person to be effective and find ways to help others.

Doing so meant others had something to talk about you, however.

“Does she think she’s the newest Mother Theresa? She’s only the wife of a singer, not someone powerful in this nation.”

“I’m so sick of seeing her face branded for helping women, you can see right through her scheme it’s to keep her husband’s career relevant. His fans are too old and have families of their own to support now instead of paying his bills. Gosh, they need to go be quiet somewhere in the country.”

“Have you seen her body? After having her two kids she’s really let herself go.”

“Was there much there to let go of beforehand?!”

The hardest thing was overhearing these comments from the people who you worked alongside on campaigns. Yet you didn’t falter, not once. You weren’t doing the things you had done so to please these people. You didn’t have anything to prove either.

“Why do you let them talk about you like that?” Jaehwan’s wife, Tori asked and you glanced at your friend, smiling weakly. “They’re talking absolute rubbish about you, yet again! Weren’t they just praising your efforts on the new scheme to help victims of sexual abuse?”

“Let them be, they clearly aren’t happy with their own lives and need something to gossip about. They’re not hurting anyone.”

“Except you,” she mentioned, concern etched within her gaze. “Y/N, you really need to-”

“I’m fine, I promise. I’ve had this for the entirety of my relationship with Taekwoon, it’s nothing new.”

“It’s shouldn’t be something you’re fine with,” Tori said sadly, shaking her head and glaring over at the women in their fancy dresses discussing other guests at the event. “Taekwoon sure wouldn’t like to hear about this.”

“And he won’t,” you replied firmly.

It had been the one thing you had carried silently within. You weren’t naïve; of course Taekwoon had his fair idea of what the public had said in the past. But things were different now. The rumours and negative comments weren’t penned in online forums but by the people you collaborated with. It was harder for him, especially when he still had a somewhat busy career, to find out about such talk.

And you wanted it to remain that way.

“Get dressed, we’re going out,” he proclaimed and you glanced up at your husband from your laptop. On one side of you was your daughter napping and your son was sprawled out on the floor watching television. On the other side was a stack of proposals you had to get through this weekend to decide on the focus for next month at work.

You laughed softly. “You’ve just come home from the tour in Japan, aren’t you tired? Where are we meant to be going?”

“To my parents’ house,” he announced and your son diverted his gaze from his show immediately.

“To Grandma and Grandpa’s?!”

“That’s right,” Taekwoon confirmed and even your daughter stirred enough to catch on to her brother’s excitement. You watched your husband curiously. He grinned. “We can drop the kids off for the night.”

“Are we really getting to stay over?” your son asked once more as your daughter squealed in delight.

“Of course! They’re already planning the best sleepover!”

“Really?!” your daughter was up off the sofa you and she were upon and went running down the hallway to get her favourite toys together.

You sighed. “What have you planned?”

“I want to take my beautiful wife out.”

“Where’s she right now? I only see me here,” you teased, looking down at your sweats and reaching to touch your messy bun on your head.

Taekwoon shifted over to you and kissed you on the forehead. “She’s right here. Come on, you’ve been working non-stop and with me gone you had to look after the kids for the whole week. Let me spoil you. I’ll drop them off and you focus on getting ready.”

“How ready do I need to be? Date in a movie theatre ready or dinner at an expensive restaurant ready?”

He grinned. “You and your need to know everything. Just wear something that can do both. I’m not telling you anything!”

“Why did I marry you?” you asked as you closed your laptop, smiling to yourself all the same. “Not knowing things is my weakness!”

“I know and I’m going to use it well to make you remember exactly why you said I do all those years ago!” he called after you as you headed down the hallway, kissing both kids on their heads as you passed on by.

You couldn’t deny the excitement that built within at the idea of having a night with just Taekwoon. Sure, you often collapsed on the sofa together most nights but there wasn’t much said in those moments. You were both satisfied with your efforts throughout the day and glad that the kids were fed, bathed and tucked away in their beds. Tonight, you’d get the chance to really spend time with Taekwoon. To talk, laugh and hopefully do something other than fall asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow. The longer you thought about it as you got dressed in your favourite black dress that seemed to tick any and every box of date night standards, you realised how much you missed spending more time together. Having your children was something you’d never regret, yet sometimes you forgot what it was like before you had them. How you didn’t have to fight for his attention with two excitable little humans talking a million miles a second about their days to their attentive father. Even though you loved that scene too, tonight would be all about just you and him.

A small giggle left you and you continued to get ready, waiting for Taekwoon to return for you. And when he did, his eyes soaked you in hungrily, his lips soon finding yours. “Maybe we should stay inside instead. I don’t know if I want to take you away from here now.”

“I didn’t just spend all that time fighting with my eyeliner to have you keep me here. We’re going out!” you exclaimed and Taekwoon chuckled, kissing you again briefly before he took your hand and led you out to the car. After twenty minutes, you looked at your husband determinedly. “Where are we going?”

“I told you I wasn’t going to give you any hints.”

“What if I guess where then will you answer?” you compromised and Taekwoon laughed.

“You’re distracting me from driving. Stop being so adorable, baby.” You bit your lip and sat back in your chair, gloating with the warmth of his affectionate sentence. And before you could try again to guess the destination, Taekwoon drove the car into an underground parking lot. You read the names of the companies that used this facility and gasped, realising where he was taking you.

“You’ve brought me to see Jaehwan’s new musical?!” you enquired and Taekwoon nodded.

“And then dinner after, how does that sound?”

“Perfect!”

The show had been magnificent and you were now seated in a neighbouring restaurant waiting for your meal to arrive when you noticed a group of ladies being escorted to a nearby table. You diverted your gaze to your glass of water and sighed. Your reaction wasn’t lost on Taekwoon. “Do you know them? Oh, isn’t that Kim Soobin, one of the women you work with?”

“Yeah, they must have been at the show as well.”

“Do you want to leave?” he asked, his expression puzzled by your now quiet demeanour. You shot him a strained smile as you shook your head. “But you look uncomfortable.”

“I want to share a meal with you,” you insisted, reaching over the table for his hand. You held it gently and smiled more genuinely this time. “Let’s stay.”

“Y/N?” a voice called out and you blinked rapidly as you glanced up. Soobin smiled graciously. “Oh, it is you. Hello, Taekwoon, it’s been a while since I last saw you!”

“Hello, are you well?”

“Better now that I’ve seen you both! Did you watch the musical as well? Fabulous, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was very charming,” you mentioned and then got to your feet. “Would you excuse me, I just need to use the bathroom.”

“Of course, darling, I’ll talk with you next week at the office!” Soobin called after you as you moved off to the bathroom, standing in front of the mirrors and staring at your wide-eyed expression. Why were you anxious about running into Soobin? It wasn’t as if you had anything to feel inferior about around the woman. She was the wife of a politician and chose to work in a few various committees to simply keep her nose in among the gossip. Was that why you were frazzled by her appearance? Or had you wanted time tonight for just you and Taekwoon that having anything or anyone from your usual environment appear had diminished your joyous mood? You weren’t sure but you focused on composing yourself, smiling at your reflection before you stepped back out and went back to your table.

It was empty.

Following a familiar voice, you gasped when you found Taekwoon towering over the five ladies seated at their table. “Did you think purposely raising your voices as you gossip about my wife loud enough that I could hear would make me feel frustrated enough to come and rage at you to stop?”

“Oh Taekwoon, we weren-”

Taekwoon merely stopped to take a breath before cutting Soobin off. “You were basically asking for me to step over here. And I have, though not to do what you’re hoping for. Keep talking. Keep saying vicious things and making yourselves feel good about who you are whilst you spout nonsense. Everyone around you is well aware of how lonely you all are because you have busy husbands. Those husbands you find out what they’re feeling and doing by reading the news or social media posts they make instead of ringing home to tell you instead. Keep talking yourselves up to be amazing mothers and wives whilst under appreciating the hard work of others despite having in-house staff that keep your homes running so you can enjoy outings like this instead of tucking your children into bed and getting to know what they dream of. I implore you to continue. Because at the end of the day your lives are the sad ones, not my wife’s. I don’t care what you say about her, at all. Do continue. Your words mean nothing when I know how vastly different your world is from ours.”

“Excuse me?!”

“Oh, your meals are here. Enjoy,” Taekwoon mentioned, bowing slightly and returning to your table. He glanced up at you standing where you had stopped to listen on and smiled. “Ah there you are, our dinner is ready!”

You sat down at the table and smiled weakly. “You should have ignored them.”

“Is that what you do?” he asked softly as he cut into his steak with more force than needed. You didn’t answer right away and Taekwoon sighed. “You face so much more than I realised. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m not but I won’t leave until we’re done eating. They don’t deserve the satisfaction of ruining someone else’s night.”

You grinned up at your husband. “Who said our night is ruined? You were right with what you said; our world is different, so let’s enjoy it whilst the night is still young, hm?”

“I love you, Y/N. I’m so glad you choose to be at my side, even if others don’t appreciate you, I do.”

“Woon-ah,” you called him affectionately, still smiling. “The people who matter do appreciate me. Sure, I’ll have to deal with their behaviour over the next week from you standing up for me like that but I’d happily ignore all their negativity if it means waking up next to you every day. I love you too.”

“Let’s not stay for dessert,” he announced pettily, and you giggled at seeing how red his neck was. “I think we can find something better elsewhere.”

“You told me to dress for anything. Ice-cream in the car whilst taking a late night drive sounds good to me, what do you think?”

“Anywhere is perfect if you’re there too.”

“Where else would I be? My husband is actually at my side and I don’t have to use social media to track him down either.”

Taekwoon blushed. “You heard it all huh?”

“Every word. It was quite the performance.”

_________________

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Fifteen years ago, when viewers first met Jason Dohring’s Logan Echolls, he was introduced as a “psychotic jackass.” Logan has come a long way since then. As Neptune High’s resident bad boy, Logan tormented then eventually romanced Veronica Mars (Kristen Bell), launching one of television’s most beloved couples.

Three seasons and one fan-based movie later, Dohring returns to play his now iconic character for the long-awaited fourth season of Veronica Mars, which premieres July 26 on Hulu.

About six weeks after he finished filming, Paste had the chance to talk to Dohring about playing Logan as an adult, reuniting with executive producer Rob Thomas as well as Bell, the long-standing appeal of the franchise and what to expect in this darker, more grown-up season.

Paste: Here we are five years after the movie and 15 years after the show first premiered, how surprised were you when you got the call about Hulu greenlighting a Season Four?

Jason Dohring: With the movie, Rob Thomas had an idea of how many fans were out there but I don’t think he expected 90,000 fans contributing. We ended up signing 8,000 posters. It took us 22 hours. We left outgoing voice mail messages for people on their phones. We wound up raising six million dollars. That sort of went so well that Rob wanted to bring it to several places. He was always keeping us in the loop saying I think there’s a chance this is going to go forward. We are pretty certain of this so please keep your schedule open if you can and then he found a home at Hulu.

Paste: How would you describe the season?

Jason Dohring: They put a lot into it and I think it’s going to be really special and dark and more grown-up than when we were all in high school, of course. But I don’t think it will just be a bland continuation. I think it will be something new and exciting and we are bringing on new characters. It will be something pretty cool that I don’t think people have seen in this world before.

Paste: Where are Veronica and Logan when we first see them again?

Dohring: Logan’s life was totally destroyed. He was coming from a really bad place, a broken family and sort of decided to turn his life around and enroll in the military, and that’s what he’s been doing so he’s kind of in a good place. And Veronica is in a different place than we’ve seen her as the show starts out and that’s part of the arc for both of those characters as they come from different places that were flopped in the show originally; I am kind of the stable influence on Veronica and she’s kind the oddly adjusted one to her current life.

Paste: How do you reconnect with Logan after all that time has passed? Is it hard to find him again so to speak?

Dohring; It’s a pair of shoes you’ve worn for three years. I think Philip Seymour Hoffman said the light will switch behind your eyes, you can kind of click into that person and you are that person and that’s true of this guy. I think Kristen talks about this as well in that she just feels comfortable in that skin. There’s the adjustment with that of the five years of military experience that’s kind of shaped that underlining guy, but that guy is always there and it’s just adding elements to that to become, I guess, a broader character.

Paste: Fans are, shall we say, deeply invested in the Logan/Veronica relationship. Are you surprised by how much this couple has connected with people? When you were playing it did you have any idea they would become one of the great TV romances?

Dohring: No, certainly not. Doing my best work, I’m not worried about what the audience is thinking. I’m just doing what I feel. I think it’s real emotions and real relationships. We really gave it our all when we were on the show and I think that’s what people respond to and makes it timeless in a sense and when we first started out this character was never supposed to be the romantic interest at all. Kristen was such a great actress and to work with her was so beautiful and igniting. She would respond so beautifully in a scene and it created this situation where this character that was never supposed to be involved with her became involved. Basically, in the writer’s room after several episodes, they came to Kristen and I and they pulled us aside and said, “Okay you guys are going to be together.” And we both said, “What the fuck? There’s no way!”

And they said, “You better start warming up to each other because it’s going to happen.” And we were both just honestly stunned. And I remember how hard it was in a scene in the third or fourth episode, I had to put my hand on her shoulder and it was so against what I had played the whole time it was impossible as an actor to do this and they were like you have to do it. It took every ounce of strength I had to just put a hand on her shoulder.

Paste: What do you think it is about them that has connected with the audience?

Dohring: Nobody kind of saw it coming. I’m kind of the immoral, but there’s always a redeeming aspect and her kind of struggle with that part of the relationship. The violence and unpredictability of Logan is against what she wants, and she also has a strong, opinionated point of view. Sort of that clashing and working together. I think there’s great romance potential in relationships like that.

Paste: You’ve been on UPN, The CW, and a movie set with this character. What was different about filming at Hulu?

Dohring: Maybe it’s my lack of perception but a set feels like a set to me. Aside from the craft service food being at a level 10. The one difference I did see as they are setting up the shot I would take a look and be like, “Jesus that’s beautiful.” The quality of cinematography is at a high level. I think it’s just beautifully shot.

Paste: I know you don’t want to give too much away about this new season, but is there anything else you can tell me about Season Four?

Dohring: Right from the start you’re seeing language and humor at the same time. I think Rob had presented Hulu with a script with a lot of swear words at the start and they did not want to do it in that direction, is the way I remember it. He came up with this great humor and banter and how Veronica would not be using swear words in the show with her dad, and they have this cute game much to my character’s dismay, because it’s annoying. So you’re going to see really great writing and there’s just a big mystery. The mystery is a very big part of it, but yet the relationships are still there.

Paste: What can you tell me about the season-long mystery?

Dohring: It will be very interesting. I don’t think people are going to figure it out. What was really cool that I thought Rob did is he didn’t just want to present a mystery that people would not be able to solve, and if you go back over the show you’ll see it the second time you watch it. All the clues are there. Seventy-five to ninety percent of the people might not fully get it, but if you’re paying attention … I kind of knew the end, and I could see in the writing the hints and stuff like that. Rob didn’t want to make people feel like they were cheated by totally leading someone the wrong way and then solving the mystery at the end. So it’s cool for those interested in paying attention, they might be able to figure out some clues early on, and it’s obviously going to be a big surprise as Rob Thomas shows often are.

Paste: So you knew how everything worked out before you began filming?

Dohring: Halfway through one of the directors told me the ending and I was like, “Oh my gosh!” I could see from there, in the scripts following, that the hints were all there. It was beautiful. You’ll be able to see it. I probably wouldn’t but smarter people would.

Paste: Did it make it harder to play knowing the ending?

Dohring: To be honest I don’t like to know. It was one of the conversations where it just kind of fell out. But it even had a twist beyond the twist. The Rob Thomas extra step. I think it should be trademarked.

Paste: Can you see the franchise continuing? A Season Five?

Dohring: If it makes sense for Hulu. I think they’ve done a fantastic job in that way to set themselves up for a great success. Rob turned in the scripts and Kristen was fabulous per usual. So far it looks good to carry on as far as I can tell. I think Rob definitely has intentions and I think Kristen does as well. I’ve seen some of the final scenes and I think it’s just going to be awesome in the way it can set up for a new series.

Paste Another big difference from when you first played Logan is now you are working with Princess Anna of Arendelle.

Dohring: It’s cool to see Kristen. She is such a good sport with all that stuff. I’m sure it’s pretty intense with the amount of fan love and interest and broad social appeal of a movie like that. My daughter sings all the Frozen songs and has no idea what the words mean but she’s word for word. It’s just amazing. I would love to sing a duet with Kristen but I can’t get over myself to ask her.

Paste: You’ve now had a decade and a half with the franchise. Plenty of shows have had revivals, plenty of shows have been cult hits, but few have been as popular as Veronica Mars for as long as Veronica Mars. The fanbase has not wavered. Can you put your finger on why?

Dohring: I think to some degree it starts with fantastic writing. I really noticed the sense of care by everybody who was involved in the project initially. Coming right out of acting class, and wanting to try everything I learned in acting class in every single scene, and walking backwards into scenes. Really talking, really listening, having real emotions. There was such care by all the actors. Everybody had a great sense of wanting it to be great.

There was a level of insouciance, a carefree attitude, very light and very witty and then you’ll just drop in moments of intense drama and family relationship. For me it basically boiled down to real emotions, and we are all trying to do our very best and create something special. I’ve had multiple people come up to me and say, “I’ve named my son Logan.” And I’m like, “Why did you do that? I’m not the greatest guy on the show.”

Some people come up and say, “This show got me through high school.” And for me that was unbelievable sort of idea that it could impact people and actually help them. You have an underdog character who fights no matter what for the right thing and seeing the good and bad in all characters on the show. I think Rob walked that beautifully. When somebody is totally irredeemable, he does something that was heroic. You could never really put your finger on anybody as a straight bad guy or a straight good guy. We walked the line of grey beautifully.

#veronica mars hulu revival #vm spoilers

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