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littlefreya · 3 years

Text

Vanilla Milkshake

Summer: Henry and a long time friend hangout at their usual spot when things turn chaotic because of an innocent misunderstanding...

Prompted by:

Oooh Freyaaaa I just *need* some scene featuring Henry and ofc drinking milkshake.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Unamed OFC (no description of ethnicity or body type).

Word count: 1.7K

Warnings: RPF, major fluff, friends to lovers, sexual innuendo, mild seduction, sex talk, an unwanted boner, Henry being a boomer, Henry having a meltdown.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own.*

A/N: So, first thing first, thanks @agniavateira for quickly beta’ing my work! And of course thanks @the-soot-sprite for bouncing ideas with me and being an emotional support. Decided to go with friends for lovers because I live for that stuff. Also, I am aware that “Milkshake” can be interpreted in several ways but for the sake of the story I went with that particular reference. Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics

Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed. 🖤

Title: Vanilla Milkshake

“I swear, this diner looks like Barbie had an orgasm all over the place.” A whimsical grin sliced between Henry’s marble cheeks. Eyeing the pastel-esque surroundings, he huffed scornfully and adjusted the cap over his nest of unruly curls.

“Remind me again why we always meet here, young lady?”

Staring at the beastly man who barely managed to squeeze into the plastic-pink faux leather booth, she couldn’t help but chuckle. Henry carried himself with something that was both eloquent yet unmistakably feral, reminding her of a burly forest creature. Sturdy tree trunks stood for limbs, torso, and shoulders—the widths of icy mountains and a blanket of thick fur coated the entirety of his body, deeming him a dangerous bear.

No wonder he preferred himself clean-shaven. The sharpened edge of a razor kept him a cut away from becoming ‘Henry the Barbarian’.

Seeing him surrounded by pastel and sparkly fairy dust brought far more joy than she could ever imagine. The utter look of contempt gleamed on the surface of his shifty eyes.

Oh, by God, how much he hated glitter!

“And what would you know about Barbie’s orgasms?” she teased with a crooked eyebrow and a comical suspicious glare.

Readjusting his cap over the messy mane of chocolate curls, Henry offered a terrible wink and shrugged, “a gentleman never tells.”

Her fingers rapped on her thigh while she contemplated whether to allow this naughty joke slide, but then the urge to provoke him was far too great. After briefly chewing on the inside of her cheek, she broke into a wicked grin.

“Is that… like a role play you have with the missus? She’s Barbie, and you’re G.I.Joe? Because I kinda don’t want to hear about it, but then I kinda do.”

Henry’s smile gradually faded along with the playful glee in his eyes, his melancholic gaze dropping to the sparkly table. He slumped into a heavy sigh, “If by missus, you mean ‘Miss Hand’, then no… not really.”

Dumbfounded, she frowned at Henry with confusion when then it struck her; a sense of incredible embarrassment drained the blood from her head to her gut.

“Oh…”

“Yep.” Henry blurted and grabbed the menu, pretending to be incredibly interested in the kids’ meal options.

Just in time to rescue them from a prolonged awkward silence, the waitress arrived with their order, serving Henry a hot cup of double espresso while she received a tall glass of a luscious vanilla milkshake.

“Enjoy your drinks, guys!” the waitress smiled sweetly and kept her eyes glued to Henry as she walked away. But the gloss of the waitress’ flirtatious excitement was lost on him; drenched with greed, Henry’s blue sapphires were fixated on the generous scoops of ice cream and the dark chocolate swirls that decorated his companion’s dessert.

“Henry, my eyes are up here!” she provoked and grabbed the straw between two fingers while throwing an amused glance at his simple cup of coffee. Henry followed her gaze and scoffed before raising the cup to his mouth and blowing to cool his drink.

The way his lips pursed together and his finger stroked the ceramic surface did not escape her observation. A sudden tingle swam down the length of her spine once it resonated in her mind that kind, charming, and beastly Henry was now single. Here they were, long time buddies, but now sitting together felt less comfortable than before. Her limbs felt like pins and needles while staring directly at his eyes was as risky as staring at the sun.

“Cheers,” Henry mumbled and took a sip from his cup.

Almost jolting in her seat, she stiffened and then grabbed her straw.

“Cheers.”

Giggles came from the other side of the diner. Among the retro gumball machines and rounded plastic bar stools, the waitress and a colleague leaned against the counter and stared at Henry, who turned his head for a brief moment and tipped his head.

Their giggles turned even louder.

She frowned.

“So, have you been single for a while?” she heard herself asking with a rather urgent tone. Right away, a look of contrition crept on her face as she regretted her verbal onslaught and lack of sensitivity.

Henry directed his gaze back to her and watched as she slowly sipped from the milkshake and then suckled the cream off her mouth.

Absentmindedly, he licked his lips. “Since May. How about you, weren’t you with…?”

“No, ended, dodged a bullet.” she spat and pumped the straw up and down the thick beverage. “My milkshake brings all the boys… except it doesn't.” she sighed.

Henry frowned and shook his head with confusion. “What? You never told me you make your own milkshake. How come I never had some?”

Her face abruptly froze, her eyes rounded with surprise before she snorted so loudly the waitresses stopped their whispering.

“Umm… Hen?” she called out, trying to hold herself from bursting into chuckles as her friend accidentally asked for a very sexual favour, “you honestly don’t know what ‘milkshake’ is slang for...?”

“Uh…”

“Omg, you’re such a boomer.”

“No, I was born in ‘83! I’m a millennial. But please, indulge me.” he begged and crossed his arms together.

Clearing her throat loudly, she did her best to fight the wicked grin that stretched on her already painful cheeks and wrapped her fist around the straw. “So you know... how… certain male bodily fluids are sometimes white and creamy...? And when you perform a certain motion it’s like you’re shaking it…?”

Henry blinked and became silent. An unbidden rush of blood pooled at his groin as he watched her thumb graze over the tip of the straw and her fist pumping it into the smooth liquid in a slow, gentle motion. Wickedness glazed her eyes, but he tried to dismiss it as nothing but their usual playful banter; yet his adam’s apple bobbed up and down while his shoulder tensed at the oddly arousing sight of her performing a sinful act on a milkshake.

There was an unmistakable stir in his cock and for once, he was thankful for narrow spaces as it hid his predicament.

Leaning forward, she opened her mouth and swirled her tongue around the straw. She went deliberately slow, making him watch while she playfully licked and suckled the tip until finally wrapping her lips around it and taking a generous sip.

Henry gawked utterly smitten, unaware that his jaw was nearly at the floor.

And to make things worse, she moaned—not too loud—but definitely enough to make his shaft harden more.

She wasn’t sure what stirred this whimsical boost of confidence, only that seeing the large, handsome man pale at her provocations made her feel like the most powerful woman on earth. She also gathered she’d regret it forever and a day once they’ll part ways, but it was too late for that now.

Gingerly she pulled back, though not before allowing a single drop of cream to trickle down the corner of her lips.

“Oops,” she smirked casually, wiping the cream with her fingertip and sucking it clean.

“Please stop…”

It was then when she noticed that Henry’s playful mien was all but gone. Far from amused, he glowered with a clenched jaw. “If you’re going to keep doing that, I’ll have to leave,” he stated matter-of-factly.

A rush of panic made her freeze in her spot, the same needles that pricked her skin were now setting jolts of electric bursts. “I’m so sorry, I crossed the line,” she said and covered her mouth with shame, “did I offend you? Do you want me to leave?”

“What? No, no, not at all.” Henry’s voice softened right away, and he reached a hand in the air, as if trying to stop her from leaving. The last thing he wanted now is for her to think he is angry with her. If anything, he wished they could spend more time together, not because of his obvious arousal, but because for the first time in a long while, he was having fun.

Still, she looked at him so utterly distraught.

“Then…?”

Henry scanned the diner as if trying to make sure no one was staring or taking any photo and then shifted in his seat uncomfortably. His eyes altered between his spread thighs and her several times, trying to signal toward his… trouble.

“Oh...” she gaped.

An odd sense of pride began to permeate her chest, battling over the burning embarrassment that flamed up her neck and cheeks. At this point, she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to feel, only that it was definitely the most awkward hangout they had to date.

Problem was, she never knew when to shut up.

“Is little Henry hungry?”

Hearing those words, his brows dropped to an irritated sulk. “There is nothing little about it.”

“Ha! Prove it!”

It was as if the entire diner and perhaps the world fell into silence. Had the clatter of the dishes being washed in the back kitchen not rung their ears, she would have thought she grew suddenly deaf.

“I didn’t mean it… sorry, I’ll stop,” she mumbled slowly and pressed her fingers to her mouth while shaking her head at her stupid behaviour. That was it, this was to be the last afternoon she would ever hang out with Henry and right now, she couldn’t even bring herself to look at him.

Henry chewed onto the inside of his cheeks, trying to stop the words that came faster than his thoughts.

“You didn’t?... Because I’ll definitely be up for proving...”

She blinked at his words and tilted her head, hoping that he won’t notice the wild tremors that shook her limbs, “What was that?”

“I... yes? No?...I… fuck!”

Henry lowered his head and slapped his palms across his face, rubbing back and forth with an utter meltdown while mumbling, “Forgive me,” a couple of times. He couldn’t care less of what the waitresses or whoever was watching would think of him; all he cared about was to make her feel comfortable around him again and maybe… even make her like him?

“Henry?”

Soft and warm her voice called to him, slowly pulling him from his anguish like a sailor being rescued from a sunken ship. His blue sapphires shone, an ocean of confusion and anxiety still pooling within while he peered back at her face that was now smiling at him a mixture of comfort and exhilaration.

“Would you like some of my milkshake?”

#henry cavill #henry cavill rpf #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill fanfiction

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spencersawkward · 3 years

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*house call // wes (Dollface)*

ssummary: when her pet cat gives her a scare, Reader decides to call the vet to make sure everything is going to be okay.

pairing: Fem!Reader x Wes

word count: 5.4k

content warnings: discussion of cannabis/cannabis consumption, unprotected penetrative sex, use of nicknames (baby, sweetheart), SoftDom!Wes, breeding kink, creampie.

request: can you do a wes smutty one shot if you’re down?!

A/N: to be fair, i haven’t watched Dollface in a minute, but i’m obsessed with the domestic vibes that Matthew gives off when he plays Wes and i just thought it would be super cute. anyway, this was super fun also i wanna fuck Wes. ok enjoy!

masterlist

the absolute best part of your day is when the package arrives at your doorstep. you impulse-purchased it about two weeks ago while you were hanging out with one of your close friends, and you've been looking forward to trying it every day since.

or, really, for your cat to try it.

you've read reviews and been extremely diligent to make sure the stuff is completely safe, and everything you've seen or read was singing the praises of this cat weed (which isn't actually cannabis at all, but catnip made to look like it).

as you take the cardboard box to the kitchen table and pry open the top with the help of a Swiss army knife, you're grinning. Klimt comes scampering into the room to see what all the fuss is about, sitting at your feet with his tail curled around his legs.

"no peeking." you scold him gently. your kitten, the friendliest little rescue tabby around, simply stares blankly back. when you remove the wrapping from the glass jar and stare at it up close, you're impressed by how realistic it looks. the label shows cat-friendly ingredients only, but you unscrew the top and get a whiff of catnip.

Klimt begins to weave in between your legs, nudging them affectionately and beginning to purr. you giggle and bend down to give him a few pets. his nose twitches; he tries to sniff at the foreign object, but you put it back on the table.

"don't be greedy, babe." you scratch between his pointed ears and he lets out a whiny meow.

it's about his dinner time, and you were hoping to give him his treat tonight after he finishes his dry food. so you make yourself something simple with the leftovers in your fridge and do some more work on your laptop while you two eat together.

you've had Klimt for a while, now. you call him a kitten even though he's a full-grown cat-- he's just as playful and enthusiastic as any newborn. his eyes are the color of meadow grass, and his nose is scattered with tiny freckles. it makes him look like he's just come from digging around the backyard, but it really just adds to his charm.

not to mention his ceaselessly social tendencies: Klimt is always around when your friends come over, worming his way in between you or sitting on one of the free chair cushions to listen. you wonder if he knows what you're saying sometimes, because when you talk about the embarrassing things you've done that day or the failed interactions you've had, he always lifts his head to give you something of a judgmental stare.

once you've settled down for the evening and turned on the TV, you decide that now is the time. Klimt is aimlessly poking at a few of his toys. he bats at a fake mouse between his paws.

"kitten," you click your tongue and get up to grab the jar. "are you ready to try this stuff?"

as if he's going to answer. he hears your footsteps coming back his way and watches patiently. it's only when you pour out a little bit in front of him that he gets curious about the stuff. you admire his movements as he bends down and examines.

although you keep an eye on him while watching your show, you don't notice much of a change in him. he starts to roll about on the floor, which is to be expected, but it's only when he starts to chase around his fake mouse that things get interesting.

you laugh as Klimt goes nuts, jumping back and attacking the thing like he's ready to come in for the kill. it's really funny, but you're interrupted by your phone buzzing. you told your friend that you were doing this tonight.

"hi!" you answer the FaceTime call right away.

"how is he?" you can hear the smile in Andi's voice as you turn the camera.

"he's loving it."

"oh my god," she laughs. Klimt arches his back, leaping so highly in the air, you raise your eyebrows. "I wonder how long it'll last." she muses.

"I'm guessing we'll get about an hour more of this before he passes out for the next two days." you joke. he gets strong bursts of energy usually, but they only last so long until he's curled up on the window sill or in your bed.

Andi and you talk for a while as Klimt tires himself out and plays with all of his favorite toys. you dangle a string in front of him for a decent amount of time, too, just to make him get up on his hindquarters. he's a natural entertainer, a lithe little thing who lets out a few irritated meows to demonstrate his impertinence.

after about forty-five minutes, however, you notice your cat's behavior change. he keeps raising his hackles and rolling about, and something about it makes you nervous. he doesn't usually act like this, not even when he plays with the other catnip toys he's accumulated.

"what's wrong?" Andi notes your furrowed brow as you look past the camera of your phone and at your pet.

"he's just acting really weird," you pat the couch cushion to call him over, but he doesn't even glance up. "I don't know why."

"maybe it's the cat weed." she suggests. you purse your lips and try to think.

"yeah, but nobody in the reviews ever mentioned anything like this."

"I'm sure he's fine, Y/N."

"yeah, I know..." but you're worried. Klimt is your pal, your cuddle buddy. as he rubs his cheek against the wooden floor, you feel guilt pool in your stomach. if he's hurt because of some dumb online purchase, you're never going to forgive yourself. "I'm gonna call the vet just to be sure."

"oh, okay," she sounds surprised, but doesn't try to stop you. "let me know what they say."

"I will." you hang up the phone and stare at your companion for a few seconds. he leaps into the air and does a somersault before letting out some deeply disturbing whine that reminds you to call the vet. better safe than sorry.

...

when the doorbell rings, you're practically twiddling your thumbs anxiously. Klimt hasn't settled at all, and you haven't even bothered to change out of your lounging ensemble. you're pretty sure you look a mess, but hopefully the person won't care too much.

you don't know who to expect-- your usual vet is an older woman who is friends with your mom, but her receptionist said she was out tonight and would send over another vet to check it out.

when you swing open the door, you immediately regret the decision to stay in sweatpants.

"hi, I'm Wes." the guy gives you a friendly smile and holds up his bag. it's almost comically old-fashioned, something out of an old movie, and you half-expect him to be wearing a stethoscope around his neck.

he's gorgeous, though. definitely a good amount older than you, tall with brown curls and stubble. his features stand out to you even under the porch light, and your mouth guppies idiotically.

"hi," you manage. his eyes flicker to your hand, which is seemingly blocking him from coming inside the house, and you jolt back a little to let him in. you clear your throat. "sorry."

as he steps inside and you close the door behind him, getting one tiny moment to yourself, your eyes widen. way to make yourself look like a bumbling fool.

"I heard that there's a tabby who got into some catnip?" you catch him looking around the front of your house, eyes catching on the framed photos before finding yours again. you can feel the heat creeping up your cheeks, but nod confidently.

"yeah, Klimt. he should still be in the living room."

"Klimt? like the artist?" he chuckles and follows you into the rest of the home. his voice has a nice timbre to it, something low and gentle that fits well with his occupation.

"yeah, exactly." you turn to smile at him.

you hear the cat before you see him. he's climbed to the top of his cat tree and leaps down onto the ground, paws hitting the surface in a way that can't have been comfortable. he chirps and looks up at Wes, whose lips are turned up with amusement.

"are you the man of the hour?" he asks, approaching the cat. Klimt's pupils get enormous and he prepares to pounce on the newcomer.

"careful--" you start to warn him, but the cat launches himself right into Wes' arms. the vet turns to you, holding him to his chest, and grins. warmth spreads over your skin with embarrassment. "sorry."

"no need to apologize," he starts to pet Klimt, who is only slightly struggling to escape. he wants to go wild again, but Wes isn't going to let go. "they call me the Cat Wrangler at the office."

"really?" you snort. he brings your pet over to the couch and sets him on the cushions, careful to keep him in place.

"no way." he shoots you a dazzling smile. the joke makes you giggle, and you feel yourself become even more self-conscious about the outfit you're wearing. this is just your luck, having hot guys come over when you distinctly look your worst.

Wes scratches between Klimt's ears and glances up at you again. "is there any reason in particular you're worried about the catnip?"

"yeah, actually," you nod, brought back to reality. "I know it's supposed to make them more playful, but he's just been acting weird and I got worried that there was something in it that messed with his head."

"can I see the container for it?" he asks. you go to grab the jar, only to remember that it proudly announces itself as cannabis for cats. profound embarrassment causes you to hesitate with the stuff in your hands.

it's not like he's here for you to flirt with, but you're still thinking about how stupid and young you're going to look with this stuff in front of him, a hot older guy who seems to have his life under control. you peek at him once more from the kitchen, at the way he smiles and starts to talk softly to Klimt as if he were a peer.

he's kinda crazy, and it makes you smile.

"it's cat weed." you hand him the glass container, and Wes breaks into a grin as he looks at the front.

"oh my gosh, I've heard about this!" his eyes move quickly over the label. you're in shock.

"really?"

"yeah, it's hilarious. here, can you make sure our friend here doesn't move while I read the ingredients?" he gestures. the knot of anxiety within you loosens a bit. you nod obediently, going to scoop up your pet and sit him on your lap. he's still squirmy, but he doesn't look ready to attack either of you, thankfully.

"hey, you." you greet your pal affectionately. his tail is wagging impatiently while Wes kneels on the ground beside the couch. there's a silver ring on his finger, but you notice with relief that it's not on his fourth one.

when he sets the jar down on the coffee table with the kind of smile that hints at some secret amusement, you frown. "what?"

"nothing," he shakes his head. "Klimt is gonna be totally fine."

"are you sure?" you pet the feline's smooth coat.

"definitely. you know how drugs affect people differently?" he asks. you want to say no, you don't know that because why would you, but then you remember that there is quite literally a glass-blown bowl sitting on your kitchen table.

"sure." you reply honestly.

"it's the same with cats: some just feel the effects a little more." he shrugs. you think this over for a second.

"that makes sense."

"yeah, I'd estimate about an hour more of this wildcat behavior before he takes a ten-hour nap." he cracks another joke and you find yourself totally charmed by him. something about the way he talks just makes your heart beat like crazy.

"that's a relief."

he chuckles and stands up, grabbing the bag (which he never even had to use) and starting to walk out of the living room. you can smell his delicious cologne as he moves past you.

"sorry for making you come out here so late." you apologize from the couch. Wes turns to look at you with an easygoing expression. his free hand is tucked into his pocket.

"no worries. you have a lovely home." he gestures to the kitchen, and then at the bowl sitting there in the open. you have to fight the smile on your face.

"thanks." you're smirking. right before he's about to head back out, you ask a question that's been wriggling around in your mind since he arrived. "why no title?"

"you mean, like, Doctor or something?" he stops in the threshold. one hand leans against it while he answers your question. you still can't get over how tall he is.

"sure. I mean, you are a doctor, right?" it comes out more dubious than you intended, but he doesn't get offended, only smiles.

"yes, I'm a doctor. I went to Davis." he points like the school is right outside your door. you nod.

"cool."

there's a silence where you just look at each other, and you forget that you look like you just rolled out of bed. he clears his throat.

"to answer your question, I just go by Wes because you're not my patient-- Klimt is." he points to the kitten, who is now chasing his own tail like a dog. you snort at the sight.

"how humble of you."

"I know, right?" he's joking. you find yourself not wanting him to leave, even though you've really just met. he's so sweet and funny and handsome... your stomach is flipping over and over like a schoolgirl.

and it's stupid that you can't think of one plausible reason for him to stay, but every step he takes shortens your time to think. so you just blurt, instead.

"would you want a beer?"

Wes pauses and looks at you, an unreadable expression on his face. "a beer?"

"yeah, I mean... you came all the way out here and I just feel bad for causing a fuss over nothing." you scramble slightly to justify your words. you don't ever drink beer-- do you even have any? god, this is embarrassing.

the vet checks the watch on his wrist, then smiles at you with a halting kind of enjoyment, before nodding. "sure."

"okay, great." you turn on your heel to hide the grin on your face. he follows you again to the kitchen area and leans against the counter while you open the fridge. the best form of flirting you can manage right now is bending over shamelessly and taking your time to poke around.

thankfully, there are three cold bottles left towards the back. you take out two and use the tool in one of your drawers to pop the tops off. he watches patiently, takes a sip when you hand the drink to him. your eyes meet.

"so, what prompted the cat weed purchase?" he starts the conversation effortlessly, and you try to keep your eyes from wandering over the shape of him. now that he's just standing in front of you, you're noticing the way his sweater sits against his frame, his long legs and the way his head rests on an elegantly-proportioned neck.

"I just saw it and thought it would be fun." you shrug honestly. he smiles.

"do you think you're gonna let him try it again another time?"

"I don't know," you cross your arms over your chest. "I'm a little nervous, but he also was having a lot of fun until I made him sit still."

"fair enough." you both turn your gazes to the cat. he's nudging a little toy ball with his nose and watching it roll across the floor. there are tiny bells inside that jingle. Wes turns back to you. "what do you do?"

"graphic designer."

"an artist." he raises his brows, impressed.

"not exactly saving animal lives, but I get by." you take another sip of your drink.

"it's not like that, mostly." he rolls his eyes playfully.

"then what's it like?"

"I just see and talk to people's pets all day. it's a pretty great job, even when it's not. you know?" he's optimistic about it. you're drawn to his positive energy, to the way he smiles when he speaks like he's preparing to deliver a witty joke.

you're hopelessly attracted to him, and the space between you is becoming unbearable. even though he's a guy you just met, you can feel in your gut that something about this is just right. you want his body against yours.

"you okay?" he breaks what you only now realize is a silence, and you blink to clear the dirty images from your mind.

"yeah." only thinking about you fucking me against a countertop. it must be the fact that you haven't gotten laid in a while or something, because you usually aren't this attracted to people within the first hour. it takes longer for you to even want to kiss them.

"what kind of stuff do you design?" he seems genuinely interested as he shifts and continues to nurse his drink.

"I work for a tech startup downtown, so it's a lot of website work to make sure it's navigable and pretty." you try to sum up your duties, but it's hard when his hazel eyes are so intent. he listens to every word.

"do you do personal work, too? like, just for you?"

"actually, yeah!" this sparks your excitement.

"can I see?" his smile widens. "only if you're comfortable, of course."

"sure." you're beaming.

he stays put as you start to go out of the kitchen, but then you smile. "you can come with."

"oh." he sets his beer down on the counter and follows you, slightly surprised. but you don't care; you were nervous before, but he's stayed for this long. maybe he wants you, too.

once you get to your bedroom, you're grateful that it's been freshly cleaned. there's even a bouquet from the flower's market sitting on your dresser, and you head over to the desk to sift through the drawers for what you want.

"cool room." he compliments from the threshold. he's careful not to make you uncomfortable, but also can't resist the curiosity that draws his gaze from wall to wall. you find the stack of papers and smile.

"thanks," you place the folder in his hands. "these are some printed versions of stuff I did last year."

Wes immediately begins to flip through the art. him seeing your stuff makes you nervous, so you pretend to focus on straightening up the few items that sit on your desk. you wipe your fingertip over a nonexistent film of dust.

"these are amazing," he says, holding a card stock copy in between his index and middle fingers. "holy shit."

"thank you." you're trying to keep from smiling too hard. you can tell that he's being genuine with his compliments, and it makes your heart swell.

"definitely. are you showing anywhere?"

"at an exhibit downtown a couple months back, but I've been so busy with work that personal stuff hasn't really been on the table, you know?"

he nods in understanding and continues to go through until the end. when he's finished, he looks up and sees you, his eyes concentrated. he doesn't speak at first, and an undercurrent ripples across the room. there are about three feet between you, and you have no excuse to lessen it.

he licks his lips slowly. you purse yours, unsure of what to say.

"I'm glad you called tonight." his voice is lower, slightly uncertain, like he's testing the boundaries. except you don't want boundaries right now. you want to go wild on him.

"me, too." you reply. it's in your eyes, that begging for him to do what you're scared to initiate.

your tongue is pressed to the back of your teeth in anticipation. and when he sets the art back on your desk and comes closer, you feel yourself give in. bubbles of excitement travel up your body as he grabs your face and bends down to kiss you.

it's full, passionate, not the kind of kiss you give someone you've just met. laced with desire and longing, you respond immediately. hands immediately run to his forearms, over his shoulders as he imposes beautifully on your form. it's so hard, you lean back slightly. your torso presses against his until he pushes you against the wall.

the slight gasp that escapes your lips causes him to smile, followed by your moan and clutching fingers. the material of his sweater, the taste of him mingled with that sophisticated, gentle smell of cologne that you want printed all over your skin.

"come here." he murmurs against your mouth and reaches down to the back of your thigh so you can hook your leg around his waist. you whine at the easy access he has to grind against your core, both of you desperate.

"Wes." you pant into his open mouth. he sucks on your bottom lip before finding your cheek and jaw. his fingertips tighten around your flesh.

"this feel good, sweetheart?" he checks in. coincidentally, his jeans grind against your panties at exactly the right spot and your hips jump. you release a pleasured yelp.

"mhmm."

"sounds like it." he latches onto your throat with a possessive excitement. you can feel him sucking and biting at the skin until you're positive there'll be marks tomorrow. you hope there are; purpled evidence of his touch. he digs his nails into your thighs. "you like it when older men touch you, baby?"

he blows over your tender throat before attacking it again. you sigh contentedly at the way he mingles sensations for your pleasure. "yes."

he grunts and nips at your collarbone, sliding the strap of your top down your shoulder so that he can effortlessly flutter his lips over the skin. you grip at him and toss your head back against the wall. his weight on yours is divine. it makes you weak, but that doesn't matter. he's practically holding you up at this point.

when his hand pushes under the hem of your shirt and dances over your stomach, you arch your back for more. he's gentle yet firm, pulling you close like he wants to breathe your oxygen. he's tracing over your ribcage, all the way up to the valley of your breasts, before cupping one and moaning into your shoulder.

he kisses you again with an aching hunger that can't be satiated. your tongues meet and Wes finds your hardened nipples beneath the thin fabric of your bralette. you sigh while he starts to circle one with his thumb.

"you're perfect." he breathes.

you want to bask in this moment, to enjoy the shock across your skin when he reaches his hand back down between your bodies to dip below the waistband of your sweatpants, but you're just so greedy. he could make you cum over and over and it would never be enough.

"what do you want me to do to you?" Wes is hovering over your lower stomach, dangerously close to where you need him most. he's teasing. the warmth of his skin drives you mad. his breath brushes over the shell of your ear.

"fuck me." it's the only response you can fathom. every other instinct in your body flies out the window and is replaced by a craving to sink your proverbial (and literal) teeth into him.

but he loves it, apparently, because he pushes you back against the wall with a nearly bruising force. "I can do that."

with those words, he quickly grabs your other leg and lifts you into his arms, bringing you to the bed and laying you delicately on the mattress while you giggle. you stare up at him with an almost daydreamy lust. his cheeks are flushed.

you only get a second of that heavenly sight, though, before he dips down and pushes your shirt up to see your tits and kiss up the chasm between your ribs. his stubble tickles your skin, which causes you to smile.

by the time he's pulled your sweatpants off and tossed them to the side, you're whining for him to strip down as well.

"what is it, pretty girl?" he murmurs against your tummy. when you try to squeeze your thighs, he pushes them apart.

"I wanna see you." your fingertips touch at his sweater. he chuckles and pulls the garment over his head. it messes up his perfect hair even more and you love it, tangling your fingers in it. he bites his lip.

"do you want me to taste you first?" he keeps stroking the inside of your thighs and staring down at the skimpy lace that you're positive that you've already soaked. you're making him crazy with the way you roll your hips against air, against nothing, seeking any kind of stimulation.

"I can't wait." you shake your head. as nice as it would be, you're going to implode if he doesn't fill you up soon. he drags his fingers down your clothed slit and groans when he feels just how ready you are for him.

"let's take these off then, okay, sweetheart?" he hooks his fingers in the panties and waits for you to nod before tugging them down your legs. you whimper at the cool air that hits your core, soaked and needy. Wes stares at your body on display for him.

as he gets back up from the floor to kiss you again, you both work to remove the rest of his clothes. his skin is perfect under your hands. his chest is warm, solid, and when he climbs on top of you, his arms rest on either side of your head.

one hand comes down to grab his own cock and stroke it a few times before lowering himself to rub it against your throbbing clit. you whimper at the pressure; he's mindless when he feels how easily you cover him in your essence.

"so fucking wet..." he groans while rutting against you.

"Wes, please--" your breath hitches. "put it in."

"begging?" he teases your entrance with the head and smirks. "good girl."

"mhmm." you're smiling, but your mouth drops open when he pushes himself inside.

it's a heavy feeling, him filling you up. he's thick and the stretching of your walls makes him groan and rest his head on your shoulder. he kisses the skin there while diving deeper into your body.

you're shaking slightly from the mixture of pain and pleasure, his size forcing your body to work quickly to accommodate. your eyes are squeezed shut, but you run your hands over his back and shoulders to stay grounded. it feels like a dream.

he starts to pull out, coated in your wetness while you whimper below him, and he grabs your face with one hand in a dominant, soft gesture. "okay?"

"yeah."

he pushes back in. the air in your lungs is practically gone at this point, he's so deep inside. your eyes roll back and push your hips up to take him at a new angle. Wes finds his pace easily, rocking into your body at a manageable pace to let you get used to the sensation.

every time his hips roll down and he buries himself in you, he presses on your clit and sends a new shock through your body. he leans on his elbows to get closer and feel every undulation of your body. you love how his thrusts force your legs apart, how he moans your name and causes the headboard to repeatedly hit the wall while maintaining eye contact. hazel irises that rake over your features with lust.

"you feel so good." he speeds up a little when he hits a certain spot. you can feel him deep and hard, causing a small bump to rise in your stomach with each stroke. his voice is husky and dark. like a man starved.

"fuck..." you drag your nails down his back. he groans at the red marks that you will no doubt leave for him.

"clingy thing, huh?" he sucks at your throat affectionately. "I come over for one thing and you can't help yourself."

hearing Wes speak through his own panting is like listening to a secret, and you never want it to stop. he's reveling in the sordid crush of his own wants, and the way he shoves into you shows you that he has no intention of slowing down for a while.

"I'm impatient." you smirk. he pulls away to admire your expression.

"so am I." he kisses your lips and starts to pound into you. the juxtaposition of his tenderness and the sharp snap of his hips to yours fills you with butterflies. you love how much he wants to ruin you.

"Wes-- oh my god!" you whimper. he grabs your hips and yanks them closer to him so he can go as deep as possible, so he can hit your cervix.

"that's right, sweetheart," he pants. you can tell that he's starting to lose control. "say my name. I want everyone to know what a good little slut you are for me."

the commanding tone makes your body shake. "I- I'm cumming, Wes, please--"

"please what, baby?" he taunts. his index finger is tracing over your jaw.

you don't know what it is that you're wanting, except more. as your form shudders and tightens, walls fluttering around his cock, you lose the capacity to speak. you grind your hips against him and cry out pathetically while he pushes you back down and slams ruthlessly into your pussy.

"cum inside-- please, I need it--" you writhe. he groans at the request.

"fuck, yes..." he sheathes himself. "take it."

you gasp as he repeatedly hits your weakest point and spills hot ropes of his cum inside you, still thrusting in and out and whimpering into your shoulder at the clenching sensation you give his cock. it's warm, strangely delightful, nearly sending you into another orgasm sheerly from the sight.

he mutters unintelligibly as he empties himself in your pussy, but you catch a growled "so needy," between deep moans. you're clinging to him like you'll never have it again. you might not.

he slows down, giving shallower thrusts while riding out his high and shoving his cum deeper inside. it turns lazy and messy, both of you panting, before he finally pulls out and rolls over next to you.

you press the back of your hand to your forehead. it's sweaty from all the work he just put you through, but you feel amazing at the same time. your eyes keep flickering from the ceiling above to his rising and falling chest beside you. his nose twitches; he turns his head to look at your face.

although you expect him to say something, he doesn't. instead, you just stare at each other. the air conditioner rattles gently in the background. you're not sure how long this lasts, this soaking in, but he's the first to break it.

"hey."

you find the corners of your lips turning up. "hi."

"do you mind if I go get something to clean you up?" he asks softly, his fingertips finding your forearm with ease and drifting over it.

"sure. bathroom is the first door on the left."

he gets up and you watch him gather his clothes, eyes glued to his perfect form. you can't believe you just had sex with your veterinarian. you don't regret it at all.

he wanders out of the room and your eyes follow, only to see Klimt sitting patiently by the door.

"what are you doing, perv?" you tease as he comes over and leaps up onto the bed. his kitten paws pad over the blankets and settle into the crook of your arm. you smile to yourself, recalling how sweet the vet was with him. "hey, Wes?" you call out.

"yeah?" he comes back into the room with a warm washcloth and a small smile on his face.

"would you wanna get coffee or something sometime?" you bite your lip. maybe he doesn't want to go on a date, but it's worth a shot.

"sure." he breaks into a grin that makes you giddy. thank god, because you really were hoping to see him again.

you can't wait.

taglist (lmk about adding/removal or add yourself to the list here!): @jareids @reidsconverse @xoxomgg @may-b-a-u-shewritestoo @la-vie-en-amour1 @g0lden-cth @treat-winchesterswith-kindness @kisseslikecoffee @spenxerslut @slutforthegubes @spookydrreid @depressedgothgrl @flipper-kisses @multixfandomwriter @willowrose99 @gingeraleluke @chasemoonlight @spencerreid9

#matthew gray gubler #mgg #mgg x reader #wes x reader #wes dollface #mgg smut #mgg fluff #mgg character smut #mgg characters #dollface

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arty-shadow-morningstar · 3 years

Text

A Failed Betrothal /Betrothal AU: Take Two

So here is the second part of the betrothal AU that I decided to name "A Failed Betrothal. This takes place before Part 1 which in hindsight should have been done first. Part 2 got too long so I cut it and started Part 3. I have no idea and nothing planned on how long this will go. Hope you enjoy ❤.

[Masterlist]

(Part 1)

PART 2

Marinette also wasn't having a good day or a good week.

Lila Rossi had been up to her usual tricks. You know, spewing lies from her mouth. How she met these awesome celebrities during this trip and they worship the ground she walks on for her amazing and humbling help. There were stories of these charities, trips and galas that she had been to or was invited to. She has problems with her wrists and can't do simple stuff like carry her own bag or do her homework. She has tinnitus in her ears so she needs to sit in the front where the only seat available would be next to Adrien.

And for the finale.

The desert after feeding the class a banquet of lies.

"Mari...nette..has been bullying me, she...told..me not to tell anyone..*sobs*..that she would kill me if I did.."

Lila dramatically gasped and slapped her hands over her mouth. Turning on the waterworks for a more dramatic effect. They all ate it up, jumping on the ‘let’s hate Marinette, a bad person’ train.

"She is going to kill me now and I am so scared." That snake managed to snuck an evil smirk past her glaring, oblivious classmates.

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Marinette, at this point of her life, had frankly given up caring for them due to the class's lack of brain cells and Agreste's spineless 'High Road' Approach.

For Kwami's sake, she went through a brutal torture that was training in some jungle temple in Asia before Sabine Cheng, former mercenary/assassin, kidnapped her (Little Marinette took a risk. She ran away and followed her around until Sabine begrudgingly accepted that she was now the 6- year-old girl's mother because screw it, Tom said he wanted children.) to raise/train as her own while she settled down with a baker whose mother may or may not have ties with the Mafia and other illegal activities.

(Mother-daughter bonding days became much more fun once she had Guardianship of the Miraculous. Sabine was ,at first, furious at Master Fu for dumping everything on the girl and losing his memories before swearing to help protect the jewels. Adopted or not, Marinette is her daughter and no one should let a child, even one with training, fight a war. A good thing to come out of her reveal was that her mother was a great tiger to have as back-up. But now, her training regime had become harder and challenging.)

The point was that Lila Rossi would be dead and body missing since that first time she threatened Marinette in the bathroom. The Italian was in perfect health despite what she claims otherwise, because Marinette didn’t want to be the person she was raised to be and also she didn’t want to disappoint Tikki, she was fond of the little red kwami. But sometimes, she just wanted to give into the urge to kill.

She had met and dealt with unsavory characters of all types and she can safely say that Lila Rossi was a manipulator that thrives on attention and like a parasite, latches herself onto the fame of others. None of the unsavory people she had met get under her skin like Rossi had.

Marinette had enough self-preservation to drop the nice girl act and sometimes let the dragon underneath to surface. She stopped doing last-minute favors and giving away free stuff which Lila uses to her full advantage to further destroy her relationships with her ‘friends’. It was better than sticking her neck out for classmates that were no longer worth her time. Attempts to expose Lila had backfired due to the denial they are in, believing the liar to be a sweet, nice girl living the high life.

Adrien with his rose-tinted glasses firmly stuck to his eyes was not happy at all with her decision. That may also have to do where she suggested he shove his advice after he tried to reason her to take the high road for defending herself for the umpteenth time. She felt like the biggest idiot to ever have a crush on him. Every time, Rossi blames Marinette for a problem, he would shoot disappointed looks in her direction.

Alya being Lila's biggest guard dog tore into Marinette for her newfound 'bad' behaviour. The rest of Lila's supporters backed her up with "How could you do that to Lila","I can't believe you changed." Nearly all her so-call friends had turned their backs and lost all common sense to the Italian's manipulations.

(Alya was supposed to be her best friend, aren’t you supposed to listen to your ‘bestie’ over a complete stranger)

The designer took it all with a bored expression on her face, used to the lecturing which was a waste of time because her behavior isn't going to change, no matter what, Lie-la will keep up the act of being the bully's (*cough*Marinette*cough*) victim.

Her heart that cracks the tiniest bit at the accusations. A small part of her, she admits, is hurt that they think so low of her.Was she really that worthless to them? All those times and efforts helping them out on last-minute favors and giving them free treats. Were they not enough to earn their friendship? Their trust or at the very least, a benefit of doubt?

The only ones who didn’t join the berating to 'correct' the raven-haired girl’s attitude were Chloe (who had proven herself to have changed after the miracle queen incident and Lila stole the spotlight and Sabrina. There were a lot of apologizes, gifts and ‘making up to do’) Alix (she came to her senses when the supposed bullying started) and Nathaniel (Lila blatantly claimed to be the artist for the Ladybug comic to his face).

“Girl, Marinette, are you even listening to me?”Alya demanded.

“Maybe. Did you say anything that doesn’t have to do with Lila or how I did her wrong or how I am no longer the person you knew?”

Marinette knew that being sarcastic would backfire but nothing she does or says will change what they think of her. One word from Lila and they will turn back on her. As much as she hates to admit it, Lila’s threat has fallen through and she was alone. Mostly.

She still had Chloe, Nathaniel, Alix, Luka and Kagami as friends. The trust-worthy and loyal kind.

“Girl,” Alya says in a disappointed tone, shaking her head,“when I look at you, I don’t see that girl who stood up to Chloe the bully-”, Chloe snorted, she had changed but they were too blind and prejudiced against her to notice her efforts, “-Picking on Lila, threatening and harassing her. This isn’t you and you know it. Just get over your jealousy on Lila being close to Adrien and apologize to her.”

If Alya had talked to her in the past 12 months other than demanding things that took away her time or anything relating to Lila, she would know that her infatuation had turned into annoyance.

Marinette sighed, too tired of this routine, tired of trying to knock heads so the brain cells can work again. Apologizing would mean that Lila had won. She was petty and stubborn enough to allow that to happen. Lila said she will take the class and Adrien. Fine, she can have them but Marinette Dupain-Cheng will not admit defeat. Bigger men had fallen to the ravenette for lesser offences. A year has passed since the expulsion and the class still hasn't regained common senses, so they can deal with the consequences after the inevitable downfall of Lila and Marinette will be there to see them lay in the grave they dug.

Steeling herself for the pain that will come with the execution of her plan,

“What if I don’t. I won’t apologize to her because I have not done anything to her or even interacted with her. If I apologize, it would be insincere and a lie. And I hate liars.” The former assassin said evenly.

“Lila is not a liar. I don’t know why you are like this.” Alya said, frustrated.

Marinette knew there would be a small chance of an akuma with Gabriel Agreste having an important meeting to attend on this day that would last for the next hour. This was the small window of opportunity to start the plan and also further confirm the identity of Hawkmoth. Killing two birds with one stone.

“Alya, this has always been me, you just never took the time to get to really know the real me.”, she replied, the last part with an icy tone.

“Well-... I- ..You-, fine, then if you can’t say those simple three words, we can’t be friends. I clearly don’t know what a selfish bitch you are. God, I can’t believe I wanted to be best friends with you. You are now replaced by Lila because unlike you, she is genuinely nice and selfless.” Alya declared. The rest of Lila’s supporters murmured in agreement.

Phase 1, complete. Lure the Lie-la into a false sense of security by making her think she won.

Marinette tried not to show how hurt she was, to be replaced by the scheming bitch. But at the same time she felt relieved, she no longer had to walk on eggshells in fear of losing the friendships of people she used to care about. It felt final as she maintained her stoic expression, hoping they didn't notice the glassy sheen her eyes had.

“Then, it is official. We are no longer friends.”

They haven’t been friends for a long time.

Mme. Bustier finally walked into the classroom to start the afternoon classes, signalling the end of the conversation. After class, Marinette resolves to inform them that she was resigning as class president which she was sure the class will be glad for. She was right.

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Ladybug was, as the Americans say, pissed at Hawkmoth which was nothing new. He had sent out another akuma just as Marinette was back home and trying to relax after the stressful day. The akuma was not any of her ex-friends which she wasn’t sure to be thankful for or not.

Louise Martin was a boy about Luka’s age and mad at his friends who had blamed their fifth loss-in-a-row on him despite the fact that it was his skills that were getting them any progress. They were playing one of those recently released 5V5 skills and strategy battle games. (League of Legends or Mobile Legends. Take your pick, I am going with the latter)

He was akumatized into Hayakuma as proof of Hawkmoth’s lack of creativity. Hayakuma was a bleached out version of Louise’s chosen hero avatar, Hayabusa whose outfit was basically what the media portrays ninjas to look like with some samurai aspects.

Unfortunately, he also had the hero’s ultimate special powers which were making four shadow copies of himself and being able to switch positions with them. Thanks to Rattlesnake’s Second Chance, they know that he can only make a switch once every two minute. Hayakuma also wields a sword, showing off his skills.

Just lovely.

Hydra and Ladybug were the only ones able to counter his attacks with Hydra’s sword and Ladybug’s summoned one. (Let’s go with that headcanon(?)/trope that she can summon weapons for plot convenience and the others can too but just don’t have enough practise yet.)

The others managed to dodge and shield themselves from Hayakuma’s really sharp sword.

The shadows themselves were annoying as they would distract or hinder the miraculous users by grabbing them by their shadows and making them unable to move. Until Bunnix had the brilliant idea of shadow boxing which gave the heroes gain more even ground.

With how strong and handful the akuma was, it was code ‘all hands on deck’. Ladybug, Stinger, Rattlesnake, Hydra, Bunnix, Trickster. Well, nearly every hand. Lady Mǔ lǎohǔ was busy with the bakery. Chat Noir was nowhere to be seen or very late which had been the norm for the last year ever since Ladybug wanted to form a new miraculous team consisting of permanent heroes.

(He didn’t show up for the first few months because the first permanent member was Ladybug’s mother who did not like his attitude towards her daughter. He ran away with his tail between his legs once he found out how she was related to Ladybug. His face when he realized it, was something Marinette will cherish forever)

At least when Lady Mǔ lǎohǔ was around, he would not dare act out of line. When she is gone however, he is back to his old ways.

After saving one of Louise’s teammates from Hayakuma’s sword, they gathered the rest of the team and hid them someplace safe. Using Trickster’s illusions to trick all the shadows and the original to one place, the heroes were going to surround and ambush them and get the akumatized item. The plan would have been a success if it weren’t for Chat Noir hugging Ladybug from behind, making her miss her cue.

“Hey~ Bugaboo~ Did you miss me~? Your Chaton~?”

Thwack! Smack!

Chat Noir was on the rooftop, groaning pitifully in pain. Especially his crotch area. Ladybug glared at him and looked to the ambush point to see the illusions had disappeared and everyone else gone from their hiding place.

She sighed and turned on the comms, (Thank you, kwamis)

“Sting, did you venomed the akuma?”

“No, he escaped before I could. What happened, LB?”

“A certain cat got me delayed. What’s the status update?”

“Hydra is holding him off and Bunnix found that an umbrella is a good substitute for a sword. The rest of us are keeping track of the shadows. They split up but none of them are getting near where we hid the targets.”

“Where are you? I will meet you later with back-up.”

“Near Notre Dame and tell Mama Tigress I said hi.”

“Tell her yourself.”

She looked down at Chat No-, no he is not worthy of being a hero anymore with the amount of times he had derailed and hijacked the plans to defeat the akumas just so he can ‘earn’ Ladybug’s heart.

She looked down at Adrien Agreste, who was sitting and sulking like a child that was unfairly punished. (Once she got over her crush and started looking at the right things that she managed to piece together her ‘partner’s’ identity by accident. Tikki’s confirmation sealed the deal.)

“Chat Noir, this partnership of ours,” she said, gesturing to the two of them, “ is going to change tonight. Meet me at the ‘spot’ at 11 sharp. Now, go home.”

He left with a small glimmer of hope in his eyes at her words. She felt a little bad about the subtle manipulation but with the way things were now, it can’t go on. He was hindering more than helping and the people of Paris that weren’t shipping ‘Ladynoir’ saw that.

As she jumped towards Notre Dame, she called the bakery with her yoyo.

“Mama, are you free now? I need a little help with the akuma and can you bring the horse miraculous.”

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Chat Noir waited excitedly at what they both dubbed at their ‘spot’, in the good old days when it was just the two of them. Maybe Ladybug was finally open to the idea of dating. Or maybe she must have seen what a great hero he is and was going to get rid of the team. Or realized that having her mother on her team was a bad idea. Parents are the worst and they both can be two rebellious teenagers in love. Like Romeo and Juliet. So romantic~.

He was so deep in his daydream that he didn’t hear his lady land.

“Chat Noir.” Startled, he nearly fell off the roof. No, don’t make a fool of yourself in front of Ladybug.

“Yes, Bugaboo.” Hoping she didn’t know that he was very distracted. His attention will always be hers 100%.

“Don’t call me Bugaboo. Tikki wants to talk to Plagg about Kwami stuff. So you go over and hide behind that chimney. Then, we can talk about why I told you to be here.” Adrien frowned and then smiled. His lady must be very embarrassed about her mistake that must be why she is taking her time. He tried listening to what they were saying but the kwamis were talking in their special Guardian Language. Was it him or did Tikki’s voice sound more like his lady’s voice?

Whizz!

Adrien was tied up with Ladybug’s yoyo. “M’Lady? Bugaboo!? LADYBUG! WHAT IS GOING ON?!! PLAGG-”

Ladybug cut in, “Adrien Agreste, you have been slack in your hero duty and choosing your own feelings over supporting your partner, me, the holder of the Ladybug Miraculous and current Grand Guardian, in the efforts to defeat the enemy of Paris, Hawkmoth. Due to those reasons, you are no longer worthy to be the Holder of the Black Cat Miraculous” in one swift motion, she took the ring off his finger, “As such you are hereby revoked of Plagg’s Ring.”

“NO, YOU CAN’T. YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME! I LOVE YOU AND I KNOW YOU LOVE ME BACK. WE ARE SOULMATES, WE ARE MEANT TO BE-”

Adrien went slack at Lady Tigress’s pinch on his pressure point.

“I don’t what you ever saw in the boy.”

“I don’t know either. I think I dodged a bullet here. Can you carry him back to his home? I think I have dealt with enough of him tonight.” Ladybug muttered, as she erased Adrien’s memories of being Chat Noir.

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Tag list: @alysrose-starchild, @buginetye, @lookatthestars1, @blackroserelina, @macncheesemonster, @mochinek0, @myazael, @tonicxworld, @thewitchwhowaited, @t1dwarrior-of-earth, @kissa-chan, @iwantasecretidentity, @theymakeupfairies, @user00000003, @woe-is-me0, @kashlyn, @mochegato,@moonlightstar64 , @greatcatblaze, @moongoddesskiana, @tazanna-blythe.

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(Part 3)

#maridami #maribat #damian x marinette #mlb x dc #Betrothal AU: Take 2 #A Failed Betrothal #sorry. No Damian this chapter #there is salt #Alya salt #Adrien Salt #Lila salt #class salt #I don't know if it is mild or not #Marinette is an assassin

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vox-ex · 3 years

Text

Things you interrupted me to say

(Kara and Lena)

Okay, so I took this as a chance to write how I would have adapted the ending in the comic version of Crisis (#7 ) to fit the show. Basically, Lena was chosen as the Paragon of Humanity and Kara is a self-sacrificing idiot who knows she was supposed to die but couldn't tell her. I hope you don't mind.

Kara wonders what they must look like.

Lena pressed against her side, her hands braced around Kal's fallen frame, their feet sliding together as they try to find purchase on the rubble underneath as more threatens to fall on top of them.

Truth and hope and humanity huddled together at the edge of the universe.

But Kara doesn't feel like the saint of any virtue now.

She is just scared.

And it's a fear so familiar, so haunting, that when she closes her eyes, she feels 13 again. Feels her mother's arms around her under a sky that is still red and a world that is still burning somewhere light-years away and decades in the past. She hears her father's last words again, hears his broken promise reaching through all that time and all that space until it fades into nothing but the faint sound of her name echoing in its place.

"K-Kara?"

She feels Kal shift beneath her, and she opens her eyes, the two worlds now burning as one again as she feels her strength starting to falter, and she knows whatever has to happen has to happen now. She looks down, Kal's blue eyes, hazy and pained but as familiar as the day she first saw them — as innocent as the day she first promised to protect him — and as much as she hates herself for it, she can't stop herself from repeating her father's words as she wipes away the sweat from his forehead.

"It's okay, Kal."

And even if she still can't forgive him for leaving her behind, maybe she finally understands why he did.

She looks over her shoulder, sees the Anti-monitor trying to make his way through the fallen debris, armor half torn and steps faltering but still stronger than he should be.

"It's okay. I-I know what to do."

She has time, but not much.

Because she had been sent to Earth for one reason, and then she had chosen another, had decided to protect the Earth like she never could Krypton.

She lets her head fall, allowing the weight of what's about to happen settle on her shoulders.

Knows she can't look at Lena when she asks her to let her go.

"Take Kal, find the others, get out of this universe as fast as you can."

Not after everything it took to get her back.

"Kara?"

And she hates the way Lena says her name with all the pain she promised never to cause her again.

"Lena, please, I need you to help me save him."

But she just needs her to understand.

Because she had been sent to Earth for one reason, and then she had chosen another, had decided to protect the Earth like she never could Krypton.

"What about you?"

And they both sound so desperate, so tired, so angry at the things that put them in this place, that forced them to make this choice.

"Lena, please, there isn't time; this is how it has to be."

"How it has to! —" And Kara knows then she does. Understands what was in the book of destiny that Kara hadn't wanted her to see, that she had been too much of a coward to tell her herself.

And still, she can't look at her. Because if she does, she'll see just how selfish she had been again, just how much pain she had caused again. All those moments, she could have said something and didn't. All those times, she told herself she was doing the right thing. Kal had been wrong; love wasn't always the most unselfish thing in the world; sometimes, it was the most.

"No! You promised!"

And Kara can feel Lena's hands on her chest as she tries to push her away.

"You said no more lies!"

Feels them push harder as Lena tries to make her look at her.

But Kara keeps her head down, keeps hold of Lena's hands, keeps them pressed against her chest, her words quiet and gentle among the chaos around them.

"I know."

And as she steadies their hands together over her heart, she tries to hold onto that one last piece of proof of how they fit together, of how they had ever existed in the same place at the same time.

And Lena suddenly sounds so lost, her anger so quickly turning into desperation, to bargaining, to anything but acceptance.

"It doesn't have to be you...I mean I wasn't supposed to be a fucking Paragon. It was wrong then. It could be wrong now."

And Kara sends one last prayer to Rao that she's right, but she doesn't dare lie. Not again. Not now.

So she doesn't say it's okay.

She doesn't say everything will be fine.

And yet, she still can't bring herself to say goodbye.

"I have — I have to go."

She moves to stand, pulling herself to her feet, Lena's hand sliding off of her shoulder and down her arm, but as she steps forward, Lena's hand stays in hers, and she is forced finally to look up at her one last time.

"Ple-"

But her desperate plea to be let go — to be forgiven — is cut off by the urgent rush of Lena's body into hers, by the hesitant press of lips and the quiver of fingers against her cheek that seek for so much more time than they are given.

But when Lena finally lets her go, it's with a simple confession.

"I didn't want there to be any more lies between us."

The look in her eyes is all at once everything Kara feared and everything she always hoped for. A moment of clarity unmasked by both of their pain — every doubt she ever had that Lena could love her, had loved her, gone, replaced by the proof of Lena in her arms that no matter how brief and no matter how fleeting she could keep in her heart forever.

And it's all she can do to hold onto that feeling as the ground underneath them shifts again, forcing them apart on last time.

But when it all settles, the anti-monitor stands in Lena's place. The sky behind him slips between red and purple as explosions fill the air with the smell of ozone and sulfur and burning carbon.

His words echo through the rubble.

"I will wait no longer! You will die. And your Cousin, your family...your worlds. All shall die with you!"

And there is something in his vengeance that seems so mortal to her, so human. Even as he stands there with his chest heaving with light and his hands glowing with embers, she knows he is not the god he proclaims to be, that he was born from the same stars as her — maybe he can be broken the same as her too.

"You have sealed your fate. As have I."

But he just steps forward, unconcerned about the building inferno around them as he mocks her.

"Do you wish to die, Kara Zor-El?"

Kara can't bring herself to answer him, throwing herself at him instead, forcing her body to move faster than her mind, to push past all the hope that still lingered to the anger that lay underneath.

She tried to stay just out of his reach, tried to be smarter and faster, but all it took was one moment in the wrong place and —

"Kara! Watch out!"

She felt the Anti-monitor's massive hand tighten around her, pulling her toward the ground, her cape fluttering uselessly behind her as Lena's voice echoed in her ears along with a pain that made it impossible to breathe, to think.

She was out of time.

She could see Lena and Kal on the other side of them. Could see Lena holding onto Kal with one hand while the other gripped the extrapolator, thumb shaking as it hovered over the button that would pull them out of this place.

She tries to look at her, to ask her to forgive her one more time, to thank her for helping keep the promise she made to her parents all those years ago, and for saving the world together one last time.

She sends one last prayer to Rao, and ignoring the agonized protest of her heart that is telling her it's not ready to let go, she pushes her fists into the center of the anti-monitor's chest until she feels all at once the weightlessness of space the impossible heaviness of sun.

It was like touching every part of the universe.

And for a second, there was something beautiful about it.

But then she felt it all come apart.

Every cell.

Every atom.

Colliding and combusting — breaking apart.

She could feel the Anti-monitor's chest give way, feel it replaced by nothing but emptiness.

She pushed harder.

Every part of her, becoming a part of him.

Light and dark matter warring for the same space.

It could only end in destruction.

She tried to look back one last time, to make sure Lena and Kal are gone, but all there is a blinding light and then the feeling of being pulled, of falling, and then nothing.

---- ---- ---- ----

Lena feels the cool metal of the ring against her finger. Its weight different now than when it had been hidden in her pocket. Brainy's instructions and calculations, and warnings ringing in her ears as she watches the Anti-monitor hold Kara a loft.

Her thumb skims the button on the extrapolator she had modified.

She looks back at Clark, at Kal.

She's running out of time.

Kara's running out of time.

She can hear Alex's voice in her ear, asking what the hell is happening.

If they've destroyed the machine?

If they're ready to come back?

If everything is okay?

She thinks how the answer is yes to everything but the last one.

Because she is sitting here deciding whether or not to leave Kara to die, and so no, Alex, everything is very much not okay.

Kal moves behind her, trying to stand, to help, but she knows he's still too weak, and fuck what would Lex think of her now he could see her, with the fate of two Supers in her hands. She can't help but offer a smile at the not-so-subtle irony of the world.

She holds on tighter to the extrapolator just as she finds herself knocked off of her feet.

Lena goes blind for a second, but when her vision clears, she sees them both still suspended in the sky, Kara and the Anit-Monitor surrounded by a bright light as they fall through the sky.

She manages it get to her feet again just in time to watch as the light around them starts to collapse, manages to pull Kal up with her, hanging onto his cape with the hand now bearing Brainy's legion ring, and it's all adrenaline and weightlessness and a feeling she'd never be able to describe again as she feels her feet leave the ground.

But fuck she still hates flying.

And when she's finally close enough, she reaches out, fingers just touching the fabric of Kara's cape, her hand just close enough to feel its heaviness, but then there's a flash of light, and there's an unbearable wave of heat, and so she pulls, she pulls unknowing if it's enough and there's nothing to stop her body falling backward, the heat and atmosphere and dust and ash passing over her as she lands, sharp rocks digging into her back.

There's a quietness that follows the chaos, and she watches the muted explosions above her give way to only sharp white light before she finds herself staring up at the first blue sky she's seen in what feels like years.

She doesn't remember pushing the button on the extrapoltaor.

But she must have.

If they are here.

If they are any place that isn't there.

But where is the question now.

She rolls to her side, can feel the blood that follows down the side of her face as she does.

And fuck, that hurts.

She sees the back of Kal's cape in front of her; it's red so much brighter now that the world has been thrust back into its normal vivid hues.

But something still feels wrong.

And it's then she sees the way his shoulders shudder with each breath he takes.

It's then she sees Kara's head cradled against his chest, her cape torn and hanging from her shoulders as if its weight alone could pull her from his arms.

"No."

She says it first in disbelief.

"No!"

Then again, in resolution.

She says it to herself and to the universe and to the god she knows Kara prays too and the god she stopped believing in when her mother died.

This is not how this ends.

She presses up onto her elbows and then onto her knees, the world tilting at every angle, and she never even makes it fully to her feet before she is next to them, before somehow Kara is in her arms instead of Kal's.

And she is everything the world isn't.

Quiet.

Still.

Cold.

"Kara," she whispers.

And for some reason she Lena feels the overwhelming need to be gentle with her, like she wants to push away the hair that has fallen across her face and wipe away the streak of ash beneath her cheek.

"Kara," she whispers again.

"It—It's over now. It's okay now."

She looked back at Kal. His head held in his hands, broken, hurt, but still breathing. She hears Alex in her ear again, hears her saying that they are on their way, hears her asking for coordinates.

Lena had helped Kara keep her promise to everyone else but her.

"Lena?" It was Alex again. "Lena, what's going on?"

"I-I need a, I just, I need —" She tries to breathe, she tries to think, she tries to talk, she rips the comms from her ear when she can no neither.

And with the warmth of the sun at her back and tears falling onto her hands, she feels for the steady beat of Kara's heart.

---- ---- ---- -----

The sky isn't red.

The sky is blue.

The sky is blue, and the sun is warm, and Lena's eyes are green, and the world is still standing.

Kara can see Lena's comm hanging from her ear, bent, and dented in on one side, barely held together by the wires through which she can still hear Alex's frantic voice.

"L-Lena—please—."

But Lena doesn't look like she can hear her.

Instead, she's looking right at her, tears making her eyes that much more green.

"Kara? Kara, can you hear me?"

And there's a layer of dirt over both of them, and Lena has a streak of blood along the side of her face and staining the top of her shirt. But still, she can't help but think she looks beautiful despite it all— that she's never looked more beautiful.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, and she doesn't know where those words come from. But she has so many things to be forgiven for, she supposes.

"You're sor—, you're an idiot."

Lena reaches out to touch her face, fingers slipping through her hair and resting on the base of her neck as her head falls against her chest.

Kara closes her eyes and lets the touch try to take away some of the pain.

She feels Lena let out a deep breath, shaky, and unsteady as if she had been holding it in for too long.

"I think that the gods sent you here to punish me."

Kara opens her eyes slowly, her voice quiet as she lifts her arm, trying not to wince as she reaches up to wipe the tears from Lena's cheek.

"You told me you didn't believe in God."

But Lena just shakes her head and shifts closer, her hand moving to brush the hair from Kara's forehead as a gentle laugh tries to mask her pain.

"Well, the universe then, the universe and the stars, and every atom and particle, they all conspired together to send you here to punish me."

Kara smiles and kisses the back of Lena's hand, thinking not for the first time about just that, about everything that should have kept them apart that somehow brought them together … "but you decided to love me instead."

Lena nods, resting her head again on her chest, their bodies pressed together… "Yes, I've decided to love you instead."

Kara knows they won't be alone much longer.

She knows they will have to share each other with the world again.

Knows all the other people they have both missed that are waiting for them.

But for this moment, they are in each other's arms, and the universe is not a vast place of infinite worlds; it is only here and only now, and it is only them.

#supergirl #supercorp #happy supercorp sunday #sg prompts #crisis redux #angst with a hopeful ending #because it's my thing #happy supergirl sunday #ask away friends

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carryonthroughtheages · 3 years

Text

Hello everyone!

Another year of Carry On Through The Ages is over and done! We have emotions and exhaustion, but we're so happy that this year had the hype and excitement that it did.

Thank you, from the bottom of our hearts, to all of the AMAZING creators who spent the last several months working away at their historical content!

Thank you also to the hard-working mods: @bazzybelle, @giishu, @palimpsessed, and @xivz . This fest would not have been as successful as it has been without you!

We encourage everyone to look under the page break for all the fics and art. They're all fantastic!

Here is the link to the AO3 Collection: Carry On Through The Ages 2021!

Thank you all, and until next year! 🧡🧡🧡

MONDAY:

1) sun on the sea (T) - @trenchcoat-moth : AO3 // Tumblr

Tensions run high in England, and Malcolm decides it's for the best he sends Baz to live with Fiona, where he'll be safer.

That is, until Baz's ship is attacked.

2) The Words I Long To Say (M) - @bazzybelle : AO3 // Tumblr

Simon Snow was dead.

Baz Pitch was sure of it. Simon had gone away seven years ago to fight a war in the jungle and he hadn't come home.

So, when Simon shows up in Baz's club, investigating a string of brutal murders, all Baz wants to do is hold him close and never let him go.

But these aren't the same boys from 1960 and Baz has a lot of processing to do before he's ready to believe in Simon again.

3) we are slaves to gods, whatever gods are (M) - @wellbelesbian : AO3 // Tumblr

I don’t fully understand what plagues him, but I know it’s bad, and I know it goes deeper than guilt. He didn’t want to kill his father, not really, but we were instructed to do so by Apollo. Cleanse the house of its sins, dispose of a murderer to set things right. It was only right that I join him; he was avenging my mother as much as his. Clearly, Apollo didn’t seem to consider that such an act would make Simon a murderer in his father’s place. It seems I got off fine, but as far as Simon is concerned, the vengeful spirits that once spun and danced on the roof of the palace now hunt him down, determined not to stop until he rids the world of himself.

4) World War II Era Art - @stardustasincocaine : Tumblr

TUESDAY:

1) the art of loving you (E) - @one-more-offbeat-anthem : AO3 // Tumblr

1955. London. Young love.

Forbidden love.

A year ago, starving artist Simon Snow met Baz Pitch, son of a wealthy art patron, at a party, and their days (and nights) together have been a wonderful secret.

But Simon is tired of being a secret and knows it's time for things to end.

(Baz has other ideas.)

2) Reliquary of an Arsonist (T) - @tea-brigade : AO3 // Tumblr

Simon Snow grew up a ward of Watford Abbey, but when his magic manifested in an explosive accident as a child, he became the Abbey’s anchorite—never to leave Watford’s walls, for his own protection. That is, until Abbot David sends him on an important errand…

Basilton Pitch paints portraits for his patron, Lord Grimm. But he’s never forgotten the magic he learned from his mother—nor the men who condemned her to death as a heretic. When Simon arrives and offers Baz a commission from Watford Abbey, he sees his chance to avenge his mother once and for all...and he’s willing to burn down everything in his path to that end.

But it was no coincidence that pulled these two unlikely souls together. Something more sinister is underway at Watford Abbey, and only Simon and Baz can uncover the truth before everything goes up in flames.

3) Westward Son (E) - @aristocratic-otter : AO3 // Tumblr

Simon and Baz have found each other again, but there's nowhere in Brooklyn or Virginia where they can safely be together. So now, they venture the hazards and struggles of the Oregon trail, to perhaps find a little homestead in Oregon of their own.

4) A Way Out (T) - @lying-on-the-sofa : AO3

I frown at him..“You don’t know me.”

He offers his hand. “Simon.”

Simon. I feel the name around in my mind and assign it to his face. Simon. I don’t shake his hand. They’ve still got my arms pinned. “Basilton.”

Simon nods at me. “Now we know each other. Let him go.” Very casually, he takes his other hand from behind his back. A sword, flashing. He leans on it and smiles invitingly. “Let him go.”

This time, they listen.

Simon Snow has been trained for years to become a tribute—one of the fighters Athens sends every ninth year into the Minotaur’s labyrinth. He wants to know the way out, if only for Penny’s sake. Luckily for him, Prince Basilton of Crete also wants a way out—off the island, where no one will know he’s the half-brother of the Minotaur.

Unluckily for both of them, they don’t exactly form the most agreeable pair.

WEDNESDAY

1) long is the road the leads me home (G) - @wellbelesbian : AO3 (Version 1) (Version 2) // Tumblr

Baz has a rather unremarkable life, and he's fine with that. Running his late mother's beloved inn with his temperamental aunt, estranged from his father and step-siblings, he's successfully convinced himself that he's better off without attachments.

Then Simon barrels into his life, guns blazing and rapier drawn, and Baz is swept up in dramatic plot he never bargained for.

Worse still, he finds he quite likes the thrill.

2) New Romantics (T) - @ninemagicks : AO3 // Tumblr

Basilton Pitch, twenty-two years old and a famed poet of the Romantic era, has fled to the countryside. In Mummers House, the fabled haunt of literary greats, he sulks himself into oblivion and awaits a sad, disappointing end to his brief years of brilliance. The cause of his downfall? None other than Simon Snow, the so-called “bad boy of English poetry”, breaker of rules and eternal thorn in his side. Baz hopes that Mummers House might mean an escape from London, from Snow and his increasingly virulent popularity... but the rain that comes has other ideas.

3) thnétos (T) - @snowybank : AO3 // Tumblr

thnétos: subject to death, mortal

a retelling of Apollo and Hyacinthus

4) A Medieval AU art piece - @thewriterxj : Tumblr

THURSDAY

1) From Eden (E) - @orange-peony : AO3 // Tumblr

I wonder if his skin is warm or cold to the touch. I tell myself it’s simple curiosity, that I’m an artist and capturing things on paper or canvas is my way to make sense of the world. That drawing him feels so natural, so I should just follow my instincts. Ebb used to say it all the time. Follow your heart. It knows where you’re supposed to go.

I wish I could. I wish I had enough money and freedom to just draw what I want. To paint him in his unattainable beauty. To draw him the way I want to. Naked and vulnerable, raw. Without frills and expensive suits.

Just Baz on paper, my fingers tracing his delicate and beautiful lines with simple charcoal.

2) Slings and Eros (M) - @palimpsessed : AO3 // Tumblr

Young god of love Simonides is tasked by his father, the god of war, to bring about the ruin of a mortal prince to punish his blasphemy. However, once Simonides sees his intended victim, he begins to have misgivings. Prince Tyrannus might have offended the gods with his very existence, but all Simonides can see is how beautiful and lonely he is.

Or, a very loose interpretation of the Eros and Psyche myth.

3) I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire (M) - @knitbelove : AO3 // Tumblr

September 1940: Going back to Watford feels different this year, and not just because England is at the brink of war with Germany and Italy. Penelope seems unsettled by everything, and Agatha is distant, and Baz is … simply not here.

What if Carry On but during the Blitz?? Yeah.

4) A Fool's Oath (M) - @thewriterxj : AO3 // Tumblr

A simple soldier is invited to join the ranks of the royal guard. He and his appointed mage arrive at the royal city to find themselves at the mercy of an unmerciful court. As he struggles to find his place in this foreign environment, he also finds himself entranced by music that only he seems to hear that floats out about the city. He makes an oath to wed whoever makes such beautiful music.

Too bad that person is the crown prince.

FRIDAY

1) Stranger Tides (T) - @tea-brigade & @xivz : AO3 // Tumblr

“If some god shall wreck me in the wine-dark deep, even so I will endure…” Captain Simon Snow of the Chosen One is many things—cunning, handsome, ruthless. Greedy. It’s no surprise that Snow finds a way to piss off the God of the Sea, he always manages to get himself into some type of trouble. This time, however, he’s not the only one who will suffer the consequences. Poseidon promises to not stop his pursuit until Snow and all of his men are dead.

Enter Basilton Pitch—rich, beautiful, mysterious. Suspicious. He offers the crew of the Chosen One a hefty sum to take him back to Europe from the Caribbean. And who is Captain Snow to refuse so much coin? After all, Greek gods aren’t real.

Right?

2) The wayward heir [comic] (M) - @letraspal : AO3 // Tumblr

Like a folk song, our love will be passed on. Simon Snow wants to be an artist. He used to live in Fiesole where he worked in the wool shop of his good friend Ebeneza Petty. He has now chosen to return to his native Florence in order to participate in an art contest hosted by the Pitch family, the most important bankers in all the three continents and Simon’s last chance for an art patronage. No matter how much he hates them.

But being back in Florence also brings back the memories Simon wanted to leave behind : his days as an orphan, the mystery about his mother, and once more being under the inquisitive eyes of his godfather, the new archbishop Davy. The archbishop is very same man who would never forgive him for dropping out the priesthood and ruining his secret plans against the Pitches.

The last thing Simon needed was an unbearably handsome jerk getting him into trouble on his very first day in Florence. How can focus when this man is the most annoying person he has ever met and yet his major source of inspiration.

3) Prohibition Blues (T) - @heyyyandrea : AO3

Simon Snow is a baker and aspiring playwright in Prohibition Era New York City. When he meets a handsome man at Shepherd's speakeasy who is interested in his work, he can't help but think it feels too good to be true.

4) Earth Below & Sky Above (M) - @phoxphyre : AO3 // Tumblr

In the depth of the palace of King Minos of Crete lurks a creature known as the Minotaur.

Baz, prince of Athens and chosen of the god Poseidon, has heard the stories. And now he’s volunteered to come to Crete as one of the annual tributes—to dance with the king’s bulls and fulfill his destiny. He just wants to survive the bulls, protect his people, and go home.

But what if the Minotaur isn’t a monster—but just a boy? And what if instead of slaying him, Baz fell in love with him?

A Carry On retelling of the myth of Theseus and the Minotaur, set in Bronze Age Crete.

5) A 1980s AU Art piece by @stardustasincocaine : Tumblr // Instagram (Slightly NSFW)

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marmaligne · 3 years

Note

1/1 Hello! headcanon S/O makes good covers of songs and music videos(like those YouTube videos)? Swerve, as a lover of Earth(this is how it was mentioned in the comics) walks on the Internet and finds various covers performed by their human friend, watches and listens to them all and then runs to show Rewind.

[TF MTMTE] S/O Who Makes Song Covers

———————————————————————

* At first, Swerve was having a particularly slow day in the bar.

* He had just dealt with another one of Whirl’s shenanigans which accidentally blew up into a huge scuffle between Whirl and Skids, which got Chromedome and Rewind involved after Whirl stole their drinks in order to drench Skids in energon.

* The resident liaison, aka you, had watched from afar as everything turned to scrap between them and the whole area erupted into a bar fight.

* Swerve was embarrassed to say the least—the one person who ever seemed to pay attention to him on this damned ship, and they witnessed him unable to control his own patrons.

* He decided to close the bar early and retire off to his habsuite afterwards—better than sticking around.

* Turned on a datapad while sipping a cube of highgrade because Primus knows he deserves it.

* Began surfing through the internet and stumbled upon his favourite video streaming and uploading site: youtube.

* At first he scrolled through recommended cat videos, DIY’s and gaming streams, until he found something strangely out of place on the home page.

* He’d stumbled upon the music section and saw your face plastered to the front of a video image. Beneath it captioned “Born this way [Cover by s/o]” and featuring a plethora of other musicians and background singer mentions.

* He clicked on it, immediately entranced by the thought of you having a secret life or hobby, possibly whatever you did for a living before joining the LL crew.

* Absolutely astounded by the sound of your voice—he truly believed you were the incarnation of clarity based on the effortlessness of your rhythm and lack of lisps or vocal breaks.

* Swerve used to invest a bit in musicians back on Cybertron, he never owned a bar back then but understood that Cybertron’s versions of human ‘Harlems’ contained a lot of organized musical entertainment.

* When he opened a bar on the ship after finding the distillery with Skids, the first thing he thought of was music.

* Never found a decent singer cause everybody on the LL sucks.

* Immediately after finishing the first video, he clicked on your profile and continued scrolling, finding the oldest one on your account and beginning there.

* The post itself was 8 years old, which meant you had been in the industry of cover songs and albums for a decent time before you joined the LL on their adventures across space.

* He listened to every single one of them, with themes ranging from jazz and reggae, to rap and pop music from disney movies.

* Fell in love with your personality even more through your music; surely someone who sounds so beautiful has a beautiful heart as well!

* Immediately after finishing the last video, he ran to show the only other over-appreciator of media: Rewind.

* Rewind was astounded as well by your abilities, immediately began recording and downloading the recordings to a private database for future purposes.

* Both of them immediately called a bar meeting at like.... 3 am.

* Ultra Magnus (Minimus Ambus) arrived first and demanded to know why an emergency meeting was called.

* Rodimus and Chromedome arrived next because Roddy thought there’d be a fight, and Chromedome heard that Rewind sounded the emergency alert.

* As soon as everyone gathered, and Swerve stated it had something to do with their dear human liaison, everybody shut up.

* The room fell silent until Rewind began streaming the music to the bar speakers.

* Immediate awe from everyone in the room.

* This melodious voice belonged to s/o? Their little liaison? The one everybody used to ignore?

* Crushes and developing friendships all around the room and you hadn’t even arrived yet.

* The moment you stepped foot into the bar, everybody once again went quiet. When you asked why, an immediate response broke out.

* “You sing?!” and “I didn’t know your original function was a musician?” and “I didn’t know you had such a sweet voice!” rang out across the ship.

* You were evidently startled, and Swerve could tell—Rewind as well—and Swerve had to smash a clean glass against the counter to gain everyone’s attention again.

* “Let’s hear what our friend here has to say, shall we?”

* Everybody once again turned to face you.

* You explained that it was rather embarrassing they had stumbled upon an old ‘hobby’ of yours, but told them that you used to be a well-loved solo-singer back in the early days before the lost light.

* You never gained much fame beyond the internet media streams and sometimes group choreographs, but found a joy in music anyways, hoping to make your life long dream of finding fame and happiness out of singing come true.

* When you realized that such a thing was hard to achieve, especially in your national industry, you basically gave up on trying to achieve it, which is why the date of your last upload was about 2 years before you came to the crew.

* They listened intently, Swerve especially, and their expressions changed from astonishment to sadness.

* “So you.... don’t sing anymore?” came from a slightly downed Megatron—he thought there’d finally be someone to appreciate his poetry.

* You told him no, and the entire bar began to beg. About 100 bots shoved into a small bar, begging and pleading with you to continue your dream and make new music—some offering to teach you Cybertronian if it meant you could produce it in their language.

* The hesitancy in your voice was obvious, but you did eventually agree.

* The LL broke out into cheering, and Swerve reopened the bar for the night so that the others could party away. Ultra Magnus and some other tired bots slipped off down the halls to recharge again, but not before offering their congratulations (and bribes).

* You smiled slightly and exited the room, heading to the internal flight deck for some alone time.

* Swerve eventually made his way down after everyone had had their drinks, wanting to speak with you about the past.

* “Why’d ya’ give it up in the first place? Singing I mean.”

* “I don’t really know, I suppose because I realized that my dreams were unobtainable.”

* “Then maybe you’ll find that here on the Lost Light, there’s a lot more room for change.” he spoke to you.

* He didn’t know it that night, but you agreed with him. There was a lot that the world could offer, even more so now that you knew the universe was so vast.

* Maybe you went unappreciated on Earth, but you now have hundreds of bots ready to fight for a simple song from you.

* And who knows? Music videos would be 1000% cooler if you filmed them with giant robots out in space.

BONUS:

* Your voice alone singlehandedly turned Getaway back to the good side.

———————————————————————

✨ Hope you enjoyed ✨

#transformers x reader #transformers mtmte #transformers #idw mtmte #mtmte #mtmte swerve #mtmte rewind #transformers imagine #transformers headcanon

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hamburgerhelpersotherhand · 3 years

Text

Infatuation P11

Joe Goldberg x Reader x Love Quinn

Warnings: Violent scene description, death.

Notes: Wow, this seems really out of nowhere to post. Anyway 🤪 I don’t want this sitting in my drafts anymore so I’m going to let you all know if I edit it before the next update. Just... take it.

I spent the better half of the day looking over my shoulder as I worked. Candace’s sudden reappearance isn’t going to be swept under the rug just like that... she’s a dead girl walking and I’ve never been a fan of the zombie genre.

By the time I was counting the money from the cash register, Love seemed to have grown a smile. Though, I could still see the sleep deprivation in her eyes.

“Will,” She leaned forward on the counter, perching her head up on her hand. “could we do something tonight?”

At that moment, I really wish I could’ve said yes. But... I couldn’t afford to get distracted.

“Maybe another night? I’m...” I thought quickly, placing coins down and counting.

“We need to talk.” She leans forward to catch my sight. About what exactly, I want to ask but before I can even get a word out, Forty walks in with his mouth open.

“Will, would you be a doll and help me with something.”

I don’t say anything, only thinking to myself: why here and now? Forty has some of the worst timing... and then I spot Candace. Right behind Forty, with a white smile I hated to see.

“Oh, Will. This is Amy.” Love gestures toward Candace and my stomach turns and probably does some flips while it’s at it. If I wasn’t so used to staring into the face of death, I would of probably thrown up by now.

But, there’s no way.

“She’s Y/N’s friend.” Forty finishes. I bite the inside of my cheek. No fucking way she’s here unprompted. I’ve been so incredibly meticulous about everything including my online presence.

I look to Love’s face and she seems to spot something.

“Are you okay? You look kind of pale.” What? She’s not going to ask if I’ve seen a ghost?

“Yeah— no, yeah. I’m alright.” I smile wide, wiping my brow as I do. “It’s just—“ I turn to ‘Amy’. “Is Y/N still in town?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m here.” She looks me in the eye. For a moment, I feel myself crack under the pressure.

Hold me back, I might just kill her now.

“What do you mean?” Love looks to her.

“I was supposed to pick her up the other day, but she hasn’t responded to my messages since.” Candace looks at me with those dead soulless eyes of hers.

So, she’s the mysterious driver. When did she start driving that type of car? Since she’s decided to pursue a career in stealthily ruining my life?

What the fuck am I going to do about her and what the hell am I going to do about you?

“Will,” Love suddenly says, bringing the conversation back and snapping me out of my thoughts. “didn’t you see Y/N?”

“Y— no. No, I know it was late by the time I got there, but I passed a bus on my way.” I remember the way your soft face felt in my hand. “Could she have taken public transport? Maybe a cab?”

“I highly doubt it.” Candace replies immediately. I’m sweating, but I’m trying not to lose my cool.

I finally finish sorting through the change, no doubt making some mistakes. But with that done and out of my way, I need an excuse to slip through the cracks.

“Listen, I’m sure she’s just disappearing again. You’ve told me she’s done it before, I don’t see why she wouldn’t do it again.”

Love shifts around, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. “I’m calling Lucy.”

And there she goes. Love leaves the room after her statement, and I know she’s feeling worse. Why did you even bother coming back? You’ve literally disrupted everything in our lives... it’s going to be difficult to fix, Y/N. There’s no simple way around this, we just have to make it through alive.

Love remained in another room at Anavrin until it closed and the street lights turned on. She quietly spoke into her phone, observing the floor pathetically.

She spoke with Lucy openly, though she avoided the topic of your sudden disappearance.

The conversation eventually dies down, and she says her goodbyes.

“I need to show you something.”

Love sets down her phone and looks to Amy. She hadn’t noticed her enter the room.

“You surprised me. What is it?”

She continues once Love’s attention is on her. “I know we don’t know each other that well, but do you mind if we discuss it in the car?”

And just as expected, Forty’s one-off comment about needing help wasn’t easily forgotten by himself. I was dragged out of Anavrin rather quickly. Though, in a way, I appreciated the easy excuse to get away from such a venemous snake as Candace.

Forty never let up, no matter how obvious I made my lack of care, he remained just as motivated and just as annoying.

“Listen, this is probably my most prestigious and ambitious project to date.” Forty’s arm swings itself over my shoulder, bringing me in as he repeats the same garbage he always does. I’m glad to see that spirit remains.

“They’re wanting to make it into a movie, can you believe that?” Forty’s arm lifts itself, only to fall down on my shoulder like a pat on the back.

“I’d love it if you could... you know... help me out. A genius writer isn’t a genius without their ghost writers!”

That’s... not what that is, but I get his point.

When I looked at him, his eyes were wide and his bottom lip stuck out comically. He was pouting? No, it’s more of a puppy dog look. The lazy man’s pretty please.

I should have time for this, even if I’d rather stop by the nearest gas station and get you dinner.

“Earth to Will, I need you focused!”

Love wraps her arms around herself, feeling very out of place.

Amy continues to fumble with the lock, until she hears a click. She perks up and gives Love a nod.

The storage lockers were easy to access, surprisingly so. But none of this felt right.

“Wait.” Love says suddenly, halting all movement. “I don’t want to do this.”

“But you’re just a door away. Please, Love, you’ll want to see this side of him.” Amy pleas.

What side of him? The side that owns this locker she so happened to know about?

“No, I don’t. And I don’t care for it either.” Love says, though she looks unsure of herself as she fiddles with her bag. Perhaps a part of her would rather be unaware of something as vile as Any had dared describe in the car.

“Do you hear yourself? You sound ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous? Thats coming from someone with bold claims.” Love retorts. She catches herself for a moment, seeing a glimpse of someone she repressed long ago. She’s not that person anymore, she swore to herself she never would be.

Despite Love’s reluctance, Amy lifts the door up and pockets her bobby pin.

Hearing the doors roll up, you had expected Joe to step in. But he was nowhere in sight. Instead, you jumped at the image of Love and Amy, pinching yourself to truly believe they were really standing there.

You wanted to speak, to shout, to cry out... but your voice was far too gone. Your throat was hoarse and bone-dry.

“Oh my god.” Amy hurried, observing you inside the glass box. “You’re still alive— she’s still alive!”

Love remained silent, her jaw hung open in utter disbelief. Will... Will had told her you left.

He lied? Or Amy isn’t who she says she is.

But why would he? It... it must’ve been for a good reason, right? Will isn’t this kind of person, right? Maybe— maybe he got himself into something. Love clutched her keys between her fingers, her knuckles turning white as she focused her burning stare into the back of Amy’s head.

“Y/N. Can you hear me?” She says, hitting the glass.

You’re barely responsive, a mixture of dehydration and lack of nutrition hitting you all at once. The sheer excitement from seeing them took a lot out of you.

“We’ll get you out of there.” Amy states, turning her head to face Love.

Love jumps at her sudden movement, grip shaking as she stares into Amy’s eyes.

“Help me, would you?”

Love slashed her keys in Amy’s direction and she tumbles back. Without a second thought, Love does it again, this time catching her straight in the neck.

For a moment, Love realizes what she’s done. With the way you began to pound on the glass and the look of complete and utter fear Amy is giving her, it’s kind of hard not to. Love stares at her keys, stuck inside the side of Amy’s neck as a thick stream of blood flows downward. She grips her own neck, holding tightly as her mouth puckers like a fish out of water.

Amy doesn’t want her to pull them out—the keys- and Love notices that. But she does. She yanks the keys toward herself and watches Amy slap her hands down around her own throat.

She’s silent, surprisingly silent despite the gurgling.

Love watches Amy hit the ground and crawl toward her feet, all the while a pool of blood forms beneath herself.

When Love looks toward you, you’re curled up in the corner of your glass cage, arms covering your eyes as sobs shake you violently. She didn’t want you to witness this side of her, truly. But even more so, she had never wanted it to come out again.

However, Amy was a threat to the three of you. Love knew you were locked up somewhere, how could she not? She knew that Will— Joe- had done this in the past, but it could be different now— it could be better. A private detective isn’t just for show. But Amy didn’t have to get involved— didn’t have to go sniffing around and finding your location before she could.

When she notices you peek past your elbows, she feels her gut clench at the sight of the way you cower at the sight displayed by her feet. Watching someone bleed out is hardly a pretty sight and Love understands.

Knowing full well that she can’t turn back, Love wipes her keys and drops the rolled up door.

#you #joe goldberg #joe goldberg x reader #love Quinn #love quinn x reader #forty Quinn #netflix you #x reader #yandere #yandere x reader

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heloisedaphnebrightmore · 3 years

Text

All your fault [Sirius Black x Reader] - Requested

Title: All your fault Pairing: Sirius Black x Gryffindor!Reader Word count: 1.9k Published: 16 February, 2021 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Summary: Sirius’ boredom causes you to end up in detention. Or so you think, but he has a different perspective on the events and you clearly can’t find the golden middle. Request: [x] I have combined two requests. One from Tumblr and one from Wattpad. I took the liberty to change some things, but overall it’s the same.

“Hey Talented! Could you write a Sirius x Gryffindor!reader where the reader is jock with intense emotions and a chaser in Quidditch team? Also Is exceptionally talented at DADA and that make sirius jealous and turned-on too? please?” - @marauders-hogwarts

“Hey, I was just reading your marauders x reader one shots and I had an idea for one. Could you pls make one where Sirius gets into an argument with you and at the end grabs your hand to turn you around and abruptly smashes his lips against yours and asks you to be his girl. And the next day he comes up to you and tell you that ther is something wrong with your hand untill he picks it up and puts his own hand in yours and says that's better. Please? Thanks so much. I am a huge fan of your work.” - @Tamarakyra [Wattpad]

Harry Potter Characters Masterlist | Masterlists

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Sirius Black had never been one to question things. He was very stubborn much to his professors’ dismay. Doing what he wanted regardless of consequences has become his personal motto. Swaying him seemed impossible, he always knew what he wanted, how he wanted it and when he wanted it.

However, on a rainy dull Saturday afternoon as he was watching you up in the air, flying across the quidditch pitch on your broomstick, your hair flat against your face, your uniform drenched in water, your eyes covered with a pair of goggles, something has changed within him. For a mere moment he felt as if time had stopped as you screamed at James for not being able to catch the snitch and win against Ravenclaw. His eyes focused only on you, even forgetting about the ongoing match.

The way you sat on your broomstick leaning forward to speed up, the way you tucked the quaffle under your arm and secured it, the sheer amount of energy you projected and the bold tone you used against his best friend all hit him right in the chest, forcing him to fall back onto the bench of the bleachers. He didn’t know where his sudden feelings came from, but the unexpected warmness filling him up from the inside made him smile at the simple sight of you. From then on, he knew the friendship you had has become more on his side.

You sat right beside Sirius at Defence Against the Dark Arts, doodling on the parchment in front of you as he kept nudging you, trying to get your attention.

“What now?” you asked for the 10th time in the past 10 minutes. “Perhaps you could focus more on the lesson. You need it more than I do,” you hissed angrily, feeling fed up with his childish behaviour.

“I’m bored,” he whined in a silent whisper.

“I can see that,” you scoffed as you drew another random pattern on your paper. Closing out the lesson, you focused completely on your drawing, finding it more interesting than whatever your professor was talking about. That was until Sirius started nudging you again.

“What now?” you hissed in anger, slightly raising your voice, but you quickly silenced yourself as you looked around, every pair of eyes focusing on you, including your professor’s. “I’m so sorry,” you apologised, hunching your back, trying to hide away from embarrassment.

“Since you have already graced us with your attention, why don’t you answer the question?” he asked in a pompous tone, clearly trying to make you feel even more awkward. However, as the new teacher, he couldn’t have known about your exceptional knowledge and talent on the subject. It took you a good second to recall the memory from the darkest and deepest part of your mind, before you were ready to answer.

“The Tongue-tying curse prevents people from being able to form a coherent sentence, therefore stopping them from being able to incantate further spells. Although Langlock its sibling curse also prevents people from being able to speak, in this spell’s case the tongue sticks to the roof of the mouth, whilst when using Silencio it causes the victim to be temporarily muted,” you explained proudly. The professor didn’t compliment you, nor did he scold you. He offered you a deadpan expression and cleared his throat.

Sirius snickered beside you with a proud grin across his face, knowing the professor didn’t expect your reply. Years ago, he would have told you off for being a know it all, but now he found it comical. He didn’t know if it was because his feelings had changed or because it was you who did it, but in the end it didn’t matter. You could have done anything and he would have supported you like a loyal puppy. At times he couldn’t even believe how easily affected he was by you.

“Khm- smartass,” you heard a cough from the side as Evan Rosier was trying to cover his words in an obvious manner. You were not one to let others walk over you nor did you plan to be one in that moment. You felt anger bubbling up inside you, the boy’s mere presence irritating you.

“Let me show the spell in practice, professor,” you grinned proudly as he turned around with a shocked expression across his face, ready to stop you in mid-spell. However, he was slower than he wished to be and before he could have said anything, the word left your lips. “Silencio,” you lifted your hand and pointed your wand at the boy, watching as he grabbed his throat, desperately trying to speak, gaping like a fish, but no words leaving his mouth.

Sirius watched as the scenario unfolded in front of him. His initial surprise quickly disappeared as he saw a smirk appear across your face, pure pride taking over your stance. He always admired your can-do attitude and bold personality, possibly one of the reasons you have been such good friends. He wasn’t lacking any of those personality traits, but when he saw you standing up for yourself, being strong and independent, it just drove him crazy. It made him feel like there was an invisible string between the two of you, pulling him closer and closer to you.

Since he realised his own feelings for you, he was watching every little move of yours, trying to protect you from everything and anything that could possibly hurt you. But before he could ever intervene and show you how much he cared for you, you took care of it, proving once again how independent you were. He didn’t mind though, he loved the strength you harboured, he just wished to be able to show you that you could rely on him.

You watched as the professor rushed up to Rosier, pulling his wand out of the inner pocket of his robe and quickly using the counter spell on him, before rushing up to your table, his index finger pointing right between your eyes. “Detention! How dare you? Detention after classes!” he shouted at you, veins popping on the side of his neck and temple, his face turning red in anger. If he had time, he would have probably embarrassed you in front of the whole class, but as the bell rang, indicating the end of your class, he had no choice, but to let you go.

Quickly collecting your belongings, you hurried out of the classroom with Sirius right behind you, calling your name relentlessly as you were about to cross the Courtyard.

“What do you want?” you asked angrily as you halted. You didn’t want to sound rude, being around Sirius was the highlight of your day, but at that moment he was a pain in your backside.

“Woah, calm down,” he gestured with his hands, but if anything, it made you angrier.

“Calm down? Calm down? It was all your fault to begin with. If you didn’t nag me about being bored, I would have kept drawing and kept my mouth shut. But you just couldn’t find anything better to do so you decided to get on my nerves and now of course it’s me who has to go to detention,” you rambled, annoyed, trying to take deep breaths to calm yourself.

“Okay, I accept that I was nagging you, but I didn’t curse my classmate,” he scoffed with a hidden smile in the corner of his lips.

“It’s not funny! If you didn’t nag me, the professor wouldn’t have questioned me, which means Rosier would have never insulted me, hence the reason you are at fault,” you groaned as you turned around and started walking away.

“Hey, stop already,” he whined, but you didn’t halt your steps, if anything, you sped up. “I’m sorry,” he tried to break the ice, but it seemed to just fire you up even more. You turned on your heel, stopping right in front of the boy.

“Sorry? That’s it? You just have to say sorry and I’m supposed to forget about it?” you scoffed in disbelief. “You must be joking,” you looked up at him in clear astonishment, but after seemingly waiting for an eternity Sirius still didn’t reply.

He wanted to, he was about to defend himself, but as he watched you getting worked up about such a minor issue, at least minor for him, he could only think about how adorable you looked when you were upset. Not that he ever wanted to see you angry or sad, but for some reason it just caught his eyes that instead of being threatening, you seemed as if you were slightly pouting.

You groaned, annoyed as the silence grew between the two of you and a small smile started appearing on Sirius’ face. “I hate you!” you shouted at him as you left him behind, stomping across the Courtyard, heavy and loud steps following you.

“Do you?” he shouted after you, silently chuckling, finding your behaviour quite funny and somewhat cute.

“I do!” you replied sulking, your steps becoming quicker.

Sirius couldn’t just let you walk away, he jogged after you and grabbed your wrist, halting your steps, pulling you back against his chest. For a second even the air stuck in your lungs as you realised how close you were to him, his breath fanning your face, his pink lips almost touching yours. You were completely engulfed by his aura, his warm hold on your wrist sending shivers through your body as his other arm sneaked around your waist.

You could swear he felt your dangerously racing heart against his chest, your lips quivering in anticipation, wanting nothing but to feel his mouth on yours. As if he could read your mind, he leaned closer and closed the gap between the two of you, kissing you slowly, sensually. You expected him to be slightly aggressive, maybe dominating, but his kiss was more passionate, gentle instead, causing you a delightful surprise.

“Why?” you breathed against his lips as you parted, your eyes still closed, completely lost in the moment.

“Because I wanted to do it for a long time,” he whispered.

“Why would you?” you chuckled awkwardly. He was always your closest friend and now that you kissed, knowing the friendship you have had was gone, you didn’t know what to do.

“Do I really need to say it?” he scratched the back of his neck, pulling a face, feeling embarrassed about the words you waited for so impatiently.

“If you don’t say it out loud, how do you expect me to understand?” you questioned, and Sirius knew how right you were.

“I- khm,” he cleared his throat awkwardly. “I- I have liked you for a while,” his words were silent and unsure, making you question it.

“Are you sure?” you asked, making him feel even more awkward.

“Of course, I’m,” he groaned, slightly sulking. “It’s just not easy to say.”

“Is it easier if I say I like you too?” you giggled happily, watching as his embarrassed expression slowly changed into a proud grin.

“I knew it, I felt it,” he chuckled happily, earning a deadpan look from you as you slapped his chest gently, before your lips curved into a small smile.

“Right, you did,” you scoffed as you peeled his hands off you and started walking to your next class with a hidden smile in the corner of your lips.

“Wait, wait,” he called after you as he tried to catch up to you.

“What now?” you asked, rolling your eyes as Sirius joined beside you.

“There’s something wrong with your hand,” he stated with a deep frown. You looked down at your hand, lifting it up, looking at it curiously, turning it up and down, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

“What do you mean? It seems alright to me,” you replied in confusion, but you couldn’t take a closer look at it as Sirius took it in his hand, interlocking your fingers.

“Now, it’s better,” he grinned playfully, making you giggle.

“Sirius Orion Black, you have a horrible sense of humour,” you scoffed, but you couldn’t fool him. He knew his little joke made you happy and even if it didn’t, the warm feeling of each other's touch, your small hands engulfed by his big palm made up for his silly joke.

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saijspellhart · 3 years

Text

Little oneshot about Atem meeting Sphinx Yugi

Part of my Sphinx AU. Please enjoy.

Atem clutched his cloak around him, trying to settle back against the date palms again, only to sit up with a start at the rustle of leaves. The once vibrant and friendly oasis he’d happened upon in the day, had turned into an absolute nightmare as soon as the sun set.

He hadn’t managed to get a fire going, he couldn’t find anything to eat, and although the water in the massive pond looked clean and tasted good, he was convinced he’d be sick by morning.

The night was so dark, even with all the stars, he could barely make out his surroundings in the dense thickets of trees and brush surrounding the pond. He could swear something was out there. Could feel it staring at him, hunting him.

He snapped his head to the left at the sound of disturbed undergrowth, and swore he caught a glimpse of yellow eyes. Like the glowing pupils of some large animal. They disappeared almost immediately.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen them. Could be a fox, or a crocodile, perhaps a leopard, or even a hyena. Although he really doubted it was a hyena. Too quiet for that noisy pack animal. Never the less, he was convinced he was being stalked by some silent predator.

Hours were passing, and he continued his restless watch.

The night wore on leaving him more and more exhausted, and the chill set in harder. He felt cold in his bones without a fire or proper insulation from the frigid desert night.

He would die of exposure before he was ever rescued by his priests.

Atem saw the flash of yellow eyes again in his peripheral and scowled at them sleepily.

Or I’ll simply get eaten alive. What an end for a mighty Pharaoh. He should have simply died earlier in the day during the skirmish with the brigands. At least then it would have been in the service of his people, and not alone, lost in the desert, and at the jaws of local wildlife.

Another hour passed, and he couldn’t hold his head up anymore to stay alert. He was so cold.

So tired.

His eyelids drooped. And each blink was a little longer, his mind a little hazier.

He searched for the eyes in the dark, but saw nothing. He heard nothing. He couldn’t hold his eyes open any longer and he drifted out of consciousness.

0000

Atem’s world was a lot brighter when his brain clicked back into consciousness the next morning.

And warmer.

So much warmer. He’d been so cold the night before and now he was wrapped in a blanket of warmth and fluffy comfort.

It felt like his head was pillowed against a cloud. A slightly dusty, musky scented cloud with an edge of sweetness, almost like grass. It was pleasant.

In fact everything was pleasant. Even the comforting weight settled over him. Atem didn’t want to move. Didn’t even want to wake up. Instead, he inhaled the pleasant scent again and tried to drift back to sleep.

His hand reached up to sink fingers into soft fur and snuggled deeper into his pillow.

Which gasped, and shifted beneath him.

Atem’s eyes shot open, getting an eyeful of white and tawny red-gold fur. Something like a tail swished just over the swell of golden fur he’d taken a handful of. He was up in an instant, flailing against feathers, and violently slapping a large wing off of himself as he stumbled to get away.

“Ouch!” a stranger’s voice yelped.

He ended up crawling backwards through sand and grasses. Drawing his knife—his khopesh having gotten lost when his horse threw him in the strange and sudden sand storm—he pointed the blade, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the strange creature he’d been cuddled up to only moments before.

“What in Ra’s name are you?” Atem demanded.

The creature blinked large and bewitching purple eyes at him. “What does it look like?” It asked, sounding almost offended. It shook out one of its large black-tipped white feathered wings, as if shaking off pain, before gingerly folding the appendage against its back. “In fact I’m one of the god’s creatures. I’m a sphinx,” it announced rising up on its very feline paws.

This gave Atem a very good look at the creature, and yes. Yes, it was a sphinx. He quickly lowered the knife so as not to disrespect it.

It was not the type of sphinx he was most accustomed to seeing depicted in scrolls and in reliefs. That being a creature with a lion’s body and the head of a human. No, this creature had the head and torso of a human, its arms changing into a feline’s paws starting at the elbow, and its torso becoming a feline’s lower half starting at the stomach.

The stomach that Atem’s head has been pillowed against, he noted. That’s what had been so soft like a cloud. He swallowed thickly.

“It’s been awhile since a human has wandered into my oasis,” the sphinx said conversationally. It took a few steps towards Atem. “What’s your name?”

He wasn’t about to give a magical creature such as this his name. Magical creatures could do dangerous things with your name. “Atem…” the name tumbled off his tongue unbidden. Fuck. He suspected some magic must be at play, but Ra would have to smite him before he would tell this creature he was a Pharaoh. Absolutely no good would come of this creature having that knowledge.

“Atem~” the sphinx tested the name on its tongue, and smiled brightly at him. “Hi Atem! My name is Yugi,” as it introduced itself it made a tight circle giving Atem a look at its entire body from nose to the end of its stumpy tail.

It was just like a cat to give someone an eyeful of its ass. If the lack of breasts hadn’t clued him in, Atem could safely conclude that the very effeminate looking creature was indeed a male.

When Yugi turned to face him again he couldn’t quite meet the Sphinx’s eye anymore and sort of looked off to the side instead.

It was actually startling how much the Sphinx’s hair resembled Atem’s. Should he be flattered? Or maybe the sphinx was flattered. It was probably far older than him. Their hair was strikingly similar, both having flowing blonde bangs and unruly black spikes tinged with color at the tips. Although Atem’s hair ended in red, while Yugi’s seemed to be a gradient of purples and reds. That was where the similarities between them seemed to end though. Yugi had large eyes and a small nose, with a slight build and fair skin. Where as Atem had a large nose, thick brows over slanted eyes, with the build of a fighter and brown skin.

“I’m sorry for scaring you when you woke up,” Yugi dipped his head and looked genuinely apologetic.

“What was…that anyway?” Atem jerked his head at the Sphinx and reached a hand down to pluck at some grass, tearing the blades between his fingers.

“I was keeping you warm,” Yugi explained. Almost comically large cat ears flicked on either side of his head, disturbing locks of hair as they did. Atem could make out black tufts of fur on the ends of the ears that reminded him very much of a caracal. Yugi kept his distance but sat back on his haunches. His wings adjusted on his back, fluttering a bit before folding back into place. “You were so cold, shivering in your sleep, and well… the elements don’t bother me.” he shrugged. “So I curled up beside you, and covered you with my wing.”

Atem narrowed his eyes at the creature. Were sphinxes usually so kind? He couldn’t recall many stories about sphinxes but the stories he did recall they were always dangerous and tricksy. “I suppose I owe you a debt now, don’t I?” He growled out, tossing his handful of shredded grass on the sand before him.

Yugi blinked at him. “No? Oh well maybe…” he tilted his head and it looked like the wheels had begun to turn in his mind. “Why?” he asked slowly.

“Because you probably saved my life. Kept me from succumbing to exposure or something.” Atem explained impatiently. He didn’t want to be in debt to a magical creature, but he was also a Pharaoh and it could spell disaster to leave debts unpaid. Should the sphinx ever find out he was a pharaoh and decide to collect on the debt it might ask for something outrageous. Like a child, or a golden statue in its likeness, or perhaps to stay in his palace to live like a king. “Creatures like you always want payment for a life saved.”

Yugi seemed to consider this, all the while studying Atem curiously. “I suppose that’s true,” he purred. “How about we play a game? Win, and consider the debt repaid. Your life will be your own. But should you lose, then your life is mine.” This time when the little Sphinx grinned at him it was far more predatory. If he wasn’t so adorable Atem might have felt more intimidated.

A game? A smug sense of triumph curled in Atem’s stomach. A game wasn’t so bad. He was excellent at games. “What kind of game?” Atem hedged warily. Skills aside, making a deal with any magical creature was extremely dangerous, but especially with a sphinx.

Yugi laid down on the ground and crossed his front paws. “Oh, nothing complicated. Just a simple game of riddles~”

Atem adjusted until he was sitting cross-legged facing the Sphinx. He placed his hands on his knees and did his best to school his expression with confidence. “Alright then. I’ll play your game.”

“Great!” Yugi chirped happily, and his cat butt wiggled with excitement. “I will start.”

Atem bit his cheek and silently reminded himself that this cuteness was probably a facade. He would focus…and he would win.

#puzzleshipping #yugi mutou #atem #Yami yugi #pharaoh atem #yugioh #sphinx au #sphinx yugi #drabble #oneshot #fanfic #fanfiction #yugioh duel monsters #ygo dm #SaijSpellhart writes

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emsylcatac · 3 years

Text

“You’re pretty”

Summary

“You’re pretty, Marinette.”

He says it casually, just like that. He says it as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He says it as a fact, some unquestionable fact, and Marinette truly forgets how to breath this time.

Because his words hold such warmth and love and tenderness she’s not quite sure how to respond.

You’re pretty, Marinette. It sounds true to her ears just because of the way he says it. She isn’t even sure she ever wondered if Adrien found her pretty before.

But he does.

Read it on AO3

For @rosekasa following this post ♥

(Hope the English is alright, I wasn’t beta-read!)

* * * * *

“Could you pass a hair clamp on to me, please?”

Marinette tries to ignore the feeling of his arm against her as his hand appears in front of her. She swallows, once, praying he wouldn’t hear the sound.

“Sure,” she half-speaks as she reaches forward for the clamp and drops it in his open palm, careful not to brush his skin with hers.

He doesn’t seem to notice her nervousness as he thanks her enthusiastically, and she can see him clamping a handful of her hair in the mirror in front of her just as she can sense his hands running through them. It’s just hair, Marinette thinks, she shouldn’t feel more than something pulling at her scalp yet his touch travels through her entirely.

She sees Adrien bending to grasp the curling iron, before he takes a strand of her hair between his fingers.

“Tell me if it’s too hot or if I’m burning you,” his breath says on her neck.

Oh, it is too hot and Marinette feels her cheeks burning, and she can only hope the mirror won’t betray her. However, she can’t exactly tell him that.

“Okay,” she barely whispers.

She watches how Adrien skillfully rolls her hair around the iron, and waits a few seconds before releasing it all in a beautiful and perfect curl. Marinette resists the urge to pull on it and feel it bounce, not wanting to destroy his work or worse—brushing her finger with his.

Adrien then grabs a second strand of hair and repeats the same gestures as before, modeling a new curl to accompany the previous one, then a third, and a forth. She watches him do in silence, wondering how many times he’s done it before, when and with who.

She could ask him. She could. But she doesn’t know how to break the silence that is starting to weigh upon her.

When Adrien releases yet another curl, Marinette straightens up a little. She gives herself a pep-look in the mirror, and starts to count to five. At five, she’ll ask him the question.

One. Two. Three.

Adrien detaches her hair only to clamp some other on the top of her head, once again letting her feel his hands sending shivers on her scalp.

Five comes all too soon and Marinette takes a deep breath and holds it for one, two, five seconds before releasing it in a sigh as she chickens out, again.

She glances at Adrien to see him poking his tongue out in concentration and presses her lips in a thin line. She’ll count to ten this time, and at ten, she’ll talk. For real.

Adrien starts humming a song she doesn’t recognise, and she almost forgets her counting until he seems to realise what he’s doing and suddenly stops. She wishes he had continued as she thinks nine, ten and—

“Where did you learn to do that?”

She feels a little proud when Adrien smiles in the mirror, and a little relieved as the tension slowly eases up.

“With modelling, there’s all sorts of hairdressers around to prepare the models. I like watching them work, it’s weirdly fascinating,” he says. She wonders why it was so hard to ask him that. “One day, I asked this one who had looooong hair—her name was Cécile—if she could teach me how to do it. She just gave me the iron and sat on a chair and let me play with her hair how I wished.” He chuckles and shakes his head, as if recalling an old joke. “Let’s say it looked easier than it was. But she let me try again the day after, and the day after… Until I got the hang of it.” He shrugs with a smile, a little proud but a little shy at the same time.

“That’s amazing,” she comments, finding herself gaining confidence. “She sounds really nice.”

“She was,” Adrien enthuses. “It’s too bad she had to move in the south. But I suppose that’s how it is.”

Marinette nods, not knowing what else to add.

Adrien resumes his work on her hair, clamping and unclamping them then and there as he goes.

As the silence settles again, Marinette finds her mouth speaking against her own will. “You can sing again if you want. I don’t mind.”

Her eyes widdens comically in the mirror as she realises what she’s said, and Adrien startles and looks at her in the reflection. “You...you don’t?”

“I...no,” she finds herself saying. “I like...I like it.”

She’s rewarded with a bright smile, and a foreign kind of glint in his eyes as he answers. “Thanks. But you should sing with me too.”

He doesn’t let her the time to protest as he starts humming a popular song she knows she heard on the radio but can’t remember the name of.

When he glances at her insistently in the mirror, she understands he’s waiting for her. Shyly, she joins in the humming, mindful to not be louder than he was.

He seems satisfied as he smiles, resuming curling her hair. His voice reverberates in her body and chest as he hums close to her ear, and she lets her eyes close to enjoy the sound and the feel of him caressing her hair.

All too soon, his humming trails off and he turns the iron off and unplugs it before putting it back on its stand.

“Psssst, Marinette,” he whispers, prompting her eyes to open. “Do you also hum English songs when you don’t know the lyrics?”

She giggles. “Yes. But don’t tell anyone,” she whispers back.

She feels him chuckles as much as she hears him. “Me too. Otherwise I pretend I know the words but really I’m singing nonsense. Only when I’m alone with my piano, though.”

She is about to answer him back when she feels his hands in her hair, closer than before and her face promptly catches fire. She watches hypnotised as he runs his fingers through them, readjusting some rebel strands as he pleases, ruffling them so they look a little bit wilder and a little less polished. He smiles as he goes in the mirror, seemingly satisfied with whatever it is he’s making of her hair. She knows she’s gaping but she doesn’t bother to close her mouth.

Then, slowly, Adrien untangles his hands from her hair and let them come to rest on her shoulders instead. She sees his face coming next to hers on her left, his hair tingling her cheek and neck and she has to remember what it’s like to breath again. She wonders if he can see her eyes glued to him instead of herself, but if he does he doesn’t acknowledge it as he smiles tenderly at her reflection.

“You’re pretty, Marinette.”

He says it casually, just like that. He says it as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He says it as a fact, some unquestionable fact, and Marinette truly forgets how to breath this time.

Because his words hold such warmth and love and tenderness she’s not quite sure how to respond.

You’re pretty, Marinette. It sounds true to her ears just because of the way he says it. She isn’t even sure she ever wondered if Adrien found her pretty before.

But he does.

“Don’t you agree?” he goes on, unaware of the effects he has on her. He squeezes her shoulders once as he says it, and Marinette wishes his hands could stay here forever, with the sound of his voice oh so close to her ear. It makes her want to be held closer by him and to hide from him at the same time, a weird mixture of sensations she can only dream to begin to understand.

It’s an easy question and a simple touch, and yet it makes her lose all her resteint.

“I...sure? Maybe?”

She hears him smile. He brings his hands around her face, with only the tips of his fingers touching her cheeks and jaw, a soft pressure she can barely sense. He tilts her head up, gently asking her to look at herself this time, to really look at herself.

“It’s not maybe, Marinette. You are.”

And he could have spoken loud and enthusiastically, but Adrien chose to murmur his words instead. He delivers them with such an admiration that Marinette feels, at this very moment, that she is falling in love with him. It makes her wonder how much more in love can someone be and how much place there’s in her heart to contain all of it.

Seeing her reflection being in love, she finds herself agreeing with him.

“I’m pretty,” she whispers.

Adrien grins at that. “You know what else is pretty?”

She bits back the ‘you’ she wants to say, and settles o a questioning frown instead.

Adrien’s fingers delicately slide from her face to her neck and hover above it, barely touching her skin. “Your smile,” he adds in a breath.

She barely has the time to gasp at hearing him speaking with a raw honesty she envies that she feels his fingers tickling her neck and squeals as a first laugh escapes her.

Adrien bursts into laughter, and decides to attack her ribs instead. She tries to wriggle out of his grasp, to turn around to face him as himself and not as his mirrored-self, but it’s too late; she managed to catch her smile and he just proved to her that she’s pretty, all carefree and joy spilling from her cheeks.

“Thank you,” she tells him once they’ve both calmed down.

“You’re welcome.” He frowns. “I didn’t even ask you if you liked your hair.”

She turns to the mirror, and runs a hand through her now messy, wild curls, repeating the motion his hands had done in her hair earlier and smiles.

“I love them.”

#miraculous #ml fanfic #adrinette #mine #myshitwriting

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jerryb2 · 3 years

Photo

I mean….you all knew this was coming ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ : the Star Wars Art of one Mr. Drew Struzan.

And look, the man has done so much and has such a diverse portfolio that Star Wars is only one very small part of his career. If you want to explore some of his other works, then might I suggest that you check out his website.

As for me here, we’ll be sticking strictly to his SW art. Now, with that out of the way, here we go…

*cracks knuckles*

I have to admit that before I really started to dig into this, I didn’t realize just how many Bantam Era (and beyond) Star Wars books this man has illustrated. Nearly 50 titles, ranging from novels to comics, short stories & even an RPG supplement. 🤯

And so, after much consideration, I decided to just pull all the titles that feature his art off my bookshelf and take a few pics for you guys:

First off, I just want to point out that I don’t have every book he’s ever illustrated. Some of them are just harder than hard to find, are hilariously expensive, or I just don’t have an edition that features his art prominently - you’ll see what I mean. Right off the bat though, you can see that he was really hitting his stride in the mid-90′s, with all but a handful of these coming out between ‘94 & ‘99. One of the highlights from this time for me, is The Callista Trilogy.

I just want to stress that The Callista Trilogy is a highlight for me only because of its gorgeous cover art. 🤣 Other than that, this book series needs to go lay down.

Anyway, the designs are all really striking and even after all these years, absolutely iconic. And you can really see Struzan’s distinct visual style at play here; not a painting in the same vein as something from Dave Doorman, and not a simple trace. Rather, something that is stylized in a very particular, very subtle way, almost to the point where it appears photo-realistic at first glance. Beautiful.

Next up is this trio of trilogies (good use of words, me), collected in these Science Fiction Book Club (SFBC) hardcovers:

Once again, these covers are just striking, particularly The Black Fleet Crisis. This is actually what I was referring to when I said that I don’t always have the best editions for a Drew Struzan appreciation post. 😅

Because these are hardcover collections of paperback books, we actually miss out on a good bit of the art. For these SFBC special editions, the publisher just took all three and basically photoshopped the best bits of each one together. The one that suffers the most here is obviously The Corellian Trilogy, where they didn’t even try to blend everything together, and instead just separated everything into columns. I don’t personally mind it (and I do love having the hardcover editions of these books) but if you want to see the covers as they were originally intended, just pickup those mass market paperbacks. 🙂

There’s a lot more to get through, so I’ll just hit the highlights here; even though he didn’t illustrate The Thrawn Trilogy (that was Tom Jung, who I personally think did an okay-ish job at best), he did an absolutely amazing job with the follow-up, The Hand of Thrawn Duology in ‘98 & ‘99:

I’ve always loved these covers. And narratively speaking, they really do serve as one last hurrah on the Bantam Era. Oh, and also please note, Mara Jade on the cover of Vision of the Future, just as Zahn originally described her. ❤❤❤

If you step back and look at Struzan’s work as a whole, it’s all incredibly unified. I bring this up here because even though some of these are books relatively ‘meh’ worthy, Struzan maintained a level of quality that belied the mediocrity contained within. And also to say that he was definitely busy, particularly in 1994:

That’s right - all of these released in ‘94, within a few months of one another. These covers man… *chef’s kiss*

And look I’m sorry, I just can’t help myself: The Crystal Star was a hilarious joke until we all realized they were serious about it. 😳

Alright, that’s a little on the harsh side; it’s not nearly as bad as most make it out to be, and Waru as a source for unlimited power (citation needed 👀😉) isn’t any more ridiculous than the 50 other post-Palpy, hair-brained Imperial schemes that everybody else cooked up, so I guess it fits. And besides, I really wanna be nice to Vonda McIntyre here, but this book was just so so boring. 😴

*clears throat* Moving on, here we have a couple Barnes & Noble hardcover collections of The Jedi Prince Series:

The same thing applies here; cover art photoshopped from across 6 different YA novels to get these. They don’t look bad, far from it. But rather this series has some things that people would rather forget about, namely a supposed son of Palpatine (spoiler: he wasn’t) named Triclops who had - wait for it - 3 eyes.

Like Tien. From DBZ. Yep. 🤦‍♂️

Moving further down the list, we have yet another pair of iconic cover designs, being I, Jedi (the only Star Wars novel written in the first person, and an appropriate riff on Isaac Asimov’s I, Robot - yes ladies & gentlemen, that is as clever as Star Wars gets) and The New Rebellion.

Classics, no doubt….but for reals, did anybody else ever wonder why the X-Wing on the cover of I, Jedi is missing an S-Foil? Or how that one slipped through??? 👀

Ah, at last we arrive at what is arguably Struzan’s most famous work; the covers for Shadows of the Empire & The Star Wars Trilogy: Special Edition.

It’s hard to overstate just how important Shadows of the Empire really was for Star Wars as a brand. In an era where SW books were already extremely popular, the Shadows of the Empire Multimedia Project basically served as a breakout hit and reignited interest in SW media across the board. This was in no small part due to the striking imagery captured on its cover - are you seeing a pattern here?

This success actually renewed Lucas’ interest in a theatrical re-release of the OT in 1997….which of course, feature more beautiful art from Drew Struzan:

These are my OG Special Edition VHS tapes from back in the day. I watched these so damn much as a kid. In fact, they’re basically the whole reason that I’m here, annoying the shit out of everybody today. 😁

After the Bantam Era concluded & the Star Wars publishing license went to Del Rey, Struzan did progressively fewer pieces for SW media. Here we see his contribution for the latter half of the Last of the Jedi YA series, and his kick-ass cover art for the Darth Maul comic:

And when I say that Struzan did progressively fewer pieces for Star Wars, I am of course omitting his turn as the poster artist for the freaking Prequel Trilogy:

Say what you will about the films, but these poster designs are nothing short of genius.

Look guys, it would be pretty easy for me to downplay Struzan’s Star Wars portfolio as just one small part of his incredible career. But my dudes, this is literally just the tip of the iceberg. The man has been a professional illustrator for over 50 years, and his art has delighted and inspired generations. From Star Wars to Indian Jones, and from Back to the Future to Blade Runner - Drew Struzan has played an integral part in shaping popular culture.

Here’s to you, sir. 🍻

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dickwheelie · 3 years

Text

okay so the other day this gorgeous comic by @tijela crossed my dash and I couldn’t stop thinking about a sequel to it where Jon and Martin actually get to go on their date. so. this is that. set sometime nebulously in season 3. also there is ace jontent (jon content) because against my better judgment I absolutely refuse to shut up about jon being ace. anyway I love you (yes, you) enjoyyyyy

___________

It’s only two minutes after nine in the morning when Jon appears in the doorway of Martin’s cubicle, holding two steaming mugs in his hands. Martin pauses in the act of taking off his coat, eyes wide, and for a moment all they do is stare at each other.

“I—brought you tea,” says Jon at last, as though it’s something he does for Martin every morning. He makes a strange kind of abortive movement with his arm, half-offering one of the mugs. What is happening, thinks Martin. And why is it happening before I’ve even switched my laptop on.

He decides to roll with it. “Thanks,” he says, keeping his voice carefully neutral, as he sits down at his desk and takes one of the mugs. Jon’s hand shakes almost imperceptibly as he passes it over. Martin takes a sip. It isn’t very good. He smiles at Jon anyway. “Ta,” he says again.

Jon doesn’t appear as though he heard him. His brow is furrowed, distractedly, and Martin notices that he doesn’t even drink from his own mug before setting it down on the edge of Martin’s desk. A twinge of anxiety lances through him. “Alright, Jon?”

Jon’s eyes snap to his, and his expression softens. “Yes. Um. Well. Not entirely.”

“Oh?”

“I’m sorry,” Jon says, and he looks it, tired and frayed at the edges as he always does these days, but there’s a softness in his eyes and regret in his lines of his face. “About what happened yesterday—I am so, so sorry, Martin. I let my guard down and I shouldn’t have . . . compelled you—”

Martin shakes his head. “It’s alright.” He’d just as soon put the whole thing behind him; being rejected is embarrassing enough on its own, never mind the rest of it. “You . . . you didn’t mean to.”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” Jon says, insistent.

“I—yeah. I know,” Martin sighs. It’s too early for this.

“And . . . I. Um. I would, actually.”

Martin pauses with the mug halfway to his mouth, and blinks up at Jon. “You would . . . what?”

“I . . . I would be happy to go out with you.”

Jon’s posture is ramrod straight, as it so rarely is, as though this is a speech he’s been rehearsing for.

“Oh! Um.” As the words sink in, Martin feels heat rise to his cheeks. He puts the mug down. “Really?”

Jon nods, once. “Yes.” Some of the confidence leaves his voice. “I-If you still want to, that is. Of course I—I understand if you’ve changed your mind.”

“No, I—or I mean, yeah, I’m . . . I’d love to, yeah.” At least it’s good to know that they’re both being articulate.

“Oh.” Jon looks genuinely relieved. “Good, then.”

Martin’s about to say something resembling a thank you, when Jon barrels onward.

“I was thinking we could get dinner.” Then, almost apologetically: “Is that alright?”

Martin would laugh if the whole thing wasn’t making him blush. “O-Okay. Yeah. Sure. Sounds good. When are you . . . ?”

“Tomorrow is Friday, yes?”

“Yeah,” Martin says, and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.

“Then . . . tomorrow night? A-After work? Or—” Jon winces slightly, slowing down. “I-It doesn’t have to be right after work. Would seven o’clock be alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s . . . that’s good for me.”

“Okay.” And Jon smiles, just the tiniest bit. “Okay, yes. Seven on Friday. For dinner. I’ll send you the details.”

“Sure.” Martin allows himself a grin, around the rim of the mug, and flashes Jon what he hopes is an appealing glance. “See you then, Jon.”

“Yes. Alright.” Jon stands there, staring at him for a second more, then turns around on his heel and disappears down the hallway.

It takes half an hour before Martin can actually focus enough to start work. It takes another full hour after that for Martin to notice that Jon forgot to take his mug of tea with him.

***

Jon taps his water glass pensively as he waits for Martin to arrive. The restaurant he’s invited Martin to is an Italian place in central London that Jon has never stepped foot in before today, but it seems romantic enough, with candles at every table and soft music playing in the background and lighting that makes reading the menu a chore, even with his reading glasses on. The table for two he’s reserved is minuscule, which he supposes must be a good thing. For . . . some reason.

He’s nervous. Which is ridiculous, given his life, but there it is. It feels less like a first date than it should; he knows Martin so well, and cares for him, and trusts him, but still, there’s that nagging anxiety. He just really doesn’t want to mess this up more than he already has.

Jon isn’t sure what he’s expecting Martin to look like when he arrives at the restaurant. He knows he’ll look nice, of course; Martin always looks nice, with his ties tucked neatly into his soft-looking sweaters, with his hair, and his smile . . . Jon gives himself a shake and stares daggers at the drink menu. He, himself, has worn one of the nicest outfits he owns, which he imagines is doing little to combat the bags under his eyes and the numerous scars. Still, he’s made an attempt with his hair, and traded in his usual square frames for horn-rimmed spectacles that, he’s been told, look nice on him.

When Martin shows up, though, fashionably late where Jon had been a quarter of an hour early for their reservation, he puts Jon to shame. He’s wearing a pale blue suit, with a lightly-patterned button-up that Jon can’t quite make out in the restaurant’s dim light, his hair nicely coiffed, his earrings catching the light and sparkling with every step. He approaches the small table where Jon can only sit and stare, already mumbling an apology for making Jon wait, and even after everything that’s happened Jon’s still incapable of filtering himself, so he says, “You look lovely.”

Martin beams at him as he pulls out the chair across from Jon and sits down. Inwardly, Jon winces; he should probably have offered to pull it out for him, shouldn’t he. “Thanks, Jon,” Martin says, happily. He gives Jon a once-over, but in an admiring way, which is not an experience Jon has had in a very, very long time. “You don’t look so bad, yourself.”

“Ah,” Jon says, “thank you,” and he dives back into the menu before Martin can notice that he’s blushing.

They make small talk as best they can, avoiding any topics relating to fears, until a waiter comes by. Neither of them want wine, as it turns out, Martin because of the tannins and Jon because he wants to maintain every bit of control he has to not say or do anything stupid that could ruin all of this.

As they wait for their food, Martin looks askance at Jon’s right hand, squinting curiously. Jon glances down, and his stomach sinks; he’d forgotten he was wearing it. It’s his ace ring, the simple black band he wears outside of work, when he can remember where he’s left it last. He’d put it on earlier in a fit of unearned confidence when he’d seen how his hair looked, and now he’s paying the price.

“Is that—?”

“Yes,” Jon sighs, twisting it around on his finger instinctively. “My ace ring.”

“Didn’t know you had one. I’ve never seen you wear it around the office.” Martin’s voice is soft and uninquisitive, offering Jon the option to drop the topic.

Jon doesn’t take it, because again, he lost his filter sometime in the nineties and he’s never gotten it back. “Yes, well, it’s a bit . . . unprofessional, isn’t it.”

Martin shrugs, his earrings swinging with the motion. “I mean, not really. Tim and I have pride stickers on our laptops and stuff. And—now I think of it, you do too, Jon.” Martin huffs a laugh, but the way he looks at Jon, he can tell it isn’t at his expense. “I don’t get why this is any different.”

“I—you—” Jon flounders for a moment before giving up. “You make a compelling argument. But—I don’t know. The ring feels . . . different.” His voice weakens slightly, along with his resolve. “Somehow.”

“More personal,” Martin says, softly.

“Yes.” Jon’s chest grows warm. “Yes, that’s . . . that’s exactly it.”

“I get it. I mean, I’m not ace, but—I get it.” Martin runs his thumb along the rim of his water glass. “Took me a long time to get that trans sticker up on my laptop.”

Jon nods. There’s a beat of silence, and then Martin leans forward in his chair slightly. They’re already in pretty close quarters, and in the candlelight, Jon can almost count Martin’s freckles.

Martin inches his hand toward Jon’s. “Can I . . . ?”

Jon really hopes his blush isn’t visible, but his luck has never been the best. “Um . . . yes. I-If you want to.”

Slowly, like he’s trying not to scare him off, Martin takes Jon’s hand in his, dwarfing it in his broad palm and wide fingers. The contrast, Jon thinks for a strange moment, is beautiful.

Almost immediately, Martin startles. “Jeez, Jon, your hand is so cold,” he says, and he takes both of Jon’s hands between his, rubbing warmth back into them. Jon’s hands, in fact, had been rather cold, though he hadn’t noticed until now, and they’re certainly not cold anymore, along with Jon’s face and chest, which are rapidly warming up by extension.

He manages to get out, “Ah—sorry. I, um, have bad circulation.”

“Don’t apologize,” Martin says, almost absentmindedly, still staring down at their hands. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Jon wants to protest, and probably ruin the mood by bringing up topics that shouldn’t be discussed on a date, but at that moment Martin looks back up at him, meeting his eyes with a smile that makes him look even lovelier. “I like it,” says Martin, out of nowhere. Jon blinks at him. “Your ring.” He holds up Jon’s hand for him, demonstratively. “It looks right on you. It fits. You know?”

“Ah. Thank you,” Jon says. It doesn’t feel like the right thing to say, but he can’t find any other words, at the moment. He feels . . . he’s not sure what he’s feeling. His chest feels a bit full, but not necessarily in a bad way.

Martin is casually glancing around the restaurant, as though he isn’t actively taking Jon apart piece by smitten piece. “This place is posh,” he says. “You come here often?”

“All the time,” Jon says, mustering up some humor. “I’m only in the head archivist business for the salary.”

That makes Martin laugh, at least. “Thanks for asking me out, by the way,” he says.

“Oh,” Jon says, and his hands are still warmly pressed between Martin’s own, and he can see now that Martin’s shirt is dotted with tiny sunflowers, and for a moment he has no idea why Martin is the one thanking him. “Well, you, ah . . . sort of beat me to it.”

Martin laughs. “I mean, sort of.”

“It’s the thought that counts, anyway,” Jon says, borderline nonsensically, grasping at well-worn words and phrases, because it’s all starting to sink in now that he’s on a date with Martin, and it’s going well.

It’s at that moment that their food arrives, and Martin has to let go of his hands, but the warmth remains for a good long while afterwards.

The rest of the date is, as much as Jon has come to both loathe and cherish the word over the past two years, uneventful. Nothing is ruined, not even a tablecloth, and Martin seems genuinely, actually happy in Jon’s company, and Jon feels calmer and safer than he’s felt in a long, long time. They walk back to the Tube station hand in hand, and even in the chill autumn air, Jon feels absolutely warmed down to his bones.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #gwyneth writes #oh this is longgg #it's 2k if ur wondering if u wanna read this now or wait till later #i didn't mean for it to be this longggggg #but here it issssss

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alldayangst · 3 years

Text

gold rush (Tom Holland)

All of my fics are LGBT and PoC friendly. Inspired by gold rush by Taylor Swift. Everybody wants Tom, but you don’t like a gold rush. WC: 2.7K words.

“Y/N, I just wanted to say again, thank you for coming in today and doing this for us.” Tom’s dad, Dominic, said as he displaced papers across desks, earl grey swaying like an angry lake in his mug. Approaching footsteps hinted that the star of the show was soon to be hold. In other words, Tom was running behind.

The door creaked and light from the corridor crept through like Sun peeping through curtains of the Night. It refusing to shut after Tom budged and pushed was maybe divine punishment for him being so late, and maybe provided the bit of laughter you needed after rolling out of bed at 6am for this, for him. When the door eventually did close, Tom turned around and saw you in all your glory; much taller than he remembered, more assured than he’d imagined, and more gorgeous than drowned out and half forgotten memories of you could ever fabricate.

You and Tom ran in the same social circles, but hadn’t seen each other since Tom’s career imploded when you were both nineteen. As much as Tom felt he owed his heart and soul to the UK, he maintained an almost permanent fixture on the States. It started to feel like his trips back to England were in fact actual holiday. At one point, you were in love with Tom, but meeting became a constant battle of ‘here, not there’ and your heart grew tired of the duck and goose chase. The gravity of the situation was too much for you, whom hadn’t even tasted their twenties yet.

“Y/N!” Tom launched at you and held you in tight embrace. You let go of the hug, but he didn’t. And his dad watched on in momentary awe as you wrapped your arms around Tom once again, who breathed in every part of you with unwavering adoration.

“Tom!” You rubbed along his back as he hummed. “When I was told we were gonna have a ghost writer, I had no idea it was gonna be you.”

Tom and his dad (being an author) were collaborating on a book, a million dollar idea that’d been years in the making. Tom had stalled it, his dad told you out of simple insecurity. Now that the world was a stage, he was worried people would criticise his dyslexia with every line he wrote, that every stroke of his pen would reveal him as a rare type of monster that lacked intellect, he pondered that he wasn’t insightful enough in some way. His dad may have written a book about Tom outfaming him, but Tom felt like he’d always live in Dom’s shadow in this respect. Fresh from Oxford with an English Bachelor’s degree, Dom employed you to get grease on the gears to commence writing. Tom had always come out of his shell when you were around.

Your writing session lasted from 8 til noon, when Tom had promo with LadBible or Entertainment Weekly or whoever had bid the highest from his presence that day.

The door swung open and three men in all black and mics saddled around their waists called for and led Tom out of the room.

“Tom, session’s over. We need to get you to your BBC promo in 30 and we’re already running behind schedule.’ One cloaked Tom in a jacket you were sure was more expensive than your own home and another whispered something into a walkie talkie: “Holland is on the move. Check the back entrance is clear.” With that, Tom rose to his feet and left completely opposite of the way you came in. Without a word, no goodbye.

You and Dom left the building together around ten minutes later, where ten men with large cameras stood, lenses focused on you, glaring at you, not sure what to make of you. One of the men screams “Hey! You dating Tom Holland” and after that all you hear is clicks and all you see is bright flashing lights and Dom clenches your hand and leads you to your taxi cab.

The next time you see Tom is sooner than expected. The Hollands were hosting a last minute dinner party and you found yourself sitting opposite Tom, feeling his hard, hot and heavy gaze on you. The tension in the room was so thick not even a chainsaw cut through.

“Next topic,” You picked up a card from the deck and read it aloud. “Politics!” You said devilishly as you sip on what was left of the white wine in your cup, and now that your thought process is blurred; Tom’s longing gaze puts you at dismay.

“Fuck!” Harry exploded, and you hear their mother hiss. “Fuck I hate politics, there’s no making it out alive!” he remarked as he drummed on the table cloth, drunken excitement brewing a new energy in the room.

You go on like this for hours until dinner party is dinner party no more. And while Dom, Nikki and all of Tom’s siblings have chosen to exit stage left, it’s 1am and you and Tom have yet to leave the scene.

Tom sets down your deck of debate cards in favour of a genuine moment.

“What are you doing these days, Y/N?” Tom’s not looking at you, he’s looking at your knee as he rubs circles on it. You want to look down there too, see what he finds so intriguing; but you decide against it in fear you might spontaneously combust. You don’t know if this moment’s supposed to be intimate or innocent and you’re not sure if you want to find out.

So you put up a wall.

“I should be asking you the same thing, Holland.” You say sarcastically. “What have you been doing these days? I haven’t seen you around.” Your eyebrows scrunched up together but you’ve got a big, idiot grin on your face that’s more than telling. Tom giggles at your facetiousness.

Tom scratches his head in mock thought. He never clocks out, always putting on a show. “I don’t know - uh.” You’re laughing before Tom has even told the punchline, ‘cause I guess anything’s funny when it’s said by the one you love.”I’m kind of -” He snatches an old Spiderman comic off the floor. “I’m kinda doing this acting thing at the moment. Playing, y’know, this guy.”

“Well I wish you better luck in the future.” Tom has stopped rubbing circles but instead places his two hands on your knees as you rock back in laughter.

“I’m serious, Y/N. What do you do now?”

“Um.” You suddenly forgot your entire career as Tom, with no shade of subtlety, stares right into your soul. “I got my degree. I write like little stories, y’know? Have you ever heard of folklore?”

Tom shook his head.

“They’re like these little, old beautiful myths. And I write them for a living. And if I’m lucky, they get published in The Times. If I’m even luckier, I get to work with my old best friend - ” You feel your world stop temporarily as you call Tom your ‘best friend’ and you pause for all of 0.3 seconds to register Tom’s reaction but his face doesn’t flinch. “-Writing a book with him and his dad.” And that makes Tom smile. So he doesn’t have to tell you he missed you, you just know.

‘Undivided appearance’ and ‘undivided attention’ don’t necessarily mean the same thing in Hollywood as they do in real life, and you learn that the hard way in your writing session.

Tom may have been sat right next to you, but he was miles away. He was doing press with Cosmo, who hadn’t stopped tagging him with blue hearts on his Instagram, Twitter and Snapchat stories, causing his phone to go off every two seconds. You looked at the phone and then at him who then got the hint and put it on silent. Then there was a knock on the door. Tom rushed to open it, expecting that Dom had sent down a food delivery to egg you on finishing this chapter. You rehashed his childhood like a million times - in fact, you were part of it - so when it came to writing the parts that hurt, where you took a more supporting role in his life, you needed his help. The fact is, the knock at the door had come from one of Tom’s men (Tom liked to call him Man In Black no. 3) who hadn’t said as much as a ‘hi’ before he made his announcement. “Tom, you’re on the line with Cosmo in 10.” The man stepped back and pulled out his walkie talkie, “Holland knows he’s on the line with Cosmo at 10.” And then continued to pace around the hallway.

Cosmo called as he said they would and you almost felt for. second like tom might enjoy an entertainment magazine’s company more than yours. The interviewer made glaring comments and passive flirts at Tom who just blushed and chuckled and sipped his water like the woman on the phone calling him ‘hot’ was just too much to handle. At one point, she says: “What must it be like to grow up that beautiful, Tom? With your hair falling into place like dominoes.” You’re not expecting it when Tom tilts the phone so you’re in view. “Well I’m with the most beautiful being on Earth right now so..” Tom looks at you as if to ask ‘is this okay?” and you know it’s too late for these kind of questions, because that moment is headline fodder, so you smile not to make him feel bad for opening Pandora’s box. But Tom is merciless and likes to rub salt in the wound. “This is Y/N! Y/N’s helping me write the book with my Dad! We go way back.” He covers his mouth as soon as he says it. “Shit! They’re not supposed to know about the book yet.”

This is the moment, you think, where you believe when they say your first love is the one you never let go.

And you can’t think of anything purer than the love you have for him.

Tom thinks being on land is boring. He likes being strung from chords 30 feet in the air, and drowning in despair through scenes of emotional turmoil. You want to tell him you’re an arrow from Cupid’s bow about to reach him, but you couldn’t recover from the splinters if Tom shut you down. After all, Tom was a gold rush. A treasure that everyone had discovered but nobody owned. How precious is a jewel that anybody could take home with them?

Tom had invited you to a visit to Brighton with him, a city near the coast, for some inspiration on writing his section of the book.

You accepted. And because you did, you found yourself at the beginning of the end, on Tom’s boat in Brighton. “We don’t have to talk about the book right now.” Tom throws a stack of blue tinted paper on the floor. His dyslexia meant that spelling and reading was so much easier when done on blue pages, and you could only guess that was the reason the body of water around you brought him so much peace. So when you saw that something might compromise your best boy’s happiness, you point it out. To give Tom a little bit of time to exit before things got ugly.

“Tom, I see someone in the bushes.”

“Yeah. It’s a pap.” Tom mumbled nonchalantly.

“They’re here to get pictures of me,” He turned to face you. “and you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, the fans ship us. Think we’d be a good couple after that Cosmo stunt. We would have been a good couple when we were like, 18.” He laughs.

“Huh, yeah.” You look down.

“The best one around.” And you can’t tell if he’s serious.

You rip off one of his blue sheets. “I’m coming. I got hit with inspo.” And you trail to a different section of the boat. A very obvious click of the camera from a shrub nearby coaxes your pen to write without a second thought, How is he so accustomed to this? Fake private moments, protected by sheer glass curtains?

You scrunched your paper, well his paper, into a ball.

Your mind had turned his life into folklore. You weren’t sure if that was crossing a line, so you just put the ball into your bag and hide it until he hits you with the spark again.

“Let me see it.” Tom says.

“No.”

“You ran off to write it and won’t let me see it?”

You held your bag at your hip in defence. “No, Tom. Drop it.”

Tom’s face drops a little bit, but then he reaches into his own bag and reveals a deck of your debate cards. “I know what will cheer you up, good ol’ Y/N.” He sets a card on the wooden table between you two.

“Do you believe in a higher power?”

You toyed with the pendant around your neck which revealed your faith. “Do you?”

“I don’t. But I believe in soulmates.”

You look to the left to really ponder on what Tom is saying, and a paparazzis captures another photo of you in the corner of your eye.

“And you don’t think there’s a higher power that manufactures our souls to make our soulmates?”

Tom feigns a scowl. “That’s ridiculous.”

You scoffed. “How very contrarian of you.”

“What the fuck does that mean.”

“It means you contradict yourself, Thomas.” You laugh as he holds his chest in fake hurt.

“Are you implying I’m anything less than perfect?”

“Never.”

Never. Because you didn’t believe that to be true.

“Good. Cause you’d have to be punished.” Tom picks you up and throws you in the water below before jumping in with you.

On your way home you stop at the yours and Tom’s writing booth, scavenging through your bag to drop off Tom’s notepad, some scrunched up blue and white papers you and Tom thought could still help you write his book. You’d made an addition to your love-hazed scribblings about Tom and reckon you’d die if he found it. You managed to throw the other in the water, excusing yourself with “It’s utterly awful.”, to which you and Tom agreed you wouldn’t throw any more paper in the ocean cause the poor fish already had it hard enough.

You and Tom had a session the next day. Tom was excited for the day, and you could tell because he’d given his phone to one of his big babysitters for the time he had you.

“I think that’s all of yours.” You and Tom made a business out of unscrunching your paper balls to see if they had any useful ideas. You were certain you reached the end of Tom’s. All of his notes had ‘T.H’ written on the back in big and were scribed on blue paper. When it came to your little ‘secret admirer’ notes you weren’t worried - you had an English degree and were quick to think on your feet and was ready to make something up when it came to opening it.

“No, this one’s mine.” He’s confident, so you let him have it. He goes to pick up your tea and then realises it’s nowhere near warm, and was the one you made for yourself when you crept in yesterday evening. Tom has a smile on his face, and then he doesn’t. Before he goes to read it aloud, his eyes tell you he’s reading it again and again and again. “At dinner parties, I’ll call you out on your contrarian shit, and the coastal towns we wondered round will never see a love as pure as it.”

The look on Tom’s face gives you the splinters. He tries to look at you but you know he can’t. You don’t blame him. You can’t look at him either. “I really thought this was a good friendship.”

You hum and nod your head in agreement, pull your lips into a thin straight line as streaks of tears abandon your eyes. This was worse than Tom rubbing salt in your wounds. He’s rubbing dirt in your painful fucking gashes and you are reminded of why this didn’t work before, why it will never be.

And you wouldn’t dare to dream about him anymore.

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