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httpsserene · 6 months

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Heyy, i was wondering if you could do an Toto wolff x reader. I was thinking kitchen sex?? Like Toto getting turned on because he found out that reader was trying to make him his beloved pumpernickel bread for breakfast. I’ve been seeing tiktoks of Toto and his love for pumpernickel bread, and was just wondering if you could write abt it, though it’s TOTALLY ok if you don’t. Sorry if this was a little messy, this is my first time rqsting something. ♥️

𝐭𝐨𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐰/𝐭. 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟𝐟

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: you make toto his favorite bread. he’s going to thank you for this surprise properly. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. explicit. implied age gap. kitchen sex. rambling about bread. unprotected sex. vaginal sex. morning sex. reader and toto are married. beta-read. 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 2.2k words 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: toto wolff x fem!black!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: oneshot. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: can't take my eyes off of you (i love you baby) • lauryn hill

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: can you tell i did way to much research on the types of pumpernickel bread? no, well, i don’t care 🙂 i WAS NOT familiar with toto wolff and pumpernickel bread so a quick youtube search opened my eyes to it and uh what can i say, this was born. ALSO: i feel like i’ve self-diagnosed myself; i am ashamed to admit that my kink might be somebody making me their wife…because why can’t i go one fic without making the reader be referenced to as a wife (m sorry i crave love). i honestly feel like it could be better, but y’know i hope i did your request justice (sorry it took me so long, ktober beat my ass). anon! i hope you see this, and i hope all the toto wolff lovers enjoy !!!

the yellow dish gloves on your hands protect your brown skin from most of the heat of the scalding tap water. the sound of your hums airily reverberate within the high ceilings of your open-plan kitchen as you clean the expensive dishes you’ve dirtied. you’ve taken off your wedding ring and placed it on top of your phone in the middle of the island to avoid any possibility of it falling down the drain or getting damaged.

you woke up a little after dawn, quickly shutting off your alarm to avoid waking up your husband; it’s the off season for him, you won’t wake him up at insane hours when he’s not needed to work. sneaking out of bed was a battle of its own—there were several close calls as you struggled to slip out of the tight hold of the austrian man. it took seven minutes for you to escape his warm embrace, but you made it through by thinking of the surprise you were going to cook up for Toto—or bake up for him. it’s no secret to anybody that the mercedes team principal loves pumpernickel bread, and that he’s very particular about how he likes it. of course, there’s no way you would be able to make the traditional german pumpernickel bread before he woke up—it takes fourteen hours to cook and it needs to rest for an entire day to allow it to form properly into its crunchy, cookie-like consistency. so, you decided to make the simplified recipe that only takes roughly an hour and a half to bake and prepare, while the original takes its time cooking. your husband will have to be happy with the more loaf-like treat until his preferred bread is ready. you’ve never been more thankful to have two ovens.

everything went well. both breads are prepped and baking away at their respective temperatures, and you’re carefully attempting to clean up the mess you’ve made in the process. you may not have been quiet enough based on the footsteps you hear heading your way. Toto pauses in the doorway and you smile, not needing to turn around to see the baffled expression on his face. you turn the faucet off and grab the cloth resting on the oven handle to dry your hands, “good morning, bär. slept well?” you teased gently with a small smile in Toto’s direction. you take an appraising glance of his form; he’s only wearing this pair of pajama pants covered in the mercedes logo (George gifted him those when the team did secret santa last year; Toto said he’d never wear them), leaving his toned torso exposed for your viewing pleasure, sleep lines from his pillow are still faint along his left cheek, and his hair is ruffled like he’s been running his hands through it. your husband nods half-heartedly, and blinks in confusion as he takes in the sight of you in the kitchen.

you're wearing one of his white button-up shirts—half of the buttons are fastened, the sleeves are rolled up and cuffed right above your elbow. you aren’t wearing a bra based on the way he can see how your nipples are pebbled through the shirt, and he assumes you’re only wearing underwear based on your bare legs. your feet are warmed by a pair of black, fuzzy house slippers, the bottom of the shirt rests along the middle of your thighs, and the collar is shifted to the side exposing your collarbone. your hair is free, allowed to rest however it wants to on this winter morning. he starts, making to finally enter the space of the kitchen and give you a proper morning greeting, but notices a smudge of flour along your jawline. and then he sees the baking utensils gathered in the sink, and a rich aroma starts to permeate the air. it smells slightly like coffee and slightly like dark chocolate—it’s sweet. then, it dawned on Toto, you’re baking pumpernickel bread. for him. his heart flutters; you usually sleep as late into the morning as possible, but today, you woke up at an insane hour just to make him his favorite bread from scratch. you’ve always teased him for how difficult he acts about his breakfast treat yet you sacrificed hours of sleep to please him. Toto’s mushy mindset is broken, as you cock your head at him, wondering why he hasn’t responded to you, and the collar of his your shirt shifts and falls to expose the top of your chest. mmm, yes, he should thank you properly.

you don’t even have time to register toto crossing the space between you, before your lips are interlocked in a passionate kiss. a shocked squeal is muffled against toto’s lips, as his large hands hold your waist steady, and your own hand flies up to hold his head. your other hand rises to tap at his chest frantically, as you begin to run out of air, and toto pulls away with an amused chuckle. dazedly, your hand on his chest pulls back to touch your lips, like you needed further verification that he just kissed you.

Toto smirks, “good morning, schatz.”

you nod unsteadily, “yes—g-good morning.”

your husband laughs louder at your stutter, and tugs you into his chest for a proper hug, rubbing at the nape of your neck with a heavy hand. the two of you stand tangled in the middle of the kitchen, uncaring of how many seconds fly by, and your eyes flutter shut at the relaxing motion of Toto’s massaging hands.

“i’m going to fuck you on the island, now, “ Toto informs you kindly.

you startle, pulling your head back to stare up at him with wide eyes. his gaze is serious, and you can’t help how your cheeks warm under his attention.

“well…” you murmur, “i’m not going to say no.”

from there, it’s all a rushed haze. you go from having two feet firmly planted on the tiled floor to being lifted and placed on the marble island as toto speeds through unbuttoning your collared shirt. you try to shrug it off, but Toto halts your motions firmly telling you to leave it on. you hum absently and pull him into a kiss. Toto moans into your mouth, and the sound has your hips bucking forwarding to grind against the bulge in his pants. his hands reaches for your left hip and assists you in grinding against him, and a sigh of pleasure parts your lips. the austrian eagerly slips his tongue into your mouth, and he tastes a bit of sugar from whatever you snacked on while making his bread. oddly, that causes more of his blood to rush south and he breaks the kiss to lean back and tug your panties off.

you simultaneously pull his pajama pants down, and squirm happily at the fact that he slept without boxers. Toto gently guides you to lie back on the countertop, and coos softly when you shiver from the cold surface; he’ll warm you up soon. he pulls your panties off from where they were dangling around your right ankle and drops them to the floor, kicking them to the side along with his pants. tugging you forward, your ass rests on the edge of the counter and he leans down to press kisses on your throat.

moaning highly, you crane your neck to expose its full length to his mercy. your right hand tangles in his hair to guide him exactly where you want, your left hand holds at his shoulder for support, with your nails digging into the meat of his muscles. Toto pauses, and pulls back to grab your left hand. a broken whine falls from your lips, and you buck your hips upward searching for friction, the slide of his cock along your folds feels delicious. his knees buckle at the sensation, and he forces your hips back down with his free hand, as he pulls your left hand in front of him to look at it.

“where’s your ring, liebling?” Toto asks, warm eyes focused on your bare ring finger. you laugh disbelievingly, amused and surprised at the fact that he managed to feel the absence of your wedding ring, and pull your hand out of his grasp smoothly. you reach behind you and pluck your ring from its spot on top of your phone, and slide it back on your finger. brandishing your ringed-hand in his eyeline, you impatiently try and buck your hips upward to no avail, his one-handed hold on you is unbreakable.

“okay! fuck me—now, please,” you demand desperately.

Toto hushes you, and holds your left hand steady. he stares into your eyes as he presses a kiss on the wedding ring he bestowed you with. your cheeks burn hot, and you roll your eyes as if your heart didn’t liquify at the show of devotion. your husband guides himself to your entrance, and pushes in carefully—thankful he fucked you open last night. you whimper softly, tender and sore, but you nod frantically to encourage Toto to push further in. he groans throatily as he bottoms out, throwing his head back in pleasure, and your moan harmonizes at the feeling of fullness. the stretch burns slightly, but you’re more focused on achieving an orgasm than the space he caves out in your walls.

you squeeze your knees around his waist, and grind up on him to encourage him to move. Toto grabs your left leg, bringing it to rest over his shoulder, while your right leg remains resting on his waist, both fuzzy slippers falling from your feet at the movement. it has him sliding slightly deeper inside you, and a spark of pleasure races up your spine. Toto begins to thrust, setting a quick pace from the get go. he fucked you open eight hours ago and the tightness of your cunt has him considering that he didn’t fuck you well enough. the bruises in the shape of his hands on your hips suggest differently. it’s ridiculous, how lost the two you get in each other’s bodies. your moans are punched out of you with every thrust, his cock dragging against your most pleasurable spot every time he sinks in you. Toto should be embarrassed at how quickly this is ending, but your sounds are too erotic for there to be any other outcome.

he lays his hand on your navel, gently adding pressure over where he’s reaching inside of you, while his thumb circles rapidly over your clit. your back arches sharply as you screech from the unexpected flare of pleasure, raking your nails down his back in thin red lines as you cum at the added stimulation. it’s a multitude of sensations and emotions that had you hurtling over the edge quicker than you thought possible, and Toto has no choice but to follow you into the abyss, unable to hold back his orgasm at the unbearably hot and wet grasp of your cunt. your husband rocks into you through the afterglow, pausing only when you start to whimper in too much, and not feeling good. staring up at toto with a blissed-out smile and half-lidded eyes, you sigh sweetly as he slips out and leans down to kiss you again. the press of his lips is syrupy sweet and you find yourself getting lost under the feeling of him pouring his love and devotion into you—even though you don’t need the reminder—and the timer you’ve set on your phone blares jarringly causing you and toto to jump apart, startled.

“what the fuck,” Toto deadpans as you scramble around to turn off the alarm.

you sigh in relief once the aggravating sound is silenced, and nudge at Toto’s hip with your foot, “well—don’t just stand there! get the bread out before it burns!”

the austrian huffs exaggeratedly, like it’s such a chore, and pulls on the oven mitts to take out the pumpernickel bread adaptation after you direct him to the proper oven, not wanting him to disturb the traditional bread baking. the sight of the known headphone-smashing, hothead mercedes team principal completely naked spare for a pair of oven mitts is amusing, enough that you can’t quiet your snort, uncaring of how Toto glares at you. he places the baking tin on the cooling rack you set to the side, and hums happily at the aroma—even though it’s a far cry from the usual bread he prefers. like the oaf he is, Toto reaches to pull a piece of the fresh pumpernickel to eat, but with lightning quick speed you reach over and slap his hand away before he defiles the bread.

“aht aht! what do you think you're doing? it needs at least forty-five minutes to cool before you can take a slice,” you scold the grown man.

Toto pouts (astounding, honestly), and then he brightens considerably, a sleazy smirk spreading across his lips, “ah? we have time for a second round then, maybe three…” you laugh hysterically, ignoring the way your stomach flips pleasingly at the suggestion, and slide off the counter, buttoning up your collared shirt, and you bend down to pick up the discarded pieces of clothing lying on the floor, “there’s no way you manage to get hard twice in forty-five minutes, old man–” Toto balks at your words–he’s really not old, or at least not that old, “–however, it’s enough time to finish washing the dishes you distracted me from doing.”

taglist: @saintslewi@cherry2stems@lorarri@inloveallthetime@mindless-rock@biancathecool@barnestatic @my-ylenia @katekipshidze @darleneslane @lovingaphroditesworld @smoothopz

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mbappebby · 2 months

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Stargirl || Two

Ivy Carter (OC) x f1 grid

Summary: Ivy never thought she could achieve a podium in her first ever race in formula 1, but she did and made everyone proud of her

Requested: Yes, by anonymous: Hey! Loved the 1st chapter of your new series! Can I request one where Ivy gets on the podium for her first ever race and everyone is proud of her. Thank u x

Words: 1K +

Stargirl series

Taglist: @myluvtaeil (let me know if you want to be added)

Race day

Ivy scanned her pass before entering the paddock, she greeted fans as she was making her way to get to the Mercedes garage. Ryan could see how nervous she was but didn’t say anything, the pair soon enough entered the Mercedes garage.

Ivy greeted her team before making her way into her drivers room, she put her headphones on to listen to music to try to calm down her nerves.

“Hey, where’s Vee?” Susie asked. “In her drivers room, she’s really nervous but won’t admit it if you ask her what’s wrong” Ryan said. “You really know her very well,” George added.

“Been her trainer since the beginning, I can read her like a book” Ryan told them. “Why don’t you talk to her for a bit? Might help to her calm down,” Toto said to his wife.

“I was going talk to her anyways, I’ll be back in a bit” Susie replied as she made her way to Ivy’s drivers room and knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Ivy said as Susie opened to door. “Hey Susie! What’s up? Am I needed in the garage?” Ivy asked. “No you aren’t, you also don’t have to hide from everyone that you are nervous. It’s understandable, sweetie” Susie said softly.

Susie was sat down next to Ivy, the rookie looked the ground. “I hate how Ry can read me like a book..” Ivy mumbled. “He’s looking out for you” Susie told her.

“Still annoying..” Ivy added. “I know you might feel like that Vee, anyways let’s have a chat to hopefully calm you down before the race” Susie said.

And that’s what they did..

After the conversation with Susie, Ivy felt way better than earlier. She and George were currently making their way to the drivers parade. Ivy made her way over to Oscar.

“Hey Vee,” Oscar said as the shared a fist bump. “Hey Osc,” Ivy added with a smile. “Look who it is!” LOGAN SARGEANT said as he walked over to the duo.

“Lo! Hey! Sorry, I haven had a chance to see you at all this weekend!” Ivy replied as they hugged. “It’s alright Vee, happy that you made it up here” Logan said.

“Me too!” Ivy added. “Carter!” Lando called making her turn around. “What’s up Norris?” Ivy called back as Lando started to walk over to her. Ivy quickly walked to stand behind George.

“Aww, you need to be protected?” Lando joked as Ivy smacked his arm, making drivers laugh at the duo. “Feisty as ever,” Lando mumbled as he rubbed his arm as Ivy just smiled at him.

“Nice one Vee!” Alex called. “Thanks Albono!” Ivy replied with a laugh. “I actually hate you,” Lando said. “Love you too Lan!” Ivy said and once again moving away quickly from Lando and placed herself near Lewis.

“It’s going to be a fun season with them,” Max said. “Tell me about it, imagine what it would be like if they were teammates?” George said. “Chaos,” Charles replied.

“They’re two kids, what do you expect?” Carlos added making them laugh.

The moment it happened.

“HISTORY IS MADE TONIGHT! IVY CARTER BECOMES THE FIRST EVER FEMALE TO FINISH ON THE PODIUM IN FORMULA 1! WHAT A FIRST RACE FOR THE 18 YEAR OLD ROOKIE!” Crofty exclaimed as they watched the Mercedes cross the line.

R: “That’s P3 Vee!! What a way to start your formula 1 career with a podium! Brilliant performance today, congratulations Vee!”

Ivy: “AHH!! I did it!! Thank you guys so much, I can’t believe it!!”

R: “You deserve that Vee, amazing performance kid!”

Ivy: “Thanks Toto!!”

Ivy parked her car in the P3 spot, she stayed in her car for a while before eventually stepping out and running into the arms of her crew. She took her balaclava and helmet before seeing two familiar people.

She soon saw Toto and Susie and ran to them. “Knew you could do it Vee!” Toto said. “We are proud of you sweetheart, so many girls will be looking up to you” Susie added as she kissed her forehead.

“Thank you guys!” Ivy mumbled before she had to go get weighed, she then put her helmet down and had a drink of water. “Vee! P3?! Proud of you!” George said as he hugged his teammate.

“Congrats Vee, so proud of you!” Lewis added as they hugged. “Thanks guys, a double podium for us too!” I y replied looking at George. “You know it!” George said.

“I’ll get you both next week, anyways congrats again Vee” Lewis added. Ivy felt someone squeezed her shoulders from behind, when she turned around she saw the Dutch driver.

“Go again next week?” Ivy said as she put her fist out, Max accepted the fist bump. “You know it, almost got me at the end Vee, congrats by the way” Max replied.

“Thank you!” Ivy added as she made her way over to do her post race interview.

“Ivy, a huge congratulations! P3 on your first ever formula 1 race, how you feeling?” JENSON BUTTON asked as the crowd cheered.

“I’m still trying to find words to describe the feeling, I just want to say that can’t thank Toto and Mercedes enough for giving me this opportunity. It’s a dream come true and can’t wait forwards to the races ahead” Ivy replied with a big smile on her face.

“Thank you Ivy, congratulations once again!” Jenson said as Ivy waved up to the crowd before giving Jenson a hug before making her way into the cool down room.

Moments later, Ivy walked out onto the podium..

Toto and Susie had were clapping proudly with big smiles on their faces as watched Ivy up on the podium. Ivy pointed down to them with a big smile on her face too.

“Toto and Susie Wolff looking very proud of Ivy, what a special moment this is for Ivy, she’s just proved to everyone that she deserves to be in that Mercedes seat!” Martin said.

Instagram

ivycarter

Liked by susie_wolff, lewishamilton and 2,572,980 others

ivycarter: P3 on debut?! Words can’t describe how I am feeling right now. If you were to say to me a few years ago that I would have achieve a podium in my first race in formula 1, I would have never believed you. A double podium for us, very strong start to the season. Thank you all for all the support, means so much to me. Let’s go again next week!!💗

tagged: mercedesamgf1

view all 25,893 comments

user61 Let’s gooo, congrats Ivy!!!

user2 Proving everyone wrong😌

user94 🤩👑

susie_wolff Proud of you sweetheart❤️

ivycarter 🥰💗

user62 Susie & Ivy🥹

user26 Susie and Toto looked so proud of her😭

user17 Stargirlll🤩

lewishamilton Well done Vee❤️

ivycarter Thanks Lew❤️

user19 Awh her and Lewis!!

user7 Congrats Vee!

user81 Stargirl for reallll

user43 🔥🔥🔥

georgerussell63 Proud of u Vee!

ivycarter Thank u G❤️

user66 Ivy and George are the best teammates this year

user9 Toto and Susie looked so proud of her!!

maxverstappen1 Well done Vee!

ivycarter Thanks brooo, I’ll get you next time!!

maxverstappen1 Bring it on lil sis!

user20 I love how all the drivers treat her like a little sister!🥹

user72 I’m loving her friendship with Max!!

user80 Let’s go Ivy!!!⭐️

user58 Queennn👑

olliebearman Ay! Congrats Vee!

ivycarter Thanks Ol!

paularon_ Come to the F2 paddock!!

ivycarter On my way!!

user62 My fav trio ^^

user19 I love how Ollie, Paul and a few others weee watching her🥰

#f1 #f1 imagines #formula 1 #fem!f1driver #female driver #f1 x fem!driver #f1 x female driver #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader

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jaeclerc · 5 months

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just 3.1K of my maxiel demon au for the lovely @powerful-owl ! happy birthday <3 i knew i needed to gift you a little something because you are literally one of the reasons I started to publish any of my f1 works!

cw: mentions of death, blasphemy, and tail fucking

“Maximus,” Daniel greeted him, making Max look up from where he was fucking around on his computer instead of sorting some of the files that he was supposed to be sorting “Tell Torger I have a date so the SEED meeting is a no from me but a huge yes from Charles. And you.”

Max rolled his eyes, staring Daniel down. He was still floating from probably showing off to whoever this date was, trying to impress them with the fact that he was The Devil. Max had seen him try and pick up when they went to the occasional Earth-side bar and he always pulled out the floating and tail as if most people weren’t scared of such a figure like The Devil. He was always baffled when it worked and Daniel ditched them to go off and do whatever he did on these trysts.

(Max tried to never think about it, lest he has to address the deep jealousy that crops up)

“I do not want to go, Daniel.” Max sighed, his fingers going back to pecking out the email he had already pulled up to draft to George, Toto’s assistant. He did not want to go but he still would, because he knew that these small pleasures came rarely to Daniel.

He’s spent over 40 years with Daniel and Charles, he knew them better than he would wish to admit. He knew that Charles was riddled with guilt for disparaging his mother and then dying and he still visited her salon when he could, disguised as a random teen.

He knew that Daniel felt so heavy with the burden of what put him in the position to be The Devil that he rarely gave himself any sort of actual happiness. Underneath the cherry red eyes and poker tail, he was scared of what he had to do daily to maintain his existence. He was secretly devastated that he and his fellow soldiers had died in a war that was supposed to end them all, just for another one to pop up 20 years later. He held his responsibility heavy around his neck like a collared dog.

“I know, Maxi-Pad, but: I’m your boss and I want you to attend. It’ll be good to help you get promoted.” Daniel simpered, a sly smile on his lips at his own joke.

“Promoted to what?” Charles chimed in as he walked in, angel dust still on his cheekbones from his angel boyfriend. Max didn’t understand why he always had to be Daniel’s assistant when there were two of them and Charles was perfectly capable of file organizing and emailing.

“To my two favorite demons!” He wrapped his arms around the both of them, dimples showing as he hugged them close. Letting out a pleased hum as he saw the email that Max was drafting

“We are, of course, the only demons you have.” Max snorted, signing his email off and sending it, even with Daniel squeezing him close. The Devil smelt like La Labo and Old Spice deodorant, as well as the Downey softener that he made all of Hell use.

All of Hell was just the three of them plus Charles’ boyfriend, but he still insisted that they all used it.

“Exactly! But, you’ll be my favorite demons out of alllll the demons and angels there are and that’s pretty sweet.” Daniel let go of them as George replied, confirming that it was alright for them to attend rather than Daniel.

“Great, now that we have that sorted: Charles I need your help picking out an outfit.” Daniel pulled Charles along and Max glared at him as Charles mouthed “Sorry!” over his shoulder.

Max went back to fucking around on reddit forums about being in love with your boss and the implications of it. Just for research. Humanity had become so informational since Max had died.

^_^

Max stewed about as he waited for Charles to finish helping Daniel, waiting to pounce on the other demon and quiz him on everything he knew. Daniel and Charles were each other’s gossip partners, but Max was Daniel’s movie and grocery shopping partner so it evened out in time given. But, Charles still always had the information that Max felt like he was missing.

When Charles finally walked out with a faint grin that bloomed into an intense smile when he saw Max, giggling to himself as Max glowered at him.

“Max, you are so silly.” Was all he said when he finally stopped in front of him, hands crossed as he looked quite smug.

“What do you mean?” Max said, huffy and indignant even if he was admittedly acting super silly and like a teenager with a crush. Which was: accurate but embarrassing. He was only a teenager in body, but in his 50s in spirit and yet he was acting pouty and jealous.

“Just tell Daniel that you like him! He adores you, you guys are always going on little trips together, no?” Charles was always so cryptic with him, it was frustrating.

“That doesn’t mean-you know, the world wide web says that it’s unethical for a boss to sleep with an employee.” Charles snorted, flopping next to Max on the living room couch, sprawling out and putting his feet under Max’s legs, which Max just accepted. It was 15 years too late to shove Charles away, anyway.

“We’re not his employees, we are his friends. Seb told me that Daniel was so lonely before we were chosen and that’s why he picked us out. He needed someone like us. Someone like him.” Charles said.

“Insane?” Max asked

“Gay and lonely.” Charles amended, pausing before adding “And insane.”

Max huffed a laugh, hugging his arms around himself, before preparing himself to ask. But, he didn’t have to, Charles already coming out with it.

“The guy’s name is Emiliano.” He said, a small smile playing on his lips “And Daniel really seems to like him. He couldn’t stop talking about how beautiful his, ah, turquoise eyes were.”

Max openly stared at Charles. What a best friend he was, saying all of this to him when he knew how Max felt!

“Come on, let’s get ready for the meeting. We can go out afterwards.” Charles had that look in his eyes that he had whenever he was planning something. Probably going to try and set Max up at the club they frequent, just so he wasn’t stewing so much about what Daniel could possibly be doing with his tail.

Charles had him dressed in his best white button up, the ripped black jeans that hugged his ass and thighs but weren’t too tight, and even let him borrow a pair of Jordan’s that were pristine and baby blue.

He made him wear his best cologne and style his hair in the nice tussled style that Charles said he looked best in, a sly grin on his face the entire time.

Unusually, Charles wasn’t dressed up with him, he was just in a faded t-shirt and some sweats. But, Charles had a face that distracted from anyone paying attention to anything else and he was taken, so he didn’t need to look good like Max did when they went out.

^_^

When Max walked through their transporting door (not to get confused with the door that dropped into the fiery pits), he was surprised to find himself without Charles and in a low lit restaurant, not the pristine marble halls of Angel Court.

He was also surprised to see Daniel smiling at him, horns and his tail out. Just like Max liked him, unashamed and glowing in his pseudo-godhood.

“Wha-We are missing the meeting.” Max was confused. Someone had to show up at the meeting, it was important and they had already pushed it back twice. It was to review their efficiency and what they needed to fix, which was a lot in Max’s opinion.

“No, Charles is at the meeting, Maxy. We are here.” Max frowned as Daniel stood up, walking towards him. He didn’t understand. Daniel was supposed to be on a date with Emiliano with the blue eyes while Max stewed and tried to convince Toto to give them another demon just so Max could do less desk work and more in the field work with Daniel.

“What about your date?” Max asked, voice softening as Daniel pulled out the chair for him and lightly pushed him down into it.

“You are my date, Max Emilian.” Daniel smiled at him, head tilting as he looked Max up and down, making him feel like there were a bunch of ants crawling up and down his spine with the way he shivered.

Daniel sighed, amused as he continued to just look at Max with his red fire filled eyes, tail flicking behind him absentmindedly as he reached out, hesitant. His thumb brushed Max’s clenched fist, rubbing softly over his knuckles.

“You like me, Max.” It was a fact, a statement that Daniel seemingly knew to be true with the way it came out of his mouth. Max flinched, feeling suddenly exposed,

“I like you too. Have since ‘97 when you rescued that cat from one of the sinners we had to confront.” Max was still silent, which seemingly amused Daniel.

“You also leave those forums that you browse open on the computer.” He added, which Max flushed at. He still felt a little out of depth.

“I was only on Earth for less than 20 years.” Max defended, unclenching his fist as Daniel’s hand wrapped loosely around his. “I don’t know these things. I lost my virginity and then died.” He flushed again at that admission. He had only told Charles about that little fact.

“I know all of that already. I also know that you would’ve never told me you liked me because you’re afraid that it’s against company policy.” Daniel’s thumb rubbed absentminded circles on Max’s knuckle, making his brain only able to focus on how wonderful it felt to have Daniel touching him.

“Turns out: I make the policy and I’ve decided it’s perfectly fine that you like me and I like you. It’s actually encouraged.” He continued, pausing his thumb to get Max to actually look at him.

Max felt deranged with how the suppressed want flowed through him, with the hope and adoration in Daniel’s eyes. Those eyes were looking at him, staring him down and Max wanted to lunge across the table and seal Daniel’s mouth shut with his own. He wanted to strip both of them down until all they had on was their matching horns (red for Daniel and gold for Max). He wanted to cry and yell that they’ve could’ve been together since 1997.

Instead he just replied, quite even and simple if he were to say so himself, “Well if it’s not against company policy and my boss is encouraging it, then, of course, as the star employee, I have to do it.”

Daniel beamed at him, lacing their fingers together.

^_^

Dinner was a quiet, tension filled affair. By the time that Max had his polite three bites of dessert, he was ready to go back home and present himself to Daniel like a cat in heat.

Instead, they walked out the door of the cute Italian restaurant and started walking, Daniel swinging their hands between them as he chatted with Max about small things. Max just wanted to get home, back to Hell and the comfort of their shared house so he could kiss Daniel, too nervous to kiss him in public, unsure how people would react around them.

“Are you good?” Daniel asked as he noticed Max start to slow down, dragging his arm out.

“Can we go home?” Max asked instead of answering. Daniel tilted his head before nodding, his face looking a little less excited than he was before. He snapped his fingers and guided Max through the next available door, right into their living room.

“What’s-“ Max didn’t let Daniel finish, gripping his shoulders and pulling him in for a frankly messy kiss, all nerves and inexperience. Daniel relaxed, hands coming up to cup Max’s jaw, tail wrapping around Max’s waist as they fell into each other.

Daniel was a lot more smooth than Max, coaxing him out of his frantic kissing and into something a little more slow and exploratory, gently tasting each other’s mouths.

Max wanted more and more. He secretly knew that if he ever had Daniel, he would actually lose his mind. He would never be able to have his fill, the endless void of want opening itself up to consume everything Daniel could ever give him and that scared him. The enormous feelings that encompassed him whenever Daniel was around. It was a million times worse already, now that he knew Daniel wanted him back.

He was canting his hips into Daniel’s without even realizing, seeking his warmth to soothe the burn of his own need.

“Max.” Daniel chuckled as Max let out a soft gasp, his own eyes flying open as he felt flooded with embarrassment. He had also feared that his desperation would be so easy to see the moment that he was ever in this position. It wasn’t easing his mind that he was right: Daniel was going to make him absolutely sick with love and want.

He pulled away, wanting to curl up and hide from his own arousal, his body pulsing like he had a heartbeat still.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay.” Daniel soothed, his tail still wrapped around his waist, drawing him in. He pressed a kiss to the space under Max’s ear, pulling him close. Max could feel Daniel’s dick against his hip, half hard and pressing against him as Daniel trailed small kisses against Max’s neck, making his head tilt to the side.

“Daniel-“ He cut himself off before he continued, trying to find the words “Let me.”

He pulled away just a little so he could make Daniel feel good but paused when Daniel’s hands covered his, stopping him.

“Don’t worry about that, baby.” Daniel assured him, his hands guiding Max’s hands to his waist. “We have plenty of time for me. I’ve been tortured into watching you wear these jeans for years without being able to appreciate your thighs.” His hands dropped from Max’s to grab at Max’s ass, palming it before sliding down and gripping Max’s thighs.

Max let out a soft sound, his hips twitching into thin air as Daniel gripped him before letting go and unhooking his button and unzipping his jeans with quick efficiency that had to come from practice. Max would ruminate over that later when he didn’t have Daniel’s hands down his pants, cupping him gently through his boxers.

Max had always been secretly ashamed of what he was (or wasn’t, rather) packing. Even the guy he fucked in the confession box had seemed a little shut down when he realized that Max didn’t exactly have the length to fuck him and so he’d have to top.

But Daniel looked down at what his hand was cupping and audibly moaned when he saw Max’s cock jutting out, barely the length of his middle finger and flushed an angry red from his want.

“I’m so-“ Max started and Daniel cut him off with a shake of his head, palming Max and wrapping his thumb and forefinger around him, stroking him as he used his other hand to press his thumb against the mole on Max’s lip, effectively shutting him up.

“You drive me insane with how perfect you are, don’t you dare apologize.” Daniel’s eyes flared with more fire as he spoke. Max’s lips parted, not to disagree but to take Daniel’s thumb into his mouth, sucking in long draws when he couldn’t think of anything else. He needed something to ground himself before he came all over Daniel’s hand from some heavy petting and praise.

Daniel’s tail crept down the back of Max’s boxers, which were now sagging down his thighs, the poker end gently pressing against him as if Daniel was trying to breach him. Max’s hand flew up to grip Daniel’s hair but caught on his horn, grabbing the first thing felt for purchase as the end gently probed against him, his toes curling in his borrowed shoes.

This was going to end embarrassingly quickly if Daniel didn’t stop using everything he had against Max.

Max hissed, sounding muffled against Daniel’s thumb as he continued to use his tail on him, not pushing far, just enough to make Max feel set on fire from his greatest fantasy coming to life.

“You want my tail?” Daniel asked, seemingly blown away by Max’s reaction to some light exploring. Max felt feverish at the suggestion, just nodding as his eyes fluttered open and then shut, the whole image too much for him.

Daniel took his thumb from Max’s mouth, even as Max tried to chase it, worrying that he would spill just how much he wanted every part of Daniel inside of him at once and how much he had fantasized it.

He heard a snap before he felt something cold drip down his crack and over hole, slick and viscous. He realized, probably a couple seconds too late, that Daniel had conjured lube so he could give Max just that.

The first press of Daniel’s tail inside of him had him feeling light headed as Daniel slowly stroked him, thumb pressing the under side of his cock deliciously, seemingly deeply aware of what made Max tick already.

Max gasped as it breached him fully, curled up inside of him and just tad too hot to be fully human, making him swear as he attempted to rock back against it, his fingers curling around Daniel’s horns even more, yanking him down as Daniel gasped as well, mouth instinctively sealing against Max’s collarbone.

Max’s horns were very sensitive and they were only a third of the size of Daniel’s, so he can’t imagine just how sensitive Daniel’s were with how Max was holding onto them.

Daniel’s tail curled inside of Max again and he felt himself hurdling down the cliff into pure bliss as he moaned, spilling onto Daniel’s hand embarrassingly quick, clenching around Daniel’s tail as he came down.

Daniel as breathing heavily, his hand that caught Max’s cum furiously stroking himself off, his mouth still sucking on Max’s neck as he hurdled down after Max, spurred on by the way that Max was stroking his horns, watching with his mouth dropped open in awe.

“Fuck.” Daniel half laughed once they were both breathing normally, his tail still in Max. “We need to see just how much of my tail you can take.”

#maxiel fic #maxiel #max verstappen #daniel ricciardo #demon au #i apologize if this is terribly ooc #but also who cares u know LMFAO #mentions of sebchal #charles leclerc #f1 fic rec #f1 fic #this is minimally edited sorry !

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bwoahtastic · 8 months

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I loved that ask about Nico having a terrible pregnancy and Seb being really reluctant about Nico and Toto's relationship. That family in all its iterations is so sweet and I just love them. If I remember correctly, didn't we have Mick as the Toto/Nico baby? What about Mick, a few weeks old, having really bad colic and Nico and Toto being so stressed because he just. will. not. stop. crying.

They're so tired, and feel like such awful parents for being unable to help their baby who sounds like he's in so much pain. Seb is still pretty iffy about the whole Nico of it all, even if they did bond a bit during Nico's pregnancy, and feels really weird about having a little brother who is younger than his own kids, but Max and Charles are very excited about there being a new baby in the family, so Seb takes pity on his dad and Nico, and comes over to help.

And by some miracle, Mick quiets down when Seb holds him. Mick absolutely adores Seb, and Seb can always get him to calm down, even after he's been screaming the house down for hours and hours. It's a huge relief for Nico and Toto, who finally get some sleep, and are able to do a few things around the house, like cook and do laundry, but at the same time (because I love torturing Nico) Nico feels incredibly insecure about it. He's trying so hard to be a good mother, he already feels like he messed up the pregnancy phase, even though it wasn't his fault, and now his sort of stepson is able to soothe his baby when Nico can't. It would really upset him and he'd try to keep it from Toto, but of course, it would only make things worse

Oh plss Nico struggling so much during tbe pregnancy and Seb,is apprehensive and a little shit but steps in to help and makes sure Toto is home more because Nico needs him no matter how much he tries to downplay his struggles

Then little mick is born and even seb has to admit its one cute pup lol! But yeah he is still weirded out thst it's his half brother and younger than the pups he had with Kimi. Charles and Max are super curious about the pup tho and miss grandpa so Kimi makes Seb come when they visit even though Seb is #sulking.

They arrive and its chaos, Toto looks exhausted and Nico has clearly been crying and little Mick is sobbing his little heart out no matter how Nico gently rocks him. Seb is more experienced than nico and Toto who never dealt with a newborn and the tummy pains they get and he gently takes Mick, shushing him and massaging him just right to help the pain and Mick quiets down, conks out against Seb's chest because the baby is exhausted too.

Seb telling Nico and Toto to get done what needs to be done and Kimi quietly helps them eith cooking and the laundry to make aure they get some sleep, all whilr Seb rocks little Mick and shows Max and Charles their tiny uncle

Poor Nico feeling awful! He feels tired and ugly, all crusty and still fat which is not true ofc but he hates being imperfect for Toto, and then what is even worse is.thst he clearly sucks at being a momma...

Nico not talking to Toto about it cos he frankly doesn't know what to say but Toto notices Nico doesn't really fuss over Mick as much anymore, keeping his distance and seeming awkward but whenever he asks Nico claims to be fine.

Seb is getting a little sick of solving their problems but he can see Nico is dealing with some post partum issues and knows how hard it can be, still hurting and suddenly having to deal with a tiny little human. Seb teaching Nico all th3 little tricks thst worked foe Max and Charles and being sure to compliment him (a tiny bit reluctantly) and telling Toto he better give nico compliments too!

#asks #stepmom nico au

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doctorstethoscope · 3 years

Text

In the Garden || A. Hotchner x Fem!Reader

hello babes! Something a little different today-- I didn’t have time to write a request that I was going to be pleased with, so this is something that’s been sitting in my drive for a while. Hope you like it!

Submit requests here!

contains: sexual innuendo, gun mention

wordcount: 2.4k

You can’t remember the last time you wore a dress, much less a gown like the one JJ was zipping you into now-- dresses weren’t practical for field work with the BAU, and even when you’d worked in the counterterrorism unit, you’d much preferred a professional blouse and pair of slacks. But the First Lady had decided to throw a ball in the White House to celebrate federal employees, and the Bureau was receiving an award, which the Director had hand-picked the BAU to accept. So, gown. Even though you’d much prefer to be changing into a pair of sweats-- you had been called on a case two days before the ball, and Garcia saved the day by running to everyone’s apartments and grabbing their nice clothes so you all wouldn’t be late. Which is how you found yourself squeezing into a sleek off the shoulder number in the Batcave, with Emily batting at your face with a makeup brush and JJ tugging at your zipper.

“Babe, you look hot.” Penelope says as Emily and JJ step away from you, admiring their work.

“All Emily’s work,” you deflected with a shy smile.

“We’ll have that fight when we’re not running late,” Emily said, pulling you out of Garcia’s office, she and JJ not far behind.

Derek let out a wolf whistle when he saw you all approaching, and you heard JJ’s windchime laugh from a few steps behind.

“Hello ladies,” he said with an exaggerated leer.

“Derek Morgan, you’re lucky that my thigh holster doesn’t go with this dress.” Emily spits out, and all of you burst out in laughter.

“Chocolate thunder, you clean up good,” Garcia says, crossing to Derek, who moved to put his arm around her shoulders as Reid emerged into the bullpen.

“Speaking of cleaning up good,” JJ says with a small smile, and you catch Reid blushing.

“Did you know that balls like this can cost American taxpayers up to a million dollars?” He asks the group, and you smile.

“Maybe don’t mention that when the first lady gives us the award, yeah Spence?” You tease, and he treats you to a little chuckle.

You hear Hotch before you turn to see him and Rossi. “Alright, let’s go,” He says, leading the group out of the BAU and towards your SUVs. You end up in the passenger seat of the car Rossi is driving.

“You doing okay, kid? You’re awful quiet this evening. Invitations to Federal Government Prom don’t come often, you know.” He smirks, and you half-ass a smile in return.

“Yeah, I’m okay, Rossi. Just tired, you know. Would have preferred to get a night’s sleep in my own bed before we did this, you know?”

He nods, but there’s no use in lying to a profiler.

The food, you have to admit, is leagues better than the instant ramen you would have cooked up if you had gone home tonight. And the conversation isn’t half bad either, you admit to yourself as you lazily flirt with Paul, a junior fellow from the Department of Health and Human Services, just barely putting in enough effort to seem interested while allowing your mind to wander.

The sensation of a warm hand in between your exposed shoulder blades distracts you from your train of thought.

“Excuse me,” Aaron’s deep baritone interrupts Paul’s nervous tenor. “I’d like to cut in for a dance, if you don’t mind.”

Paul sputters, and you laugh, because you know that Aaron was asking you, not this early-thirties politico type that he towered over, both physically and morally.

“We’ll catch up later?” you said to Paul, with absolutely no intent to catch up later, before Aaron led you out to the dance floor.

“Hotch, I’m gonna step on your feet.” You warned.

“No you won’t,” he assures you. “Follow my lead.”

You do as you’re told, and you’re surprised to realize just how easy it is to follow him, anywhere.

“Aaron Hotchner, when on Earth did you learn to ballroom dance?” You asked incredulously.

“Boarding school,” He answers with an easy smile.

“You’re joking,” you accuse.

“Ah, yes, something I’m known to do.”

“You remain a mystery, Hotchner.” You tell him.

“I don’t know. That might have been my last secret.”

You roll your eyes, content to continue dancing, and finding yourself getting distracted again.

“What are you thinking about?” Aaron asks, and you mentally curse yourself for letting your guard down in front of your boss.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I’m just tired. But really grateful to be here, of course, and--”

“I wasn’t asking as your boss, you can stand down,” He smirks, dipping you quickly and it takes your breath away. “You’re thinking of leaving.” He says as he lifts you back up, and it’s not a question.

“How did you-- I can’t believe-- Damn profilers.” You harrumphed.

“You’ve been distant, the past couple weeks. You’re in your early twenties accepting an award at the White House, by all accounts you should be ecstatic. That’s when I knew something was wrong. And when I saw you with Peter, or whatever his name was, who you couldn’t be less interested in, that’s when I knew it was us.”

“See, and that’s exactly why I need to leave. Because I’ll never be able to do that.” You tell him, finally looking him in the eye.

“You will,” He says in a self-assured tone that does nothing to assuage your anxiety.

“I don’t know,” you sighed.

“I do.”

“Maybe I’m not good enough, Hotch.” You confess carelessly. He’s already figured you out. Might as well fess up to your deepest insecurities while your boss holds you and stares you down with his deep brown eyes in the middle of the East Room.

“You are,” he says in that same tone, that you’re sure is supposed to be calming but is only infuriating.

“But maybe I’m not! Maybe I’m one of those people who always wanted to do it, who always wanted to be an agent, but it’s like a pipe dream for me. I don’t contribute to the team the same way everyone else does. I don’t pick up on the things that seem so obvious to all of you, and it sucks. I can still do good work, but you know-- you change your dreams and you grow up. Maybe I’m one of those people and I’m just not supposed to be here. I just can’t stay knowing that I’m not supposed to be here-- I have to leave.” You’re not even sure if your soliloquy makes any sense, but Aaron pulls you a little closer, so he can speak the next few words lowly, directly into your ear.

“You’ve been here eight months. It takes time. You are an incredible agent, and an asset to this team. I don’t need another profiler that sees the same things we all see-- I need you, and your observations, the things we missed-- those are the things that solve cases. I can’t-- I can’t allow you to change your dream. I can’t let you leave. I need you here.”

You let his words hang in the air for a moment before he speaks again.

“The, uh-- the team needs you. We all need you, and your observations, is what I meant.” He stammers.

“Hotch?’ You ask, confused by the sudden change in tone.

“Do you want to go get some fresh air? Get away from the crowd?” He asks, pulling away to look at you, and there’s an invitation in his eyes. Maybe a more seasoned profiler would know exactly what it was, but you were excited to find out nonetheless.

“Yeah, I think I do.”

You’re certain that you’re breaking some sort of law as Hotch pulls you out of the ballroom and down a hallway, his fingers interlocked with yours. You try not to think about it too much. Your heels click against the marble floors as you follow Aaron’s brisk pace, and eventually he finds a door outside, opening it up and allowing you to pass through it first. It takes a minute to place yourself, especially under the cover of night, but after a moment you realize you’re in the rose garden.

“Toto, I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore,” You say under your breath with a little laugh as you look out over the sprawling display of flowers and plants.

“It definitely beats the Quantico courtyard,” Aaron agrees.

“Never thought I’d make it there, either.” You confess, not looking at him.

“But you did. It wasn’t meant to be easy, but you made it, and you’ll grow. You just need time.” He tells you.

“How can you be so sure?” You ask, feeling your eyes well up.

“I was young once, too.” He tells you with a self-deprecating grin.

“You can’t play up the wise, ancient elder with me, Hotch. I’ve seen you chase Jack across a soccer field like you’re still in your twenties.” You laugh, but he can hear the emotions behind it.

“Hey, come on, I mean it. I’m not Rossi, but I’ve got my fair dose of wisdom to share,” he says, moving closer to you and placing a hand on your arm, trying to comfort you. “Let’s keep dancing. If you want to talk, you can talk. But you thought you couldn’t dance, and you could dance, right? So we can keep doing that until you believe me.” He said, pulling your hand up in his and placing his other on your waist.

The two of you moved slowly, the orchestra from inside only barely audible from where you were standing. With Hotch’s bad ear, he could really only hear it when his body was angled just right in the direction of the East Room, but somehow he had perfect rhythm regardless. You move in silence for a song or two or three before Hotch speaks up again.

“I lied to you, earlier.” He confesses, still guiding you effortlessly through a simple waltz.

“How do you mean?” You ask, suddenly nervous that you were right, that you’re a complete failure of an agent, and that you need to pack your bags and head on back to Kansas.

“I lied when I said that I’d told you my last secret.”

“Oh,” you said, too caught up in your own head to try to understand what he was saying.

“And I lied when I told you that I meant the team needed you--” you felt that bone-crushing weight on your soul again-- “we do, of course, but that’s not what I meant.”

“Hotchner, what are you talking about?” You finally asked, no longer able to tolerate the emotional whiplash of his conversation.

“When I said I needed you, I meant it.”

“Oh,” you say, your face a portrait of shock and confusion, even though you understood him completely.

“That’s selfish of me as a person, and wrong of me as your superior, and maybe that means that I’m outing myself as the kind of fucked-up person that isn’t worth another second of your time, but I needed you to know.” He stops dancing now, tries to hedge a bit of space between you without letting you go entirely.

“Aaron,” you whisper, clinging to him more tightly as he pulls away, feeling his jacket wrinkle under your fingernails.

“Yes?” he whispers back.

“I’m glad you told me,” you tell him, and that’s all the permission he needs to take your face in both of your hands and kiss you, with a gentleness that makes you feel like spun gold, with the reverence of a man who knows that love is not a game, with the hunger of one who has been starved for months.

He pulls away from you, too soon, and your eyes are wet. “My resignation will be on your desk by Monday morning.”

He takes a step away. “What do you--”

“Goodnight, Aaron,” You tell him with a sad little smile, turning around towards the door you came from and leaving him in the garden.

You’re drowning your sorrows in a pint of Ben and Jerry’s when the doorbell rings the next day. You swing the door open grumpily, to reveal Aaron.

“It’s Saturday, and you can’t turn in your resignation until 9am Monday. What can I do in the next forty eight hours to convince you that you belong here?” Aaron asks, still standing in the hall of your apartment complex.

You sigh, stepping aside to let him in. You can’t give him what he wants, but you won’t have this argument where all the neighbors will hear, either. “It’s too late, Hotch.”

“It’s not too late,” he argues, checking his watch. “I have forty six hours and thirteen minutes.”

“I’ll still be the girl who got this job on her back forty six hours from now.” You tell him, folding your arms.

“You’ll be what?” He asks, incredulous.

“I know that you heard me loud and clear.

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t know that you slept with Erin Strauss. I didn’t think you were her type.” He says, and you let out an exasperated sigh.

“You’re absolutely incorrigible!” You cry out.

“Who implied that you got this job on anything other than your own merit?” Aaron asks, a glint in his eye that lets you know that they’ll be handled just as soon as he gets you to shred the letter of resignation you drafted last night.

“Didn’t I? You didn’t clear my promotion because you were attracted to me?” You asked.

“I cleared your promotion before we even met-- your interview was a bureau formality. Your reputation and the glowing recommendations from your peers in counterterrorism spoke volumes.” He assures you.

“Oh,” you let out, your anger deflating.

“If you want to leave because of my inappropriate behavior, please reconsider. I’m incredibly sorry for--” He starts, but you cut him off, placing your hands on his face and pulling him in for a kiss.

“Nothing to be sorry for. Please continue to be inappropriate,” you tell him in between kisses.

He smiles as he continues to place kisses across your face, your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. “Right now?” He asks, slipping a hand underneath your shirt. “You want me to be inappropriate right now?”

“If you’re really good at it, I’ll let you tear up my resignation yourself.”

@romanogersendgame @wanniiieeee @zheezs14 @greeneyedblondie44 @angelic-kisses13 @baumarvel @ssamorganhotchner @ijustwannaread2k19 @rexit-mo @shmaptainhotchnersmain @qtip-blog @averyhotchner @the-modernmary @itsmytimetoodream @choppa-style @hotforhotchner11 @infinite-tides @isthatme-thatsme @g-l-pierce @bakugouswh0r3 @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @rousethemouse @scuttling

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch x y/n #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner one shot #criminal minds fic #criminal minds one shot

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ohmycenchaheart · 3 years

Text

What started out as a headcanon, ended up becoming, well, this.. Cha Young is overcome with a strong sense of déjà vu as she strolls around the upscale men’s clothing store, waiting as her boyfriend gets fitted for his new Booralro suit.

Honestly now, the man is quite rich, not to mention has a good number of gold bars to his name, and yet he wants her to buy him his new suit. All because of a stupid bet they made during one of their makgeolli nights. Okay, so she may have somewhat grudgingly admitted that even the simplest, most basic pasta made by him, Spaghetti Aglio e Olio in this case, tasted better than the one Chef Toto served at Arno. She had tried to reason her way out — it was probably the wine he paired the pasta with that enhanced the taste. Alas, the soft moan that escaped her, as flavours of garlic, parsley and olive oil exploded in her mouth in the first bite itself, was enough to have Vincenzo smirk in victory like the insufferable git he can be when he wins. And that had been that.

They should have stuck to their old finger flick bets, she muses as she walks past a glass display of cuff links and tie pins. Except finger flicks weren’t just finger flicks anymore. Sometimes, they were soft kisses on the forehead, and sometimes, a little something more. It wasn’t something either of them minded; in fact, these bets often became playful excuses. But one day, in a silly fit of competitiveness, Cha Young had declared they up the stakes. And that’s how she finds herself in this fancy store once again, the same one where she’d bought him his suit and pen after their first court victory together, waiting as Vincenzo tries on yet another suit. In hindsight, she should’ve suggested the loser buy bungeoppang instead. Oh well..

“It’s for the party next week,” he’d insisted, at which Cha Young had merely scoffed. The man would do anything for a new Booralro suit. But it was a party she was looking forward to, a fancy one at the Italian Embassy to which her partner had snagged invites. And she had treated herself to a new dress using the same excuse, so it was a bit hypocritical of her, wasn’t it?

She walks over to the corner that houses a display of silk ties, all meticulously organised by colour, prints and size, where a light blue paisley tie catches her eye, and she asks one of the store attendants to take it out of the display for her. She can't remember if she’s ever seen him wear a paisley tie before, but the tie is beautiful. It’s soft and the print delicate, but it’s the colour that catches her fancy. It’s a light greyish blue, a colour she knows would go well with either of the three suits he’s shortlisted. But more importantly, and she won’t admit this to him, well not yet at least, the colour is almost the same shade of the dress she bought. She’d always found the idea of couples matching their outfits amusing, however, in that moment she’s willing to concede that there’s something sweet about it after all.

“Byeonhosa-nim, ” Vincenzo calls out to her as he steps out of the fitting room, closely followed by the store attendant who had been assisting him with the fitting. Cha Young tries not to roll her eyes at the employee who trails after her boyfriend with a starstruck look akin to the one adoring fans have upon meeting their favourite idol. “How’s this one,” he asks as he adjusts the cuffs of his suit.

She walks over to him, first running her hands over his shoulders and then smoothing the lapels of his jacket. Stepping back, she gives him a once over, and ignoring the fluttering in her heart, replies as nonchalantly as she can, “I think it should do the trick.” When the store attendant enthusiastically gushes about how good the suit looks on Vincenzo, Cha Young graces him with a glare that is enough to remind him that he needs to go and look after the other non-existent visitors in the store.

Finally without an audience, she holds up the tie with a slight flourish and asks, “what do you think?”

For a moment, she’s worried that perhaps the tie doesn’t match up to his high standards. The man does have impeccable taste, and is quite fussy about his clothing. Her little moment of doubt vanishes when Vincenzo smiles. “Yeppeuda.” It’s pretty.

“Here, let me,” she says as she closes the gap between them and reaches out to do up the top buttons of his shirt (a pity, really, because she loves it when he leaves his collar unbuttoned), smirking at the way Vincenzo gulps when her fingers are at the collar of his shirt. Besotted man that he is, he lowers his head in submission so that she can place the tie around his neck.

“Have you ever done this before?”

“A couple of times..”

When he raises his eyebrows, Cha Young realises what he might have misunderstood it as.

“For Abeoji,” she sheepishly clarifies. What she doesn’t tell him is that she would always loop the tie around her neck first, tie it, loosen it and then hand it over to her father. She had never tied a tie for someone on their person this way.

She adjusts the length of the tie (she thinks she’s got the length right), crosses the wider end over the thinner one, then passes it from the back the other side and then.. Damn it, what do you do next? Cross it over from the other side? Loop it all over again? She tries to remember the next step, forehead scrunched up in concentration, trying to jog her memory. It doesn’t help that Vincenzo’s cologne serves as a distraction. Feeling his gaze on her, she looks up.

“What are you looking at?”

You. “Your tie tying. I’m trying to figure out what knot you’re going to go for. Say, Byeonhosa-nim, are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Yah! I’m just.. trying to recollect. It’s been a while since I’ve done this.”

“Ahh.”

“…”

“Pass the wide end through the gap between the tie and the collar, and take it to the right side. That’ll be your left.”

“Mhmm. Like this?” “Yes. Now wrap the wide end across the thinner end, and then pull the wide end through the gap between the tie and collar like before. But don’t pull it too tightly. See that loop on top of the knot? You’ll need to—“

Before he can finish, she’s already sliding the wide end of the tie through the said loop, and pulling it tight.

“Yes, yes, I know. Now hold still, let me just adjust this.”

As she goes about making the final adjustments to the tie, pulling it tighter and fixing it into place, an old memory flashes in Cha Young’s mind — one of her mother tying a tie for her father in a similar manner, and Hong Yu Chan looking down at his wife with an adoring smile, very much like how Vincenzo is looking at her in this moment. She never understood why her mother did that, or why her father let her when he was perfectly capable of doing it himself, or why the late lawyer pretty much gave up wearing a tie (unless it was absolutely necessary) after the death of his wife.. but now she gets it.

“There, all done.”

She turns around, so that both her and Vincenzo are facing a full-length gilded mirror, and he can review her handiwork.

“That’s not a bad Half-Windsor, you know.. especially for your first try”

“A what now?”

“The knot. It’s called a Half-Windsor. It’s the one I usually go for. Either that, or a Four-in-hand..”

“Ooh. Are you giving me a crash course in tie knots now?”

“Well, it never hurts to know about different knots, you know. They can come very handy,” he adds suggestively, to which he promptly gets smacked in the shoulder with a “Yah!”

“I do think the length’s a bit off though. It needs to be longer. You’re going to need some practice, Byeonhosa-nim. I guess you’ll just have to do this for me a few more times again,” he tells her, smiling at her reflection in the mirror.

As they stand there in front of the mirror, their reflected gazes locked on each other, both of them all smiles, Cha Young thinks there’s something so intimate about moments like these, and it leaves her feeling warm.

Still looking at her in the mirror, Vincenzo leans down a little, an arm going around her waist, and whispers in her ear, “Interesting choice of colour, by the way,” and ohhh he knows. He knows why she picked this particular tie. Their reflections show his smile getting wider as her eyes widen in surprise.

A second later, Cha Young turns in her place, and gently tugging on his tie, pulls Vincenzo down to her and places a soft kiss where his neck meets his jaw. Satisfied with his flustered expression, she innocently smiles at him.

“I think you look very handsome, Jagiya. Now, I’m going to go pay for this. But you’re buying me lunch, so hurry..” And as she skips towards the billing counter, she leaves a besotted fool in her wake, who stares at her in a manner that can only be described as the human equivalent of the heart eyes emoji. What a pair of lovestruck idiots these two make..

#vincenzo #vincenzo cassano #hong cha young #vincenzo x cha young #chayenzo #chacenzo #cencha #vincenzo x hong cha young #headcanon #fanfiction #vincenzo headcanons #vincenzo fanfic #tvn vincenzo #kdrama fanfic

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there-must-be-a-lock · 3 years

Text

wings & the way down - part 1

Spencer Reid x Derek Morgan

The Moreid high school AU! In which there will (eventually) be pining, misunderstandings, identity crises, and general teenage shenanigans.

Word Count: ~1520 this chapter.

Warnings: Awkward boys flirting awkwardly.

A/N: Title from a Ray Bradbury quote: “If we listened to our intellect we'd never have a love affair... You've got to jump off the cliff all the time and build your wings on the way down.”

This is shaping up to be long. Oh boy. Please let me know if you want to be tagged in future installments!

Thursday, January 2 - Spencer

“Checkmate.”

“Yeah, I thought so.” Spencer examines the board and frowns before movement catches his eye.

Gideon is pointing out where he went wrong, but Spencer isn’t paying attention any more. Losing to Gideon isn’t a particularly novel or interesting experience, and there’s something — someone — much more interesting walking into the park. Spencer crosses his legs, shifting on the bench to rest his elbows on his knees, and watches.

It’s cold for Vegas, 60ish and breezy, but the guy is wearing short sleeves like this isn’t his usual January. New in town? But Spencer hasn’t seen anyone moving in. Visiting family for the holidays, maybe. He’s got the look of a newcomer: carefully cultivated confidence, studied swagger covering for the unease that always comes with foreign territory.

There are other things, too, things that Spencer tries not to notice: biceps rippling under the short sleeves, long skilled fingers spinning a basketball idly as he walks, a bright white flash of a grin when he sees Spencer staring —

Spencer is staring. Crap.

He looks down at the chessboard much too quickly — there’s no way it comes off as anything other than guilty. He glares daggers at his bishop as Gideon clears his own pieces away.

“Rematch tomorrow?” Spencer offers, trying to keep his eyes on the board. “School doesn’t start until next week.”

“Can’t tomorrow, going up to the cabin. Call you when I get back.”

“Sounds good.”

Spencer sneaks a stealthy glance, only to see the guy grinning in his direction, and he averts his eyes again, blushing furiously.

Gideon barks over his shoulder, “See you soon, Doctor Reid.”

The nickname makes Spencer smile at Gideon’s retreating back, but then he looks down at his lap and remembers he’s sitting criss-cross applesauce, wearing his fraying Converse and his mismatched socks — one covered with yellow dinosaurs, one argyle. He sighs to himself. Gideon treats him like an adult, but most people sure as hell don’t, and Spencer can’t exactly blame them.

“You wanna shoot some hoops?” the stranger calls out, and Spencer doesn’t look up, because he’s obviously talking to someone else, except…“You in the Chucks! Pretty boy!”

That makes Spencer look up fast, because he assumes it’s sarcastic; it’s the sort of stupid thing the jocks at school might yell, right before they ask him if he wears women’s underwear, or something. There’s no trace of malice on the guy’s face, though. His smile is so bright it’s hard to look at.

Something warm and awful curls in Spencer’s stomach.

“I don’t really — I don’t do hoops,” he mutters, averting his eyes again.

The guy takes the seat opposite his, sprawling out, taking up space. Spencer hunches in on himself, poking at the beginnings of a hole on the faded knee of his favorite jeans.

“I could teach you.”

“Given my lack of hand-eye coordination, I really doubt that,” Spencer tells him, which gets a laugh; eyes sparkle, a dimple creases his cheek — he smiles with his whole face.

“I’m Derek. Derek Morgan.”

Spencer raises one hand in an awkward wave. “Spencer. I’m — Reid’s my — Spencer is me. That’s my name.”

Yikes.

“You from around here?” Derek asks, twirling the basketball on his fingertip, showing off casually.

Spencer nods and then blurts out, “You’re not. Morgan — is that like the Morgans on Lake Road?”

“Sure is. That’s my auntie and uncle. I’m staying with them for a bit.”

“That’s roughly zero point three miles from my house,” Spencer tells him, but when Derek raises his eyebrows, he remembers that walking around aimlessly, memorizing the names on every mailbox because you can’t stand being at home, is not a normal childhood pastime. He continues hurriedly: “Where are you from?”

“Chicago.”

That makes sense. He’s cool in the way that Spencer would imagine people from big cities to be. He seems… jaded isn’t the right word for his smile, but experienced, maybe. Sophisticated. Comfortable in his own skin. Sure of himself.

Everything Spencer is not, basically.

Also, Spencer is staring again.

“Do you like it here?” he asks. “It must be… different.”

“That’s an understatement. Toto, we are not on the South Side any more.” A shadow of sadness flickers over Derek’s expression for a moment, like a cloud across the sun, before he smiles again. “It’s good, getting a change of scenery. You know?”

Spencer doesn’t know, because he’s never been farther away than California, but he says, “Yeah.”

He tucks his hair behind his ears and then picks up his castle, turning it over in his hands just for something to do.

“I’ve never actually played chess, but aren’t there supposed to be more pieces?” Derek asks.

“Gideon likes to use his own pieces, I like to use mine,” Spencer tells him. It’s a sensory thing, for him; he likes the feel of the warm ivory, and Gideon prefers his own heavy stone set.

“Gideon?”

“Professor Gideon,” Spencer amends, wondering how to explain that. “I�� took a class with him? At UNLV. That’s sort of how we met, but… we play chess.”

That’s the short version, anyway.

When Spencer decided to find a cure for schizophrenia, at the age of fifteen, he started by reading everything the local library had on the subject. When he was done there, he started sneaking into the college library. Gideon was the first person to realize Spencer wasn’t a student, but he didn’t call security; instead he offered to let Spencer audit one of his advanced psychology classes in the evenings. Spencer has taken all his classes by now, and Gideon jokes about him earning his Masters before he finishes high school.

“Want to show me around the neighborhood?” Derek asks, and Spencer blinks at him for a second.

“You were going to play basketball.”

“Sure. But you said you don’t ‘do’ hoops.” Derek gestures at the empty court. “Nobody else to play with. Playing with myself gets boring.” He laughs at his own joke, and then his eyes sparkle, devilish, as he says, “I’d much rather play with you.”

Spencer chokes on nothing, and somehow he makes things even worse by asking shrilly, “Are you flirting with me?”

Derek grimaces. “If I say yes, am I gonna get punched?”

“Like it’d hurt you even if I did.”

“Then yeah,” Derek says sheepishly. “I was flirting with you.”

Spencer stutters for a few incoherent seconds before he recovers from that particular world-ending shock. Then all he can say is, “Oh.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. If I was wrong about — if you’re — do you?”

He cannot possibly be asking what Spencer thinks he’s asking.

“Do I — play for that team?” he ventures. Derek shrugs, and Spencer can barely breathe. It feels like he’s paralyzed for a second before he can croak, “That’s not — you’re not wrong.”

“Just to be clear, we’re not talking about basketball any more.” Derek is grinning again. He has a really nice smile, and Spencer needs to stop staring already.

“Yeah. We’re clear,” he manages.

For a second they just smile at each other, and Spencer has this swooping sensation in his stomach like he just missed a step, except the disorienting moment of uncontrollable vertigo feels good.

“Sorry. I’m not used to — this is new to me.” Derek seems almost bashful now, looking down as he starts to toss the basketball from one hand to another. “Being able to admit when I’m… flirting. With a guy, I mean.”

“I’m not used to being flirted with,” Spencer counters. He clears his throat and adds, “I don’t mind it.”

Derek doesn’t move his head, but his eyes flick to Spencer. His smile is hopeful and happy and more than a little shy.

“Anybody ever tell you you look good in pink?”

“Huh?” Spencer frowns down at his sweater, which is… yeah, still definitely blue.

“You’re blushing.”

“Oh.” He presses his palms to his feverish-hot cheeks. “That makes sense.”

This doesn’t happen to Spencer. Flirting doesn’t happen to Spencer, let alone flirting with someone who looks like that. There’s a bubble of reckless exhilaration swelling in his chest, helium-light, threatening to lift him off his feet.

“So, how about it?” Derek asks. “Want to show me around?”

Spencer nods, way too eagerly. “I could do that.”

And that’s when his phone rings.

He knows what it means, before he even looks at the screen, and all that giddy excitement drains away at once.

He pulls out his phone: Mom calling. He doesn’t pick up yet; he doesn’t want to have this conversation within earshot of Derek.

“I have to go,” Spencer says miserably. He sweeps his chess pieces carelessly into his bag, slings it over his shoulder, and gives Derek a helpless shrug. “I just — really need to go. Can we — tomorrow? I’ll be here. Tomorrow. Same time.”

“No worries,” Derek says, with a rueful little half-smile. Spencer turns, starts running, and he almost misses it when Derek says, “See you tomorrow, pretty boy.”

Spencer doesn’t let himself look back, but he smiles.

He flips open his phone on the very last ring and says, “Hey, Mom. I’m on my way.”

Part 2 is here!

#criminal minds fic #spencer reid #derek morgan #Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid #moreid #moreid fic #cm #criminal minds

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yunatheintrovert · 3 years

Text

shot through the heart (and you’re to blame) | Chapter 2 [Russell Adler/Female Bell!Reader Soulmate AU]

I hear the drums echoing tonight

But she hears only whispers of some quiet conversation She's coming in, 12:30 flight-

“Change of plans?” you guessed, pulling your headset down to rest at your neck. You could still faintly hear the familiar sound of Toto’s Africa coming from your Walkman’s headset. It took something for you to set down your Walkman.

And upon seeing the expression on Lazar’s face, you knew it was one of those times.

After all, it was either that or someone had just broke the news to him that hamburgers were not on the menu in the outpost. Either one was important.

Hamburgers were not breakfast food. But at this point, you’d take whatever the hell you could get.

“Sandstorm forecasted to move in before the scheduled exfil.” Lazar explained as he leaned against the wall next to you, “Time frame’s been moved closer.”

“How soon?” you asked, already bracing yourself for whatever the hell Hudson and Adler had decided on.

"Zero six hundred hours."

“No shit?” you sighed. The one lesson you learned in Cuba was that the devil was in the details. There had been a rush to get there. Limited intel, high risk. It was a mess from the start.

You did not want another Cuba.

“And that’s not even the start of it,” Lazar said agitatedly, “We’re not just parachuting in, we’re doing a damn HALO jump.”

“Well,” you said with a sigh, “I’ll try to convince the cook to make hamburgers for the two of us while you’re gone.” Lazar had past HALO experience. Although, he never did quite like parachuting after Cuba.

“Nice joke, Bell. We’re all going.”

“...I’m cleared for this mission?” That surprised you for more than one reason. Aside from being an agent the CIA had barely spared, you were also not cleared for a goddamned HALO jump.

No formal training.

...Well, there was Vietnam, specifically those “memories”. You could easily recall the vivid memory of falling through the heavy fog over Laos during one of the MACV-SOG operations you were in on with Adler.

But that didn’t count for a goddamn thing.

This didn’t make any sense whatsoever.

That’s all you could think about as you stood from your seat quickly and secured your Walkman at your waist as you pulled your headset back to rest at your ears.

“Good luck with Doc, Bell,” Lazar said, already knowing what you had in mind.

You said a quick thanks to him before making your way through the halls of the command wing of the outpost.

After all, you sure as hell were going to need it.

I bless the rains down in Africa Gonna take some time to do the things we never had (ooh, ooh)

It hadn’t taken much time to find the man in question. After all, outpost Libreville was a modestly-sized outpost located near the borders of Angola in Gabon. The airstrip built and improved over time made it ideal for special forces operations and those of the clandestine nature.

You had found him in the once empty corner office that belonged to an officer on leave. The small space of the corner office allowed smoke to curl and cloud around the room. Despite that, you easily noticed the schematics of the satellite and reports on the predictions of the timing of the satellite's crash scattered on the desk.

“Need something, Bell?”

“Sir,” you said tensely before bracing yourself and adding, “The HALO jump...I’m not cleared for it.”

“I cleared you for it. We’re CIA, not military,” Adler said before adding, “You’re having second doubts.”

“I’ve never done a HALO jump in my life, sir,” you explained, “My...memories of Vietnam didn’t count for anything.”

“Now, that’s just bullshit.”

“What are you talking about-”

“The feedback you gave on that HALO operation over Laos. No untrained person would have been able to replicate that kind of detail,” Adler took a drag of his cigarette before adding, “The scripts, Bell. I gave you the outline, you filled in the details.”

“With all due respect, sir,” you said tensely with a bit too much emphasis on the honorific to really be respectful, “That doesn’t mean a single damn thing when I don’t remember any of that.”

“Bell,” you felt yourself stiffen under his gaze. He was always wearing those sunglasses and you could never tell his emotions or who he was even looking at times, “I pulled a hell of a lot of strings to get you back here. I trust you won’t disappoint me and the team.”

You fought to stifle your shock.

Russell “it was never personal” Adler, the very man who put a round in your chest point-blank, was the one to request your reassignment to the team?

And of course there was that damnable feeling that lingered in your chest.

Everything about you was linked back to this team. It was your anchor in this new life of yours. And it felt...good to be back…

And as much as you wanted to deny it because really it was just such a damnable foolish feeling-

“I...I won’t let you down, sir.”

-you couldn’t help but feel relieved that Adler wanted you back.

And really wasn’t that just pathetic?

You felt the stinging sensation in your palm as nails pressed into your gloved palms. The sudden tightness in your chest made for a sudden urge to just get out of that small corner office.

It was the smoke, you told yourself. It lingered heavily in the cramped space. Of course, it would cause your chest to tighten.

Despite the sudden, desperate urge to just leave, you remained rooted to the spot at the front of Adler’s desk.

“If the main chute fails to deploy and affects the reserve chute, how am I supposed to react in time?”

“Do whatever it takes to get it open,” Adler simply answered before adding, “If that doesn’t work...well I would say aim for the bushes. But we’re going to be in the fucking desert. Aim for a sand dune and pray it’s quick.”

“Good advice,” was all you could quietly say.

...sometimes it still felt as if he wanted you to die.

“Anything else, kid?”

You took a breath. If you were going to die...well-

“About my Walkman…”

You were going to go out the way you wanted.

Lazar must have known your little conversation with Adler in his corner office wouldn’t take that long as he was standing in the nearby corridor with a rather grave look.

“Come on,” he had simply said, “I need backup in the cafeteria. Apparently it’s Chili Tuesday…”

Food was the last thing on your mind.

So honestly you hadn’t paid much attention to that little bit of information.

Although, you had bothered to switch out your mixtape which had long since stopped playing with the only other cassette you had on your person. You vaguely trading with one of the soldiers on the military transport you flew in on to get a new cassette tape. You could only bring a limited amount of items with you and you didn't want to risk breaking any of your priority cassette tapes. And you needed a song that you hadn't listened to before...even if it wasn't what you normally lent towards.

Jambalaya and a crawfish pie and filet gumbo 'Cause tonight i'm gonna meet ma cher amio PIck guitar, fill fruit jar and be gayo-

Of course, it just happened to be about food.

Trying to stop yourself from muttering about how your Walkman had to be cursed, you had just nodded and followed him down the corridors to the cafeteria. It was a fairly-sized open space with the usual setup.

Although, strangely there weren’t many soldiers there. It was almost time for meal service.

“Still on for the mission?” Lazar asked as the two of you sat yourselves down on the same table Sims had situated himself at.

“Yeah," you admitted before adding, "I swear he’s trying to kill me.” Although, you didn't really want to think about that. It was out of your control at this point.

“Well, you are Adler’s protégé,” Sims casually commented, looking up from his plate of...food? “I heard lions throw their cubs off cliffs to make them strong or shit like that. Maybe Adler’s doing the same to you.”

“I’m not his-” you cut yourself off. There was something more important you noticed, “Wait how did you get that?”

It was baked beans. Perfectly normal and cooked beans.

Nothing remarkable but it was normal, the standard canned kind.

“Heard about Chili Tuesday, specifically this one. Apparently, they’re serving 20-year old rations to us due to a supply shortage. They’re quite stingy-”

“How did you get it, Sims?” Lazar interjected.

“I have my ways of procurement.” And as you heard the exchange prices Sims listed, your jaw dropped.

You already had to pay for all those mixtapes and cassettes you bought on a weekly basis. You weren’t going to spend that much on some cans of beans at an outpost in the middle of nowhere.

Yet as you saw the churning red mass somehow called chili put on the cafeteria pans, you felt your stomach roll.

The idea of eating that before a HALO jump in the next few hours-

“Where are you going?” Sims asked as you stood from your seat abruptly.

“I have a mixtape to make.” you said, hurriedly excusing yourself. You’d rather have hunger pains than eat that before jumping off a C-13 Hercules at 30,000 ft in the air.

Jambalaya and a crawfish pie and filet gumbo-

Nope, you thought fervently as you pressed pause on your Walkman. You did not want to be thinking about food right now.

Although, truly what you told Sims wasn’t quite a lie.

If you were going to go HALO jumping with no conscious experiences whatsoever, you were going to at least die trying with your Walkman.

All you had to now was make a whole new mixtape in the three hours you had remaining.

#Russell Adler #Russell Adler x Bell #Russell Adler/Bell #Female Bell #Fem!Bell #Female Bell!Reader #fanfiction #cod cold war fanfiction #fic: shot through the heart (and you're to blame)#soulmate au #soulmate songs/music au

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starryknight09 · 3 years

Text

One last good-bye

Febuwhump Day 15: “Run. Don’t look back”

Read on AO3.

________________________________________________________

“Run. Don’t look back.” Rhodey pushed him forward. Peter stumbled, looking at the man in shock.

“Go!” Rhodey yelled. This time Peter listened. He knew he’d be useless in this fight. And Rhodey could fly. Peter couldn’t. Sure, he could swing, but only when there was something to stick to, which didn’t exist in the middle of this rocky wasteland.

He took off, sprinting as fast as he could in the direction of the Quinjet, not looking back. They’d wandered far enough away that the Quinjet was out of sight, so he hoped he was going in the right direction.

“Helping Dr. Strange will be fun, you thought.” He mumbled to himself as he ran. “Yeah right.”

He could hear the repulsors firing from the War Machine armor but the sound was barely audible over the stampede of all those things running at them. He wanted to glance back to make sure Rhodey was ok, but he knew he couldn’t chance it. He didn’t need his super hearing to hear the creatures gaining on him. Rhodey could take care of himself. He was a big boy. A louder bang sounded in between repulsor blasts. Rhodey must be pulling out the bigger fire power.

Run. He thought to himself. Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around.

Why had they ever agreed to help Dr. Strange in the first place? This was way beyond his pay grade. Some other evil wizard was messing around with bad sorcery and now Peter was running from weird spooky undead creatures.

“Karen.” He gasped. “Any luck with the comms?”

“I’m sorry Peter. Something is still jamming my communication abilities.” Damn.

They never should’ve split up. Whose bright idea had that been anyway? Right. Sam’s. Peter hadn’t known him before, but it seemed like the whole being Captain America thing had kind of gone to his head.

“The enemy creatures are gaining on you.” Karen warned.

“I’m aware!” He tried to run faster but he didn’t think it worked. He knew it’d be bad news bears if any of these things bit him. Dr. Strange had been clear enough about that. His only consolation was that he was in the Ironspider suit, so if bullets couldn’t pierce it, he was pretty sure these ugly things teeth couldn’t. But he wasn’t absolutely 100 percent sure. Besides, the suit wouldn’t save him if was overrun by these things. The sheer number of them would crush him. Not a great way to go.

They were getting so close he could smell them and the pungent smell of rotting flesh and garbage made him want to gag.

Must run faster. Must run faster.

Finally, the Quinjet came into view. Oh thank god.

“I recommend you increase your velocity. At this current pace you will not reach the Quinjet before you’re overrun.” Karen informed him.

Shit.

“Help!” He screamed, hoping another group had returned to the Quinjet and would hear him. “A little help!”

A growl sounded behind him. Way too close. He turned around. And immediately regretted it. Man, they were as ugly as they were stinky, and he only had about a thirty foot lead on them.

This was not good. This was so not good.

In the split second he glanced backward, he tripped. He flew through the air before crashing to the ground and rolling across the rock laden dirt terrain.

I’m going to die. This is how Spiderman goes? Really? He thought as he tumbled.

The instant he stopped, he rocketed back to his feet and started running again, even though he knew it was pointless. Those things were right behind him. He didn’t want to turn around and look. He didn’t want to know when death would be coming.

But then from one second to the next, he had an idea. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before. Sure, he didn’t have firepower and he couldn’t fight these things hand to hand, but he still had his webs. Just because they couldn’t swing him anywhere didn’t mean they were useless. He spun back around, trying not panic at the fact that the creatures were only like ten feet away as he shot his webs out across the entire line of them, sticking them together.

They fell and that caused their comrades behind them to trip over them and fall as well like a line of dominos. It wasn’t a definitive solution, but it’d bought him some time. The Quinjet was getting closer, and now he could see people running down the ramp toward him. Sam and Bucky. Wanda and Clint. Scott and Professor Hulk. Dr. Strange.

He wasn’t going to die after all!

And then the other wizard guy showed up.

Ok. Maybe he’d spoke too soon…

Dr. Strange glided through the air to meet the other wizard guy in a collision of colors. Peter thought his gold sparkle transporting rings looked cool, but whatever spell he’d just cast put them to shame. Multicolored glitter sparkles fell from the sky like rain, landing on his skin but not hurting him. They rested there for a few seconds before fading away. A moment later he realized the noise behind him had greatly decreased. He risked a quick glance backward and gaped. Any creature touched by the glitter stuff started gradually fading away until they disappeared altogether.

It took him another few strides to realize he didn’t need to run anymore. Nothing was chasing him. Dr. Strange had eradicated the entire undead creature herd with one spell. Wow. There was definitely something to be said about the magic or mystical arts or whatever the man called it.

“Kid? You ok?” Sam asked, reaching him a few seconds after he’d stopped. The man clapped a hand on his shoulder and looked him up and down.

“Yeah.” He answered as he tried to catch his breath. “I’m good. So…now what do we do?”

Sam glanced up at Strange fighting the other wizard guy, the two of them periodically clashing in the air as they both fired colorful spells. If it’d been dark out Peter could’ve almost made believe he was watching fireworks.

“Hell if I know.” Sam admitted. “I draw the line at street magicians. This wizard shit is beyond me.”

Peter huffed out a laugh.

“Hey, where’s Rhodey?” He hadn’t seen the man since he’d ran and hoped he was ok. He couldn’t imagine the man hadn’t gotten away with the War Machine armor. He took a few steps back in the direction he’d came, searching the horizon.

“Don’t worry. He’s right there. See?” Sam pointed up in the sky where Rhodey was flying toward them.

Right. He didn’t know how he’d missed him. His heart rate slowed. Mr. Stark’s best friend was fine. Peter hadn’t been able to save his mentor, but he wasn’t going to let anything happen to his family, not if he could help it. And Rhodey was definitely part of Mr. Stark’s family.

“Watch out!” Sam yelled, but the warning came too late. He’d been so focused on Rhodey he hadn’t been paying close enough attention to the wizards battling. His spidey sense flared in warning, but too late. He tried to dive out of the way, but the range of the spell’s blast heading toward him was too large to evade. The globe of red light enveloped him, and everything went black.

Peter’s eyes snapped open and he sat up before he was even fully awake, the adrenaline from the battle still churning through him. He’d been hit. Where was he hit? He ran his hands over the front of his body and looked down at it, but he didn’t see any blood. And nothing hurt. But…wait. What? Why wasn’t he wearing his Spiderman suit?

“Ok. What the hell.” He mumbled to himself, holding his hands up in front of his face as if they could tell him. But they were bare. And he had on jeans ith one of his science pun t-shirts, which was the outfit he’d been wearing before he’d put on the Ironspider suit earlier. Weird. Last he’d checked he’d left his clothes in the Quinjet. Maybe someone had changed him out of his suit and into his clothes? He frowned. That made no sense.

Where was the Quinjet anyway? Everything was a lot quieter. He glanced around, taking in his new surroundings, and his face slackened in shock. Because he definitely wasn’t in the barren rocky wasteland where they’d been fighting that wizard. In fact, his surroundings didn’t look like anything he’d ever seen before. Was he even on Earth?

“Oh shit. Toto, I’ve got a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.” He muttered.

The ground he sat on looked like water, but its surface was solid. He slapped his palms down and watched as ripples expanded outward from them, like what would happen if you dropped a stone into water. But he wasn’t wet or sinking. Ok. This was officially freaky weird.

“Where am I?” He whispered and stood, doing a full circle to try to orient himself. It didn’t help. Everything looked the same. The weird blackish blue ground he stood on stretched out as far as the eye could see. No other pieces of landscape pierced it. The line of the horizon was only perceptible because the blue of the air was just a shade lighter than the ground. The whole aesthetic was dizzying and kind of trippy.

And then he looked up.

“Holy shit.” His heart leapt into his throat. The sky was a dark expanse of stars and galaxies. And he could see a few large planets that looked almost close enough to touch. It was terrifyingly beautiful. He reached out and tried to poke at one of the closer ones, a red giant with rings. It was too far away to actually touch, but the spot where his finger poked made the air ripple out in the same way it had on the ground, like the atmosphere was composed of gelatin that jiggled when touched.

“What the hell...” He definitely wasn’t on Earth. What kind of spell had he been hit with? Had he been transported somewhere? Banished? Was it reversible?

“Underoos.” Came a voice from behind him.

Peter stiffened. He hadn’t heard that voice in months. The last time had been on a rubble strewn battlefield, fighting for his life, and the life of the entire universe. Terror gripped him. He was afraid to turn around, and at the same time, he’d never wanted to do anything more in his whole life. He turned. And there he was. Mr. Stark. Standing there without a care in the world, hands in his pockets with sunglasses on and a characteristic grin on his face.

“Mr. Stark.” He whispered, unable to believe his eyes.

“Hey kid.” The man’s eyes softened as he took him in.

Peter just stared, brain unable to comprehend that this could possibly be real. He didn’t know what to say. He’d imagined so many times what he’d say if he ever saw Mr. Stark again, but now he could barely make his mouth move to form words.

“But— How—” He stammered, not even sure what he was trying to ask, and then a thought struck him and his eyes widened as he asked, “Am I dead?”

“No.” Mr. Stark reassured him then clarified, “Well, not technically.”

“What does that mean? Not technically dead? So, am I not technically alive either?” His tone got higher pitched even as he tried not to panic. He knew there were more important things to talk to Mr. Stark about, but he couldn’t think about anything else until he knew what was happening to him.

“You’re in the in between.” Mr. Stark explained.

He frowned.

“You’re not supposed to be here.” The man said, face showing his disapproval. And Peter couldn’t help the small smile that cracked across his face. He’d missed those looks from Mr. Stark.

“Then how do I go back?” He asked.

Mr. Stark shook his head. “There’s nothing you can do. We just have to wait.”

Not the most comforting answer. “But if I’m in the uh in between, how are you here?”

“It’s too complicated to explain, but let’s just say I’m here to keep you company.” Mr. Stark smiled again.

And Peter finally let himself enjoy the fact that he was standing there with Mr. Stark. Something he’d wished for more than anything. He wasn’t going to waste it even if his own fate was uncertain. In the next second, he crossed the distance between them and threw his arms around the man. He was substantial. Whole. Mr. Stark wrapped his arms around him and hugged him right back.

Tears welled in his eyes, and he didn’t know how that was even possible, just like he didn’t know how he could hug his mentor since supposedly neither of them had bodies right now, but it was happening all the same.

“I missed you.” Peter whispered into the man’s neck.

Mr. Stark brought a hand up to the back of his head and tangled it in his hair. “I missed you too kid.”

Peter didn’t know how long they stood there hugging. Not that it mattered. Time didn’t exist in this place. He didn’t know how he knew that, but he did.

And Tony didn’t say anything. And he didn’t pull away. He just kept holding him. For as long as Peter wanted.

Peter tried to soak it all in and memorize every detail of the moment. The smell of Mr. Stark’s aftershave, the scratch of his beard, the warmth of his embrace, how absolutely protected and safe he felt. He tucked away every sensation and feeling so when he needed to in the future, he could close his eyes and recall it. Because he knew he’d never get another chance at this.

“It’s not fair.” The words came out before he’d even decided to say them.

“I know.” Tony agreed.

“I wish you could come back with me.”

“You know I can’t.”

“Do you…do you regret it?” He whispered his question. One of the things he’d always wondered.

“No.” Tony answered without hesitation.

“Why?”

“Because there was no other way.”

That was true enough. Dr. Strange had told Peter something similar. If Mr. Stark hadn’t snapped, they would’ve lost and everyone would’ve died.

“But do you regret inventing time travel? You could’ve lived a full life with Pepper and Morgan.” Peter had always felt like he’d been partially responsible for taking that away from him. The way everyone had told the story, he’d been the catalyst for Mr. Stark inventing time travel. And now he got to have this time with Mr. Stark when Morgan or Pepper never would, and that made him feel even more guilty.

“No I couldn’t have.” The man said pulling away so he could cup Peter’s face in his hands. “Because I didn’t have you.”

The tears in Peter’s eyes slid silently down his cheeks. “I wish you wouldn’t have done it.”

“I don’t. I had to. No regrets.” Tony smiled at him and Peter marveled at how it could be so soft and so sad at the same time. “I love you kid.”

“I love you too.” He said back and fell forward back into a hug. After another long minute or so, Peter gathered enough self control to pull away again. He couldn’t stay glued to the man forever. No matter how much he may want to right now.

As Mr. Stark let him go, he kept his hands resting on Peter’s shoulders, and Peter remembered another thing he wished he’d gotten the chance to say when Mr. Stark had been alive. The man had done so much for him. Had become something of a father figure to him. And he’d never verbalized his appreciation in any way.

“I uh I never thanked you.” He said.

“You never had to.”

“Still, I want to. Thank you. For everything.”

“You’re welcome Pete.” Mr. Stark smiled. “But no thanks are necessary.”

“Is there anything I can—"

“I don’t think we have much time left.” Mr. Stark interrupted with a frown.

“Oh.” A short burst of panic hit him. He didn’t want to leave Mr. Stark. “What-what if I want to stay?”

“No.” Mr. Stark answered firmly. “You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not your time yet.”

“So I can’t choose to stay?” He asked, but even as he did, he knew he never would. He couldn’t do that to everyone he loved at home no matter how much he missed Mr. Stark.

“No. That’s not how it works. And you wouldn’t really want to stay anyway.” Mr. Stark said in his typical all-knowing fashion.

“I know.” He said sadly and then asked, “Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did.”

Peter rolled his eyes.

“Shoot.”

“What’s it like here?”

Tony gave him a peaceful smile, eyes twinkling as he answered, “Wonderful.”

It didn’t fix anything, but it was a small consolation at least. A weird feeling started somewhere near his belly and spread, like a buzzing, tugging sensation.

“Time to go Pete.” Mr. Stark said, his smile turning sad.

“Mr. Stark.” He whined and leaned forward to give him one last hug. He hated the feeling of being torn away from him. Hated how similar this whole thing felt to getting dusted on Titan.

“I know.” Mr. Stark shushed as Peter clung to him. “But it’s ok buddy. It’s going to be ok.”

Peter gripped him tighter, but he could tell it was a battle he was going to lose.

“Bye kid. I love you and I’m so proud of you.” Mr. Stark whispered.

“I love you too.” He said frantically, worried any second he’d be torn away and unable to finish what he wanted to say. “And I miss you so much.”

He tried to hold on, but in the next moment, he was finally ripped away.

“No.” He protested desperately. “Tony!”

“Tony!” The man’s name was still on his lips as his eyes snapped open.

“Hey, you’re ok.” Rhodey said from where he was crouched down next to him.

“I…I…what?”

“That wizard guy hit you with a spell, but Strange finally figured out how to reverse it.” Rhodey explained.

Peter blinked and looked around, recognizing his surroundings. He was lying on a couch in the Sanctum. It all came back to him. The fight. The other wizard guy. Getting hit by the red spell. Mr. Stark.

“I saw Mr. Stark.” He blurted out and Rhodey’s eyes widened.

“I did. I saw him.” He insisted, worried the man wouldn’t believe him.

Rhodey looked up at someone behind Peter’s head. Peter craned backward and noticed Dr. Strange standing there, a neutral expression on his face.

“It’s possible.” Dr. Strange said. “The spell sent him somewhere where he was neither alive nor dead.”

“Mr. Stark called it the in between.”

Dr. Strange nodded and Rhodey looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“Interesting that Stark was able to cross over into that place.” Dr. Strange said. “You must have a strong connection with him for that to have been possible.”

Peter nodded, a lump forming in his throat as he remembered all that they had said.

Rhodey kept staring at him, his mouth open like he wanted to ask something but couldn’t figure out what. If it’d been him, Peter knew what he’d want to know, so he answered the man’s wordless question.

“He’s ok.” Peter said with a small smile. “He’s happy.”

#febuwhump2021 #febuwhump #irondad

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shinsorokiri · 4 years

Text

UA Idol | Chapter Eleven

Hitoshi Shinsou x Reader

Word Count: 4,209

Warnings: Language, big nerves

A/N: IT’S THE FIRST DAMN CHALLENGE! There are two more and I low key may have just introduced all the other supporting characters in the story so 👀 I hope you enjoy this one. It took a while to write because of the length and also. the fact that it’s welcome week at my college and I work at a bookstore (RIP). I’ve been working so much, and not to mention the homework I’m getting for classes (DOUBLE RIP). But yeah, I hope this chapter is to your liking, and I will make a song list for everyone under the chapter! I do recommend listening to the version of Halsey’s Graveyard stripped because that was a game changer for that song for me. I listen to that one more than the original HAHA. Anyways, enjoy!

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Sitting through the pop singers did not calm your nerves in the slightest. You already knew Mina and Denki were really good, but you soon found out that they weren’t the only ones. Especially when you heard Kirishima. He took Denki’s advice, and decided to sing Golden by Harry Styles. And to say you were impressed with the only acoustic version of one of Harry’s most hype songs was an understatement. And his voice was crazy good, and contrary to what he’d said previously you bet he could join Katsuki in singing rock songs. You’d have to tell him that later. “You know, this is only making me feel worse,” you say to Shinsou. All of the pop singers had finished their genre challenge performances and were waiting backstage to come out in lines and be told if they made it to the next part of Hell Week. The judges were currently speaking in hushed voices and choosing who would go through, and who would not go through. “You and me both. But you have absolutely nothing to worry about. You’re still better than everyone else who’s gone up there so far,” Shinsou whispers the last part to you, and you can’t help but smile. “Same to you, loser. Now, what did you think of everyone?”

“Denki and Mina killed it, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“Now as for Kirishima, I was pleasantly surprised. I knew he was already a loud guy, so hearing him go from straight belting at times to a small little falsetto was very interesting and very nice to the ear.”

“Yeah, not to mention his range is amazing.”

“Right? It was insane. Oh, and another person who stood out was the guy with the silver hair who kind of sounded like Kirishima. He was very similar to him, and he even sang Adore You.”

“Yeah, I noticed that too. It’s kind of funny, they were like almost the exact same person. You know who caught my eye?”

“Who?”

“That blonde girl. You can tell she’s a little… wild. Especially with her song pick, I never expected anyone in a million years to ever sing a Chainsmokers song, especially Don’t Let Me Down, with only a piano backing them.”

“Yeah, that caught me off guard, gonna be honest. She did have a lot of energy and her voice was really good though. Fits that genre of singers, so I bet she’ll get through. She can also move, which is always a perk for performers. But, do you know what I just can’t get over?”

“The fact that we had to leave our cats with cat sitters?”

“Well, yes, thank you so much for reminding me of that, but also how absolutely wholesome the kid with the green hair was. Not gonna lie, it kind of made me want to die. I mean, he really came in here and sang Imagine. Of all songs, Imagine by John Lennon. That is so ballsy and when Aizawa commented on how ballsy it was this fucker answers with, ‘I didn’t choose it because it was popular, I chose it because I believe that someday we can achieve that level of peace.’ What the fuck.” You laugh at his disbelief before nodding your head. “I totally agree. That was low-key hilarious though, Aizawa just sighed and Toshinori almost squealed because he loved that answer. It was like he was in a pageant and answering the world peace question. Wait, hold on, speaking of ballsy, what about the blonde guy who looks like he could be a part of a boyband singing Africa by Toto.”

“I know! He pulled a meme, I literally had to reach over and grab your arm to keep from fucking screaming. I mean, I know pretty much everyone else did, but I need to keep up my little mysterious façade I’ve got going on here.”

“I mean, you just don’t show emotions like that, but yeah. You’re just too mysterious.”

“Shut up. I am mysterious. Almost as mysterious as that girl with the short hair and long bangs who looks like a literal cinnamon roll and then came in belting I Will Always Love You.”

“You could only dream of being that mysterious sir,” you tease him, and he rolls his eyes, but his smile deceives him. He went to fire something back, only to be told by all the producers that everyone had to quiet down again because the judges had made their decisions. You and Shinsou both nervously watched as they turned away about half of the pop singers that were there, and you two nearly broke each other’s hands when Denki and Mina showed up on the stage. “Oh, they are definitely getting through, look at who they’re with,” Shinsou whispers in your ear, and you look at the rest of the line-up. Kirishima and all the other acts you and Shinsou had just discussed were all in a line onstage. Sure enough, they all made it through to the next round.

“Knew that would happen,” Shinsou says and you nod. “So, who’s up next?”

“Country. But there’s only a few of them,” Shinsou says, and you lean back in your chair. “I wonder how many of these guys will make me feel incompetent,” you say, and Shinsou snorts. “None of them should, doesn’t matter how talented someone else is, it doesn’t lessen yours in the slightest.”

“Aw, you’re so sweet,” you say, grinning while poking his arm. He smiles at you and shrugs. “I try, kitten.” You both see Mina, Denki, and Kirishima walking back to their seats in the pop genre section and give them a thumbs up. They all look actually ecstatic and return the positive hand gestures. “How much do you wanna bet Denki and Mina will wanna go out for celebratory drinks after this?” you ask Shinsou and he groans. “Shit, you’re right.”

“How about we feign sickness and have them go and we just, you know, stay at the hotel,” you suggest, and he gives you a side eye. “Yeah, like they’ll fall for that.” He has a fair point, and you sigh. Maybe if you get through the first round you’ll be up for it. As long as Shinsou will be there, it won’t be too bad.

The country genre starts up and everyone in the category jumps right into the southern swing. There aren’t nearly as many as the pop category, which is odd. There truly aren’t a lot of country singers in this competition, now that you think about it. To be fair, when live shows come around, it’s very intense and since the majority of the singers in the competition are pop singers, country can definitely get lost in the mix. Oh well, the singers who are going are actually really good, so maybe this year it’ll change up a bit. One of the country singers who really caught your eye was this little short girl with long dark green dyed hair. She had this cute little bow pulling it back and had this little southern charm, but her style was more of a mix of country and singer-songwriter you noticed. Not all of the words she sang had that good ‘ol country twang to them, but it was still there. It could have been the song choice of making Before He Cheats into an acoustic (she played her own black acoustic guitar decorated with cute frog stickers), but you’d have to see more of her to be completely sure. She was really really good, though. And sure enough, she made it to the next round.

Up next is rock. You look over to see Bakugou with a stone cold unmoving resting bitch face. From what you know from the guy, this was normal. “If his singing is anything like his yelling, he’s one hell of a rockstar,” Shinsou says to you, which causes you to laugh. He was right, his screaming was pretty loud, gritty, and impressive, so that statement was true. And his singing was similar to that style as well. Even though he did a low-key song by a rock band, Good Riddance by Green Day, he still managed to get that rocker vibe with it. It was probably because of how angrily he played his guitar. That poor guitar. He wasn’t the only rock singer that really stood out though. “I’m not trying to judge because I know I look like a pretty miserable and intimidating guy too, but did you see that guy with the long gray hair and no will to live?” “Yeah, I saw him. Heard him, too. Didn’t realize anyone could make Disenchanted by MCR even sadder than it was already,” you say. It’s true, that guy had a really good voice, sort of similar to Gerard Way’s actually, but christ he made the song sadder than the original somehow. Then of course there was this mysterious guy who was wearing a black face mask to compliment the all black outfit paired with the multiple layered red choker and long black cardigan he was wearing. Somehow, he still sounded great and barely muffled, but it was such a weird visual. It was fitting for the genre though, and you can respect the brand. A cover of Creep sung by someone who covered half of his face was spot on for the song’s meaning. And his purple electric guitar with the symbol of a raven on it was pretty dope, you have to admit.

“Look, it’s Denki’s crush,” Shinsou says as the girl with the purple hair walked on the stage. Denki’s going for a rocker, huh? Fitting, he needs someone intense to balance out his stupid. And intense this girl was, she sang a killer rendition of That’s What You Get, and when you looked over at Denki you could have sworn his pupils turned into little hearts. Unsurprisingly, all of them got in, and Kirishima almost started crying when he realized Bakugo was through as well.

The producers then decided to combine the r&b and hip-hop genres at the last minute, making it the second largest category. But you didn’t mind sitting there and listening because, again, there were some really talented people in the categories. Especially the guy with the long black hair and infectious smile who sang Red Red Wine and absolutely and totally brought the reggae vibe. You could just tell he would sing something like that, too, the minute he got onstage wearing a drug rug and long flowy pants. You honestly dug his aesthetic and his voice, and so did Shinsou considering you both started dancing in your seats the minute the song started. To be fair, though, it’s a good fucking song. Another guy who caught your attention was a dude with a shit ton of piercings, you notices four on his ear, an eyebrow piercing, a lip piercing, and when he was singing you saw a tongue piercing too. His black hair was messy and almost completely covered his eyes, but you could just tell that he was intense. Take What You Want by Post Malone never sounded so dark and angry. They both made it to the next round.

Next thing you knew, it was your category. The smallest category. And much to your bad luck, you were the last one to audition. Luckily, Shinsou was second to last. “Think that was on purpose?” he asks you as you wait backstage. “What do you mean?”

“The judges like to be dramatic on this show. They said we were top two material in general auditions... think they made us the final two on purpose?” You hadn’t thought about that. But you have to say, it does make sense. “Huh. Wild. Guess we better pull out all the stops then.”

“Original?”

“Obviously,” you grin, and he returns it. “Well, might as well do the song I wrote based off of that old high school friend Monoma I told you about.”

“The one where he went to LA for college and wound up coming back to Japan all... different?”

“That’s the one. I feel like I need to be that poetic and mysterious guy and what better song to sing when we’re here. In LA.”

“Yeah, yeah okay Mr. Mysterious. As for me, I’ll just be sad singing about, you know, him.”

“Still warning you in advance, if I ever meet this guy, I’m literally fighting him. And I’m winning,” Shinsou says, and you can’t stop the smile that breaks out across your face. You don’t see it, but your smile causes him to smile. And then the two of you are just cheesing about each other without actually telling each other y’all are the reason for your cheesing. How cute.

Watching the other singer-songwriters do their thing was really fun for you, actually. There was a girl with a jet-black ponytail who did an amazing cover of Skinny Love. Your favorite thing about her was how creative she got with the guitar during it, she added a few new riffs and really just showed her skill with the instrument. Then there was the guy who had like absolutely no presence or personality until he started playing his guitar and singing What Do I Know by Ed Sheeran. He immediately came to life and everyone was bumping to it. His hair was also dyed half red and half white which looked really cool. And then there was the guy who had the typical nerdy indie look with his glasses and navy-blue hair. He played the piano instead of the usual guitar for his cover of Cherry Wine by Hozier and absolutely smashed it. Now none of this helped your nerves, but luckily Shinsou was there to put a brave face on for you and keep you relaxed. Then, it was finally his turn. You could tell he was nervous since he can only hide his emotions from you so much, so instead of psyching him out more, you just grabbed his hand and gave it a little squeeze. He’s the type of person who needs a physical reminder that everything would be okay, and so far, every time you’ve done that action with him, it’s helped calm him down faster than words could. Sure enough, it worked, and he gave you a small smile before walking out onstage. For his performance he’s playing the piano, so he walked over and sat down. “Hello again,” Midnight says, smiling at him. “What will you be singing for this challenge?” Keigo asks, and Shinsou clears his throat. “Um, I have another original for you all.” He could hear the crowd murmur and see a few people whispering to each other. No one had ever really done an original at Hell Week before. They all thought that the judges saying that in the beginning was a joke because of how intense this week could be. Well everyone except Mina and Denki of course.

“That’s great! What’s it called?” Toshinori asks. “Dying In LA.”

“I like the title. Whenever you’re ready,” Aizawa says, and Shinsou nods. He begins playing the opening, before taking a breath and singing.

“The moment you arrived they built you up;

The sun was in your eyes.

You couldn't believe it.

Riches all around, you're walking

Stars are on the ground.

You start to believe it.

Every face along the boulevard is a dreamer just like you.

You looked at death in a tarot card and you saw what you had to do.

But nobody knows you now,

When you're dying in LA.

And nobody owes you now,

When you're dying in LA.

When you're dying in LA.”

People immediately started cheering the minute he did his little rocker dying thing. And he loved it. He could honestly get used to that.

“When you're dying in LA.

The power, the power, the power…

Oh, the power, the power, the power

Of LA.

Nights at the chateau;

Trapped in your sunset bungalow,

You couldn't escape it, yeah.

Drink of paradise,

They told you ‘Put your blood on ice.

You're not gonna make it.’

Every face along the boulevard is a dreamer just like you.

You looked at death in a tarot card and you saw what you had to do.

But nobody knows you now,

When you're dying in LA.

And nobody owes you now,

When you're dying in LA.

The power, the power, the power…

Oh, the power, the power, the power

Of LA”

As expected, everyone was dead silent for a moment before breaking out into applause. Even the judges gave him a standing ovation. And you had to follow literally the most perfect human being and songwriter. Nice. The judges aren’t really permitted to say anything after the performance because they need to just listen to the singing and judge off of that, so Shinsou walks offstage and back over to you. “I warmed them up for you,” he says, and you snort. “Wow, thanks. Maybe next time don’t be that amazing.”

“Hmmm, that’s a tall order, kitten.”

“Yeah, my bad, can’t ask someone perfect to be less perfect.”

“You’re right about that, which is why your performance is going to be much better than mine was,” he pats your head with a grin, before shooing you onstage. You walk on, clutching your guitar as you greet the judges. “Hey chickadee, you gonna sing an original for us too?” Hawks asks, and Midnight hits his arm. “Don’t just go assuming that she also has an original prepared, what if she doesn’t? Do you know how stressed out that would make her you glorified Kentucky Fried Chicken Colonel!”

“Actually, I do have an original prepared.”

“Oh, well in that case I’m excited to hear it! What’s it called?”

“Graveyard,” you respond, and Aizawa motions for you to begin whenever you’re ready. You take a deep breath before strumming away, picking at the strings of your guitar to make the melody you’d written so long ago. Then, you open your mouth.

“It's crazy when The thing you love the most is the detriment; Let that sink in. You can think again, When the hand you wanna hold is a weapon and You're nothin' but skin.

Oh, 'cause I keep diggin' myself down deeper, I won't stop 'til I get where you are. I keep running, I keep running, I keep running.

They say I may be making a mistake, I would've followed all the way, no matter how far. I know when you go down all your darkest roads, I would've followed all the way to the graveyard.

Oh, 'cause I keep diggin' myself down deeper, I won't stop 'til I get where you are. I keep running when both my feet hurt, I won't stop 'til I get where you are. Oh, when you go down all your darkest roads I would've followed all the way to the graveyard (no, oh).

You look at me (look at me) With eyes so dark, don't know how you even see, You push right through me (push right through me). It's gettin' real. You lock the door, you're drunk at the steering wheel, And I can't conceal.

Oh, 'cause I've been diggin' myself down deeper, I won't stop 'til I get where you are. I keep running, I keep running, I keep running.

They say I may be making a mistake, I would've followed all the way, no matter how far. I know when you go down all your darkest roads, I would've followed all the way to the graveyard.

Oh, 'cause I keep diggin' myself down deeper, I won't stop 'til I get where you are. I keep running when both my feet hurt, I won't stop 'til I get where you are. Oh, when you go down all your darkest roads, I would've followed all the way to the graveyard.

Oh, it's funny how… The warning signs can feel like they're butterflies…

Oh, 'cause I keep diggin' myself down deeper, I won't stop 'til I get where you are. I keep running when both my feet hurt, I won't stop 'til I get where you are. Oh, when you go down all your darkest roads, I would've followed all the way to the graveyard.”

Just like Shinsou, there was a moment of silence before everyone applauded. This was a weird feeling. You’d never really sung an original song in front of a crowd of people this big before, and you never expected to have celebrities give your original song a standing ovation. But here you were, Hell Week in UA Idol, and this feeling was honestly something you could get used to. You’re just happy people enjoyed it. You hurry offstage and go over to Shinsou who immediately encapsulates you in a hug. Huh. That’s new. You don’t hate it though. This is actually… pretty nice. He gives good hugs. And you love the lavender scent he gives off, it almost gives him a lavender hue, actually. “You did amazing, (Y/n). Better than I ever could,” he tells you with a small grin. But it doesn’t look like he’s jealous. If anything, he looks proud. Like he’s proud of you. Like you just did something that made him feel happier than anything in the world. You liked him looking at you like that. You want him to look at you like that more. “That’s a lie, you’re the best singer-songwriter I know.”

“That’s because you’ve never actually met yourself other than looking in a mirror. If you actually knew you, you’d take that statement back.”

You’d be lying if you said that didn’t make you blush. The producers ushered you all in a different room, allowing the judges time to talk about who was going through and who wasn’t. You and Shinsou stuck to each other like glue and tried to ignore the stares and looks at you two. That was when the guy with the navy-blue hair approached the two of you, and kind of screamed, but you could tell that he was just using his regular talking voice. “You’re both very talented! I hope one day I am able to write songs like that!”

“Hey, thanks man. I’m sure if you tried right now you could write songs like ours; everyone has the ability to write something good if they have the drive,” Shinsou tells him, and you can’t help but feel a sense of pride swell up in your chest. Shinsou was a really good person. And you were his friend. How did you get so lucky? “My name is Tenya Iida! It’s a pleasure to meet both of you, and I hope we all get through so I can talk to you both about songwriting some more,” he says, a big smile on his face as he sticks out his… very large hand. It wasn’t for a handshake or anything. The man just talks with his hands. You could see the callouses on his fingers from the guitar, though. Gotta love that. Since the singer-songwriter genre was the smallest, the judges seemed to make their decisions very quickly. You and Shinsou watched as people got turned away and as other got through to the next round. Iida, the guy with the dyed hair, and the girl with the black ponytail all made it through to the next round, which you were happy about. They were all very talented and deserved it 100%. But now, the only people who were left in the genre and the entire competition were you and Shinsou. “Do you think we didn’t make it?”

“Well… honestly I don’t know. If we didn’t, at least we got some exposure. Maybe someone will see us, and you can pay off your student loans and I can pay off my mom’s medical bills.”

“And maybe then you could go to university. I know you’ve always wanted to go to school for a music production major.”

He looks over at you with kind of big eyes. How did you know about that? He may have mentioned it off-hand like once while you, Mina, and Denki were around. Did you really just pay attention to him like that? And if you did, why did it just make his heart literally skip a beat? What is going on? Before he could even ask you, the producers gave you two the go-ahead to go onstage. You both walked out, obviously very nervous, but you stopped in the middle. “Well, well, well,” Midnight says, leaning into her microphone. “I bet you two are probably freaking out because what kind of line up of people is two people, right?” Keigo asks, and you both nod. “See, I told you. They know fear. Recording artists would be nothing without fear. These two are something,” Aizawa says, pointing at the two of you. Did the Shouta Aizawa just say the two of you were something? What? “Well, you don’t need to be nervous!” Toshinori screams, smiling very wide at the two of you. “Yeah, after all, we can’t just leave our top two in Hell Week,” Midnight says.

“Congratulations, Shinsou and (Y/n). You’re moving on to the next challenge.”

───────────────────────────────────

Song list:

Kirishima | Golden - Harry Styles

Mina | If I Were A Boy - The Queen, Beyoncé

Denki | Old Me - 5 Seconds of Summer

TetsuTetsu | Adore You - Harry Styles

Toga | Don’t Let Me Down - The Chainsmokers

Midoriya | Imagine - John Lennon

Mirio | Africa - Toto

Uraraka | I Will Always Love You - Whitney Houston

Tsu | Before He Cheats - Carrie Underwood

Bakugo | Good Riddance (Time of Your Life) - Green Day

Shigaraki | Disenchanted - My Chemical Romance

Tokoyami | Creep - Radiohead

Jirou | That’s What You Get - Paramore

Sero | Red Red Wine - UB40

Dabi | Take What You Want - Post Malone ft. Ozzy Osbourne & Travis Scott

Momo | Skinny Love - Bon Iver

Todoroki | What Do I Know - Ed Sheeran

Iida | Cherry Wine - Hozier

Shinsou | Dying In LA - Panic! At The Disco

(Y/n) | Graveyard (Stripped) - Halsey

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theundercovermarvelfan · 4 years

Text

Whumptober 2020 - Day 20

Whumtober Challenge @whumptober2020

Author’s Note: I’m trying to pick up the pace with these since the deadline for the challenge is coming up quick on the 31st and I’m a little behind with my pacing. So please excuse me if I start summarizing the setup and conclusions of these in order to get through them a little faster! That way I can focus more on the whump!

Day 20 Toto, I Have A Feeling We’re Not In Kansas Anymore Lost | Field Medicine | Medieval

It was supposed to be a routine mission. But really, when did that ever work out? Tony and Clint were sent out to do some reconnaissance at a potential Hydra location. Everything had gone fine, they had gathered the information that they needed and had left before anyone even knew they had been there.

Or so they had thought.

They were flying over the Atlantic Ocean with no land in sight when the alarms in the Quinjet suddenly started wailing as the jet started to dip out of the sky. It soon became painfully clear that the jet had been found and tampered with, and there was no fixing it before they fell out of the sky. It was a miracle that Clint was able to point them toward a small speck of land in the middle of the vast, empty ocean. He took the jet down in the water near the island, knowing that a water landing was better than a solid ground landing… but the crash was still brutal. At the last second, the engine on the left side completely failed, sending the jet careening to the left and hitting the water so hard that the metal dented in far enough to shove Clint’s pilot seat out of place.

Clint had pulled the emergency hatch on top of the jet so they could escape before the craft sunk into the water… but as he began to move he cried out in pain, his entire left side on fire. He barely made it out of the jet and into the water, at which point Tony had to get an arm around him and pull him through the water to the nearby island, dragging him up onto the shore.

Tony leaned over Clint, his hands hovering over him, panic barely contained behind his wide-eyed gaze. “What’s hurt?”

Clint took in a shuddering breath. “My shoulder,” he said, hating the way his voice shook. His entire body was in pain, but he could clearly tell that his shoulder was the worst of it.

“What can I do?” Tony asked urgently.

“Hopefully it’s only dislocated,” Clint said. “You gotta check for broken bones and then you gotta set it for me.”

Tony bit his lip as his eyes moved to his injured shoulder. “I’ve never set a dislocated shoulder before,” he admitted.

At this, Clint cracked a pained smile. “There’s a first time for everything.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “That’s not as comforting as you might think,” he muttered sarcastically.

He reached out with both hands and with his first and second fingers he found where Clint’s collar bone began at the base of his neck. Using firm pressure, he walked his fingers up the bone, testing for any unnatural movement. The closer he got to Clint’s shoulder, the more the pain pulsated up and down his arm and up through this chest. Clint gritted his teeth and did his best to deal with the pain silently, but couldn’t help a few moans escaping his throat. Tony’s eyes darted toward him, but for once seemed like he couldn’t think of anything to say.

Once he finished checking Clint’s collar bone, he moved down to his hand. He started down at Clint’s wrist, feeling each bone carefully. For a minute it was almost a relaxing feeling. But again, the closer he got to Clint’s shoulder, the more the pain worsened. By the time he made it up past Clint’s elbow, Clint could barely take it anymore. He cried out as his muscles spasmed painfully and Tony immediately stopped at the noise.

“Keep going,” Clint snapped a little more intensely than he had meant to. He just wanted to get it over with.

“Then stop screaming,” Tony snapped back, though there was a grim tension in his voice.

A strained bark of a laugh escaped Clint’s throat. “I was not screaming. It was a very manly yell.”

Tony shook his head. “Whatever you say,” he said as he started to check Clint’s bicep again, this time noticeably going more carefully. Still, Clint had to squeeze his eyes shut and clench his jaw to keep from crying out again.

“Nothing feels broken,” Tony finally informed him. Clint opened his eyes and saw that he was now sitting back on his heels, looking down at him unsurely. “But it’s pretty swollen up by the shoulder so it’s hard to tell. Plus there could be ligament or tendon damage or something. Without x-rays or MRIs it might not be safe to reset your shoulder.”

Clint sighed heavily. “Do you happen to have either of those machines on you?” Tony shook his head. “Then we have to do it this way.”

“But—“

“Look, we have no idea if or when help is going to get here,” Clint interrupted. “Until then, we’re on our own. And I’m not gonna last long in here with only one working arm.”

Tony sighed in defeat. “You’re right,” he admitted. “Okay. What do I do?”

“Bend my arm up at the elbow,” Clint instructed as calmly as he could. He waited for Tony to do as he was told. “Okay, now hold the elbow with both hands and rotate it out away from my torso.”

“Like this?” he asked as he carefully moved his elbow away from his body.

Suddenly, intense pain shot up through his arm. “Stopstopstop!” he gasped.

Tony immediately froze, looking down at him with wide eyes. “What’d I do wrong?”

Clint had to pause in an attempt to catch his breath, all his muscles tensing painfully. “My fault,” he panted. He squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to concentrate. “I tensed up. Move it back.” Tony carefully did as he was told and Clint focused on taking deep breaths and trying to relax his muscles. Then he laughed lightly to diffuse the tension in the air. “This is supposed to be the easy part.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Great,” he said sarcastically. Then he paused as realization dawned on him. “Wait, supposed to be? You have done this before, haven’t you?”

Clint flashed him a guilty smile. “Well, I know the theory behind it…” he hedged.

“You’ve never even done this before?” Tony demanded angrily.

“I dislocated my shoulder once before, but I was unconscious when Phil set it for me,” he admitted. “He sedated me so it would be easier to do.” He paused, thoughtful. “If we can’t pop it back in this way you may have to knock me unconscious to do it.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Don’t tempt me, Legolas,” he warned, clearly straining to keep his tone light.

Clint took one more deep breath. “Okay. Let’s try again.”

“You sure?” Tony asked skeptically.

Clint tried to nod, but even that was enough to send waves of pain though his body. “Yes,” he said flatly.

“Okay,” Tony said, sounding determined. “Take some deep breaths and we’ll go again on the count of three. One… two… three.”

Clint did his best to relax his muscles as Tony slowly and carefully shifted his dislocated joint. There was some dull pain as it moved, but thankfully nothing as bad as last time. Even so, Clint let his head fall to the side away from his injury, not wanting to witness the unnatural motions they were about to put his joint through.

“Still with me?” Tony asked, worry creeping into his tone.

“Yeah, still here,” Clint confirmed. His voice seemed to drag out of his throat. Exhaustion was clearly catching up with him. He took another deep breath as he fought for focus. “Move it a little further, it should be perpendicular to my body.”

“Like this?” Tony asked, shifting his arm a bit further.

Clint clamped down on a groan. “Yeah,” he said without looking, hoping he was right. He inhaled for a few long seconds before quickly exhaling. “Okay. You’re gonna rotate my arm up over my head, keeping my elbow bent. While you’re rotating, put some steady pressure outwards away from my body. Once my arm is up over my head, it should pop back into the socket.”

“Should?” Tony said, raising an eyebrow.

“If you feel resistance, stop and try again from a slightly different angle,” Clint went on. “Don’t force it or you could start breaking bones.”

“So, no pressure,” Tony said. “Great.” Clint heard Tony take a deep breath. “Okay. Ready?”

“I am if you are,” Clint said, trying to keep the tension out of his voice. He knew he needed to relax his muscles in order for this to work, but that was easier said than done.

Clint gasped as his muscles spasmed. He let out a strange humming noise as he tried to stifle a cry of pain. Tony paused, shifted a little bit and then moved again, pulling outward steadily…

POP!

Clint let out a relieved sigh as the joint returned to socket with an audible pop, the pain immediately dulling as the strain was finally taken off his shoulder.

“Thanks,” Clint breathed.

“No problem,” Tony said, leaning back and wiping a hand over his brow. “Now, never make me do that ever again.”

#whumptober2020 #no.20 #toto i have a feeling we're not in kansas anymore #lost #field medicine #Avengers #MCU #fic #plane crash tw #dislocated shoulder tw #tony stark #Iron Man #hawkeye #clint barton #fanfiction #whump

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stevesnailbat · 4 years

Note

I'm a slut for opposites attract so could you please write some more steve x 80s rocker chick reader please 🥺 I loved "rock me" so much!!! like maybe reader works at a record store and steve goes there to buy some pop preppy album and gets all heart eyes and intimidated by her and shes like teasing him for his music taste and stuff. THANK YOU!!! 🥰

summary: Steve’s first time in a record store leads to him becoming head over heels for the cashier that makes him come running back for more.

warnings: none really, just Steve being flustered by a rocker chick

word count: 1.2K

The bell above the door was always obnoxious. Partly because it was loud and partly because it meant that Y/N actually had to help people. She rolled her eyes as she looked up from the magazine on the table in front of her. An amused smirk was on her lips when she saw the boy at the door. He was too out of place to be in the record store and he knew it, too.

“Welcome to The Vinyl.” she said while using her best customer service voice for the twentieth time that day, eyes flicking back to the magazine for a moment. “My name’s Y/N, if you need anything, I’m happy to help.”

As soon as he walked in, Steve was taken aback by the girl on the other side of the counter. She wasn’t like a girl that he’d usually go for; she wasn’t a Nancy Wheeler type, that’s for sure. He could tell she seemed amused by someone like him coming into the store, which made him all too aware of the way he looked in the moment. He needed to buy a birthday present for Robin and he was desperate, though.

“I actually do need some help.” he said nervously as he walked towards the counter with a sheepish smile on his face. “I’m Steve, by the way, and I’m looking for a certain record that I’m not sure if you’ll have—actually I’m sure you do but I’ve never been to a record store so—“

“Okay, okay. No need to explain every detail of your dilemma.” she giggled, leaning against the counter to look up at him with the smirk growing on her lips. “Let me guess...You’re looking for some pop album, right? Maybe Foreigner’s 4? Oh wait—probably Rio by Duran Duran?”

“You got all that just from what I’m wearing?” he asked, raising his eyebrows as she nodded. “I’d like to say I’m offended, but you’re right. I need Rio.”

“Yeah, I know I am.” she said confidently, coming out from behind the counter to walk towards the pop section. “What made you want to come to the record store for the first time? Especially to get Rio of all albums?”

“It’s not for me, actually. It’s my best friend’s birthday and I thought it’d be a good gift.” he confessed, feeling a blush creeping up on his cheek as the girl in front of him watched him with an amused grin.

“Oh? Well then, what’s your music taste?” she asked, flipping through the records one-by-one.

“Well—I don’t know. You’ll probably think it’s typical.” he chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Can I guess? I’m really good at it obviously.” she asked when handing him the record, he nodded in reply. “Well...I’d say that you do like Foreigner and Duran Duran, for sure. You probably like Toto, maybe some Queen too. I’m gonna guess you listen to Cyndi Lauper and Madonna sometimes too, but you don’t like to admit it. And your favorite band is Journey, for sure.”

The blush on Steve’s cheeks grew deeper as she sat on the checkout counter with a satisfied grin, making it apparent that she was right. She raised her eyebrows and clicked the gum in her mouth while swinging her legs over to stand behind the counter again. He felt flustered suddenly, mainly because the confidence and edge she had were so attractive.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” she implored and he nodded sheepishly. “I know my shit. I could tell by the nice sweater and khaki combo that you’ve got goin’ on right now that you’re probably coming straight from a preppy family lunch. And by the nervous look on your face, I could tell that you’ve never been into a record store before you admitted it.”

“Alright, alright. You win!” he said, throwing his hands up in defeat after handing her the amount of cash that showed up on the register. “How about you, though? A rocker chick with a leather jacket and red lipstick? You definitely don’t listen to Duran Duran and Journey.”

“Of course not. I do listen to some Queen occasionally, but definitely not a fan of any of the others.” she laughed, fumbling around under the counter for a moment before pulling a mixtape up. “Here’s a mixtape I just made, it’ll tell you everything you need to know about me. Listen to it a few times then bring it back when you have a new appreciation for good ass music.”

So, he listened to the mixtape on his way to Robin’s birthday party, trying to get a feel for the new music. It wasn’t like any music he ever listened to, but he enjoyed it either way. Mötley Crüe and Def Leppard songs mixed with some Metallica and Van Halen, and all sounded somewhat interesting to Steve. He couldn’t tell if he liked the songs because of her or just because he actually liked them, but he didn’t really care.

Two days later, Steve made his way back to the record store with a grin on his face. He’d listened to the mixtape on repeat plenty of times, maybe a few more times than he’d like to admit. He walked into the shop to see the same girl at the counter with the same unamused look on her face. The look on her face changed when she saw Steve, making her perk up slightly with a smirk on her face.

“Are you a rock fan now?” she teased as he laid the mixtape on the counter.

“I’d like to think so. I do have a new appreciation for those songs. They still don’t top my lists, but I did like it.” he said, smirking down at her with a wink.

“Fair enough.” she laughed, grabbing the mixtape to put it back with her things.

“Y’know, you never offered to listen to my music.” he joked, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

“Because I know that I don’t like it.” she giggled.

“Well, you should at least try to listen to it.” he said, reaching into his pocket to grab another mixtape and put it onto the counter. “Here’s a mixtape that I just made. You already know everything about my music taste, but just give it a shot. I’ll come back in two days to get it back, and hopefully you’ll have a new appreciation for the songs on it.”

“And what if I don’t like them still?” she questioned, clicking her gum in amusement.

“Then I’ll leave you alone, I won’t come back unless I need another birthday present.” he said smoothly, watching her raise her eyebrows at his proposal. “If you do like them, then I get to take you out and you can show what people with good music taste do for a good time.”

“I think I can handle that.” she replied with a smirk, flipping the new mixtape in her hands. “I’d rather go on that date and show you a good time, wether I like the mixtape or not.”

“I—uh—yeah! I think I can handle that.” he said nervously at first, taken aback by her confidence once more.

“I’ll see you in two days, then.” she said with a wink as she watched him walk towards the door.

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catsafarithewriter · 4 years

Text

The Disappearance of Haru Yoshioka (Part 5)

Part: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [fini]

Maybe it’s no bad thing, Toto considers. Maybe this is the saving grace that Baron needs, to pull him out of this obsession before it consumes him any further.

Maybe he should just let Baron forget.

But in the end it is their decades of friendship that wins out and, against his better judgement, Toto tracks down an old acquaintance who has such experience with shifting realities.

“Of course you’re forgetting her,” the old spirit tells Baron. “You should never have known her in the first place. This is just the world’s way of setting things right.”

“But this reality is wrong,” Baron persists, fighting against the tide that wants to pull him into this Haru-less reality. And he knows that if the current claims him, he will never find his way back.

The spirit smiles, but it is a thing bittersweet and pitying. “There is no wrong or right reality,” she says. “Only the one that we have. Sometimes they shift, sometimes they change, but that is just the way it is. You don’t argue with a clock for the passing of time, do you?”

“Then why do I still remember her?”

“There are always remnants. Anomalies. The likeliest explanation is that you possessed something of hers when the shift occurred. Something that tied you to her.”

Baron grips the old new cane. He tries to ignore how its nicks and scars are becoming more familiar each day, how it becomes harder to cling onto the tactile memory of how the cane lovingly carved by Haruhi fitted into his hand.

“Do you want my advice?” the spirit asks. “Allow yourself to forget her. The road you seek will only bring you heartache.”

Before he leaves, the spirit pulls Toto aside. “You know this to be a mistake,” she says. “Nothing good can come from trying to change what is. The other Creation is too young, but you... you I had thought to understand such things. So why do you fight it?”

Toto glances back. He has sensed the conflict raging inside Baron, as the old reality and the new reality fights for him, and every day the new reality gains a little more ground.

It would be easy, too easy, to let the universe have its way. How ironic, Toto thinks, that the one time the right choice is the easy one, and yet he cannot take it.

“Because he is my friend,” he answers.

The spirit nods wearily, understanding and yet no happier with the result. “Then, out of respect for the years we’ve known one another, I will give you this much. There are few beings who can alter reality so seamlessly, and fewer still with the inclination to do so on the scale of a single mortal.”

“And you know where such individuals may be found?”

“I do.” The spirit offers a silver compass, but lingers before it passes from paw to wing. “Be warned. You may not like the answers you find.”

Toto takes the compass. “I can’t sit back and do nothing.”

The saddened smile the spirit gives betrays that that is exactly what Toto should do.

It is easier than Toto would have liked to slip away from the Bureau.

Once upon a time, before all this began, Baron would have noticed within a heartbeat how Toto’s attention and presence was divided, but now the cat Creation was distracted. Toto found that his reappearance after a day’s absence was met with mild confusion, as if Toto were a hat that Baron had misplaced and only in the finding realised he’d lost it at all.

Of course, Toto’s search would go quicker if he recruited the use of either Bureau companion, but such a thing would be to admit he has a lead - to admit to Baron that there is hope - and he has no desire to add flames to that particular fire.

And so he searches for the spirit, being, creature that is responsible for this reality shift and each time he returns, empty-handed, the new reality has claimed a little more of Baron. Each time, the notes for this Haru are a little fewer, the fresh cases a little more prominent, the weight in his gaze a little lighter.

“Maybe yer should just let it go,” Muta says to him one evening. They haven’t bickered as much as usual - and in part that is due to Toto’s absences, but there is a sharper reason in the toll the last half-year has taken on them both.

“Let what go?” Toto asks.

“Whatever secret thing yer up to to help Baron.” Muta raises an eyebrow as Toto startles. “Baron may have the attention span of a fruit fly right now, but I don’t. Whatever yer up to, it’s making you look almost as bad as Baron did at the start.”

There is a bitter irony in that, Toto feels.

“So why not just let things take their course?” Muta continues. “After all, give ‘im another month and he won’t even remember that he was looking for this Haruko in the first place.” He snorts as he collects up the dirty dishes on the table. “It’s almost every day he starts to tidy up his desk before remembering now.”

“Then why don’t you?” Toto asks. “I’m not the only one being caught up in this ghost hunt.”

Muta shrugs. “He hasn’t forgotten fully yet. So I might as well help if he wants it.”

“Do you think he’ll find her?”

Muta doesn’t answer that.

Eventually, after many false leads and wrong doors, the silver compass brings Toto to a tree’s hollow that opens up into another world, and there he finds the spirit responsible.

It is a small thing, a winged mouse creature with a long golden tail that curls about it, and the barked walls encompassing the world tremble as it lays eyes on the newcomer. Toto takes a perch on a twisting root. “Good,” he says. “So you recognise me.”

“I have never seen you before in my life,” the spirit hisses.

“Not in this reality, maybe,” Toto replies. “But what about the one before?”

The spirit pauses, and Toto knows that at last - at last - he is one step closer.

“What about a human by the name of Haru Yoshioka?” he presses.

“What do you know of Haru?” the spirit demands.

“Only that she has vanished.”

The spirit laughs, a wheezing, creaking noise that sounds more floral than fauna. “She has not vanished,” it amends. “She is exactly where she should be.”

“And where is that?”

“Living her life.”

“Where?”

“In the Human World.”

“Where?”

“Not telling. Not telling.”

“Why not?”

“Because you will ruin everything!” the spirit spits. “You and the rest of your little Creation office. You will drag her back into your world of magic and other realms and she will lose her grip on humanity. Again.”

“Again?” Toto echoes. “What do you mean ‘again’?”

“She is happy!” it continues. “She is happy and if you care you will let her be!”

The world creaks around him and when Toto suddenly finds himself outside the spirit’s home, the tree is closed and the compass is broken.

Part: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [fini]

#the cat returns #the disappearance of haru yoshioka #cat writes #i'm having trouble updating stuff on ffnet #so here have a ficlet continuation instead XD #the last few days kinda slipped from me in a birthday haze #but here's a ficlet proving this story IS advancing the plot XD

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Text

Dad Fluff: Ohana

A followup to this very short drabble about Mina drawing a family photo!

CW: Vague references to Danny’s past torture, but nothing specific. Brief referenced to enforced malnourishment/near starvation.

“You’re officially obs-… obsessing,” Nate says softly, dropping onto the couch next to Danny, leaning over and tilting his head to try and get a better look at his face. “L-Love, talk to me. You’ve been looking at th-th-the picture she drew for… longer than can be g-good for you.”

“I wasn’t in the picture,” Danny whispers, still holding it in his hands. Looking at the stick-figure attempts to draw Nate and Mina herself and even Toto, a ball of black and brown squiggles with eyes. “I don’t know why, why she wouldn’t-”

“Danny,” Nate says seriously, taking the paper from his hands and turning it over. “You are the p-p-picture. Look at you, here.” He points, tapping his finger against the drawing with a soft crackling sound as the paper shifts in his hand. “You’re so… you are s-s-such the center of her life that she didn’t have en, enough room to draw you if you didn’t have your very own s-side.”

Danny’s lips press slowly together, and he nods, but he doesn’t look convinced. “I never drew myself in, um, in the pictures, either,” He says, finally. “I used to draw Mom and Dad and Ryan on one side, and… and, um, then myself over in the corner or on another paper, because that’s how it felt-… sometimes I didn’t draw me at all…”

“Danny.” Nate set the drawing down entirely, laying it carefully on the coffee table, taking Danny’s hands in his. “Look at me, love. Please.”

Danny’s jaw is locked but trembling as he raises his eyes, slowly, to meet Nate’s.

They’re both older, and stronger, and Nate likes to think wiser, but Danny’s eyes are still the same. Bright sparkling blue, the only time in his life Nate has seen the color blue and called it warm. His freckles have deepened with time, rather than faded, and Nate lifts one hand to cup his face, rubbing a thumb slowly over an old scar on his cheek, feeling the shift in skin texture under his touch.

“This is n-not that family.” Nate keeps his voice gentle but firm, not quite insistent. Danny nods, but he’s scared, and the fear shows through even when he tries to hide it. He’s never been a good liar, and he’s a worse liar with Nate. “I kn-know we all bring things from our childhoods-… but we are not your parents. And Mina is not Ryan, and she isn’t y-you, either.”

“It just felt like-”

“Like you weren’t part of us,” Nate says softly, and Danny nods. Nate sighs and slides his hand down Danny’s neck, over the hints of scarring there, then curves his palm around Danny’s shoulder, pulling him close. Wavy red hair tickles against the side of his neck as Danny’s tension collapses. “This is your family, Danny. We w-worked hard to build it. We… we worked so hard to get the fucking ch-chance to build it. This is our f-family. And you’re her whole world.”

“She drew my scars. She drew them in bright red, they’re what she sees, it’s all anyone ever sees, is what h-he left on me-”

“Ssssshhhhh. I know that was h-hard to see.” Nate closes his eyes, tries to remember what he and Dr. Rosa had talked about when it came to helping Danny through his dark moments, encouraging him to keep talking, to pull himself back. “Did you h-hear what she called them?”

“My… my pretty marks,” Danny whispers, and Nate begins to run his thumb on Danny’s shoulder through his long-sleeved shirt, thinking of doing this in Alberta, feeling the shift of bones under his thumb when Danny had so little weight at all. Now there is a gentle roundness, strength he’d rebuilt in himself year by year. “She called them pretty marks.”

“There. She didn’t see them as bad, D-Danny, she just sees them as part of you. The same way she calls that weird thing on your hip your ‘blue spot’.”

“It… it is an actual blue spot on my hip, though,” Danny says doubtfully. “I stabbed myself with a marker at the last group home before Mom… It is a blue spot.”

“And your marks are p-pretty to her.”

“I just… it hurts, to see me not in the picture again, Nate.”

“I know. But she’s n-not you. She didn’t d-d-do that because she didn’t think you belonged with us, but because she c-c-couldn’t fit how important y-you were when the rest of us were in the way.” Nate’s efforts are rewarded with a nearly-silent huff of laughter from the man in his arms. “I know it’s h-hard not to bring it with you… I sometimes want to g-go to confession and I haven’t b-been Catholic since I was s-s-seventeen…”

“What’d you confess to?” Danny asks, curling more against him, and Nate sighs with a kind of relief as he pulls him closer. “Just… sucking dick?”

“Yes.”

Danny blinks and pulls back, looking up at Nate with surprise. “Did you actually? To a priest?”

Nate grins, and watches Danny’s internal battle between his need to still be sad over the injury in his mind and the idea of a sixteen-year-old Nate Vandrum talking about blowjobs in the confessional booth. “Couple of t-t-times. Some oth, other stuff, too. I was a really bad C-Catholic.”

“If you did it and still went to confession, you might actually have been a pretty good one,” Danny says, and the two of them break up into relieved laughter, Danny’s hands splaying over his face not to hide his scars but just to hide his smile.

“Danny, you are M-Mina’s family. You’re w-w-with her every day, all day-”

“-Except during Mom’s Morning Out, which, I really wish they’d change the name of that fucking group-”

“… let me finish, D-Danny. Mina wants for nothing. She is warm, and fed, and educated, and clothed, and l-l-loved.”

“I was most of those things,” Danny says, softly, but he’s coming back, Nate can tell. Pulling himself out of the spiral inside his mind, starting to feel more present, less like he slipped beneath the surface of a dark pool.

“You were some of th-them all of the t-t-time, but you never had them all, all of the t-t-time. And she does. You were the one who brought up adoption, you are the one who taught her the alphabet, you were the one to d-d-decide we weren’t going to watch those episodes I d-d-downloaded of Mister Rogers any longer and we’d let her watch s-s-something made in the last ten years-”

“I still watch them,” Danny says, softly. At Nate’s raised eyebrows, he shrugs. “Call it my confession. Forgive me, Father, for I have watched educational children’s programming from the eighties-”

“Hey, now. Some of us recovering Catholics like the ‘Forgive me, Father’ stuff, but… I’m n-n-not one of them.”

Danny flashes him a bright smile, and Nate feels an absurd sense of victory. He wants to raise his hands in triumph. He settles for pulling Danny in for a kiss.

“Sorry, Professor,” Danny murmurs against his mouth.

“Now, see, I l-like you calling me Professor…”

Danny laughs, softly. “Put your tie and jacket on and I’ll take it right back off you again, Professor Vandrum. But… I… I get it. She drew me bigger than everyone else because I am important. And she probably thought, since it’s the same paper, that it still counted as being all together…”

“Kids tend to d-d-draw themselves larger than they really a-are, compared to other people,” Nate says softly. “If they feel secure, and s-safe. You saw how big M-Mina drew herself.”

“Right. Bigger than you,” Danny says, blinking, looking back down at the paper. “And I was the biggest person.”

“I h-hate admitting this, but you’re the one she g-g-goes to first when she’s scared, or hurt, or has a n-nightmare or feels sick to her stomach. You’re the one she asks for juice and ah, applesauce. That’s all you, Danny. You’re not part of our family, you are our family. We built every single thing we have because of you. You chose me-”

“-… was made for you…” Danny murmurs, and then stops when Nate shakes his head.

“No, love. You chose me, and didn’t l-let go. You chose to say y-yes when I asked. You chose to agree when Mina’s birthmom liked us in our profiles. You chose Toto at the H-Humane Society, you chose every single thing we are. You built your own f-f-family, love, and she can’t picture us without seeing you as b-b-bigger than everyone else.”

Danny nods slowly, rubbing at his face, at his eyes, leaning over to rest his elbows on his knees. “Yeah… yeah, okay.”

“I know this is hard for y-you, love, and always will be, but… this is your family. You, and I, and Mina… and Toto… and, fuck, even your brother.”

Danny’s smile widens. “What do you think he’ll say if I send him a photo of what Mina drew and tell him she called them ‘pretty marks’?”

Nate shakes his head, leaning over to hold Danny’s face in one hand again, kissing his forehead, feeling the worry-wrinkles smooth under his mouth. “He’ll say, ‘it’s ab, about time someone other than Vandrum and I noticed you’re gorgeous’,” He says, softly.

Danny snorted. “He’s never called me gorgeous in my life or his.”

“Not to your face.”

Danny’s smile is infectious, and Nate pulls him in for a kiss knowing the tightrope has been walked, they’ve cleared the worst part of the shadows that threatened to sink their claws in - at least for now.

They’ll have this conversation again, in a hundred different ways, every time something pushes Danny towards the fears and worries built by a lifetime of having to earn the love that should have been his birthright. They’ll have it every time Danny is reminded or forced to relive years spent desperately trying to earn the mercy of a man hellbent on his slow, inexorable destruction.

But they have the foundation. They’ve laid the path, together. When one of them falters, the other holds the weight, until they can find their own way out. That is their marriage, and has always been, and will always be.

That is Danny’s family.

“It’s sm-small, and b-b-broken, but we made it ourselves,” Nate murmurs, and Danny lets out a peal of surprised laughter, loud enough that Nate shushes him, worried about waking Mina so soon after she’s fallen asleep.

“Did you just quote Lilo and Stitch at me?”

“No.” Danny raises an eyebrow, and Nate puts his hands up in surrender. “I quoted it to m-myself!”

“No, it’s fine, I like that movie, you know I do.” Danny slides arms around his waist, holding him tightly.

After a few beats of silence, Danny says softly, “Ohana means family, Professor Vandrum.”

“Family m-means nobody gets left behind.”

#whump #only not really #trauma recovery #dad fluff #epilogue #nate vandrum: a knight in soot-stained armor #daniel michaelson is a tall smol bean #mina vandrum #scarring #scars #tw: brief reference to past starvation #tw: brief reference to torture #reference to foster care #referenced past emotional abuse #recovery whump #recovering whumpee

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mostfacinorous · 4 years

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GO Whumptober Day 20: Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore... [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12][13][14][15][16][17][18][19]

They’d been on a stroll, like so many others, around the lake in St. James’, when it happened.

It wasn’t the first time, exactly; Aziraphale knew of several other accounts, most of them dismissed as fiction or poppycock, but it had never happened to him before, and, judging by Crowley’s alarmed sounding squawk, which he would certainly not admit to emitting, later-- he was surprised as well.

One moment, they had been in present day, Aziraphale’s hand in a bag of crumbs, on the lookout for any hungry or friendly looking wildlife, the next, they had taken a step forward and found themselves in a populated square, the grounds paved in wood and stone and dirt, the people decidedly confused by their appearances.

“Well!” Aziraphale exclaimed, albeit under his breath.

Crowley took a step backwards, as though he expected to be able to reverse his way into the future.

For the place they were was instantly familiar; they’d been here, only not for hundreds of years. Well, they’d been here the entire time, but the when was hundreds of years prior to the moment they’d just been in.

Aziraphale couldn’t explain how he could tell. It was like a taste, almost. The Earth hadn’t aged yet. He couldn’t pin down the exact year, but the vintage was younger than the one he was used to.

“It’s so long ago!” Aziraphale said, then clapped delightedly, bouncing on his toes. “Oh, Crowley, our own Moberly-Jourdain incident! Oh, we shall call it the Crowley-Fell Adventure.”

“Aziraphale.” Crowley said, and Aziraphale huffed.

“Well it sounds better in alphabetical order, but if you insist we can call it the Fell-Crowley Incident. It does have a certain ring to it.”

“Aziraphale, one- Crowley-Fell sounds better, yeah. Two, you can’t write about this at all, we’re keeping a low profile, and three, which side do you suppose is responsible for this, and why do they want us now instead of back home?”

That did serve to deflate Aziraphale’s glee a bit.

“Well.” He said. “I suppose perhaps to make a point. They mightn’t have succeeded in their hopes of killing us or forcing me to fall, but they still have power over our lives.”

“Right. But why now, of all times? And when is now, anyway?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “I imagine it was Heaven’s doing. They can’t conceive of a worse time than a dirty one. Let’s just hope we’ve landed between plagues.”

Aziraphale looked around.

“Pardon me,” He said to the first person he saw who didn’t avert their eyes and hurry past. It was a boy, probably close to being thought of as a man in these days, likely only beginning to breach teen-hood.

“Milord?” The boy asked, eyeing his clothing uncomfortably and doing a half bob of a bow, clearly unsure what to make of him.

“Oh none of that,” Aziraphale said, waving off the formality. “My apologies, I think we’ve gotten a little lost. Ah-- our ship, you see, a rough voyage. What year is it? And who is King?”

The boy looked a good deal more suspicious, of a sudden, and responded with the same incredulous snideness of teenagers everywhere. “It is 1204 in the year of our Lord, and King John rules England.” Aziraphale could almost hear the duh that would not be forthcoming for some time yet.

“1204, Crowley!” He exclaimed. “We have been away far longer than I thought!” He shook his head. “Thank you, lad, and if you can, start saving grains for your family now. The… uh… church says it is to be an especially cold winter.”

The boy looked, if anything, even more distrusting, but knuckled his brow and took off, glancing back at them as he went.

“Come on Angel, let’s go get some clothes that won’t stand out so much. We need to blend in til we can figure out how to get back.”

“You know… it mightn’t be so bad, if we can’t ‘get back’.” Aziraphale said ponderously as they walked.

“What are you talking about?” Crowley sounded disgruntled, to say the least.

“Well, you see, in all the fictitious accounts of time travel, the people doing the traveling have finite lifespans. They all want to go back for their families, their loved ones, to be with them. We don’t have that problem.”

Crowley looked askance at him.

“Sure, but do you really want to live through all this all over again? And isn’t there the fear of running into ourselves? I don’t know about you, but if I ran into me, I wouldn’t wait to ask questions.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale brightened at that. “I should quite like to have a cup of tea with myself, actually-- what a grand way to catch up on the goings on of the time.”

“Aziraphale, focus.” Crowley snapped. “There is a reason we have been sent back here and I suspect it’s to do with what’s coming in the future-- near to when we’re from. We need to find a way to get abc and stop whatever it is from happening.”

“But if we don’t hurry the process, we’ll have an awful lot more time to stop whatever it is,” Aziraphale pointed out, sensibly, he thought.

Crowley was silent for a long moment.

“We won’t have your books to reference about it, though.” He said finally. “And no lovely takeout to eat while we work. No private plumbing, or gas lines, no central heating and cooling…”

Aziraphale felt his face fall.

“I have grown… accustomed, I suppose, to those little creature comforts.”

“Like you said, that cold winter’s coming… food shortages and famine to follow. And all the sickness that’s to come-- 1204, we were at war with France, weren’t we? And England will be re-seizing church land soon, when John fights with the pope. You want to go through all of that nonsense again? You remember how conflicted you were about all of it, the first go round.”

Aziraphale sighed.

“Yes, of course, you’re right. The romance of it really is all in the nostalgia, isn’t it?”

“It really is.” Crowley agreed. “Now come on, if I recall there’s a tailor up here somewhere.”

It was odd, the echoes of familiarity and the utter strangeness existing together in this place. They found the tailor that Crowley remembered-- and he was, as Crowley remembered, really rather good. They left looking much more with the times, though Crowley insisted on keeping their other clothes with them, just in case.

“So what’s next?” Aziraphale asked, actually privately enjoying letting Crowley be the hero of this little misadventure.

“Next, we find somewhere to stay; a home base.” Crowley spoke authoritatively, as if he’d had a plan for a while now. And, given how long it’d taken to get hose made for his incredibly long legs, perhaps he’d done his planning then.

“Did you make enough money for it?” Aziraphale asked, more than willing to pull his own weight, but Crowley reached down and nudged his coin purse, the currency within clinking softly together.

“We’ll have enough for a while. Don’t want to attract too much attention.”

He’d said that frequently at the tailor’s, even as Aziraphale recalled the fashions of a mere few hundred years into the future with great fondness.

He’d ended up with a loose fitting long tabard-like-thing over a longer linen robe-- comfortable enough, and stylish enough, though he couldn’t for the life of him recall the actual names of this style. No matter; it did its job well enough.

They found an inn, fortunately located near several food stalls and a proper bar, insomuch as such a thing existed these days.

But there was wine, and ale, and water that looked mostly clear, and Aziraphale counted himself grateful.

“So, what is your plan from here?” Aziraphale asked Crowley, once they were settled in their single shared room. Wouldn’t want to attract attention by spending too much, nor risk being separated into different lodgings. And so they had their wine bottle and the honeyed figs Crowley had bought, despite his admonitions of being careful with their coin, for Aziraphale to enjoy.

“Now… we figure out how we got here, and why, if possible, and most importantly, how to get back.”

“It’s been a very long time since I was lost.” Aziraphale mused, speaking to the fig he was considering in his hand. “In fact, when I have been, usually I would simply pop up to heaven, and come back down where I intended to be.”

He bit into the treat, and Crowley stared at him.

“You mean we’ve spent the entire day in 1204, and we could have just… gone home at any time?”

Aziraphale shrugged and swallowed his mouthful.

“Well, I don’t know that it will work, based on your fear that it’s heaven who’s sent us here-- and if it does, then we can do it at any time. Think of it as a… a work sponsored holiday.”

“A work spons-- Aziraphale are you mad? We’re in the medieval times! One look at my eyes, and I’m up on a flaming stake or off with my head, or--”

Aziraphale blotted at his mouth with a napkin.

“Do you honestly think I’d let them do that to you?”

“Well you sure didn’t stop Gabriel doing it, did you?” Crowley snapped back, and then his expression shifted, and Aziraphale could tell he regretted it as soon as it was said. Even so, he recoiled.

“Alright. I’m sorry. Let’s… let’s go home.” He stood and made his way to a clear spot on the floor to begin drawing the correct sigils he’d need for transport.

“Aziraphale, I’m sorry.” Crowley had stood and followed him, but Aziraphale ignored him in favor of his work.

“So what, you aren’t talking to me now?”

“I am trying to concentrate, Crowley. Certainly wouldn’t want to keep you where you don’t feel safe any longer than necessary.” He kept his tone even and his eyes on the symbols on the floor.

“It’s not that-- I-- I have been so scared, all day, that they did this as a way to try and force us apart, or keep us away, and you… I don’t know how you can be so calm about all of this.”

At that, Aziraphale did look up at him. “I can be calm because you seemed to have a plan, and I trust you and feel safe around you. I’m sorry that I can’t do the same for you, but I understand.”

Crowley stared down at him for a moment. “That’s not what you mean to say at all, is it?” He asked. “You sound like them, shifting the blame, making it about-- about loyalty and faith. Why didn’t you tell me about your plan til just now?”

Aziraphale stopped drawing and sat back on his heels, dropping his head til his chin hit his chest. “Ever since the arrangement began…” He started, then paused to lick his lips. “I have been growing more and more afraid to use miracles for the things that matter. Useless miracles, frivolous ones-- making tea and the like? That’s not a problem, but… The important ones. I’m always afraid they’ll find out, about us, about me, and they’ll find a way to cut me off, with or without me falling, and… and so I avoid it.”

Crowley tilted his head, then looked down at the floor, at Aziraphale’s half finished sigil.

“But you would, because you realized how scared I am. You care about me more than you care about your own fear.”

“Well, at least I can do one tiny angelic thing right.” Aziraphale spat back bitterly. “Now please-- let me finish this, and we will be on our way.”

Crowley opened his mouth, seemed to think better of it, and sat back down to wait.

Aziraphale nodded and got back to work.

It was several silent minutes later when he heard, faintly, Crowley say, “Thank you.”

He pretended he hadn’t.

#GO Whumptober2020 #Whumptober #good omens #good omens fic #crowley #aziraphale #Ineffable Idiots #That writing thing I do

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