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broadwayandnetflix · 3 years

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Overprotective, Much? - Bill Hader x Reader

Theme: Fluff + Angst

Warnings: Sexual Terms, Language

Summary: You and Bill have been secretly dating for two years now, only to complicate things one night when you partake in a very risque sketch unbeknownst to him?

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: Ahhh Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays! This was a request sent in by @berkmansbabe I really hope you enjoy it! And it somehow fits what you were asking for! Have a good rest of your year everyone, hopefully 2021 is better?

It was nearly four in the morning the last time that you checked, and you were almost half asleep over your laptop. Squinting one eye open, you gazed around the room to find a selection of your coworkers staring at you with little smirks.

"You're drooling, Y/N," one voice calls out; it had to be Mulaney's.

"Okay, you didn't have to tell her that!" another one chimes out, Jost?

Furiously you wipe the drool that was currently dangling from your chin and give the two the meanest glare that you could possibly muster.

At four in the morning, Tuesday's were the worst. Okay, well, technically, it's Wednesday now.

Mulaney only smirked before sliding a post-it note your way. You grimace, reading the details of the message scrawled out in what appeared to be Jost's messy script.

P. G. A. D, weekend update, orgasms onstage.

You practically gape at the note in awe; you were a writer, weren't you the one who was supposed to write this shit? Not perform it.

"Um, I'm not complaining, but isn't this more up Kristen's alley?" you protest, trying not to sound whiny.

"She's on vacation this week, and honestly we think you'd be perfect for it." Jost says matter of factly, giving you a small smile.

"Fine," you sigh before flopping back onto the table to get some more sleep. Earning another chuckle from the boys.

It ate at you all week, but I mean, you had the potential. If anyone would understand your feelings, it'd be Hader. His anxiety always got the best of him, and it hurt you to still see the man so stressed and uncomfortable.

Often, you'd be the one to find him after a sketch, rubbing soothing circles into his back. While he stares off rigidly into the curtain, he was fantastic at his job; it just didn't sit well with his anxiety. Although you knew it followed him home, into the late hours of the night, disappointment settling in.

It wasn't public, but the two of you had managed to make things work for the past two years. You had met Bill back when he had first arrived at 30 Rock, as you had gotten hired the same year Mulaney did.

Seth, who was practically your best friend at this point, could tell within an instant that you harbored a small crush for Hader. Often picking at you with little side comments that'd make you stammer and feel your body heat up in embarrassment.

For some time, you didn't even realize that Bill had reciprocated your feelings until he asked you on a date. The two of you curled up back at his place while he showed you some of his favorite movies, it was nice, and the rest was history.

The only problem was, it was safer not letting the rest of the group know about this advancement. God knows what they would do to Bill onstage with sketches...you didn't wanna know.

Alongside the fact that the two of you had quite a bit of an age gap, it wasn't that big, but you knew that Bill often internalized the seven-year gap between the two of you. You were only twenty when you had started at 30 Rock while Bill was twenty-seven. You loved him nonetheless, but you could tell it made him stress a little.

So you both kept it a secret, although you were pretty sure that Meyers and Mulaney knew at this point. While Jost continued to remain oblivious towards your little endeavor.

For this sketch in particular, maybe it was best to keep this one secret as well. Rarely did you ever perform on the show, and you wanted Bill to be proud.

Seth, who had been motivating you all week, motioned you into his office early Thursday morning.

"Okay, just spoke to Lorne about this, we're gonna fit you into one more sketch due to Kristen's absence." you nod apprehensively.

"It's the easiest thing ever, all you have to do is sit there with Franco, and Hader, and read the cue cards about environmental issues. Keenan will cut you off, and you should be good." Seth explains before giving you a quick thumbs-up, causing you to smile slightly.

"God I am so nervous, is that normal?" you admit as Seth sits back into his seat.

"Oh my god yeah, it is not always easy going up onstage like that, but trust me you have the talent and potential. Lorne hired you for a reason, I'm sure if you brought this up to Bill he could give you a few tips on how to release stress." Seth replied as he gave you a warm smile.

You nodded, thanked him for the advice, and began heading back towards the writer's room to help the rest cut the left-over sketches that you all had mulled over during that week. Only to run straight into someone, their hands instantly going out to hold your shoulders steady.

"Oh I'm so sorry I didn't even see where I was going!" you yelp, only to look up and see Bill trying to hold in a laugh. Only causing you to laugh slightly as well at the situation the two of you were in.

"You okay?" he asks sweetly after taking in your somewhat frazzled state; without a second thought, you shook your head and went into his arms.

"I'm just stressed," you murmured into his chest as he quickly reciprocated the hug and wrapped his arms tightly around your waist.

"About what?" he replied softly, his hold growing just a little bit stronger, that is until the two of you heard nearby footsteps and quickly broke away.

A random production assistant walks past while you and Bill clear your throats awkwardly.

"Uhm, I am actually going on a sketch this week, you're gonna be in the same one actually. It's with Keenan, I just barely ever go on, since I am a writer, you know?" you exhale softly, only to look back up to Bill. Who is nodding furiously in agreement.

"Oh my god, I mean, you know me," he stops to chuckle, "Y/N, I am a literal mess, I mean don't act like I am totally oblivious to you and John changing the cue cards before Stefon sketches." Bill exclaims as you find yourself beginning to smile.

"I mean, it's really cute seeing you break babe," he fake gasps. "I mean you just make it look so easy sometimes even when I know you're stressing out." Bill sighs slightly before meeting your gaze.

"It's not easy, it never is. It's just you learn how to cope over time, if you want I'll meet you at the end of the sketch. Does that sound okay? Just like you always do for me, which I can never thank you enough for." he says, grinning as you slowly nod in agreement.

Giving you a quick peck on the forehead, he explains he has to go back to his costume fittings and that he'll see you later in the night.

He always knew how to help.

You watched anxiously while Seth said the cue that would lead you on stage. Letting yourself take a deep breath, you allowed yourself to block out the situation's overwhelmingness.

Also, was it always this hot up here?

With the cue cards coming into focus, you delved into the script, finding yourself ease into it over time. It was comforting to hear the audience laugh at your delivery, often seeing Seth trying to hold back a grin.

Especially upon the time, you began to describe what made your character Tamara Parks go into orgasms from her specific condition, of Persistent Genital Arousal Disorder.

"With the help of my physician I was able to find treatment, and today I can say that I am fully-" you let out a moan, trying not to break as you look down. Only to continue on the moaning and the appearance of discomfort as the script goes on. Seth progressively tries not to laugh as well.

It almost was shocking that you were pretending to be aroused on live national television. Still, clearly, you were doing something right given the reactions that had been intended.

You began to find yourself grateful for the ability to look down and away from the audience to compose yourself against the fake orgasms you were portraying. Seth's hand leaning to rest upon your shoulder, setting your character's orgasms off even more until the sketch was nearing its finish. The crowd applauded as Seth called you offstage.

You had let out a breath that you didn't even know that you had been holding the minute you had left the stage. Clearly, you had done the job just as Meyers and Mulaney had anticipated, the crowd going wild, it felt nice, but you also felt like you needed a nap. Many of your coworkers had come up to congratulate you, but all you wanted was just to see Bill.

Except, Bill and Fred were going up to another sketch for Weekend Update, you had asked a production assistant for some water as you took a seat in a nearby corner. It wasn't long before you had spotted Mulaney from out of the corner of your eye, within seconds; his eyes met yours, and he rather awkwardly stumbled over.

You had to stifle your laughter at how ridiculous he appeared in that moment, his rather tall figure colliding with the floor as he slid down beside you.

"You did fantastic out there! See, I knew you could do it!" he whispered enthusiastically while nudging you playfully in the side.

The two of you commented on the show's progress and or which sketch that you had written was your favorite. Until your stage manager had motioned for you to go on for your second sketch of the night. John gave you a reassuring smile before giving you a little push off into the side wing you were supposed to enter on.

The sketch was going well, that is until you felt an intense stare out of your peripheral vision coming from Bill, who was sitting beside you. Instead, it felt more dominant and tense than comfortable and safe as his thigh began to press up against yours. You gulped slightly before Keenan made his way over to you, feeling Bill's thigh against yours, almost making you lose control.

The skit's premise was that Keenan's character would never let the guests speak, which was probably a good thing as soon as the cameras went off of you; you had to stifle a moan of your own, a real one.

You were flustered beyond belief, and you couldn't tell why for the life of you that Bill was screwing with you on live television, but he was, and it was working. Of course, you appreciated the man's dominance but now was clearly not the time, except all you could feel was the heat pooling at the pit of your stomach.

While you were slightly annoyed with him, something about that leather jacket he was wearing was really turning you on. Or the way he did all of this was genuine ease like he wasn't putting you in complete arousal right now was so intimidatingly hot.

The crowd's cheering almost caught you off-guard as you realized the sketch was over, and Bill and Franco were getting up to leave the stage. You almost had to steady yourself as your legs felt wobbly and out of place, but you managed to maneuver yourself off the stage with as much grace as you could possibly muster.

It didn't take long for you to feel Bill's hand slip under yours and tug you along to a back room, his taller figure looming over yours with a side of him that you had never seen before. His lips practically hovering over yours as you inhaled deeply and ultimately tried to compose yourself only to stammer your words a little bit.

"Um, heh, what did you do that for?" you murmured quietly so that only he could hear you.

"You really think I would let you get away so quickly with that sketch, I simply had to remind you that you're mine babe, mine." he growled as he leaned down close to your height, whispering the words in your ear.

Your breath hitching at the contact, goosebumps spreading directly across your skin, and your heart skipping a beat. Except, you were in public, for crying out loud; why couldn't he have waited to save this for the bedroom later tonight?

"I-um, Bill did you forget that this is sorta a live show?" you retort back, stepping away from his slight hold. It finally hits you all at once, "Wait, Bill, are you jealous of my sketch with Seth?" you quickly ask, his eyes widening before quickly denying it.

"What? No of course not since when do I get jealous Y/N?" he says defensively, only to see you start to form a small grin.

"Oh my god you totally are!" you practically yelp, his eyes staring daggers at you.

"Hader, quick change happening for Daveheart in four minutes!" Bobby calls as he walks past the two of you unbeknownst to the little debacle going on.

Bill's eyes darting between yours and the dressing room, you sigh and motion for him to go-on for how you would somehow resolve this later. After the door closes behind him, you allow yourself to slide down against the wall once again, trying to compose yourself after everything that had just happened.

It doesn't take long for him to find you, this time in a Scottish get-up, you were assuming, and still painfully as ever, you still couldn't help but think that he looked hot, even with his long brown wig.

He sits down beside you, looking at you with a hesitant look in his eyes.

"Okay, so maybe I am jealous okay?" he admits quietly, completely catching you off guard. "It's just sometimes I wish we didn't have to have this weird age gap, or have to worry about judgement from others or the press. I guess, just seeing you like that today, it just really made me jealous. Proud of course, I mean babe you killed it out there, I didn't even notice that you were anxious. It's just hearing you moan like that, god that was so hot, the things you do to me." he says, no longer making eye contact as he goes into his little tangent.

God, you loved him.

You sigh before wrapping your hands around his, before slowly pushing forward to envelop him in a kiss. He hesitates for a split second before going in at once, his hands reaching up to cup your face deepening the kiss.

It was like a breath of fresh air whenever the two of you had kissed, whether in the late nights after shows and you can see the sunrise. Or in walks home from work, fingers entwined, and quick glances before sneaking a quick kiss, or even just whenever Bill can spare one.

The two of you pull away, only to catch your breath for a second. Bill's wig now tousled, and his eyes staring at you with admiration that you couldn't help but melt under.

"You know Bill, I wouldn't change a thing about us. I love you just the way that you are." you say softly, sneaking in a little kiss before pulling away to finish your statement, a small pout grazing his lips.

"Just maybe not during a live sketch, please?" you giggle softly, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Hey, Y/N, I just wanted to say that you killed it out there-woah, what's going on here?" Seth calls out, startling the two of you; you moving to jump away before Bill quickly stops you.

"We're dating!" you blurt out randomly, "we have been for the past two years, and its time that we probably tell others about it."

You clamp your mouth shut, ignoring Bill's jaw-dropping, and focusing on Seth entirely.

"Oh my god I knew it! Mulaney get your ass over here, we've been right this entire time! Hader and Y/L/N have been boning for two years." Seth yells over to John, who was busy cleaning up the cue cards as the show was coming to an end for the night.

You practically groan, digging your head into Hader's chest in pure embarrassment as Mulaney comes bounding over to cheerfully laugh at your combined misery.

"And to think that Jost said that we were lying about the two of them, guys come on we're gonna go tell Colin!" Seth exclaims, beckoning for the two of you to follow to the writer's room down the hall.

"Might as well join them," Bill whines as he pulls you off the ground and drags you along after them.

#@broadwayandnetflix #bill hader imagine #bill hader x reader #bill hader x you #bill hader #fluff #angst #snl #saturday night live #john mulaney #seth meyers #2020 #request

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tteokggukk · 4 years

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welcome to my youtube channel → kth

✳ pairing: idol!taehyung x youtuber!reader

✳ genre: fluff, taehyung scenario, stranger to lovers, reader is an artist who posts art videos on youtube

✳ warnings: none!

✳ words: 2.9k

✳ a/n: hello, this is my second bts oneshot/scenario. i just like to write for fun but if you’d like to let me know if there’s anything i can improve on please do so! i’d love to know how to improve. anyways, i hope you enjoy!

"Hey guys, welcome to my YouTube Channel."

You spoke in front of the camera. Sets of acrylic paint were spread out across the table next to a stand that held an 18x24 inch canvas. You were in the middle of making your seventeenth video, a highly requested one at that, and deep down you were ecstatic to start working on the painting.

Never in your life did you think you would ever start a YouTube account. You always considered yourself a very shy and private person, not one to go out of their way and broadcast themselves all over the internet. Your best friends, however, were two very well-known YouTubers and always found a way to include you in their videos and live streams. Somehow people liked seeing more of you, and so you were convinced by your best friends and the audience to start your own YouTube channel.

But you weren't very accustomed to bringing a camera everywhere with you to document and share whatever was happening in your daily life, you found it too awkward and you were still camera-shy, so you decided to create content in a way that would still keep you comfortable while doing something you loved.

An art channel.

Your channel blew up pretty fast. Requests started pouring in here and there. You became known for your very calm demeanor and artistic skills, so you took this as an opportunity to sell your works online as a way to earn some extra money for your future. Occasionally, you'd do lives to talk to your fans and you were happy at the support they showed you, which only encouraged you to keep making videos.

"This was a highly requested video, and I honestly can't wait to get started," you told the camera, mentally telling yourself to insert the comments and messages you got in your DMs to paint this Adonis-like human being. The requests started coming in after you had an Instagram live where you did some quick sketches while playing some of your favorite songs in the back, and people noticed one of the songs you played was by him.

"You guys also asked if I could sell this painting, but because of the "high demand"," you spoke, adding air quotes, "I'd like to keep it up for auction so the proceeds could go to different fundraisers."

You started mixing different colors in your palette and showed everyone the picture for your reference.

"So, without further ado, today I will be painting Kim Taehyung."

"Hey guys, welcome to my YouTube Channel."

Taehyung watched as you spoke in the video, looking behind you to see a bunch of art materials. The title of the video was left ambiguously, only being named most requested video, leaving him no clue on what it was you were going to create this time.

He's been watching your videos for quite some time now, ever since your channel started rising. Art was one of his major interests and he absolutely adored the way you made your videos with the calming, ASMR-like sound of mixing paint and how you skillfully glided the brush across the canvas. On days when he found himself tired and in need of a quick way to relax, he'd subconsciously find himself binge watching videos on your channel— even repeating several videos since you were only starting. He found it fascinating, but also because he found you interesting.

Because of your channel, he even created an anonymous YouTube account just to leave nice comments on your videos along with a private Instagram account to be able to watch your lives.

Needless to say, he didn't miss that one live where you played the song Winter Bear. It made his whole night, making him sleep with a smile on his face.

"This was a highly requested video, and I honestly can't wait to get started."

He watched as a bunch of comments started appearing onscreen popping up one by one as they gradually got faster, eventually covering you. It took a moment before it sunk in that he was the highly requested person they wanted you to paint. He paused the video, wide-eyed, before shouting in excitement. Jimin had to come in and check what the whole commotion was about.

"Y/n's going to paint me!" Taehyung exclaimed, his mouth turning into his famous boxy smile.

"Ah, the YouTuber you really like?" Jimin smiles before sitting down next to Taehyung who continued playing the video, "I wanna see."

"You guys also asked if I could sell this painting, but because of the "high demand", I'd like to keep it up for auction so the proceeds could go to different fundraisers."

"Wow, she seems really kind," Jimin says, while Taehyung only nods, his eyes glued to the screen.

"So, without further ado, today I will be painting Kim Taehyung."

He felt his heart beat fast when you mentioned his name, and without realizing it his ears have gone all red.

On screen, you began sketching, "You guys have also been sending me a lot of questions lately, which is why I decided to tweet about doing a q&a."

"What questions did you ask?" Jimin asked Taehyung.

"I asked her if being an artist is something she'd like to pursue," Taehyung told him.

"Ooooh, trying to get to know her," Jimin teases, "Our little Taehyungie has a celebrity crush."

Taehyung rolls his eyes but breaks out into a grin anyway, "I just respect her artistry."

"Right, okay," Jimin snickers, obviously not buying it.

Taehyung knew he was telling the truth, though. It was impossible to have feelings for someone who you only knew through a screen. He found you attractive for sure, but he of all people would know that almost no one is completely one-hundred percent themselves on screen. Genuine as you may be, there are still things that are best kept to yourself. He couldn’t lie though, if given the chance to get to know you, he’d never pass up on that offer.

"Someone asked why I don't use that much ready-made paint," You spoke on screen, "It's ‘cause I learn a lot from mixing my own colors, and also I just really enjoy it."

The painting was beginning to come together halfway through the video and Taehyung's question finally made its way to you. "Kimyeontan95 asks, ‘is painting a career you want to pursue? I love your work, by the way’."

"That was basically I love you," Jimin holds back a laugh, earning him a light punch in the arm from Taehyung.

"Thank you so much, kimyeontan95, and no, painting is just a hobby of mine and a way to earn some future savings. I actually really want to be a novelist."

Taehyung smiled after hearing you answer his question. Later on, the video was over and his portrait was complete. He hurriedly redirected himself to the link that was provided for the auction.

Something in him wanted to have that painting no matter what, so he set himself as the highest bidder and eventually had it mailed to his home where he put your work up in his room to cherish.

A day after your video was posted, you woke up to a thousand notifications from your phone. Hundreds of people were mentioning you in tweets and you had numerous missed calls from your best friends and some texts telling you to check your online art shop. You groggily scroll through your feed, a bit confused as to what was happening.

I wanted to buy this painting and I had it in my list, but now it's unavailable!

Y'ALL WHAT RICH KID SET THE HIGHEST BID TO A MILLION DOLLARS IM CRYING

@yourtwittername are you planning to sell a new collection?

a million dollar bid wtf swownwowksodiowl

Someone just bought all of @yourtwitterusername's paintings. I'm crying in broke eye—

but like what if taehyung set that bid? @yourtwitterusername

What?

I just woke up and my mentions are pouring. What is going on? You tweeted.

Thousands of replies began coming in leaving you feeling overwhelmed and confused on where to start. Everyone was telling you to check your site, and so you did. You felt your heart almost stop beating when you saw that every single artwork you had up for sale were sold out. Nothing was left behind. You checked your emails, and the confirmations were there.

How could this have happened overnight?

ALL MY WORKS ARE SOLD OUT?!?!?!?? WHO COULDVE DONET THIS??? You tweeted, hands shaking.

You felt your heart race, a wide grin that could go even wider if possible was plastered on your face. You tried to stop yourself from screaming in excitement but couldn't so you ended up jumping up and down and doing happy dances before calming down to assess the situation. Finally, you sat down in front of your laptop to see where all your works were being shipped to.

Replies started coming in.

CONGRATS YOU FIGURED IT OUT

WILL U RESTOCK

AHSKWJOA CONGRATS BB

I'M SO HAPPY FOR U

BUT Y/N WHO BOUGHT THEM ALL

Checking your emails, you discover that your art works were all bought by one person. Anonymous. There was no name and someone requested to have their personal information redacted.

Anonymous? Surely this wasn't a joke?

The person kept their name anonymous. You tweeted and muted the notifications just to allow yourself to focus on finding out who it was that bought everything.

At the bottom of all the removed personal information, there was one username that you were sure you've heard or seen somewhere.

@ Kimyeontan95.

Underneath the username was a short but sincere message.

"Your videos have always helped me wind down after a long, busy day. I can't express how much you inspire me with your talent and how I wish someday you'd teach me to be half as good as you, as I'm not very gifted in the painting department. I admire how you put your gifts into good things, and I very much idolize you in one way or another. This is just a small way of showing my support for you, but also because all your works are amazing and I'd love to have a small room filled with my favorite art works. I look forward to reading works of yours soon, future novelist.”

Feeling the heat creeping up on your cheeks, you smiled to yourself. The letter was definitely heartfelt and you wanted so badly to thank the person who sent it.

Later that afternoon, you decided to go on live to personally thank the anonymous buyer for buying your works and for sending that wonderful note. You fixed yourself up a little bit and pressed live as thousands of your followers began to tune in.

"Hello, everyone," you greeted, smiling. Replies with greetings started coming in and you couldn't help but chuckle at the eager messages your followers were sending. They truly made you happy.

As expected, several questions began pouring in.

"Right, so, I wanted to do this live because of what happened. As you may have noticed, all my works were suddenly sold out which definitely took me by surprise," you started, "Unfortunately the buyer left everything anonymous. They only left what I assume is a username and a short letter, which I will keep to myself for personal reasons."

@follower1WHAT

@follower2 will you keep selling your works?

@follower3 THATS SUCH A SWEET GESTURE THO OMG/

@follower4 am I the only one who thinks a secret admirer bought it

@follower5 check my YouTube channel I made a theory on who bought her works

@follower6 i rlly think it's taehyung

@follower7 I’'m so proud of you :(((

"If the person who bought all of my paintings is watching this, I really want to thank you from the bottom of my heart. I appreciate the letter as well, you've honestly made me the happiest person on Earth," you smiled.

@follower8 AWWWWW

@follower9 ANON COME OUT

@follower10 i really wanna know what the letter says

@ Kimyeontan95 I'm glad :)

Your heart stopped at one of the replies. You took your phone immediately from its fixed position with wide eyes and began scrolling up fast because of the immediate replies coming in. Wasn't that the username?

@follower11 what's going on?

@follower12 y/n are you okay?

You could no longer find the reply so you set your phone down, fixing it back in place.

"For a second I thought the person who bought it was watching my live," you sighed and smiled nervously, "So anyways— I'd really love to express my gratitude so if they're watching, please contact me. I can't say thank you en—"

Suddenly the replies were frantic. People were sending keyboard smashes here and there. Only a few of them were actual coherent comments. "What is going on?" You asked as you began scrolling through.

@follower13 Y/N CHECK VLIVE

@follower14 TaEHYUNF IS ON LIVE

@follower15 I kNEW IT THOUGH???

@follower16 Y/N CHECK TAEHYUNGS LIVE

@follower5 Y'ALL I WAS RIGHT I SAID CHECK MY YT

Keeping your live on, you grabbed your laptop as fast as you could to check out the links being sent to your live. When it finally loaded, you could've sworn you'd have a heart attack.

"Oh, I think she's watching me," Taehyung grinned through his live, holding his phone in front of the camera. He quickly shows the viewers his phone screen, which showed your live of you watching him through your laptop. Your eyes widened and you looked back at your phone camera that was broadcasting your live, then back at his live.

Taehyung started giggling, "I guess we're just watching each other, huh?" He smiled. Behind him were packed and unpacked parcels of paintings you recognized were yours. If it was even possible, your eyes grew even wider at this, "Oh my god," you breathed out.

"I should probably introduce myself," Taehyung spoke, "Hello everyone, I'm Kim Taehyung. How are you all doing? Today I’m planning on redecorating my room after our practice. What are the packages behind me? Oh, these are paintings I recently bought."

"Are those my paintings?" You asked out loud, though you knew the answer.

"Are those my paintings?" Your voice echoed from Taehyung's broadcast as your live was streaming from his phone. He grinned sheepishly, "Yes, these are your works, I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," You smiled, "You were the buyer?"

You mentally slapped yourself for asking such obvious questions, but you just couldn't believe everything that was happening now.

"Yes," he chuckles, "I really love your paintings." Suddenly the sound of Jimin’s voice echoed from behind and Taehyung quickly stood up to lock the door, knowing he’d get the teasing of a lifetime if Jimin came and saw him talking to you.

"Thank you so much, I—" Your voice began to crack and your eyes welled with tears that you tried to fight back, "I really appreciate it. And the letter, that was really sweet."

"No, thank you. Wait, don't cry—" Taehyung spoke nervously.

"I'm just so happy," You laughed while wiping the tears off.

The replies from both ends were coming in like crazy. On one hand, majority of everyone watching found the whole scenario cute and started pairing you two out of nowhere, though there were a few haters on the other. It didn't really bother you, you were just so happy someone you idolized noticed your work.

"I'm glad," he was watching you with a fond smile through his phone, then the sound of the Jin’s voice began coming from outside Taehyung’s room, "Sorry for this sudden grand reveal. I really can't stay on live for too long but I'd love to keep talking to you." He spoke.

"Oh no, that's okay," You spoke fast.

"Do you mind if I send you a message? Assuming you already know the username," he asks.

"No not at all, I'd love to keep talking as well," your heart was beating erratically now. You didn't have to see your face to know how red it was becoming.

"Alright, great. Um, before I end this vlive I just wanna say you're a great artist and to all my viewers watching this, please support y/n's artworks and her channel! If I see any negative comments, I'll be taking responsibility and I'll unfortunately have my agency involved in taking those out," he spoke in a commercial tone kind of voice, "And to y/n, I'll be keeping in touch.” The door from behind him suddenly bursts open and Jin, Jimin, and Jungkook rush inside.

“You were talking to her!” Jimin shouts excitedly.

“Finally!” Jungkook claps.

“Is that why you kept the door locked?” Jin teases.

“Bye, everyone!" Taehyung quickly waves goodbye to the camera and smiles before turning the broadcast off.

You sat there stunned, almost forgetting you were also on live. You turned to your phone which was still recording you, "That was unexpected."

Suddenly, a notification in your DMs popped up. "I'll go ahead and process everything that just happened now, bye guys! See you in my next video." You ended the live with a wave and smile.

You quickly went into your direct messages and found the same username, Kimyeontan95. You opened it and found a picture of Taehyung holding one of your paintings with a peace sign on his other hand, the other members behind him posing with your other works, making you laugh.

Your heart fluttered at the message below the picture.

I hope this isn't too sudden, but would you like to go out with me sometime?

a/n: hello! if you finished it, thank you so much for reading! i hope you liked it hehe. i think i’m gonna keep posting the stuff i write bc i have so many ideas for the other members as well. also this is fun hehe. if you wanna read my other work, let’s fall in love for the night, ← here’s a link! thanks again for reading and please look forward to my future writing/edits.

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ahockeywrites · 3 years

Text

Is that a drawing of me?

You sighed. Your professor set you an assignment to draw something that makes you smile. His suggestions included a pet, a sport or a loved one. Naturally, the first thing that came to your head was your boyfriend, the resident pest of Calgary, Matthew Tkachuk. The only problem you had, is that drawing faces was your weakness when it came to your artwork. It wasn’t that you couldn’t draw faces, if it was a life or death situation, yes, you could draw a face. However, when compared to your nature drawings, they were second best.

“So, are we gonna get a drawing of Mr Hockey hotshot this time?” your friend Anna asked. You looked at her with a look only she could read. Realistically, the answer should have easily been yes, but your worry of making him look bad was heightening your anxiety.

“It’s an idea, but you know how I was in our portraits module. How can I do the man I love justice when I can barely draw someone with straight hair,” you said as you slumped into the chair in the small coffee shop. “His curls will be the death of me.” Taking a small sip of your coffee, you noticed a text from the devil himself.

Matty: Hey baby, just wanted to let you know I’m back from practice now! Let me know what you want to do for dinner :) x

You: Urm… I’m good for anything? Something quick bc I’ve got college work to do x

Anna could tell that you were talking to Matt, solely by the way that your face lit up whenever you two spoke. “But, who or what else would you draw? I mean, I’m planning on doing my family by the lake back home, if that helps?” Anna offered. You knew she was just trying to help, but you had to draw Matthew. You had skirted around it before but you had decided.

“I’m gonna draw him, but hopefully not too well,” you said, “I can’t inflate his ego any more. I think Brady and Taryn would want words with me.” The two of you giggled, knowing that anything that made him look too good in his eyes would just make his head grow 20 sizes.

“Yes my love!!” Anna exclaimed, “shall we stop by the art store before art history?”

“I think I’m gonna need to,” you explained, “I need some new canvases and a lot of red pencils if he’s gonna be in Calgary gear.”

The two of you left the coffee shop for the nearby warehouse full of art supplies. It was just off campus and offered a generous student discount to almost anyone. You wandered down by the canvases, trying to figure out which size would be right for your latest piece. Too small and the picture would look cramped, too large and the image could look out of proportion. Eventually, you settled on a relatively large one and by this time had picked up some very Calgary appropriate red and black pencils. You also spotted a scrapbook that looked perfect to start filling with photos of you and Matthew.

Scrapbooking was something you had always wanted to get into, but it never came up in your studies and you always thought that you should practice line art or painting. But with your second anniversary coming up, it was something you could do in your downtime to relax but also create something beautiful. All you had to do was get a few rolls of washi tape and some photo corners. Everything else, if you had forgotten it, could easily be ordered later.

2 hours and $150 later, you exited the store with Anna and headed to your final lecture of the day. Now, just because you enjoyed both art and history did not mean that you enjoyed the combination of the two. Especially when the professor decided that it would be fun to set a 2000 word essay on the Renaissance period. “I cannot wait for this day to be over,” Anna spoke aimlessly.

“Honestly, same, hopefully Matt has got some food ready for when I’m back,” you hoped, no, prayed to someone above that he had actually made something and hadn’t burnt down your apartment. “I’m gonna head off now, but text me updates of your portrait?” you asked Anna. She nodded and you started your short walk from campus to the apartment.

15 minutes later, you arrived home and tumbled through the door. The smell of something baked filled your nostrils. “Matty baby?” you called out, hoping he would hear you and give you a hand with all the supplies you had bought.

“Y/N!” he called, coming to the hallway. “Need a hand?” he asked, but the two of you knew it was rhetorical. You let out a small giggle and gave him two of the bags you had filled to the brim with scrapbooking items. Now, you could have hidden them from him, but it was likely that he wouldn’t even know what they were so you were safe. The two of you moved in sync to the office of the apartment which very quickly had become your own personal studio with an easel and multiple chests of drawers with the most random supplies in them.

“Just pop them down anywhere, I have a drawing I want to start tonight along with an essay,” you complained.

“Don’t you worry, I have wine and lasagne,” Matthew sang. You audibly groaned at the sound of food, all you wanted was a warm meal and to relax. At least you’d be able to get one of them tonight.

You two sat down at the island that graced the kitchen of the apartment. Matthew had set the table and even put a few candles out, “I thought you could do with an hour or so of doing nothing,” he spoke as he went to grab your hand. He rubbed soft circles over your knuckles as you picked up your wine glass with your other hand.

As you took your first bite of the lasagne, you sent your boyfriend a wink. Lasagne was one of the few things he could cook and not mess up and he knew that. “I am so glad that I have a small amount of time before I start my drawing tonight,” you explained.

“What are you drawing?” Matt asked as he lifted his wine glass to his lips.

“That is something I would rather not share just now, but you’ll find out later,” you winked. You were never particularly secretive when it came to your artwork so he was slightly confused but he went along with it. Maybe, he thought, it was going to be a gift for someone and you didn’t want him to spoil the surprise.

The two of you continued to chat over dinner, talking about practice and how boring your lectures were. The boy sitting across from you never failed to make you laugh and you knew that you couldn’t draw anyone else other than him. As he was talking, you allowed yourself to take in his features and you tried to think of the best way to draw them. “If you’re done staring, I’m gonna sort the dishes out,” Matt laughed. You hadn’t even realised you were looking so intently at him. “I know I’m beautiful,” he got out before you tried to tackle him to the ground, however, your strength was nothing compared to his.

“I think this means it’s time for me to go and get started with my assignment,” you giggled from underneath him. “Come grab me if I’m still working and should be asleep, yeah?” you asked. He nodded and let you head to the office.

Once seated in the office, you pulled out your laptop and google searched Matt’s name, hoping some good images of him came up. Or at least, some that you could try to emulate. You found one of him smiling and celebrating a goal and thought that would be perfect. It also meant that the majority of his curls were underneath a helmet so wouldn’t have to worry.

Grabbing the canvas you had specifically bought for this, you placed it on the easel. You began to sketch out the rough shape of a skater in the foreground. Then, you moved onto the face. You thought if you did the face early on, you could fix any mistakes with it once the rest of the image was done. Starting with the eyes, then the nose and mouth, this wasn’t going as badly as you thought it might have gone. But then, the dreaded curls were staring at you from underneath the helmet. Sighing, you knew that if you didn’t start them now, they would never be done and a bald Matthew was something you never wanted to see.

A knock on the office door startled you, “baby, it’s almost midnight. You have an 8am lecture tomorrow and don’t want you to be late,” Matt said in a soft voice.

“Yeah, just gimme a few minutes,” you replied. By this time you had moved onto the logo on his shirt and if anyone saw, it would be incredibly obvious who you were drawing. Curly hair, Calgary Flames player, number 19, with an A on his chest. You were so engrossed in the drawing, you hadn’t noticed Matthew open the door and walk to be behind you.

“Is that a drawing of me?” he asked. You jumped out of your skin and he had to put his hand on your shoulder to stable you. You meekly nodded and looked up to him. “It’s amazing,” he said as he took in the drawing. Suddenly, he put two and two together, “this is why you wouldn’t tell me what you were doing, eh?”

“Maybe,” you said softly, trying to hide yourself in his chest. “Didn’t want to inflate your ego anymore.”

“Baby, if every drawing you do of me is this good,” he said as he pressed his forehead to yours, “my family better make an entire room back in St. Louis for my ego.” You slowly pressed your lips to his as a sign of appreciation.

“I take it you like it then?”

“Like is the wrong word, I love it. I also can’t wait to send a picture of this to the family group chat to get their thoughts,” he laughed.

“Well, as long as your mom doesn’t want me to do another one, I think I’ll be okay,” you said as you kissed him again.

#ahockeywrites #Matthew Tkachuk #flames19 #nhl imagine #hockey imagine

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septiceyeliner · 3 years

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hi i just saw ur hw book cover and i would like to see ur sketches/time lapse/thought process bc i love it

Okay so this is going to be really long but

For those who just want to see a time lapse which includes most everything, here’s the one from procreate! Unfortunately my laptop stopped recording when I switched over to illustrator, but the layout didn’t really change that much in the end!

Warning for quick flashing images!

Here’s all the different versions side by side:

More in depth ramble about my thoughts and process down below! This is mostly about the process since there’s no hidden meanings or symbolism this time around!

I put together a sorta of inspo board this time around including the images I wanted to use!

My initial idea was to incorporate the colors from the hw/dreamland album art into the piece! I wanted to make it look surreal with those colors, but at the same time look soft and aesthetically pleasing. I achieved none of this.

I started out by sketching and writing down things I associated with heat waves. As a minimum I do three loose thumbnails. This time I did ten and chose three to try out. The first one I tried was the one that vaguely looked like a human with jellyfish behind them. I ended up going with it because while changing the colors of the figure I accidentally discovered this cool coloring effect.

I messed around with colors and different blending layers a lot in this graphic! I used exclusion a lot for the jellyfish and did a few layers with different colors. Ended up trying many many backgrounds... I moved on to working on the typography to see if that would help me on settling with a background. (Hence why there are a few different versions) (also at that point I had switched over to illustrator)

I reaaaaaallly struggled with making the front look not so empty. I knew I wanted the quotes on the back with the summary, but the front was just looking absolutely lackluster to me because...

Well you know how most of the time authors have their full names on the cover?

So I’m going to say this but I mean it in the most lighthearted way possible

@heytherestilinski trying to make your username “tbhyourelame” look nice and not awkward on the cover almost drove me to tears 😭

It’s because having the username all alone made it look like a wattpad cover to me

I tried switching to just having “Dakota” alone (but nope it was still too empty). Then I tried adding your username after as a last name but it didn’t look great either.

I think I came this 👌🏽 close to asking you for a fake last nameto add, but I didn’t want to a) sound creepy b) spoil the graphic.

Anyways, at some point I said to my friend, “my goal is “would you pick this up if you saw it at a book store?” and so far the answer is no”

Then I remembered I had actual books, with covers I could reference!! (I am slow sometimes) That’s where I got the idea to do the tag line “New York times best seller” to help fill out the negative space towards the top.

Ended up changing it to “ao3 most read” (even though it isn’t the #1 most read but it is one of the most read fics) just cause I didn’t want to possibly confuse people.

There was lot of jumping back and forth especially towards the end where you see the colors completely change. You can’t tell in the time lapse, but by that point (when I changed the colors) I had worked on it for three days, gave up on day four, considered scrapping it completely on day five, and picked it up again on day six. I think my tracked time on procreate was four hours on the main cover. I have no clue how long I sketched for(the sun was still out when I started and it was pitch black by the end), and god knows how long I spent between illustrator and indesign trying to figure out how to make it a spread!

This graphic taught me a lot of things, but most importantly it taught me to take a step back and take breaks. Because when I felt like absolutely trashing all the work I put in after not touching it for a day. I came back and I actually figured out how to make it work again!

To be honest I was so hard on myself for no reason. You guys really liked it and have said so many nice things that made me realize I was being way too hard on myself. Thank you it means a lot!!

if you made it to the end congrats! Please let me know if this was insightful at all!

#tldr: typography is a pain and so is perfectionism #did I mention I tried making it into an actual ebook on indesign just so I could see how it looked on iBooks?#yea so now I have a version of hw with an actual cover #ely edits

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madpanda75 · 4 years

Text

“Taking Chances Part 10: The Perfect Gift”

Part 10 is here! Not gonna lie, this chapter is short and not my best work but a necessary bridge to get to the climax of our story! Fair warning, it ends on a cliffhanger. Enjoy! ❤️

It was the Tuesday after the dramatic Carisi lunch. You typically had Mondays off from the gallery and after fucking Rafael senseless in front of the fireplace, it didn’t take much convincing on your part to get him to play hooky. The majority of your day was spent in bed— making love, browsing through Netflix, and eating Chinese takeout. It was a much needed escape from your chaotic lives and you still had a few more hours before reality set in.

The brilliant warm rays of the early morning sun peeked through your curtains. You languorously stretched your limbs, reveling in the sensation of your bare legs against the soft cotton sheets. With a long, drawn out yawn, you reached over to the nightstand for your cup of coffee and aimlessly flipped through a copy of the New Yorker. However your attention was otherwise preoccupied with a freshly showered Rafael walking around your bedroom with a towel hanging low around his hips. You nearly spilled your hot drink into your lap while counting the water droplets on Rafael’s bare chest, watching one droplet slide down his stomach towards his happy trail.

He let the towel drop to the floor and began to get dressed for work, arching his brow when he caught you perched on the edge of the bed staring at him with your jaw hanging wide open.

You blushed and cleared your throat. “Are you sure I can’t make you breakfast?”

“Thanks for the offer but I should try to get to the office early,” he said, holding up two ties for you to choose from.

You picked the silk violet tie. The purple hue brought out your boyfriend’s brilliant green eyes. “Ok, but promise me that you’ll eat something other than the stale pretzels at the precinct.”

“I promise.” Rafael gave you a quick peck on the lips and wrapped his tie around his neck when he realized that he was missing a key element to his wardrobe. “Where’s my shirt? I swore it was right here a min—” His search for the missing shirt came to a screeching halt when he noticed you were wearing it.

“Sorry babe.” A nervous giggle escaped your lips. “Who knew Armani made such comfortable clothes and besides I love how it smells.”

Rafael furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “How it smells?”

“Uh huh.” Your cheeks turned bright pink and you nervously fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. “It smells like you.”

An warm, fuzzy feeling coursed through Rafael’s veins at your confession. He cupped your face and tenderly kissed you before pulling away. “If you love the shirt so much, then it’s yours.”

“Really?” You glanced down at his undershirt and the tie draped around his neck. “But what are you gonna wear?”

“I have a spare shirt in my office that I keep in case of emergency coffee stains.”

You beamed brightly and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Best boyfriend ever,” you murmured against his lips before kissing him.

He deepened the kiss, parting your lips with his tongue as his hands inched further down your back towards your ass. You moaned in response, feeling him squeeze your cheeks.

“Mi amor,” he said between kisses. “I have to go.”

“No. Five more minutes. Please,” you whined, pressing your body against his.

Rafael groaned, all the blood from his brain rushing towards his cock. You were playing a dangerous game. “If we keep this up in five more minutes I’m going to be between your legs, fucking you so hard that you’ll forget your own name.”

You nuzzled against his neck as your hand began to palm his growing erection. “Well they do say that testosterone is higher in the morning. Care to put that theory to the test?”

“Y/N,” he said in a warning tone.

With a sigh of defeat, you stopped. “Alright, can’t blame a girl for trying.” You planted one last chaste kiss on the tip of his nose and gently pushed him towards the door. “Go on. Get outta here.”

“I’ll see you later tonight.” He grabbed his jacket and left the bedroom only to return 30 seconds later. “I forgot something.”

“What did you—” Rafael cut you off with a passionate kiss causing you both to fall back on the bed. Your heart fluttered. You were so lost in the moment that you forgot how to breathe. You could taste him on your tongue. All too soon the kiss ended and you were left dazed with thoroughly soaked panties.

“I love you,” he purred and playfully nipped on your lower lip before leaving with a smug smile firmly planted on his face.

“Love you too,” you mumbled and held up the shirt to your nose, inhaling deeply.

*****

A few hours later you were sitting in the small studio at the back of the gallery, dotting leaves onto a canvas. You skipped to the next song on your playlist and stepped back to analyze your work. The painting was of a large, vibrant tree in the center of a grey, bleak city. The tree was designed to look like Rafael. Its leaves matched the color of his eyes. Of course it wasn’t typical for trees to have seafoam green leaves but that was the beauty of art. You even tried to sketch his face in the trunk, its bark resembling his crooked smile and strong aquiline nose.

Underneath the tree stood the shadowy figure of a woman meant to be you. The tree’s branches were outstretched, gently caressing you, comforting you. In the palms of your hands, you cradled your heart, offering it to the tree as the only possession you had to give. In your opinion, it was the perfect depiction of your relationship. Rafael was your protector. With him, you felt loved, safe, hopeful for the future. He symbolized a new chapter in your life.

Your “Rafael-inspired” piece was meant to be a surprise, since the elusive search for the perfect art for his home was still ongoing. Lucky for him, inspiration struck one rainy Saturday several weeks ago. Well, lazy for you. Rafael was busy typing away on his laptop. Snuggling against him with the rain pattering against the window, a flood of emotions washed over you. The next day you woke up before dawn, grabbed your brushes and paint and snuck over to the studio.

From above the sound of your music playing through your headphones, you heard the door open and turned your head to see your coworker, Phoebe, walk in.

“Bonjour, ma petite aubergine!” she said in a tone that was way too chipper for 8:30 in the morning.

You snorted a laugh and turned off your music. “Good morning, my little eggplant?” you repeated the phrase.

“I love eggplant,” she replied with a shrug and went to stand behind you, surveying your work. “Hmmm… I like it.”

You made a face. “You sure? It’s not too cheesy?”

She hemmed and hawed for a moment before answering. “A little, but that’s ok. It's the good kind of cheesy.”

A sigh below past your lips. “You sure?”

“Absolutely,” she tried to reassure you. “And anyways, love makes people cheesy.” You blushed and went back to your painting while she milled around the room looking at your other pieces. “Ya’ know, there’s a new artist night at this gallery my friend works for. You should reach out to them. See if they’ll let you show your art. There are enough pieces here to choose from.” You opened your mouth to speak but she cut you off. “And before you say anything, I don’t wanna hear any excuses.” She gently took you by the shoulders and made you stand to face her. “You are incredibly talented and you should share that talent with the world while making a few bucks in the process.”

“Maybe you’re right,” you conceded, glancing back at your unfinished canvas.

Phoebe’s eyes widened. “I am? I mean, of course I am! Damn, this is the first time I’ve ever heard you consider doing a show. That Rafael guy must be a good influence on you.”

“Yeah, he’s the best.” You smiled, thinking back to earlier that morning.

“Speaking of which,”—she grabbed a spare chair and sat down, getting comfortable—“how did the whole ‘meet the parents’ scenario play out?”

You threw your head back and groaned. “Ugh, why did you have to remind me?”

“Uh-oh. Sounds like we’re gonna need coffee.” She stood up and grabbed her purse. “I’m gonna get a cappuccino from the cafe around the corner. Can I get you something?”

“An Americano and a cinnamon roll.”

“Be back in a flash. I wanna hear all about it. Family drama sustains me, especially when it’s not mine,” she teased before leaving.

You rolled your eyes and began to tidy up. While you stood at the sink, cleaning your brushes, watching the colors swirl and dissolve down the drain, you wondered if Rafael would like his surprise. You hoped he would. It took you hours to get just the right shade of green.

This gift was a big deal. Apart from your parents, you had never created a piece for anyone else. Your art was private. It was personal. Giving it away was like giving away a part of you. But you and Rafael were beyond that. This past weekend only confirmed what you had known from the moment he stepped into the gallery— that you were his, completely.

The sound of the door opening snapped you out of reverie. “That was fast, Phoebe,” you said over the running water. “I guess the cute barista wasn’t working today cause normally you spend a solid twenty minutes flirting before actually ordering your drink. I’m almost finished here. Give me a sec and then I can tell you about the worst Sunday lunch in the history of the Carisi family and that includes the time my Aunt Anita stabbed my Uncle Tony with a fork. ”

“Awww c’mon, babe. It wasn’t that bad,” said a voice that you recognized all too well.

Stunned, your hands froze, the brushes clanging against the sink. “This can’t be happening. Please, God don’t let it be him,” you thought, slowly turning around only to find your ex-fiancé standing right in the middle of your studio.

“Theo,” you stammered. “What are you doing here?”

He ignored your question and took a step towards you with a sinister smile that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

Tag List: @glimmerglittergirl @southern-magnolia @sweetcannolicarisi @delia26 @obfuscateyummy @sass-and-suspenders @eclecticminded @thatesqcrush @katmstanton @amirightcounsellor @beltzboys2015-blog @letty-o @sonnysdoll @lyssa1385 @sweetsummertime99 @burningsorr0ws @gibbs274 @izzythefanfreak @babypink224221 @livxrafa @esparza-army @obsessionprofessional @ottosuricato @mgarner1227 @dreila03 @frenchiefoxy @tropes-and-tales @thecraziestcrayon @goodluckfindingone @scarletsoldierrr @youreverycolor @yeah-boiiiiiiiiiii @imagine-all-the-imagines @imjustreallynosy @graniairish @ashley-chi @lolacolaempath @cocomel0613 @mysterioustrashadventures @that-girl-named-alex @scapricciatello @mrsrafaelbarba @zizzlekwum @katierpblogg @crowleysqueenofhell @caked-crusader @garturbo @rachelxwayne

#rafael barba #rafael barba fanfic #rafael barba fic #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba fan #barba #barba fanfic #barba imagine #barba x reader #law and order svu fanfic #law and order svu imagine #barba fic #taking chances

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babyspiderling · 4 years

Text

Under the Lights Daveed Diggs x reader

Before I even paste this into Tumblr, I want you all to know that this took me two days of constant writing, and FOUR pages on google docs. I know that the second I hit paste, it’s going to be like one page. Anyways, here’s Daveed x reader.

2010

“Hey, Y/N, I brought you muffins!” A woman with a mouth full of pins, her hair up in a messy bun, measuring tape sloppily tied around her neck, and a pincushion on her wrist, exited a space separated from the rest of the apartment by a thin curtain. Seeing her best friend and roommate enter with goodies, a bright grin fluttered onto her face. “Wanna see what I did while you were gone?” He nodded and followed her to her half of the work room. On a mannequin, a beautiful dress was fleshed out much more than it had been when Lin had left this morning. It had been nothing more than a sketch on paper for the Newsies show. As a major in history with a minor in design, Y/N was accepted by Disney to create the costumes. It didn’t hurt that The Lin Manuel Miranda of In the Heights fame was on her list of references. She had decided to start with Medda’s dress first. Medda was a personal favorite of hers and was excited to do her own spin on it. A deep purple sash had been half pinned under the bodice and sadly hung from its haphazard placement. “The sash would look better if you hadn’t distracted me with food dork.” He smiled and pressed the folded paper bag into her hand. “Alright. I’m going to finish this for Alan. It’s a miracle I have this job. I’m not screwing it up. I also meant to tell you that one of my guys are going to be here tomorrow for a measure and design session. Sweet kid. Amazing dancer.” Lin grinned teasingly as he set his laptop down on his desk. “Am I getting replaced? Is he going to be your new roommate and best friend?” Y/N stuck out her tongue at her best friend and continued her work. The sounds of humming and a machine whirring mixed in with the excited clacking of keys to make a strangely beautiful symphony.

2013

“Y/N! I need your help!” In the tiny apartment in the upper east side, an over-caffeinated Wesleyan Alumni burst through the front door, a paper bag of bagels clutched tightly. At the yells, another Alumni ran from her section of the apartment. “Lin! What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He thrusts the bag into her searching hands, and lets out another shriek. “Y/N! I’m fine! They want to put The Hamilton Mixtape through a workshop! And if we get this right, they’ll move us to a real show!” Shoving his shoulders, she muffled her screams behind pinched lips. “Lin, you can not go scaring me like that! I’m going to get gray hairs before we even get to the off Broadway! What do you need my help with?” He pulled her onto the ratty couch they had in the little space. “I need a costumer. You’re the best in the business. Not to mention I’ll be with you all the time, so there’s no chance of miscommunications!” Standing from her forced seat, she cradled Lin’s head in her hands. She saw the excitement glimmer in his eyes and softened. “Lin, of course I’ll help you, I am a history major after all. Who else could make it historically accurate while still being functional? Thank you for even considering me, and for the bagels.” She pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. Giving a crooked smile, she pointed a finger in his face. “If you ever scare me like that, I swear I will never cook or bake for you again.” He smiled sheepishly and shrugged in apology. “Sorry, but hey, you’re my costumer now!” She smiled and bumped her hip with his. She dug through her pads of paper and snatched her laptop off the charger. “Alright. Give me your tracks and I’ll get started.”

July 27th, 2013

“Alright, I’m here. Sorry I’m late, I got halfway down the block before I figured out I left my notes on the desk. Who do we have here?” Three men held my attention, understandable since they were the main cast. I recognized Brian D’arcy James from other productions, there was another man with big hair and bright eyes, and finally my eyes fell on Christopher. I smiled at him and gave him a quick hug. “Oh my God! What are you doing here? I haven’t seen you in so long! How’ve you been.” He chuckled and pulled me in again. “I’m good. I was missing our Vanessa for a while, but you’re working with us now so I won’t have to miss you anymore! Lin told me about the project and I couldn’t turn it down.” He turned me to the stranger at the clearing of a throat. “Oh, this is Daveed. He’s playing Thomas Jefferson and Lafayette. He raps.” I looked at him up and down, remembering the songs Lin had written for him. I cocked my head, and he looked at me with nervous eyes. “This will work. This is going to work great actually.” I saw his shoulders relax and sag with relief as I walked back to the table set up for the behind the scenes people. I gripped my pen in my hand, ready to jot down every little thought that passed through my mind for the time of the workshop.

After hours and hours of rehearsals and run throughs, I’d filled up a notebook and a half for costumes for the characters. This time around Lin wanted his cast flexible. Those whose characters were not in the second act were recast as another role, so I had to figure out how to do quick changes not only for the nine main cast members, but for the entire ensemble. As Lin and I packed up our things to head home, the man with the beautiful eyes stopped me. “Hey, Vanessa, right?” I heard Lin and Christopher snicker somewhere behind me and I shot them a look. “Actually, it’s Y/N.” His eyes widened in embarrassment and his hand lifted to rub the back of his neck. “Sorry, I just thought it was Vanessa since that’s what Christopher called you.” I shook my head and smiled. “Oh, no. That’s just a little joke between us. I was the demo Vanessa when Lin was trying to sell In the Heights. I’m the reason why Vanessa never speaks Spanish. I took French all through high school and college.” He nodded and rocked back and forth on his heels. “I’ve got some questions about costumes and everything you do. Could I have your number to keep in contact?” I nodded and pulled out my phone, switching it with his and I plugged in my contact information. “Alright. I’m headed home, but I’ll make a schedule for measuring and design sessions. I’ll see you tomorrow?” He nodded enthusiastically, making his hair bob with his movements. I waved goodnight and followed Lin out of the building.

“So, Daveed.” I looked up from my buzzing phone to Lin out of the corner of my eye, giving him an eyebrow. “What about Daveed?” He shrugged and wore a small smile. “You texting him?” I put my phone down to look at him headlong. “And if I am?” Once again he shrugged and got up to grab a snack. “Nothing, just remember your worth.” I shake my head good naturally. “Alright Dad. Now, I’ve got to sketch out what my brain was screaming during the workshop. And how to create every outfit as a quick change. Thanks loser.”

July 15th, 2015

“Alright everyone! We’ve practiced these changes for weeks! Remember your number, remember your cue. You all have been a wonder to work with and to create for. I love you all and break a leg!” Everyone is dressed in white for the opening number, and I am proud of my work. “Oh, and Daveed;” Daveed looks up at me, a strange look in his eyes. “Yes, Y/N?” I looked him in the eyes, stoic and serious. “If you rip your pants during Guns and Ships again, you will repay me by organizing the scrap bin.” He swallowed visibly and nodded his head. I smiled once again and put my hand out for a group theatre circle. “Break a leg!” Everyone scurried to their cue spot in their costumes and Lin hugged me from behind. “Thank you for doing this for me. I never would be able to have costumes this good if it weren’t for you.” I turned in his arms and smiled. “I’m glad I did too Lin. Now go, they’re calling your name.” I listened from my side of the stage, getting everything in order for the main cast. I pulled Daveeds coat off quickly and held out his blue one for him to slide on. “Hey, Y/N, maybe after the show we can-“ “Diggs! Get to your cue!” I smiled and nudged him. “Go. Talk to me after the show.” He gave a quick kiss to my cheek and went to do his thing on stage. As I pinned the rose to Renée’s dress, her sweet voice teased at me. “You do know that he loves you too, right?” I know what she’s talking about, but I pretend to play dumb. “Who loves me? Nevermind, neither of us have the time for this. Go kick ass out there.” She scrunched her eyebrows at me and pointed her finger to say “This isn’t over.”

The first act went by in a flash, costume changes and character changes took up all of my time. After I had hung up every dress, every coat, every pair of trousers and corset, Daveed had changed and packed up all of his things. I had just finished mending the lace cuff on his magenta sleeve when he had walked in. He wore a sleeveless Oakland jersey with a matching hat pressed onto his freed hair. “Oh! Daveed! Perfect timing! I was just finishing up here. What was it that you were wanting to tell me?” At my question, it was like a switch had been flipped in him. He went from the cool and collected suave man who the fans fantasized over to a shy and awkward man who had run out of words. Self-doubt and insecurity filled my inner dialogue as I watched him shut down and clam up. I was filled with the fear and anxiety that he had come to ask me to stop staring, to stop caring. I let the silence carry on for a while longer until Anthony called for us to leave. “I, I should probably go, then. You were amazing tonight, not a single trip or stutter. I am so proud of you.” I swallowed down the tears making their way up my throat and gave him a watery smile. I grabbed my bag, and started to make a hurried exit until my wrist was caught by a large and calloused hand. “Wait, no. Y/N, I wanted to know if you wanted to grab something to eat, go do something when we don’t have a show. You know, like maybe a date? Unless you don’t want to, then it’ll just be us as friends. I’d actually really appreciate it if you just forgot this whole ordeal and-” I smiled and blushed at his sweet ramblings. I stepped up onto my workbench and gripped his face in my hands. Taking a deep breath I leaned in and connected our lips, praying to every spiritual being in the heavens that they would allow him to kiss me back. I guess praying did me good because after getting over the shock of being interrupted, he kissed me back with the same fervour. Once more, we are called to leave the theater and we break apart, panting lightly with swollen lips and pink cheeks. He helped me down from my step and I lifted myself onto my toes to give a peck to his cheek. “Alright big guy, let’s go home. Lin’s either knowing of what we were doing, or he’s pacing in our living room, police on speed dial. And I would love to go on a date with you.”

#daveed diggs #daveed x reader #daveed diggs x reader #hamilton #hamilton x reader #lin manuel x reader #lin manuel miranda #lin manuel miranda x reader #hamilcast #hamilcast x reader #theatre #theatre x reader

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ootori-sibs · 3 years

Text

Kyoya's second shot

Episode nineteen: Kyoya's sense of self!

Tw: assault, self harm, self hate

“Thanks for waiting for me, Kyoya.” Tamaki looked so tired, toying with his own hair nervously. He kept glancing down the hallway, clearly upset at having been yelled at. Kyoya couldn’t blame him, he hated being yelled at as well. Unfortunately Kyoya couldn’t comfort him as he wasn’t supposed to be aware, so he gave a soft half-smile and stepped forward.

“How did it go? Who was it?”

At that, Tamaki promptly burst into tears, clinging to Kyoya tightly, “she kissed me! She kissed me and then Haruhi yelled at me and- and…” he just started to wail at that point, clinging to Kyoya even tighter. Kyoya hated emotions and he had absolutely no idea how to deal with this, especially when the other hosts came out to see what all the noise was about.

“It’s alright, maybe she’s not really angry at you?” Kyoya remembered that when he was tiny and people still cared about him, how his older siblings would just pick him up whenever he was upset, not much else, just lift him up. Sadly, Kyoya wasn’t strong enough to pick Tamaki up, he was struggling to even hold him up as Tamaki cried.

The hosts helped Tamaki into the room, the twins asked what happened but Kyoya ignored them, cradling Tamaki to the best of his ability. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Tamaki…” to anyone hearing, he was whispering condolences to his friend, but for Kyoya, the statement was so much more. Kyoya felt incredibly guilty, that's why plan b had been a last resort, Kyoya hadn’t wanted to hurt Tamaki this much. He’d made Tamaki cry and he felt absolutely horrid and filthy about it.

After a while, Haruhi returned to the club room, looking furious. She sat down, clearly seething. The hosts swarmed her, asking what had happened, why was Tamaki crying? Haruhi told them that Sieka had kissed Tamaki, and that she had told Haruhi that he’d willingly gone to meet her. Tamaki couldn’t deny this, but honestly he wasn’t even trying, he was too busy crying. The hosts were clearly torn on who’s side to take, as Haruhi had clearly been wronged but Tamaki had clearly also been wronged, and he was the one crying about it.

“The letter wasn’t signed, he only went because he wanted to know who it was and why they’d write that kind of letter when the entire school is fully aware that he’s with you.” Kyoya glared daggers at her, knowing that it was a risky move, but he genuinely didn't care at this point, how dare she yell at Tamaki, "you're being selfish to think you were the only one hurt by that happening, look at him. Take a good look at that man and tell me you're angry at him, go ahead, we all know you don't love him so you have no right to scream at him for being assaulted!"

He'd stood up at that point, towering over Haruhi, who looked shocked and even guilty. The other hosts were shocked, but there were murmurs of agreement, then Honey spoke up, "Kyo-chan has a point… it really wasn't Tama-chan's fault."

Haruhi sighed, and took a step backwards, hand over her face, "god… I know, I know, I'm sor-"

"If you knew, then why would you scream at him?" Kyoya crossed his arms, moving his head slightly so the light stopped hiding his eyes and the other hosts could see the tears in his own eyes, "I'm getting to the end of my tether with you, Haruhi, if you hurt my friend again I swear-"

"Kyo-chan, calm down."

Kyoya tensed up, glancing back at him, then to Tamaki, the tears freeing themselves and spilling down his cheeks. He huffed and stormed out of the room, not wanting the others to see him cry. Once again his own guilt consumed him, he wondered if he was even allowed to feel guilty, wasn't he too evil for that at this point? He just went to sit in the library, cursing himself for leaving his laptop in the clubroom. He took out his notebook and a pen, entering a quick entry.

12:30 -I snapped at Haruhi, she’s angry at Tamaki, tamaki hasn’t done anything wrong. Sieka kissed him, it wasn’t like he wanted it. Although I suppose she’s supposed to get angry.

Kyoya wasn’t a fan of sketching with pen, but he didn’t have any pencils on hand. So he really had no choice, he didn’t even know what he was drawing, all he knew was that there were no construction lines in said drawing. It seemed to be a figure, surrounded by others, all eyes on the centre, a devil, an evil entity with no care for the pain behind him. Was this how Kyoya saw himself? Or was this just a thoughtless doodle? Even Kyoya didn't know.

Back in class, Tamaki quietly informed Kyoya that Haruhi wouldn't be joining them for the sleepover, or any of the after-session meetings for the week. Kyoya was fine with this, but expressed guilt for having snapped at her the way he did, glancing away from Tamaki as he did so. Tamaki seemed upset by this, putting a gentle hand on Kyoya's shoulder, "Kyoya… it's ok, I understand you're angry at her, you have every right to be. In fact, I'm happy that you're looking out for me, I don't know what I'd do without you."

He couldn't get those words out of his mind, what would Tamaki do without him… oh that was wonderful, to think Tamaki needed him, to think Tamaki appreciated him… it made Kyoya's heart swell. He simply adored the idea of Tamaki needing him, of course Tamaki needed him; who else was going to protect him from Haruhi? At first, Kyoya had thought he was the villain, he was willing to be the villain and just go full throttle into it… but as things progressed, he began to think that the villain was actually Haruhi. She didn't love Tamaki, she yelled at him, she was willing to brag about not loving him… she was so cruel, poor Tamaki didn't deserve that kind of treatment.

It was ok though, Kyoya would protect him. Kyoya wasn't willing to let his darling best friend get hurt, crush or no crush. The fact that Tamaki recognised and approved of Kyoya's defence of him, it made Kyoya so very very happy. He carried his newfound pride really well, standing up a little straighter and carrying himself better. The difference was visible but no one asked about it, probably because they were too scared. It had been a while since Kyoya seemed so together.

The rest of the day went by wonderfully, with nothing going wrong. Kyoya was quite happy, although the other hosts seemed a little hung up about the day's events. Whilst hosting, Haruhi kept glancing towards Tamaki, but Tamaki didn't even glance back at her, and that was the best feeling for Kyoya, he was finally getting his way. Haruhi was finally getting what she deserved, she should never have hurt Tamaki like that. It was her own fault.

By the end of the day, Tamaki was still being loud and excitable, but there was an underlying level of pain there. Kyoya did his best to keep Tamaki's mind away from Haruhi, even going so far as to suggest that Tamaki come over to his place for a little while. Obviously Tamaki was excited at the idea, and they were very quickly sitting in the limo, with Tamaki babbling on about all the fun things they could do once they got there. Kyoya didn't say much, just stared at him from behind his glasses, enjoying the sound of Tamaki's voice.

He couldn't help but to wonder how it was for Sieka, how did it feel to kiss Tamaki? Kyoya knew Tamaki wore lipgloss, he couldn't remember what flavour Tamaki had said it was though, so he wasn't sure how it would taste but he knew it would be good. Tamaki hadn't wanted to kiss Sieka, so he likely didn't cooperate with her, but Kyoya couldn't help but imagine how amazing a kiss that was precipitated would be, the way Tamaki moved would be felt through every breath, life and love flourishing on his tongue as the world melted away… just the idea was enough to drive Kyoya mad.

That evening was wonderful, they listened to music and did homework together. Kyoya found it easier to bring himself to do things when Tamaki was there, he wasn't sure if it was the aura of energy or the pressure to look good in front of his crush. The reason didn't really matter, but the main point was that Kyoya was enjoying spending some time with Tamaki. After around two hours, or maybe an hour and a half, Tamaki spoke up with something that caught Kyoya off guard.

"Have you been hurting yourself lately?"

Oh, Kyoya hadn't been expecting that. He suddenly felt unsure, had he? He struggled to recall, the entirety of last week had been a blur for him really, so he wasn't sure what was what. “Well my bodyguards took my razors so…” that was before getting grounded wasn’t it? For some reason Kyoya knew he remembered sitting on the bathroom floor at some point that week and- “the scissors,” his words took the both of them off-guard, Tamaki glanced up from where he had been gazing at the cup of tea in his hands.

“What?”

“I took the twins' fabric shears... “ Kyoya paused for a moment, realising that his victory of memory was not going to be as much of a victory in Tamaki’s eyes, and that he’d just confessed to more self harm. “I…” the weight of what he’d just told the blonde dawned on him and he remembered how he’d promised to never let Tamaki see him like that again, “I’m sorry…”

He hadn’t been expecting to be sweeped up in a big hug and given small kisses on the top of his head, Tamaki had shouted something in french and continued to murmur french words to him softly as Kyoya just sat there in his arms. It was wonderful and though Kyoya was shaking he still felt tingles on his skin every time it brushed against Tamaki’s own. Only when the air was still and Kyoya had stopped crying- he had been crying? Only when there was silence did Tamaki speak words that Kyoya understood, pressing their foreheads together, “never apologize for that, ok? It wasn’t me you hurt, I’m just upset because I care about you and don’t want to see you hurt. The person you’re hurting is yourself, but I think that person doesn’t deserve that kind of treatment. You're hurting my best friend, Kyoya, can you promise me you’ll stop hurting my best friend? I know you’re in pain, I know that’s why you caused more, and I’m trying to help you, okay? But I can’t help if you don’t let me, please tell me if there's something I can do to make you feel better, is there?”

Kyoya didn’t want to move, making the barest little nod possible, but Tamaki understood and smiled. He didn’t want to speak as he spoke, hearing his voice and how pained and weak he sounded, it was awful… “can you stay with me tonight..? I don't want to be alone…"

Surprisingly, Tamaki agreed, and he even set up a blanket and pillow fort for them to sit in. Kyoya could be distracted from his all consuming guilt for a moment or two when Tamaki pulled him in close and wrapped a blanket around the both of them, he was so warm… it was hard to think in a situation like that. With every slow breath and chuckle that made Tamaki's chest shift just a little, with every little blue or gold sparkle in his violet eyes that seemed like the stars in the sky, with every little hum that left his lips and floated in the air giving off warmth, Kyoya fell just a little more in love.

Love was a funny thing; Kyoya had always thought it was stupid, just a chemical reaction, but the more he thought about it, the more he realised that he was actually a very romantic person. There was nothing Kyoya wanted more than to simply be help by someone who saw him, someone who understood who he was and who he wanted to be. That was what made this so much worse, the fact that Kyoya was now a horrible person made him scared for Tamaki to see him for what he was. He would never be seen, he could never be loved… not like this.

The thing that brought Kyoya hope, however, was the fact that Tamaki had always been one to look through a person, to see the person they wanted to be. He'd always encouraged Kyoya to be the person Kyoya had always dreamed to be, but now that dream was unclear; constantly shifting and changing, Kyoya didn’t know who he wanted to be anymore, it was so strained and fuzzy for him. The idea of the true self was slipping from his grasp as he made each step towards what he wanted, narrowly avoiding his doom at the hands of his own psyche. It was beginning to grow too much for even him to handle, but he didn’t trust himself to even try to do anything about it, what if he hurt people more?

A song, a lullaby in a tongue too foreign for Kyoya to understand, but familiar enough for him to name it. Tamaki ran his fingers through the villain’s hair, grounding Kyoya as he let the words wrap like a blanket. He was singing softly, Kyoya couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard tamaki sing- had he ever? The sound was wonderful, something to make him relax. Kyoya was a beast in that moment, an animal, he didn't trust himself to speak nor move, only laying, shivering in the blonde’s arms. Kyoya thought back to how he’d hurt everything, the people he’d cared for. He silently prayed for forgiveness, not to any god- Kyoya wasn’t a man of faith, but he had faith in his friends, he hoped when the truth came undone, they’d see through his actions to see who he was inside.

He made a promise, to them and to himself; there would be no pain caused nor received all week, they all deserved a reprieve. Kyoya knew he had a large amount of control over the pain his friends were experiencing, but as he caught a glimpse of the sadness in Tamaki’s eyes, he prayed Haruhi would allow them all to rest.

#kyoya ootori #ouran high school host club #tamaki souh #tamakyo #haruhi fujioka #Seika Ayanokoji

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flowerfan2 · 3 years

Text

David x Patrick, 40k so far, A03 (read from the beginning here)

It starts with a reunion... but what happens after that?

Chapter 13

Monday morning after his run David goes into the office, closes the door, and gets to work. He spends a little bit of time figuring out whether he needs a printer (no), and if there are any office supplies he can order from Amazon and charge to the company (possibly; a larger monitor would be nice, and they aren’t actually that expensive). The desk and chair are functional enough, although they probably weren’t meant to be used for actual nine to five activity, and David is going to feel it in his back before the day is over.

He reluctantly logs on and starts checking emails. There’s a bunch from last week that he needs to deal with, and he messages Rory to see if he can respond to some of them. At ten there’s a meeting with a vendor over Zoom (and yes, he thinks, I am capable of using Zoom, Stevie), and by eleven o’clock, he’s bored.

It’s not that his job is bad, or even difficult. It’s just boring. Although he’s still involved with the type of products he enjoyed selling at the Apothecary, most of the joy has gone out of it. Now bringing in a new product means finding some way to convince the hotel operations staff that they can use it, and there are only so many travel size toiletries that a motel chain can give out without losing money.

When Patrick knocks on his door at noon, he’s more than ready to take a break. They bring their lunches out onto the lanai, Patrick rocking back and forth on the chair as David eats the delicious salad Patrick has prepared.

“I should have known you’d appreciate the grapes,” Patrick says, smiling as David takes another forkful.

“And the goat cheese,” David says, his mouth full. “It’s quite good. This can’t have come from the Publix.”

“No, I went to the farmer’s market in town,” Patrick says. “There’s a guy there with some really nice cheeses. From his own goats.”

David narrows his eyes at Patrick. “Are you being serious?”

“What, you think there can’t be goats in Florida?”

“It just doesn’t seem very on theme.”

“You’d rather they try to make cheese from alligators, or dolphins? I don’t think it would work.”

“Shut up.”

“People used to eat the armadillos, but now they give you the plague, so you won’t find that at the farm stand.”

David stares at Patrick. “Now you’re definitely making things up.”

“Nope.” Patrick grins at him, then takes a long sip of his iced tea. “So, how’s work?”

David opens his mouth to complain about how bored he is, and then shuts it again. He has no right to complain, he’s still involved with RA, he’s still employed. Patrick is neither.

Patrick sees exactly what’s going on. “It’s okay. I can take it. What craziness are the vendors trying to pull today?”

David hesitates, but Patrick’s face is open and he’s genuinely interested. He launches into his tale of woe, the repetitiveness and the limits and the damn corporate frames, and all of a sudden he’s out of breath, sitting back in his chair with his jaw on the floor.

“Sorry. I guess it’s been grating on me for a while. I didn’t mean to spew that all over you.”

“No, it’s okay. I get it.” Patrick shrugs. “I wasn’t able to find anything I liked doing as much as our store. It’s different, I guess, when you’re in charge.”

David smirks. “When who was in charge?”

“Fine – when we were in charge.” Patrick’s face changes, and David can feel it in his chest. “It was ours. Together.”

That’s the rub, isn’t it? Rose Apothecary wasn’t just the ideal place to express his creative side through high-end bath products, it was a labor of love with the love of his life. Together.

*****

“Ugh, David, why won’t you help?”

“Alexis, for the hundredth time, I can’t magically lower your rent. I’m already working for you for a fraction of what my time is worth. If you’re not making enough money and you don’t want to live somewhere our parents already own, get a real job.”

“Every time I run the numbers it looks like it should work out. I don’t know why my projects never make what they say they will.”

“What who says they will?”

“My spreadsheets!”

Like a genie responding to his name, Patrick sticks his head in the door to the office, an Amazon box in his hand. His eyes go wide when he sees Alexis on the screen. “David, um, this came for you, I didn’t know if you’d need it…”

“Oooh, thanks.” David’s pretty sure the package contains the sketch pads and colored pencils he ordered. He was planning on expensing them to the account he’s working on with Alexis, but it sounds like now is not the time to discuss it.

He stands up and goes to Patrick, taking the box from him and putting it on the couch, then reaching out to link his arm through Patrick’s. Patrick is possibly even paler than usual, and seems to have lost the power of speech as he stares at Alexis. She’s staring back at him, her hands frozen in whatever little flingy motions she was making when she caught sight of Patrick.

“So, this is incredibly awkward,” David says, looking between the two of them. “What do we say we just move past it?”

Alexis recovers first, her need to disagree with David overpowering her distress. “David,” she starts, tossing her hair and shaking her head in an effort to get herself on track. “It’s not awkward. We’re fine. Peachy. Right, Patrick?”

David moves them a little closer to his laptop, and guides Patrick to sit down in the chair. “Yeah, um. Hi, Alexis.”

Alexis twists a lock of hair around a finger and leans in close, peering at Patrick through the screen. “I’m sorry you got hurt,” she says, gently sincere.

Patrick’s hand flies up to his head, as if he had forgotten all about his wound. “Is it that noticeable?”

“It’s not, not really.” David slides his arm around Patrick’s shoulders. “I’m sure she can’t even see anything,” he says softly into his ear. “She only knows because I told her about it.”

Patrick looks up at David a little helplessly, and David can’t help leaning in and kissing him, a hand on his cheek, not letting up even as Alexis sighs loudly at them.

“Eat nails, Alexis,” he says, without much venom.

“I’m not mad,” Alexis says. “I get it. You’re each others’ locks.”

Patrick blinks at her, confused. “We can’t both be locks.”

“Whatever, you’re the key that goes in his lock, you know what I mean.”

“That’s quite an assumption,” David says, struggling to keep his face straight.

“Eew, David, shut up.”

“You started it.”

“I don’t care, you still have to help me figure this out!”

Patrick shifts, sitting up a little taller. With a quick glance at David, he enters the fray. “Did I hear you say you were having problems with your budgeting spreadsheets?”

*****

David’s in the living room, waiting for Patrick to finish talking with Alexis and possibly reveal that she needs to declare bankruptcy, when the landline in the kitchen rings. Figuring it might be the hurricane screen guys (who he needs to be nicer to, they could be saving their lives) he scoots off the couch and hustles into the kitchen to pick it up. When he hears the voice on the other end, he really wishes he had let it go to voice mail.

It’s not the hurricane screen guys. It’s Marcy Brewer.

“David? Is that you?”

He imagines hanging up, but that would be unfathomably rude, and this is Patrick’s mom. Who David hasn’t spoken to in over three years. Who probably hates him for leaving Patrick.

“Um, yes, hi, hello.”

“It’s so nice to hear your voice,” Marcy says. Sounds fake, but whatever. “How are you?”

David rocks his head back and wonders how on earth he could have gotten into this situation again – he’s not going to be mistaken for Patrick’s business partner this time around, but do Marcy and Clint know they’re back together? At least Marcy doesn’t seem to be surprised that David is at their house picking up the phone.

“I’m good, thanks. How about you?” he responds, the standard phrases giving him a moment to catch his breath.

“Oh, we’re fine. What have you and Patrick been up to?” Marcy sounds friendly, interested. Not at all like she wishes David was suffering in the deepest levels of hell.

David forces himself to try to respond to her question, and then nearly laughs, given that they haven’t been “up to” anything nearly as raunchy as Marcy probably expects. Best to escape as soon as possible. “Not much – hang on, let me get Patrick.”

“David, wait,” Marcy says, and David does, pressing a hand over his eyes and hoping that this isn’t the scolding he was expecting. Not that he doesn’t deserve it, but he’s really not looking forward to it.

“What is it?”

“I just wanted to say that Clint and I are so pleased that you two boys are giving it another go. Patrick’s never been as happy as he was when you were together.”

David’s throat gets tight. He’d like to think that’s true. Patrick seemed happy, at least most of the time. He had said he was. But then how does he explain the whole Mark thing?

“It probably seems hard, but we have faith in you,” Marcy continues. “We saw what the two of you had. It was something special.”

“It was,” David says, Marcy’s kind words demanding an answer. “You have to know, he made me happy too. Happier than I ever thought I’d be. But I blew it, I screwed it up…” David has no idea why these words are falling out of his mouth, it’s some kind of effect that Brewers have on him, it’s horrible.

“Don’t beat yourself up, dear. Sometimes getting everything you ever wanted can be overwhelming. Patrick wasn’t used to that either, you realize. The important thing is that you’re both trying again, and learning from what happened before. You’ll make it work this time.”

David lets out a long, slow breath. From your mouth to god’s ears, Marcy. “Do you really think so?”

“I do. I have a good feeling about this. I know my boy. It can take him a while to figure out what he wants, but when he does, look out.”

David laughs weakly. “Is that a good thing?”

“Well, do you want to be with him?”

He’s positive that there aren’t words in spoken language to fully express how much he wants to be with Patrick. “Yes.”

“Then it’s good. Because Patrick is sure about you. Let yourself be sure about him. Not everything has to end in disaster.”

David wants to argue with her, to point out how his life is an example of exactly the opposite. But then he remembers a conversation with his therapist where she made him reflect on things that have gone well for him, whether or not they were shaky at some point in the past – his relationship with his parents, his bond with Alexis, his work with RA. His recovery, and the effort he’s put into his mental health.

Maybe his relationship with Patrick can be like that. Shaky in the past, but solid now.

Patrick is sure about you, Marcy put it. Maybe David can be sure, too.

“Thank you,” David says to her, his brain spinning.

“Anytime. Now go get yourself a glass of water, and put Patrick on the phone.”

Patrick chooses this moment to appear, his eyes questioning as David thrusts the phone at him and escapes into the bedroom. But he’s too jittery to just sit on the bed. He goes into the guest room, strips, and tugs on his swim trunks and a long-sleeved swim shirt. He pauses to look in the mirror over the dresser, his eyes looking back at him a bit wild. The thin shirt is white with a black stripe down each sleeve, and he runs his hands over the smooth material. Not exactly haute couture but it’ll do in what is feeling very much like a pinch.

David feels Patrick’s gaze on him as he breezes through the living room and out on to the lanai, not letting himself pause before jumping feet-first into the deep end of the pool. The water is warmer than the air, but still a bit of a shock as it surrounds him. He pops up to breathe, pushing his hair out of his face, and starts swimming.

David had it in his head that he was going to swim laps until he burned out his nervous energy, but he rapidly discovers that the pool isn’t really big enough for that, and also that as fit as he might be, swimming seems to use different muscles than running and breathlessly swimming miniature laps in a tiny pool isn’t that much fun.

He still swims back and forth a few times, then bobs around in the deep end, letting himself sink down with his hands above his head, his fingertips seemingly staying above the water even when his toes touch the bottom. It’s not very deep.

The pool isn’t large but it is pretty, dark blue ceramic tiles running along the waterline, and seat-like ledges set in several places in both the shallow and deep ends, presumably so that the old people doing their water aerobics can rest. Or maybe to sit on while sipping a tropical drink, which is a decidedly appealing thought David files away for later.

He hears steps and spins around to see Patrick, clad in a white t-shirt and Kelly green swim trunks, standing by the edge of the pool.

“Hi there,” Patrick says. His face is wavering between fondly amused and concerned.

“I like the pool,” David says. He reaches out to hold on to the concrete by Patrick’s feet. The angle is kind of funny, looking up at Patrick’s pale legs.

“I can see that.” Patrick fiddles with the hem of his shirt, glancing around and then back at David. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” David tries to make this sound confident. Why wouldn’t he be? Getting worked up over talking to Marcy Brewer for the first time in more than three years and then throwing himself into the deep end of the pool is dramatic, fine, but it’s not completely out of character.

“Want some company?”

David can’t help but smile at this. “Assuming you are referring to yourself, always.”

Patrick goes over to the shallow end, where there are steps leading into the water and a curved handrail. He pauses, and David sees him hesitate before tugging off his t-shirt. David swims over, reaching out to Patrick, catching him by the waist and guiding him into his arms.

They stand in the shallow end together, David carefully running his hands along Patrick’s flanks, wary of the still healing bruises. Patrick relaxes, his shoulders coming down, and he rests his head on David’s shoulder.

“How are you feeling?” David asks softly, a hand splayed over Patrick’s ribs.

“Good. Really good.” Patrick looks up at David and presses a finger along his eyebrow, catching a stray drop of water. “How are you?”

David shudders as he remembers the call with Marcy, which the sight of Patrick’s bare skin had managed to overshadow for just a moment. He takes a breath and squeezes Patrick’s shoulders, putting on a smile. “I’m fine.”

“Did my mother say something to upset you?”

He shakes his head. “No, absolutely not.”

“Then what is it?”

“You told your parents.”

Patrick tilts his head. “Yes…?”

“About us. Being back together.”. The phrase still doesn’t sit right with him, it seems too trivial for what is going on between them, but it gets the point across.

“Yeah, I did. Was that not okay?”

“No, of course it’s okay, it just…”

“It surprised you.” Patrick gives him a rueful glance. “Because I didn’t tell them, before, back in Schitt’s Creek.”

“I just wasn’t sure,” David says, “when I picked up the phone and it was your mother, whether she knew? And then it turned out that she did know, and she said – all these unbearably sweet things.”

“I’m sorry, she doesn’t have much of a filter.”

“No, it’s okay, like I said, she was really nice.”

“It was just a lot?” Patrick suggests.

“It was a lot. And from your mother.”

Patrick laughs. “She’s just excited.” He backs them a little deeper into the pool, the water now up to their shoulders.

“But why?” David says, a panicked whine creeping into his voice. “After what I did, why would she think this is a good idea?”

Patrick puts his hands firmly around David’s waist and finds his eyes. “After we broke up, I told my parents everything. Everything.. It’s kind of embarrassing, looking back on it, but I did. They were getting ready for a wedding too, remember? They didn’t understand what went wrong, so I told them about Mark, and how you knew something was off. They don’t blame you for what happened, any more than they blame me.”

David feels his chest clench. “Are you ever going to tell me what really was going on? Why you were flirting with him?” He doesn’t mean to sound accusatory, but there’s a part of him that needs to know why. Was it something he did? Is there something he needs to do better? And if Patrick can’t come up with a reason, how do they make sure it doesn’t happen again?

Patrick steps back from David, one hand trailing down David’s arm to take his hand, putting a little distance between them but still hanging on. “I think I was just scared of getting something I thought I’d never have.”

“But you were going to marry Rachel. You had the chance before, you knew you could have it.”

“I could have been married to Rachel, but it wouldn’t have been right. When I was with her, there was always something missing. That’s what I thought I’d never have, even when I couldn’t put my finger on it. Turns out, what was missing was you.”

Patrick pulls David in, brushing a kiss over his lips. He tastes like tea, and pool water, and the soft warm heat of his skin. David melts against him, his hips swaying to bring them close. “I’m so sorry I didn’t know how to handle it,” Patrick says quietly. “It was scary because you made it right, David. After all that wasted time, you made it right.”

When they part, David feels giddy. It’s time to commit, he can feel it. He can feel how easy it is to love this person, who doesn’t hesitate to share his feelings with David, who isn’t scared off by how strongly David feels, by him spiraling literally into the deep end. He knows that loving someone is a risk, but Patrick is all in, and David wants to be there too.

“I’m sure about you, Patrick,” he says. Patrick’s eyes widen, fixed on his own, and David nods, feeling the truth of it all through his body. “I’m sure about you, too.”

Patrick surges forward in the water and climbs into his arms, his legs coming up and around David too, almost overbalancing them as David splashes to keep them upright. As he steadies he wraps his arms around Patrick and kisses him fiercely. Getting what you’ve always wanted may be overwhelming, but it’s damn good just the same.

#David x Patrick #David Rose #Patrick Brewer #Schitt's Creek fic #SC fic #Schitt's Creek #Reunion fic #Literally spiraling into the deep end

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sleepyowlwrites · 3 years

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this tag I did a while back that amused me to read again

1. What is your ideal setting for focusing on your writing?

I don't understand the question. Writing inspiration is a cat - generally lazy and sprawled out somewhere unusual but occasionally up for a good pounce on something that was never going to fight back. When the pounce is on I just hope I have my laptop open.

[addendum: seriously, as long as I have a pen and writing surface or my phone or laptop handy, I’m good. I can write wherever, whenever, and sure, it’s easiest if I get to type it out really fast, but I’ll settle for word sketches.]

2. What is your favorite genre to write?

Fantasy, but as long as there are a couple characters exchanging snarky banter with an undercurrent of chaotic emotions held back by the flimsy dam called sarcasm, I'm good. I'm better if there's magic, though.

[addendum: I do prefer if there is magic, but I think my true favorite genre is “character study while the plot is going on, and maybe the character study IS the plot.”]

3. Do you prefer to write on paper or digitally?

I am a speedy touch-typer and thank goodness for that because my thoughts are like lightning and the the thunder doesn't last that long either.

Also my handwriting is terrible and it's a pain to try and figure out what I was trying to say later on.

[addendum: I prefer to type but I have since proven that I can write a thousand words on paper and it worked out just fine.]

4. It's the middle of the night and you suddenly wake up with an idea, what do you do?

I say it out loud to see if it's a good one. If it is, I make a note in my phone with the gist. If it isn't, I just follow it back into my dreams. If I'm lucky. Falling asleep is hard.

[addendum: honestly, I was probably already awake. if I’m waking up, it’s probably daytime.]

5. Who is your favorite person to write about?

Me, of course. There's some of me in most of my characters. Often, the ones I figure are the most similar are the ones who end up being the most unlike me in the end, not because I fear to see myself and my flaws on the page, but because their roots are not my own, so their fruits will be different, too.

[addendum: so basically, anybody but me.]

6. Do you like making your own characters or do you write about real people?

I never wrote about real people. Even when I wrote BTS fics. They were always my own characters with select, recognizable traits and the same names, but I never tried to make them realistic to their real world counterparts. I like making my own characters.

[addendum: and this is also why I stopped being able to keep up RP’s.]

7. Have you ever written a book or story with more than 15 chapter or 100K words?

Better Than Tears, the fanfic version of Anxiety Story, has 17+1 chapters, but only 51K words. That's the longest story I've written.

[addendum: this still stands.]

8. How often do you get ideas?

All the time. I dismiss most of them. They're barely formed, lumpy bits of clay and I'm more of a watercolors girl. A swoop of colors comes along sometimes and I make a grab at it. Sometimes they bleed onto my fingers and I can add them to my writing. Usually they just flit away and are perhaps never seen again. I'm not saddened. Another may write it, and it doesn't have to be me. There are many more colors I've yet to discover.

[addendum: if the idea comes as a quote, or a quick summary, I save it, and it will eventually come up on my prompts blog.]

9. Do you ever get an idea that you really like but can't seem to ever finish?

I believe it's called a work in progress. Less noisy than your road having a hole in it or your house getting new rooms, but still very messy and hard to live with at times. Ah well. I'll get there.

[addendum: it’s also called ADHD, and also depression. but I did finally make that stupid comic I came up with years ago.]

10. What is your least favorite plot?

If you sat down and had an honest conversation this never would have happened. But nobody listened and now someone is dead, someone is a killer and you're all idiots. Also at least two of you are in love and it's an unhealthy relationship due to all your dishonesty and damage. Sadly ever after.

[addendum: romance where it was not needed, you didn’t see that twist coming? that’s because we didn’t foreshadow it at all! aren’t we so clever?, the love of the right person, revenge.]

#sleepy talks #writing #writing thoughts #writing process #writeblr #sleepy thoughts #sleepy writing #wip #sleepy says

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imcryingbuckets · 3 years

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My Whole Heart "Hates" You. chapter two!

Yay! It's here.

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31072760/chapters/76820876#workskin

tw: swearing, that's about it

word count: 2,069

summary: Violet and Bill get into quite the childish argument, and Violet can't seem to stop blushing around him. But it's probably the room temperature or something, right?

Chapter 2: Room Temperature

Thankfully, I make it through the rest of the pitch meeting without getting any further flustered and/or distracted by Bill staring at me (what is his problem with that? He’s clearly trying to get under my skin and it is definitely not working at all, not even a little bit). However he did snicker when I stumbled over a word at one point, which was a bit petty and reminded me of why I dislike him so much.

But the meeting eventually came to an end which leads me to where I am now, sitting in front of my computer screen staring at a blank document, trying to think of how to start one of the sketches I pitched (I didn’t intend to write it when I pitched it, but I think Bill saw this and decided that he was going to be oh so very enthusiastic about it and now I have to).

As I watch the cursor blink on and off the screen, I hear a knock at the door for the second time today. It was much slower and reluctant to how Aidy knocked earlier, so I knew it wasn’t her. Thinking that it was maybe Kyle or Pete, I shout my permission for them to enter, almost cheerfully (the fact that I can’t think of how to start this stupid sketch idea, which will probably be cut, is making me quite reasonably stressed).

The door glides open to a reveal a 6 foot tall man stepping into my office; a man that I really did not want to see again today, let alone speak to.

“Well if it isn’t Violet Fay!” He exclaims while shutting the door behind him. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen and tolerated you.”

He adds the last bit with a smile and crosses his arms, I’m assuming he was trying to be playful and funny but it just irritated me. Nothing out of the ordinary.

“You act surprised to see me? My name is on the door you just walked through, Bill.” My comment probably also irritated him in return, as he rolled his eyes at this.

He sat down on the couch in the corner of my office, without asking, by the way.

“Oh yes, have a seat why don’t you, make yourself at home.” I say whilst trying to act like I’m highly concentrated on an old script I opened so that he maybe doesn’t bother me as much.

He ignores my comment and instead says, “Lorne says we should work on that sketch together since I was so ‘enthusiastic’ about it in the meeting. Didn’t think that would come ‘round to bite me in the ass.” He says the word ‘enthusiastic’ whilst making air-quotations with his hands.

“Well seeing as you acted that way just to spite me and put me through hell with a shit sketch idea, I think this is adequate punishment for you.” I type a few random keys on my keyboard just to make it look like I’m doing something and add, “Although I would have preferred it if it didn’t include me, tolerating you isn’t my ideal Monday morning.”

He laughs at this. I was being genuine. “Why do you talk like that?” he giggles. The sound of him giggling I swear-

“Talk like what?” I reply as I’m honestly confused with what this man is hinting at.

“All posh with all these fancy words, like ‘adequate’ and ‘preferred’” He adds those last words in a British accent, which really pisses me off.

I glare at him as I turn away from my computer, “I don’t speak ‘posh’ at all. We’re not all from Oklahoma, Hader.” My anger towards him begins to flourish and my skin gets hot.

He scoffs at this, “Whatever Fay.” I think he ran out of things to say because he starts to restlessly fiddle with his shoelaces.

For a moment I watch his hands, carefully playing with loose green threads of his laces, but I pull my eyes away and look back at my screen.

“Look, if you’re not going to help me write this sketch, I suggest you piss off.” I comment, opening up the blank document I close earlier.

He stands up and shoves his hands in his pockets, “Fine then, I’ll go see what Kate’s writing. Not like I wanted to sit with here and write your shitty sketch idea anyways.”

He exits through the door and slams it, and for some reason, my blood boils at this. Why is he so childish? He’s 40 for fucks sake, grow up, Bill! I know the idea wasn’t that great, but why put it so harshly?

I yell, “Oh, fuck off, Bill!” after him, quite loud so he could hear me through the door. Not the cleverest comeback but I’m so worked up that I just needed to let it out as soon as possible. I don’t normally shout in the office either, except on the rare occasion where there's an incident with a spilled cup of hot coffee. But I feel like it’s excusable because of Bill.

He opens the door again to show me his middle finger and exclaim, “Fuck you too, Violet!” before he slams the door shut again.

In the limited number of seconds that the door was open, I caught a glimpse of Pete standing behind Bill, looking severely confused and honestly a little scared. Seeing his face kind of made me realise how childish and petty we were being, but my anger still persisted nonetheless. All over one comment I made about Oklahoma, jeez.

I return back to my screen, and surprisingly the frustration inside of me managed to conjure up an idea for the sketch. At least two good things came out of that argument: 1. I finally figured out how to start this damn sketch, and 2. it feels really fucking good to shout at Bill.

******

I finally finish the sketch, and after checking the time I decide that it’s probably a good time to get lunch before I fall down a writing loophole again (next thing you know it’s been 6 hours and people are starting to head home).

As I’m walking into the breakroom, I see everyone crowding around a couple pizza boxes. Great timing on my behalf. Kate’s standing in the corner of the room holding a paper plate with a slice of greasy cheese pizza.

“You’re an angel, Kate.” I say before taking the plate from her hands and indulging.

“No problem, Bill bought some for the whole office.” She says this with a wink, suggesting that she’s hinting towards something.

“Ugh, why’d you give me tainted pizza?”

Before Kate could reply with anything, Bill shouts from across the room, “You’re welcome, Violet!”

Arrogant twat. I say this to myself as to not cause another screaming match, but flip him off with my middle finger and a roll of my eyes, just so he knows where I stand.

Unfortunately for me, he winks at my actions and I feel a wicked blush creep up on my cheeks. He thinks I’m joking.

Worse, Kate catches the redness growing across my face, and decides to delightfully point it out.

“Are you blushing? Oh my god, Vi, do you like him?”

I look around the room to see if anyone heard her, god forbid, quickly seeking out Bill’s face in the small crowd as him having heard her would have been the worst case scenario. I thank the heavens that no one did, seeing them continue their conversations without batting an eyelid.

“I absolutely do not like him, Kate.” I say with a heavy load of disgust laced in my voice. “I can barely stand him, and he feels the same.”

“Then why are you blushing?” She pokes my cheek with her finger to emphasise her point before I swat her hand away.

“I’m blushing from…annoyance, or something. I don’t know maybe it’s the room temperature. It’s definitely not Hader.”

Neither of us are completely convinced at my statement, but thankfully she drops the subject and continues to eat her pizza.

I obviously don’t like him. Clearly. He is loud and obnoxious and irritating and I think the thing he does with his hands when he’s nervous is utterly stupid.

For the rest of the day, I’m in a bit of a stale mood but I manage to get quite a lot of scripts done by 7 o’clock, which makes me pleased. But before I get the chance to switch off my computer, I hear a knock at my door. And, of course, enters Bill.

I mutter a Dear God as I distract myself from his face by looking at the pen lid that was dropped and never picked up.

“Hey, Violet.”

“Bill.” I continue to stare at the ground, reluctant to look up.

“So, Lorne mentioned that he wanted us to at least write one sketch together.” He sees my annoyance at this and says, “I know, I know, I’m unbearable, but boss’ orders.” He ends with a shrug and a raise of his palms as if to say ‘hey, don’t shoot the messenger’. He goes on, “I was thinking we could stay behind for a bit, try and write something without ripping each other’s heads off.”

I sigh and raise my head to finally meet his eyes, getting lost in them for a moment. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid.

“Um, yeah sure, okay. If Lorne says so I guess we have to.” I want nothing more than to go home, put on my comfy pyjamas, and snuggle with my sweet little ginger cat, but I figured it’s best to just agree seeing as it was ‘boss’ orders’.

“Rad,” Rad, radical, fuckin’ surf’s up dude “okay so I have to go do something real quick but I’ll be back in like…” He pauses to look at his watch, “45-ish minutes?”

“Yeah, sure.” I say with a nod of my head, not really interested in having a lasting conversation with him, and a little bit distracted by his eyes, that are still staring at mine, to do so.

He leaves, muttering something that resembles an ‘okay’ or a ‘goodbye’, I wasn’t paying too close attention. He shuts the door behind him, quietly this time.

Re-opening my word document on my laptop, I begin to make brief lists of new sketch ideas that could probably work at some point. I figured I might as well get some extra work in if I’m going to have ’45-ish minutes’ to spare in the studio.

I type and type and type and type, until suddenly its 8pm. Hm, he should’ve been back about 15 minutes ago now. I brush it off though, he probably just got caught up with whatever he was doing. As much as he is an annoying twat, he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to stand someone up. Especially if it’s work related. Especially, especially if it’s Lorne related.

******

Well, I guess he is the kind of guy to stand someone up, even if it is work or Lorne related, as the clock just turned 10pm (three hours since he left). Either he has a terribly bad concept of time, or he’s just a dickhead. I’m going with the latter, regardless of what the actual reason is.

I decide I’m not going to stay a minute longer, not when I could be watching true crime with my cat at home, and so I switch off my computer and pack up my things to head back to my apartment.

I leave the office feeling a little foolish as I thought that he actually wanted to work on some scripts with me. When in reality he probably only wanted to play with my head and piss me off further.

As much as he annoys me, (and I mean he truly, truly annoys me) I was hoping that tonight would be a good opportunity to find out if he had any nice qualities about him, something that we could agree on. But instead, he successfully manages to do the opposite and make a fool out of me. And tomorrow, himself too, as I’m seriously going to lay into him with my pent up anger the next time I see him. (Within reason of course, I don’t want to lose my job any time soon).

#bill hader #fanfic #bill hader x reader #bill hader x ofc #snl fanfic

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wheresmynaya · 4 years

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Lopez’s 8 Ch.10 | Brittana

And that's a wrap! It's been fun & I've really appreciated all the engagement this story has received, really brought me back to the good ole Brittana days. THANK YOU, THANK YOU to everyone that has commented, reviewed, kudos'd(?), sent asks, PM'd, DM'd, MADE A WHOLE AS TRAILER and FIC ART etc... It really has been a pleasure writing for you all.

Maybe I'll see you again in the near future when I finally publish my Quarterback!Britt and Cheerios!San verse? Look out for a little something called Lost in the Lights *smirky smirk, wink wink*

Also available on ff.net (x) ao3 (x) & below the cut!

Sugar let’s out a dramatic sigh as she stares longingly out of the front window. She’s surrounded by the others – minus Rachel, Santana and Brittany – and they’ve been doing their best to keep themselves busy.

Quinn considers it a nice break before she has to return to her boring life in the ‘burbs and has been catching up on some reading. So lame, Sugar thinks.

Emma’s busy scribbling new designs inspired by the heist in her sketchbook like non-stop and Sugar’s sure that Santana would confiscate it if she knew what the so-called designer was coming up with. Sugar’s not going to tell though, she’s no snitch bitch.

Mercedes is up to something shady for sure. Sugar thinks she has an online gambling addiction, but like…do you, boo. She considers asking if Mercedes would hook her up with an account too, because she thinks she’d probably be good at scamming people online. Afterall, she’s an ace doing it in real life! Maybe that’s her next venture?

Tina’s trying her hand at Tinder and failing miserably. Sugar’s tried to help, but Tina’s got such questionable taste in men that she loses interest.

So now, Sugar just stares longingly out of the window waiting for the day Santana finally gives them the okay that it’s safe to come out of hiding. She lets out another dramatic sigh and this time Quinn gives her a pointed look from over the top of her book. The bossy blonde really has that mom-glare thing down pact, but Sugar’s seen worse.

“I’m so bored,” Sugar grumbles and knocks her head against the window to rest there.

“It’s been two days,” Quinn points out as she turns the page.

“That’s so long,” Sugar pouts, “I hate it.”

“Me too,” Tina pipes in from the couch, “I didn’t know we’d be stuck in this musty old loft after everything.”

“Mercedes?” Sugar calls out as she turns away from the window, “Can you put on Run Joey?”

Mercedes pokes her head out from behind her laptop where she sits at the poker table and her brow is raised high, “Hell no.”

Sugar frowns, “But it’s so good.”

“It really isn’t,” Mercedes replies.

“Speaking of Run Joey, I’ve been thinking…” Tina wonders aloud, “How come Rachel gets to leave while the rest of us are stuck on house arrest?”

“Because she can’t draw attention to us by skipping out on her previous engagements,” Quinn responds, “She has to continue with her life as normal.”

“What about Santana and Brittany then?” Sugar questions.

Quinn rolls her eyes and shuts the book in her hands in favor of sitting up from where she was lounging near Tina. She can feel the other’s eyes on her, she knows they’re also curious as to why the rules don’t apply to Santana and Brittany too.

“They’re doing a lot more than you know,” Quinn replies and she makes a point to glance at everyone, “This job didn’t just end at the Gala like it did for all of you. There’s still working being done in order for us all to get paid and stay out of jail. They’ve both got a lot on their plates so be grateful all you have to do now is lay low.”

That seems to shut Sugar up for the moment.

Quinn’s quite pleased with herself for that so she rests back and reaches for her wine glass before opening up her book again.

“Besides,” She says in a calmer voice, “Being in here isn’t so bad, it’s kind of peaceful.”

Tina eyes her as she takes a sip, “You just day drink and read all day.”

“And it’s amazing when you have a kid at home and a husband who sometimes acts like a kid too,” Quinn replies before she’s lost in her book again.

“I like it too,” Emma speaks up from her work station. She smiles with a little shrug, “I’ve been so inspired by all of this and all of you. I’ve been using this time to sketch out designs. I’m thinking about using my share to open up my own place.”

Everyone nods and starts to wonder what they’ll do with their share after all of this too.

A moment later, Brittany’s pulling open the heavy loft door with Santana close behind her. They’re holding hands – which is new – and talking excitedly about something until they realize that everyone but Quinn is staring at them.

Santana frowns, “What? You all look like we just walked in on you talking shit about us.”

No one speaks. Quinn she keeps her eyes on the page she’s reading but there’s a hint of a smirk there that Santana notices. The brunette narrows her eyes at the others.

“Wait, were you?” She questions and there’s a slight edge in her voice.

“No,” Tina says a little too eagerly, “We were just talking about how much we appreciate having this little break while you two are out there doing…whatever it is that you’re doing.”

Santana doesn’t know if she believes her or not, but she doesn’t really care at the moment. She’s still high on how great of a day she’s had with Brittany. She was intending to attend these auctions alone just so she can observe their hired actresses at work, but Brittany offered to keep her company and Santana figured who is she to deny her girlfriend of that? In fact, it kind of worked out in her favor because if Brittany hadn’t come then she would’ve had to eat lunch alone and there would’ve never been a quickie in the car between auctions.

Even though they were technically working, it was nice to be out and about together as an actual couple. This whole hand-holding thing is also pretty awesome too!

“Well good,” Santana responds with a smile, “As a matter of fact, I have some news that you might like.”

The others perk up and gather around Santana while Brittany takes a seat next to Quinn.

“Our merry band of lovely old ladies that we’ve hired are making great progress with selling off the pieces of the Toussaint,” Santana explains, “Sales should be finalized tonight so once everything’s deposited in Dani’s account then we’ll be golden.”

“Wait. Dani’s account?” Tina asks.

“What are we getting paid with then?” Emma asks too. The others look around at each other confused and begin to talk amongst themselves.

Santana catches Brittany’s proud little grin and matches it before turning back to the others, “You’ll get your money, don’t you worry about that. Just have a little patience.”

It’s late in the morning the next day when Brittany gently wakes Santana with kisses all over her face. Santana blinks away the sleepiness with a content smile while Brittany hovers over her whispering, “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Santana mumbles back. This little cocoon of warmth that’s a combination of being wrapped up in the comforter and Brittany’s arms is the perfect place to spend all day, but she knows she can’t. At least, not today.

“What time’s your meeting?” Brittany asks as she dances her fingers along Santana’s hip.

“Two,” Santana replies with a sigh. When she glances over at the clock on her nightstand, she groans at the time there, “I should be getting ready.”

“Yeah you should,” Brittany says but she only holds her closer.

Santana nods, “A few more minutes.”

“Okay.”

So Santana cuddles further against Brittany for a few more minutes. Leaving this bed is the last thing she wants to do, but there’s a lot riding on this meeting and she knows it needs to be done. She knows there’s not much to worry about, she knows what she’s doing, but she’s still nervous about it.

“You sure you don’t want me to go with you?” Brittany asks like she’s inside Santana’s head.

“I’m sure.”

“Okay.”

A moment later Santana’s tilting her head up to kiss the hinge of Brittany’s jaw. There’s a little flinch and Santana smiles at how Brittany so easily fell back asleep, “I have to get up, Britt.”

“Yeah okay,” Brittany nods a little sleepily.

Santana smirks as she plays with Brittany’s hair, “You can stay. I just need to shower.”

“No, no. I’ll get up too,” Brittany says as she begins to stretch her tired limbs, “A hot shower sounds like a good idea.”

“Sounds like a great idea to me,” Santana agrees and plants one more kiss to her lips before she’s going to get the water started.

They’re a little sluggish as they strip down and step in to the shower. It’s a stark contrast to the chill in the air, but it helps ease them both out of their slumber.

But it’s not the temperature of the water or the freezing air of the loft that Santana focuses on. It’s how Brittany offers to wash Santana’s hair for her, how they take turns standing under the warmth of the spray to wash off, how the wet kisses pressed to bare shoulders elicit moans, how hands disappear between slick thighs, how whispers of I love you can’t help but leave their lips as if they’re the only words they can remember.

Before they became a couple, showers involved hot, dirty sex. There was a common goal of getting off and making the other person come just as hard. Knees would ache from kneeling on hard tiles and there was always that threat of someone slipping and busting their ass. It was always quick, always rough in the best possible way, and sometimes it’s still like that, but most of the time it’s not. Now it’s softer, gentler, and there’s this care…this love they share and it’s like they’ve reached a whole new level.

Don’t get them wrong, they’re still always down for some hot, dirty shower sex but they’ve also realized that with feelings it’s so much better too.

Once they finish with their shower, Brittany slips into her trusty overalls and heads downstairs to see who else is up while Santana continues to get ready. Thankfully, Quinn’s made a fresh pot of coffee and together they sit at the poker table just chatting about nothing too important. Quinn reads the morning paper because she likes the nostalgia of it and hands Brittany the comic strips because she knows they’re her guilty pleasure.

“Can I see that after you?” Sugar asks when she peeks over Brittany’s shoulder to see what she’s reading.

“Totally,” Brittany smiles and reaches for her coffee cup, “Almost done.”

“Morning all,” Emma greets cheerfully as she finally steps away from her desk to top up her tea.

“Morning,” Quinn and Brittany say in unison while Sugar’s got her mouth full of donut holes.

They make a little small talk while Emma waits for her tea to steep and in that time, Tina and Mercedes wander over.

“Sup y’all,” Mercedes says with a head nod before heading to the coffee pot. She notices how much is left and looks to Tina, “You want some?”

“I think I’ll have tea today,” Tina answers politely and goes to sit with Brittany and Quinn at the poker table, “You mind if look at the real estate ads?”

Quinn quirks her brow and hands them over, “Thinking of buying yourself a place?”

Tina nods, “I love my family but I can’t stand living with them. It’s time for a little space of my own, especially if I’m still single. Mom’s the worst matchmaker of all time.”

They all laugh at that and fall into this comfortable lapse of chatting about nothing in particular again. Brittany takes the moment to appreciate this; how just a few weeks ago they were all strangers to each other strung together by a common goal and now look at them. She doesn’t know if she’d go as far as saying they’re all friends, but they do make a pretty good team.

And for a moment, Brittany feels a little sad that it’s all going to end soon. They’re going to get paid and go their separate ways and continue on with their lives. Maybe she won’t hear from them ever again – aside from Quinn – or maybe they’ll keep it in touch? Maybe someone will devise a master plan of their own and try to rope her and Santana into just like they did to them?

Who knows, but for now she just enjoys the company.

“Where’s Santana?” Emma asks before she sips at her tea.

The others look around for her too then look to Brittany for an answer.

“She’s getting dressed. She’s got a big day ahead of her,” Brittany replies. She doesn’t want to give too much away just incase this plan happens to fall through and they need to devise another one.

Quinn looks to her curiously though like she’s trying to connect the dots on her own. She probably can and that’s what’s great about their friendship. Quinn just gets it most of the time and they don’t need to do much explaining.

The others on the other hand look around at each other like they’re trying to understand Brittany’s cryptic words. Surprisingly enough though, no one asks Brittany to elaborate. Instead, they get whatever they need from the kitchen and disperse.

Brittany’s brows rise at that, “I thought I was going to be interrogated.”

Quinn just chuckles, “They know better now.”

Brittany looks impressed but doesn’t ask. She just downs the rest of her coffee before passing off the comics to Sugar then heads to the garage to keep herself occupied.

Upstairs, Santana spends a little longer on making herself look presentable. Not that she has to try very hard – she always looks presentable – but today’s going to be different and maybe she needs the extra confidence boost that comes with looking smoking hot. Her hair falls over her shoulders in perfect waves, her make up is on point, her outfit hugs her curves perfectly; she’s like a damn superhero and looking this damn good was her superpower!

She gives herself one last glance in the mirror before she’s grabbing her purse and heading downstairs. It’s no surprise that everyone’s spread out in the common area and Quinn’s already got a wine glass in her hand and it’s barely half past noon. She can’t really judge her though, she’d totally do the same if she was in her shoes.

“Going somewhere fancy?” Quinn questions as Santana appears by the poker table.

She just shrugs casually, “Not really. I just needed this.”

“You look like you’re on a mission,” Quinn nods.

“I am,” Santana smiles proudly and looks around, “Where’s – “

“Garage.”

“Of course,” Santana chuckles, “Later Fabray.”

In the garage, Brittany’s crouched beside her motorbike looking over something when she hears the door close behind her. She turns to find Santana standing there and her jaw drops.

“Woah,” Brittany breathes out as she slowly rises. A little chuckle escapes her as Santana saunters over, hips swaying rhythmically, “Now this is a look.”

“I try,” Santana smirks although a warmth rushes over her.

Brittany’s eyes drag up and down Santana’s frame and it’s like she’s seeing her for the first time all over again. Her heart swells and beats hard in her chest because she loves this woman, this beautiful, beautiful woman, and crazy thing is…she loves her too.

Brittany licks her lips and sighs, “You look beautiful, baby.”

And that’s what creates a crack in Santana’s cockiness. She can be all big and bad and drop dead gorgeous, play the role of HBIC like no one else can and run a whole girl gang practically on her own…but whenever Brittany calls her baby it just does something to her. She feels like this giddy, silly love-sick girl and as much as she finds it a little embarrassing how one word can have her walls coming down, she also kind of loves it too.

“Thanks,” Santana smiles before she’s leaning in for a kiss. It feels like a sigh of relief and she does it again and again until Brittany’s mumbling against her lips.

“I really can’t get over how good you look,” Brittany says a little dreamily before she teases, “Sucks you’ll be wasting it on a meeting with someone trying to lock us all up.”

Santana throws her head back with a laugh, “Please. You’re the only one I dress up for.”

Brittany quirks a brows as Santana draws even closer until her lips are brushing the shell of Brittany’s ear.

“Wait until you see what I’ve got on underneath,” Santana whispers huskily.

It sends a shiver down Brittany’s spine and settles low between her thighs. She has to bite her lip to keep from smiling too big, but the anticipation just eats her up. She can’t wait for Santana to come back and she hasn’t even left yet.

Santana looks pretty pleased with herself as she watches Brittany’s thoughts drift and her pretty blue eyes become darkened with lust.

“Such a tease,” Brittany mumbles as she pulls herself back from drifting too far off. She wants to touch her but her hands are already a little greasy and she doesn’t want to wreck Santana’s dress – at least not until she comes back – so she twists her rag in her hands instead to keep them busy, “You positive you don’t want me to go with?”

Santana smiles fondly, “Yes Britt, I can handle him on my own.”

“I know you can. Just thought I’d go for like emotional support or something,” Brittany replies with a shrug.

“I love you,” Santana tells her, “But I got this.”

“Alright,” Brittany nods then glances over at her bike, “Need a ride then?”

“With this dress on?” Santana laughs, “Not on that thing.”

“Fair enough,” Brittany giggles and goes over to grab the keys to the Fastback before handing them over to Santana, “How about this one?”

Santana recognizes the keys and smiles, “You know me so well.”

Brittany buffs her nails on her overalls and grins coyly, “Duh.”

“Okay well, I’ll be back later,” Santana says, “Stay out of trouble.”

“I’m not making any promises,” Brittany winks as Santana walks the short distance over to the Fastback and gets in.

“Well in that case…,” Santana smirks and beckons Brittany down to her level. The blonde obliges happily and leans on the frame of the door so she can be pulled in for a kiss.

“Good luck,” Brittany mumbles against soft lips before she’s pulling away and closing the door after Santana.

Santana only parrots back the words Brittany once said to her, “Don’t need luck when you’re this good.”

The meeting place decided upon is some random diner Santana and Brittany have walked by countless times. When Santana pulls open the door, the bells above jingle and alert everyone of her entrance. She sees the double-takes from the older men lining the bar and curious glances from the waitstaff. She knows that all eyes are on her, she’s the hottest bitch in the place so that’s a given, but she’s there for business and quickly glances around the place for the man she’s meant to meet.

“Miss Lopez,” Someone calls out to her and Santana turns towards the voice.

The insurance investigator smiles brightly and Santana has to fight the urge to roll her eyes as she makes her way over to him. She can already smell the hair product wafting off of him and the way he smiles at her just makes Santana want to punch him.

Blaine Anderson; just an overachieving, annoying little weasel that has somehow managed to climb ranks stupidly fast and has been breathing down the necks of her family for years. The Anderson and Lopez rivalry is a tale as old as time and here Santana is upholding that legacy.

“Good afternoon, Miss Lopez,” Blaine greets politely once Santana’s close enough and goes to shake her hand.

“Anderson,” Santana nods and slides into the booth so that she sits across from him.

“Interesting place for a meeting,” Blaine notes as he looks around, “Why not my office?”

Santana scrunches her nose, “And finally see what kind of hideous bow tie collection you probably have set up there? No way.”

Blaine’s smile falters as he presses a hand to his bowtie.

“Besides,” Santana adds as she looks down at the menu, “Apparently this place does the best tiramisu and my girlfriend loves that stuff.”

Before Blaine can ask anything further, a waitress comes over and tops up his coffee.

“You want anything, dear?” She asks Santana.

“Coffee and one of those tiramisus to go. Please.”

“Sure thing, hun,” The woman nods and she’s off. It only takes her a few minutes until she returns with a warm mug and fills it close to the top with fresh coffee.

The pleased smile returns to Blaine’s face, “Girlfriend, huh? Maybe you really are on the straight and narrow.”

Santana quirks a brow, “Not so much the straight but yeah. I’ve been keeping myself out of trouble. That’s why I’m here. Whatever it is, I didn’t do it.”

Blaine laughs and shakes his head as he pulls out a few pictures, “Oh? Then explain this.”

Santana knew this was coming. She didn’t spend all night at the Gala in the camera’s view for nothing, so she leans forward to admire the pictures of her.

“Damn, I look hot!” Santana says as she looks over each one, “Can I keep these?”

Blaine’s easy-going demeanor begins to shift into something a little more serious, “Santana please. This is very serious. Millions of dollars worth of diamonds are missing and it can’t just be a coincidence that you were there the night of its disappearance.”

“Why not?” Santana questions as she sits back and cocks her head to the side, “I love a good party as much as the next person. You’ve got the receipts. Does it look like I was up to something? Because to me, I look like I’m having the time of my life.”

“And I wonder why that is,” Blaine questions with narrowed eyes.

Santana shrugs and averts her eyes to the pictures again, “Look at me, surrounded by beautiful people with a drink in my hand just as the good Lord intended. Who wouldn’t have a good time?”

Blaine let’s out a tired sigh.

Santana can tell he’s at a crossroads and getting frustrated so she’s pretty damn pleased about that. It makes her swell with pride because she really has this thing wrapped up so tight that not even Blaine can figure it out. But she knows he’s a smart son of a bitch so she doesn’t get too cocky just yet.

Blaine continues to stew while Santana brings the mug close to her lips. Riling him up is a lot easier than she suspected. She figured he’d have way more on her than just a couple of pictures and she’s surprised considering his merit.

“Honestly, with your track record and your family history I don’t know what to believe,” Blaine admits. He looks up at Santana – like really looks at her like he’s trying to see something beneath the surface.

Santana’s a pro though so he’s not going to find anything there. She’s not going to crack and deep down Blaine knows that.

“Well, one look at these pictures I think gets me off the hook,” Santana explains and taps at one of the pictures, “Solid alibi right there, don’t you think?”

Blaine crosses his arms and Santana feels as though she’s almost won.

“Can I go now?” She asks even though she knows she’s not yet finished with him.

“I still have questions,” Blaine replies, “And don’t you need your tiramisu?”

“You’re right,” Santana smirks and lifts her mug to her lips, “You’ve got until the waitress brings it over and then I’m out.”

“Fine,” Blaine sighs, “I’ve been wracking my brain trying to figure out how the hell this happened. How such a valuable necklace practically disappeared in thin air. I’ve got suspects who should be guilty but aren’t and then there’s you who had been smiling for the camera all night.”

“Sounds like you got yourself a real shit show on your hands,” Santana dismisses, “Doesn’t concern me.”

“But it does,” Blaine urges, “I know you had something to do with this but I just can’t…I can’t connect the dots.”

“Because like I said,” Santana replies, “I didn’t do it.”

Blaine laughs again before he sighs, “Listen Santana, I don’t want you.”

“Never heard that one before.”

“Let me clarify,” He says, “I don’t want you, I want the necklace. I don’t care how you get it back to me, I’ll make something up. I’m just tired of doing this.”

Santana perks up; this is going way better than she anticipated.

“I honestly don’t get paid enough so just tell me,” Blaine adds, “Where’s the necklace? That’s all I’m after. The sooner I wrap this case up the faster I can get back to my life.”

Santana smirks, “Which I’m sure is very bland and boring, just like you.”

Blaine doesn’t take her bait, “I’ll ask again. Where’s the necklace, Santana?”

“The whole thing?” Santana questions before she shrugs, “No idea, but I might no where some of it is.”

“Some of it? Some?” Blaine looks like he’s going to have a heart attack.

“Hypothetically, yes,” Santana replies, “Maybe like ten percent of it? Give or take?”

Blaine mutters to himself beneath his breath while his face goes a little red. It takes him a minute to get himself together and then he’s turning to Santana and calmly asking, “Where?”

Santana doesn’t answer with words. Instead, she slides her phone across the table. On it is a picture of Dani from the Gala and it all begins to click for Blaine.

“Right,” Blaine nods, “A classic case of revenge. An eye for an eye so to speak.”

“It’s what I do best.”

“You know this isn’t healthy, right?” Blaine says worriedly, “It’s not good for the heart to hang on to so much pain, Santana. I know a great counselor that specializes in –“

“I process shit my own way and it’s working just fine for me,” Santana brushes off as she slips her phone back in her purse,” Now, for argument’s sake…how does one get a search warrant?”

Blaine bobs his head from side to side as he thinks, “I’d need probable cause.”

“That’s what I thought,” Santana smirks. In that moment, the waitress brings over her takeaway box and Santana smiles up at her in thanks before looking back at Blaine, “This was productive.”

“I suppose,” Blaine frowns as Santana stands and throws down a couple bills on the table.

“Wait for my call,” She tells him before walking out.

Back at the loft, Brittany’s trying her hardest to keep busy while she awaits Santana’s call. When her phone finally does ring, she practically lunges for it.

“Hey San!” Brittany greets eagerly, “How’d it go?”

“Perfectly. He’s got nothing on us which I was really surprised about but I’m not complaining.”

Brittany feels like a weight has been lifted, “That’s so good. Did you find out about the warrant?”

“Sure did and you were right! It’s absolutely genius, obviously.”

Brittany blushes, “He’d need probable cause?”

“Yup and that should be easy to get.”

“It should,” Brittany nods, “I’ll make the call now.”

“Great, I’m on my way back. I’ll see you soon.”

They say their goodbyes and then Brittany’s dialing another number.

“Hello, Rachel Berry speaking.”

Brittany rolls her eyes, “Hey Rachel. It’s Brittany.”

“Oh!” Rachel’s voice turns chipper, “Hello Brittany, how are you?”

“Good. I’ve got a job for you,” Brittany says, “It’s a very important task.”

“Of course, I’m ready. What do you need me to do?”

“We’re going to need a certain picture taken of an item,” Brittany begins to explain, “But this item currently resides in Dani’s jacket from the Gala. We’re going to need you to get in there and take a picture of it.”

Rachel’s quiet for a moment and Brittany begins to wonder if the call disconnected on accident.

“Hel – “

“This is amazing. Oh my God!”

Brittany bites her tongue while Rachel excitedly rambles. Really, she starts to tune out the more she talks but it’s one question that reels Brittany back in.

“You want me to seduce her?”

“I don’t really want to know how you do it,” Brittany responds, “Just get it done.”

“I’m on it. This is so exciting! My first job. I can play this so many ways, but which to choose? Maybe I can use those handcuffs I bought? I’ve been wanting to try those out on someone. They’re authentic.”

Brittany frowns with disgust. Imagining Rachel Berry seducing Dani with a pair of handcuffs is not an image she wants or needs.

“Gross,” Brittany mumbles.

“I see why you people do this! God, the thrill of it is invigorating.”

“Yeah. Okay. Well, text me the picture when you get it.”

“Of course. Should I wear a lacy – “

Brittany hangs up on her immediately.

Later that night, most of the team has headed off to bed aside from Mercedes who spends hours on end on her laptop doing who knows what. Santana and Brittany wander up to Brittany’s room but neither of them are tired. They know Rachel’s out there doing whatever she can to get this picture and they can’t really settle in for bed until they receive it.

Instead, Brittany lounges on the bed with a motorcycle magazine in her lap while Santana lazily watches her turn the page. She’s got her head on Brittany’s shoulder and their legs tangle together for warmth. It’s a nice way to end the night, wrapped up in each other like this, and Santana basks in how easy it is to feel so comfortable around Brittany.

“I never thanked you for talking to Rachel,” Santana mutters like she’s lost in thought.

Brittany snickers, “That’s okay.”

Santana tilts to look up at her, “No, seriously. You came up with the search warrant idea and using Rachel…I never would’ve thought to do that.”

“Sure you would’ve,” Brittany shrugs.

“Not without you guiding me,” Santana replies and leans up to kiss the underside of Brittany’s jaw, “So thank you. Thank you for having my back.”

Brittany smiles fondly, “For you? Always.”

Santana blushes, “Have I ever told you that I love you?”

Brittany pretends to ponder, “Once before I think? But tell me again.”

Santana giggles and whispers I love you between sweet kisses.

Brittany gets the text from Rachel shortly after. The picture shows a piece of the Toussaint Santana planted on Dani the night of the Gala and it’s perfectly framed alongside the necktie Dani wore.

Rachel B. – Is this acceptable? I’ve got her handcuffed to the bed so I can take another if you need.

“Oh wow,” Santana laughs once Brittany shows her the text, “Rachel really does move quick.”

“Apparently,” Brittany nods, “And she found a use for those handcuffs she told me about after all.”

“She told you what she was going to do?” Santana scrunches her nose cutely.

“It was against my will,” Brittany sighed.

“I’m so sorry,” Santana teases then glances back at the picture, “This is perfect though. I’m going to forward it to myself. Tell her I said thanks.”

“I’m sure she’ll be very happy that you approve,” Brittany says and gets to work typing a reply while Santana hurriedly sends off the picture to Blaine.

Santana L. – This should do it. Have fun!

Blaine texts back almost instantly and showers Santana with gratitude. All she cares about though is that she and her team are off the hook. Blaine assures her that they are.

Now, it’s only a matter of time before everything falls into place like pieces of a puzzle.

Within a day she gets word that Dani has been arrested. It’s not looking good for her ex considering the amount of evidence pinned against her, but that’s what you get when you fuck over a Lopez.

Santana hopes Dani feels everything she did when she got picked up. She hopes Dani squirms under the hot lamp in the interrogation room. She hopes Dani feels regret set into her bones for what she did to Santana. It’ll only be then that Santana finally feels like she can move on with her life, like that chapter is done and dusted.

Maybe she’s petty for setting Dani up like this, but she doesn’t care. In the end, Karma’s a bitch and so is she.

“It’s official,” Brittany exclaims as soon as she finds Santana lounging on the couch with Quinn.

“What? What’s going on?” Santana sits up while Brittany dances around in front of her. The others notice the commotion and come in for a better listen.

The blonde has her phone in her hand and starts to read off some article for all to hear that explains the Toussaint debacle and how Rachel Berry’s mysterious last-minute date was the one who made off with the necklace and is now looking at a long time in jail.

“You hear that, San? She’s looking at a long sentence,” Brittany says excitedly before she’s wrapping Santana up in a tight hug. The others cheer too and exchange hugs.

It’s the best news Santana’s heard in awhile because this is it. This is the end. They did the job and Dani’s paying for it just like Santana planned and now all there’s left to do is celebrate!

Similar to the day after the Gala, Santana and Brittany grab pizza and alcohol and let the team go wild. Mercedes sets up the music this time and everyone dances like crazy with a slice of pizza in one hand and their choice of drink in the other. Even Santana and Brittany let loose and the others can’t get enough of them.

“You’re so much better when you’re tipsy!” Sugar cheers as she clinks her bottle with Santana’s.

The brunette just laughs and continues to dance on Brittany until Rachel arrives with a box of champagne. Everyone flocks to her and for a moment Rachel thinks it’s because of her, but she’s quick to realize it’s only because she brought the expensive stuff. Still, she doesn’t really mind and pops a bottle to catch up to her new friends.

“You guys started without me!” Rachel looks somewhat offended but Tina just pats her back while Sugar takes the box of champagne off her hands then comes back around to give her a drink.

“Got you a whole box to yourself,” Tina says as she pushes a box of pizza into Rachel’s hands too.

“Is it ve – “

“It’s vegan,” Quinn assures her with a small smile before she clinks her glass with Rachel’s.

“You can never be too sure,” Rachel explains and shoots a weary glare in Brittany’s direction, “I’ve been poisoned before.”

Quinn just snickers into her glass.

“Wait, wait!” Santana stops before everyone gets too wasted. Mercedes stops the music and the others look at her curiously. Santana just climbs up on the coffee table with Brittany’s help, “I want to say a proper thank you.”

“Here we go,” Quinn chuckles to Brittany, “She going to turn into a weepy, hysterical drunk again?”

“She just has a lot of feelings,” Brittany giggles then slaps at Santana’s ass.

“Hey, quit it down there,” Santana swats away at Brittany’s hand.

“Speech! Speech! Speech!” Sugar starts to chant and soon the others are joining in.

“Okay, okay! Shut up, I’m going,” Santana laughs before she tries to compose herself. “I just wanted to say that you guys are fucking awesome,” Santana says with a raised bottle, “Thank you for being apart of this. Really, couldn’t have do it without you. We make a pretty awesome fucking team.”

Everyone starts to clap and cheer and Santana laughs as she steps down, bracing herself on Brittany’s shoulder.

“You’re cute,” Brittany whispers and plants a kiss on Santana’s cheek.

Santana just blushes and goes to reply but it’s drowned out by Rachel who’s still pretty sober.

“I do have one question. Really it’s an observation,” Rachel says and everyone turns to her, “I believe there’s a small discrepancy in the amount of money we’re all receiving. Something’s just not quite adding up? Not that I’m complaining, but…”

The others start to panic but Santana just smirks at Brittany.

“You want to tell them?” Santana asks and there’s this Cheshire grin spreading up to her cheeks.

Brittany shakes her head, “You do it.”

“Alright,” Santana shrugs and turns a proud smile to the others, “You thought we were only going after one necklace?”

Brittany chuckles, “You don’t know us at all.”

Now everyone’s even more confused than before, but their eyes follow Santana and Brittany as they walk away from them.

“While everyone was so focused on the Toussaint, no one even bothered to check on the other exhibit,” Santana explains simply.

Brittany moves to open the door of a fridge that had been moved off to the side of the kitchen. It’s filled to the brim with the crown jewels of eight different royal families that just so happened to be on display at the Met and the best part is…they aren’t replicas.

“Woah,” Sugar breathes out.

“All or nothing!” Brittany cheers while the others scramble to get a closer look.

“Oh my God!” Emma gasps, “They’re real?”

“Oh they’re very real,” Santana nods.

“I was wondering why we suddenly had two fridges,” Sugar mumbles, “It makes so much sense now.”

“Wait, how did you manage to do all of this?” Emma asks.

Santana glances over at Brittany and smiles proudly, “The floor’s yours, B.”

“Well like Santana said, everyone was distracted with the Toussaint missing and being on lockdown. We used that to our advantage and decided to go on a little private tour for ourselves,” Brittany explains simply, “Why go through all that trouble just for one necklace, you know?”

“Exactly,” Santana nods, “We weren’t just printing off the diamonds needed for the Toussaint either. Tina made replicas of all the jewelry on display in that particular exhibit.”

“I’ve never worked so fast in my entire life,” Tina admits quietly.

“And it’s very much appreciated,” Santana commends, “After that, it was all acrobats.”

“Yup! And that’s where I called in a favor,” Brittany adds then cups her hand around her mouth and calls out, “Yo Chang!”

Everyone turns as Mike Chang enters.

He’s looking dapper in his dress shirt and vest but his rolled up sleeves make him look just a little more casual. There’s this charming smile on his face as he strolls over to the others.

“Dibs!” Tina, Sugar and Rachel all yell out at once. They glare at one another when neither of them backs down.

“I said it first,” Tina urged.

Sugar waves her off, “No, I did!”

“Neither of you stand a chance,” Rachel turns up her nose, “I’m famous.”

“Just barely,” Sugar frowns.

“Mike here is a former Olympian,” Brittany introduces as Mike joins her side.

“Interesting. I too am award-winning,” Rachel comments.

“It’s nothing special,” Mike replies with a chuckle, “I didn’t win a medal or anything.”

“That’s okay,” Sugar and Tina say in unison with these too-sweet smiles on their faces.

Santana rolls her eyes; the three of them look absolutely ridiculous fawning over the guy but she guesses that’s what happens when you’re cooped up in a house for weeks without sex.

Santana obviously wouldn’t know about that though, she’s lucky enough to get it on the regular.

“Anyway,” Santana pulls their attention back, “He used his sick gymnast skills to help us clean the place out.”

“Being flexible has it’s perks outside of the bedroom too, right Mike?” Brittany jokes with a nudge to his arm.

“Uhhh…sure. Yeah,” Mike shrugs awkwardly.

“You’re so hot,” Tina practically drools over him.

Santana looks embarrassed for her, “Jesus. Get it together, girl.”

“You have no game,” Sugar shakes her head disapprovingly at Tina.

“What?” Tina gasps, “He is!”

“Yeah, but you don’t just blurt it out,” Sugar argues, “It’s like you’ve never talked to a hot guy before.”

“Sorry Mike,” Brittany says coolly, “They haven’t been around a guy in awhile.”

Mike smiles, “That’s cool.”

“Like I was saying,” Santana continues, “While Mike and Brittany did that, I kept an eye out incase any guard decided to take a peek. It was a tight time frame but we made it work, clearly.”

“That’s amazing,” Emma applauds.

Santana smiles proudly, “So with this little diversion, everyone’s cut is now up to about 38 million.”

“Holy shit!”

Santana chuckles at the outburst and turns to Mike, “Mike, you’ll get a good chunk from me and Britt’s share.”

“Appreciate it,” He bows his head.

Santana sinks into Brittany’s side and the blonde wraps her arm around her shoulders while they watch the others implode.

“Spend it wisely, ladies,” Santana tells them and cuts her eyes to the only guy in the room. She gives him an apologetic smile, “And Mike.”

In the coming days, one by one the girls on the team return to their lives with their bank accounts a lot fuller than they arrived. There are whispers of road trips and extravagant gifts to themselves and the start of small business ventures and Santana feels kind of proud that she’s funding that in a way.

She doesn’t really care what they do with their cuts, she just hopes that they enjoy themselves.

Quinn’s the last to leave and she joins Santana and Brittany for breakfast before she goes. She’s not really sure when she’ll see them again, so she makes the most of what’s left of their time together.

They talk, they laugh, they reminisce and then they say goodbye.

Santana actually gives Quinn a hug and she’s sure Brittany’s going to tease her about it later for being an undercover softie. She doesn’t mind though, she knows Brittany happens to love that part of her even if she teases her about it sometimes.

“Don’t be strangers,” Quinn tells them as she gets into her car, “Beth misses you both dearly.”

Santana snorts, “I bet she doesn’t even remember us.”

“She’s a sharp kid,” Quinn replies, “She’s remembers everything.”

“We’ll visit,” Brittany says and hugs Santana to her side, “We’re her god parents after all.”

“Still don’t know why you picked us,” Santana jokes, “Don’t you have any other friends besides us?”

“You think I consider you fools my friends?” Quinn teases right back.

Brittany lets out a laugh, “Let us know when you get home, okay?”

“Will do,” Quinn nods, “And you two…be good.”

Santana and Brittany exchange a look and smirk.

“We’ll try,” Santana lies and they way goodbye as Quinn backs out of the driveway.

They watch from the garage until they can no longer see Quinn’s taillights. It’s weird how quiet it is now after so many weeks of having a full house. Santana can’t tell what that feeling is under the surface but when she looks over at Brittany beaming, it eases.

“So,” Brittany hums as she turns to Santana and sets her hands on the brunette’s hips, “Got anymore grand plans in that beautiful mind of yours?”

“I’m sure I can come up with something,” Santana flirts as she melts into Brittany, “But I think I’ll take a little break for now.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Santana nods, “I’ll probably do some of the things I told my parole officer I’d do.”

“Gonna get yourself settled down with a wife and pop out a couple kids?” Brittany jokes with this sparkle in her eye.

Santana smirks, “Is that a proposal?”

“Well I do have a shit ton of diamonds now,” Brittany ponders aloud before glancing down at Santana, “You can take your pick.”

Santana lets out a laugh, “I’ll think about it.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Brittany winks.

“In the meantime though, there is something I’ve been wanting to try…” Santana husks.

Brittany quirks a brow, “Finally giving the armpit thing some thought? You won’t regret it, babe.”

Brittany starts to unbutton her top and Santana laughs as she stops her, “That’s not exactly what I had in mind.”

“Oh. Well, what’d you– “

Brittany’s words fall short as Santana walks over the short distance and slings her leg over Brittany’s bike. It’s probably the hottest thing Brittany’s ever seen and she watches in a daze as Santana run her hands over the handlebars. She has played this exact scene so many times in her dreams, but never would she have thought Santana would finally agree to it in real life.

Then again, Santana’s kind of been on a streak when it comes to doing things out of the ordinary. Just look at their relationship, they’re actually in one! Who would’ve seen that coming? Definitely not Brittany.

Santana clears her throat and it pulls Brittany’s attention back to her. There’s this sexy, sultry smile on her lips and this mischievous glint in her eye when they catch Brittany’s.

“Take me for a ride?” Santana asks but it sounds more like a demand that Brittany’s all to willing to participate in.

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” Brittany smirks before rushing off to grab their helmets.

#Lopezs 8 #FINAL CHAPTER BABY #im actually crying lol #brittana #Brittana fanfiction

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blossom-hwa · 4 years

Text

Repeat [Epilogue] - Mark |Swing!|

And so it ends! Thank you everyone who made the journey with me, ESPECIALLY @deathbykpopboys FOR GIVING ME THE IDEAS TO WRITE ONE OF THE STORIES I’M THE MOST PROUD OF <3 <3

Fair warning: this might be confusing to readers who aren’t into the Marvel cinematic universe (MCU). There are spoilers for the movies! I do have some of my personal headcanons in here, so if they bother you, just don’t read it!

Pairing: Mark x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, Spiderman!au

Triggers: a lot of cursing :)

Word Count: 6.9k

When the rogues move back into society, there are suddenly a lot of new people looking into the relationship between Stark’s personal interns. Luckily, they’ve only got good thoughts about it, even if the kids are a little mushy sometimes.

Alternatively:

Five ways the Avengers see (and love) the spiderkids’ relationship.

Release >> Epilogue: Repeat

NCT Masterlist | Swing!

Steve doesn’t have too many hobbies. This came as a result of being sick all the damn time during his younger years at the height of the Depression. He was always in bed, and he never really knew when he was just going to keel over and kick the bucket.

Art, though, is something he’s taken with him from younger self to his Captain America days. Especially in this modern age, there’s so much more to sketch. Steve takes interest in the tiny things – glitter pens, microwaves, things that other people have taken for granted as ordinary parts of their lives. He didn’t have those in the Depression, but now he does.

It’s weird.

When he moved back into the Compound, he spent a lot of time outdoors. He wanted to talk to Tony, to apologize for his secrets, thank him for his work on the Accords, maybe clear the air a little, but Tony would just disappear into the lab where only he, Banner, Pepper, and the interns are allowed. So he just picked up the sketchbook Bucky bought him for his last birthday, some pencils, and a Dodgers hat, and went out to observe the city.

It took his fingers some time to figure out how to shade the way he did when they were slim, translucent things. They’re bulkier now, thicker and stronger, and if he isn’t careful, he sometimes snaps his pencils in half. But as the days go by, his fingers gain back some of the delicacy of touch that his younger, sicklier self had.

Art is how he can express himself, now. Even though Nat and Sam like to tease him (what is it that kids say now? Clown him? He thinks that’s it) for having a speech ready for every occasion, Steve finds himself tongue-tied a lot more often than he can admit. Art is how he finally confessed to Bucky – a simple portrait of his long-time best friend turned crush, done with the pencils he’d bought Steve for Christmas.

A lot of the Avengers deal in things that could be considered delicate – archery, knife-throwing, cooking – but only Nat really does any form of art. She dances ballet, but even that’s something very defined, very precise. It’s razor-sharp, the way she does it. And her art form carries a lot of bad memories for her, whereas Steve’s mostly brings back good times. The days where he felt good enough to go outside. The days before the war, when Bucky would bring him onto the fire escape of their shitty little apartment and they would just stare at the city in front of them.

Soft things and sharp things are very separate in Steve’s mind. Art is something soft. Something pretty, something beautiful, something nice. He hesitates to call fighting or sarcasm or weapons evil, exactly, but they aren’t very beautiful, either.

For this reason, he doesn’t understand, at first, how the two Stark interns ended up together. At first glance, they’re polar opposites – one a spitfire, the other always calm. Loud laughter and a cutthroat tongue coexisting with quiet words and a thoughtful mind.

It doesn’t make sense to him, until he walks in on a scene one day that almost makes his heart melt.

He’s on his way out of the Compound to go outside and maybe people watch. Sketch a bit. He has his pencils in one hand, sketchbook in the other, when the strumming of a guitar sounds from farther down the hall. Steve walks out to investigate.

Mark is sitting on the couch, guitar in hand. Steve briefly remembers Mark playing it before, but not too much. It’s beautiful, really, and he stops just at the end of the hall to listen for a bit. Mark’s hands strum the guitar in quiet chords. They’re delicate, Steve realizes – thin, lithe, graceful. Soft. Similar to his own when he was younger, just minus the boniness and sickly white tinge.

His eyes then focus on the girl sitting next to him, head leaning on Mark’s shoulder, typing with razor concentration on the laptop in front of her. Sharp, precise, focused.

But though Y/N’s eyes are steely, her body language is anything but. She leans into Mark with an undeniable softness, a pliability that lets her sink into the couch and his body. Mark, meanwhile, sits up, his back straight, though his hands move delicately over the strings of the guitar.

In this moment, Steve feels dumbstruck, almost. The interns combine sharp edges and rounded curves into something that, even to his eye, is truly beautiful. They’re not solely delicate and soft. They’re not solely refined and precise.

They’re both, jagged points fitting perfectly into smooth curves. And there’s beauty in that.

Quietly, he walks back to his own room, the image of the interns on the couch burned into his mind. His fingers start moving his pencils back and forth on a fresh page.

Neither of them will probably ever know, but they are the reason Steve now sees beauty in sharp edges and precision. Perhaps he still prefers the delicacy of sunsets or the gentle waving of leaves in the breeze, but he understands it, understands the way Y/N and Mark come together. He sketches more – one of Clint’s arrows stuck in a target, one of Sam’s wings slicing through a block of concrete, Natasha’s ballet.

There’s beauty in everything, Steve realizes. Not just aesthetics and pretty things.

He likes this point of view. He likes it a lot.

Smiling, he sketches some more.

ii.

Bucky Barnes has often showed his love through food. It was the way he knew his Ma loved him, even if her face was drawn in most of the time and she didn’t smile a whole lot. None of that mattered, not too much. Bucky knew he was loved in the way she scraped away from her own portions and put them onto his and Becca’s plates, in the way she would give them the best bits of bread and the meat on the few occasions they could afford it.

So when he found Steve, that was the way he showed his care. Showed his love. He shared his meager lunches with the sickly kid who had a penchant for art, bought him medicine and swiped apples for him. He cooked for Steve in their ratty apartment, made him something extra nice to cheer him up a bit when his mom died. And when Bucky went off to the war and couldn’t take care of Steve upfront anymore, he sent back his earnings with explicit instructions for Steve to eat as much as he could.

He wouldn’t say he’s really good at cooking, at least not at first. His meals on the front could barely be called meals – some bully beef, bread, and biscuits. He tried, sometimes, to make things look nicer, make them look more palatable. In the end, though, he gave up. There wasn’t any point.

Then Steve came, newly muscled and broad. He saved Bucky’s regiment and formed the Howling Commandos, and Bucky had someone to care for again. Someone to love. Because even though Steve was physically stronger, to Bucky, he was still the reckless kid from Brooklyn who kept getting up after he got knocked down. He needed someone to protect him.

So Bucky started cooking again, trying to put together edible meals from the few rations they had. He cooked not just for Steve, but for all the Commandos – Dugan, Morita, Jones, everyone. It was the best way he knew how to show he cared, something beyond slaps on the back and teasing jokes. He got better at cooking, at making food that wasn’t just edible but also tasted good.

Then he became Soldier.

After all those mind-numbing decades, he might have thought his cooking skills would have disappeared. Being a highly trained assassin who slept for long periods of time in a cryochamber after each mission didn’t usually leave much time for fucking around in a kitchen. But surprisingly, when the rogues went on the run and Bucky landed himself in various safe houses around the country, he found he could still work his way around a kitchen, even though his metal arm overheated sometimes. Wanda helped, then, using her telekinetic power to airlift things in and out of ovens. Slowly, his cooking skills improved. And when he made the old meals, better versions of the special things they sometimes ate during the depression, Steve would tear up. Because Bucky remembered.

Then he moved into the Avengers Compound.

Tony never really lashed out at him like he sometimes did to Steve. No, Bucky hadn’t hidden things on purpose from Tony. He knew what he had done as Soldier. But somehow, the silent, awkward treatment he got from Howard Stark’s son was worse than if he’d yelled at him.

So for the first few weeks, even though he was itching to cook something just to keep his hands busy, he couldn’t bring himself to enter the kitchen other than to get some snacks. Raisins, usually. Raisins are good. Bucky has no idea why Steve hates them so much. Or why Wanda calls him a grandmother for liking them.

Then Y/N comes into the picture.

Bucky’s been alone in cooking for so long that he’s almost forgotten that other people can express care in the form of food as well. None of the rogues can cook too well – Steve is terrible in the kitchen – and even during the war, he was the one who took care of the food.

So when he finds one of Tony’s interns in the kitchen, soup boiling on the stove, he’s almost blown away.

From his first impression, Y/N was snappy, quick-witted, and fast on her feet. That’s how she landed a black eye on Clint fucking Barton before Nat took her down with the thigh-hold. And yeah, now he knows she’s Silk, apparently, but her reaction time is scary.

That first impression changes the moment she smiles at Bucky and invites him to sit at the kitchen island. He comes in, a little scared (he feels like one of those characters in that game Wanda plays – Simps? Sims? Something like that), but she just laughs and tells him Mr. Stark won’t murder him for sitting in the kitchen. “I’ll give you some soup too, so you have an excuse to be here,” she grins.

Jokes like that don’t usually go over him that well (murder is a bit of a touchy subject, especially with regard to Tony), but the teasing glint in her eyes somehow gets him to relax. So he sits and listens while she talks.

As the soup boils, she explains that she’s making it for Mark, who has a slight headache. It’s samgyetang, a broth with chicken, garlic, rice, and ginseng. Her parents used to make it for him when he was sick and Aunt Mei had to work, and when they died, she took over the job.

Bucky listens mostly in silence, reforming his opinion on the abrasive girl he met a month ago. She’s less snappy now, and though she quips a little about how bad Mark is in the kitchen, she’s quieter. Softer, out of worry.

It hits him as she’s ladling the soup into bowls, one for her, one for Mark, one for Tony, and one for him. She’s expressing her love in a way that Bucky knows and understands – food. She loves Mark and she loves Tony, and though she probably doesn’t feel the same way towards him, she still cares. She cares enough to fill a bowl for him, to place it in front of him with a spoon and fork and not the chopsticks he isn’t accustomed to.

He almost cries, looking down at the bowl of hot soup. It’s nothing like the simple meals his Ma used to make for him and Becca, but the meaning is the same. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

“You’re welcome.” The smile on her face reminds him of Becca, and maybe what his Ma’s smile would have looked like if he remembered more of it.

The soup is delicious. Rich broth, tender meat, rice that melts in his mouth. For a moment, he forgets himself as he tells Y/N that she has to teach him how to make this. Then he snaps his mouth shut, afraid of having overstepped.

She just laughs in delight, promising that she will the next time she comes to the Compound. Then she traipses off with the other three bowls on a tray, reminding him that there’s more soup in the pot if he or anyone else is still hungry.

Bucky slowly eats the hot soup, savoring each bite on his tongue. He’s long expressed his care through meals of his own, but only now, decades after his Ma, has someone done the same for him.

It feels strange. But it feels good, to know that someone can understand him in this way. Even if that someone is an almost stranger.

(Later, she comes back out again with Mark, both of them talking quietly about something or the other. Bucky’s just come out of his room to find Steve, but he finds himself stopping for a moment just to see the worry in her eyes as she looks up at him, the love in Mark’s eyes as he kisses her cheek. In that moment, he knows – it is love. It’s true love, real love, even though the two are only in college. It’s the way he feels about Steve, and the way Steve feels about him. It’s something beautiful.)

He starts using the kitchen, at first while Y/N is in there, and then he starts venturing in on his own. With time, Tony starts coming in too, and accepts Bucky’s apologies in the form of soups and meals and desserts.

Y/N brings Mark into the kitchen too, eventually. Bucky worries at first that he’s intruding on time with her boyfriend, but he quickly realizes that isn’t the case. Somehow, the love between Tony’s interns isn’t something that isolates others, that forces people away. Instead, it’s something nourishing, something that brings him in and makes him feel comfortable and peaceful even as they bicker in the corner.

Through the kitchen, through Y/N’s loud laughter and later Mark’s petulant whining at how she clowns him too much when it comes to cooking, Bucky learns once again how it feels for someone to care for him in the language he knows.

The interns’ love is the kind that Bucky has always wanted, the one he hasn’t allowed himself to have. He loves Steve and Steve loves him, but Bucky’s always been terrified that something will tear him away from Steve again. So he’s kept his distance a bit, even though Steve keeps trying to pull him in.

But as he starts laughing with the interns as he and Y/N work on new recipes, Mark and eventually Steve acting as the taste testers, he allows himself to believe that he and Steve can have this love too.

iii.

Natasha’s spent her entire life reading people. She didn’t used to be so good at it, not in the Red Room (the knives Irina snuck into fights and the subsequent scars are proof of it), but she’s learned. She’s adapted. Reading people, she has learned, is a survival skill.

Most people she’s worked with wear masks. They don a smile, cordially shake hands and speak with pleasant words, but they don’t mean any of it. They’re always looking for something, whether that be power or wealth or whatnot. Natasha’s learned to figure out what that something is, very quickly.

She’s naturally suspicious of people. And though that might not be the nicest trait for someone to have, it keeps her safe. So she doesn’t care.

That’s why she keeps a close eye on the interns. It’s just for a bit, anyway. She’s curious how two teenagers got so close to Tony, even if they are Spiderman and Silk – after all, Tony has never been the warmest person to strangers.

But these kids, they’re so unapologetically honest (brutally so, sometimes, especially with Y/N). Natasha’s only caught them with little white lies, like who ate the last Oreo (that was Y/N) and that I’m not really injured, Ms. Romanoff, seriously (that was Mark). The only thing they’re really hiding from people is their alter egos as spider vigilantes, and that’s understandable. Natasha herself would really have liked to keep her Black Widow identity a secret, but, well, certain events made that impossible.

They’re honest in everything – their lives, which haven’t been the greatest, their studies, which are top-notch, and most importantly, their love. It takes a special type of courage to display their kind of love so freely, so openly, when they’re so close to the public eye. Sure, Tony’s gone to great lengths to keep the press away from them, but it demonstrates the trust they have in each other, to defend, to protect.

At first, Natasha doesn’t think it’s real. They have to be faking something. She’s seen too much of the world’s darkness to blindly believe their love is as deep as it appears to be. They’re so young. It doesn’t make sense.

Then the Stark gala rolls around.

Officially, it’s to welcome the rogue Avengers back to society. Unofficially, it’s a networking opportunity – people get to scope out new competition, maybe make some promises or some trades (or some bribes). Some people will get “poached” by other companies. Others will be doing the poaching themselves. Or losing employees to the poachers.

Natasha doesn’t particularly love this environment, but she does enjoy putting leering men in their places. So she’s going.

The interns are too, apparently. This will be their first time out in the open with reporters and journalists, and Tony’s been going nuts trying to make sure they won’t get harassed. Natasha knows this because FRIDAY sometimes bitches to her about her boss.

She wouldn’t worry too much. If someone gets too overbearing, she’s been teaching Y/N and Mark better self-defense. They’ll be fine.

It’s the night of the gala, and Natasha’s waiting around with the other rogues in the ballroom. A few people have approached, but nothing too terrible. In fact, as she holds a champagne flute between her fingers, she feels kind of bored. No one’s acting out yet.

Then the interns walk in.

The first thing Natasha registers is how they’re just looking at each other. To Mark, it’s like Y/N’s a piece of gold and glass, a star pulled down from the sky to rest in his hand. Meanwhile, Y/N looks at Mark like he hung the moon in the sky, plucked the stars from the galaxy and put them in her eyes.

Natasha won’t lie – Mark cuts a striking figure in the suit of Pepper’s choosing (because Tony is a fashion disaster, if left alone). Pepper’s stylist has put together Y/N’s look in a way that makes her literally shine. But the way they look at each other isn’t just admiration for each other’s beauty – it’s something much, much more.

Hm. She still doesn’t completely believe it, though, and as reporters start swarming into the ballroom, she loses sight of them anyway.

Several glasses of wine and champagne later, Natasha feels sufficiently loosened up to tolerate more human interaction than the minimum. She slips away from the rogues, indulges a politician or two in a dance, and eats all the hors d’oeuvres off of a platter. If anyone wants to point that out, they can get a six-inch heel to the face.

(Fights almost always break out at a Stark event. Either physical or verbal. Tony’s used to it. He probably wouldn’t care, especially if she was fighting some asshole like Ross.)

Somewhere in the pleasant slight muddiness that comes with her tipsy state, Natasha sees the interns again. Neither are twenty-one yet, so Tony’s forbidden them from imbibing any alcohol (and has probably told the servers not to give them any). Knowing them, though, Natasha expects Y/N will probably find a way to steal a glass of wine or something at some point.

But they’re not drinking now. They’re not eating, indulging reporters, or fending off over-curious business owners. They don’t look tired from the evening. They don’t even look bored, like Bucky does on the other side of the room.

Natasha watches them idly, fully ignoring the conversation that she’s supposed to be participating in. Dr. Phelps can talk to the Surgeon General. She’s not interested, especially when Mark drags Y/N, protesting, to the dance floor.

Really, Natasha would have thought Y/N would be the one dragging Mark there. She’s always been the more outgoing one, the more confident and mouthier one. But as Mark starts leading her in the figures of the slow dance, she can see why the roles have been switched.

Mark is a natural dancer, not the best Natasha’s seen, but good enough to not bump into anyone around him. Y/N, on the other hand, is barely above having two left feet.

It’s strange. Y/N has always had faster reflexes in training and is far lighter on her feet. But it’s not too weird. Yelena was always better at fighting than Natasha, after all, but Natasha was always better in ballet. She supposes this is something similar.

Dancing, to Natasha, has always been something precise, something sharp. In the Red Room, one leg an inch too low merited a slap on the backs of the thighs. But Mark, even though Y/N’s stepping on his toes every two seconds, is only smiling. There’s no sign of irritation on his face, just pure, utter adoration and awe as he looks into her embarrassed expression.

That’s when it hits her. She might not have believed it before, but this is the love she’s read about in story books. Plain and simple, intricate and complex. It’s just love. That’s it.

So it is possible, she muses over her latest glass of wine. It is possible to love someone so deeply that it doesn’t matter how they inconvenience you. It is possible to love someone so much that their faults just become things to love, not things to hate.

Y/N accidentally bumps into some important-looking man in a business suit who snaps something at her. She bites right back before turning to Mark again, the snark on her face melting into adoration.

Mark looks like he’s never been happier.

Natasha smiles, slipping away from her boring conversation with the excuse of needing more wine. She’s happy for the spiderlings.

Because if anyone in the world deserved this happiness, she thinks, it would be the two pure hearts stumbling gracelessly around the ballroom floor.

iv.

Wanda misses Pietro. But it doesn’t do anyone good to lie around missing someone, does it? So, true to herself, she takes the pain, buries it deep in her chest, and does what she believes is right – she follows the rogues.

Her sense of right and wrong has been askew, before. She will admit that. Blinded by her desire for revenge, she allowed Hydra to experiment on her. She ignored the dozens of other dying experiments, focused only on hers and Pietro’s survival. She sided with Ultron, wrought havoc in the world until she found his true plans.

But then she joined Stark.

Wanda may never admit it, but she thinks that was the single best choice of her life, aside from keeping Pietro alive with her for sixteen years. Her moral compass righted itself when she joined the Avengers, when Clint Barton took her aside in Sokovia and told her to choose – stay a child, or become a hero. Because she couldn’t be one or the other.

(A child who has seen war becomes an adult overnight, after all, no matter how young they are.)

Sure, Stark essentially imprisoning her in the Compound was a factor in her choice to join Cap. But she also remembered Sokovia, remembered the death and destruction of her home country, and knew how much more would have taken place had the Avengers not had free reign to do what they must. The Accords were drawn in a time of necessity, she knew. But they were too strict. Too harsh.

The world has made (relative) peace with the rogues, now. She’ll take it. Cap’s team has more or less earned their place again among society, after all, what with taking down most of the Hydra bases left in the world.

But she doesn’t feel comfortable in the Compound, not at first. Stark’s renovated it, made it look very different from the prison it used to be for her, but she still doesn’t harbor the kindest feelings towards the man. He’s changed – there’s no doubt about that. She believes he truly means to stay out of the weapons business that killed her parents and wrenched her life in the opposite direction. However, the fact still remains that he took it upon himself to decide what was best for her, without taking her opinion into account at all.

There isn’t much to do. There’s only so many times she can spar in the training room, even after meeting Dr. Strange (she’s very thankful for him, of course, but he’s also kind of mean even if he means well). Hydra didn’t neglect her schooling too much when it became clear she and Pietro were going to survive, and she’s smart, so Stark enrolls her in online college, just for a couple of years. “You can transfer to a physical college if you want, then,” he promises.

Online school is boring, though. She’s responsible, of course, but pre-recorded lectures suck and the homework is more or less a breeze.

And what is there to do during her non-busy hours besides curl up on her bed and try not to think of her deceased twin, her other half, her older brother by twelve minutes?

(By God, she wants to hear him say that to her one more time. Just once more.)

She knows Dr. Strange worries about her on the days she walks into his mansion on Bleecker Street, eyes downcast and face pale. She knows Clint sends her concerned looks when he visits with his kids. Stark even awkwardly mentions therapy, and though she brushes away the offer, a part of her wonders if she should’ve taken it.

Then the interns crash into her life. Literally.

She met them, briefly, that first time Stark forgot to inform the rogues of his interns and forgot to inform the interns that it was moving day, but the fight was a blur and then she was busy trying to get her life together for a couple of months, so she never got to meet them properly.

They meet properly when Mark trips over one of Morgan’s toys on the floor, sending his tray of foam coffee cups splattering to the floor. A spray of liquid lands on Wanda’s feet as she’s walking into the living room.

“Shit,” Y/N says eloquently. Then – “Mark, you idiot.”

“Sorry.” Mark hastily stands up, sending Wanda a very apologetic look. “Let me get a napkin or something. Burn cream?”

Wanda waves away the offer. “It wasn’t too hot,” she says. “Here, let me help.”

“No, no.” Y/N snatches the napkins from Mark before she can take them. “You’re the victim of Mark’s clumsiness, we can do the honors.”

Then she slips on a puddle of coffee and lands on her ass.

Mark starts snorting. Wanda doesn’t know if she should be calling for an ambulance or laughing.

A pained “I think I broke my ass,” rises from the floor.

Wanda settles for laughing and decides in that moment that she likes the interns very much.

It’s the right thing to do, she thinks, liking Mark and Y/N so much that she starts feeling like her life has a bit of meaning again.

(She’s never the third wheel – it’s always the three of them. Together.)

They run around Stark Tower, playing harmless pranks on the Avengers who can take it – not Bucky, not yet, and Natasha would probably hunt them down – but Clint and Steve are fair game. Y/N and Mark make her listen to their favorite songs, playing them until two a.m. on the nights they stay. With their help, she finishes her coursework even faster than she used to, but even though she’s got more free time now, there’s so much more to do. Read books, play games, go thrifting (and teach Y/N how to have a better fashion sense, Jesus). There’s so much, now.

There’s even more when Y/N and Mark slowly introduce her to their other friends. Haechan is a sarcastic piece of shit but Wanda loves him for it, while Jaemin’s a little quieter but definitely far more affectionate. Yeri is a beautiful specimen, out of this world (yeah, Wanda definitely has a crush on her), and Jihyo has the best sense of humor.

Wanda doesn’t know how she lived before she met the interns, really and truly. From them, she sees that her existence with Hydra was just that – existence. Not living. Even when threats hit New York and they all have to fight together, it’s still living. Because Wanda now has something to protect, to defend again.

(Privately, she admires them, wonders how such pure-hearted people could be friends with someone as broken as her. She admires that their first instinct is to protect, not to destroy. In battle, the spiderlings take the job of protecting the civilians, evacuating them, using their abilities to defend.

Wanda can’t. Her power is more destructive than protective, and many people balk at her ability to see into their minds. So she focuses on tearing down buildings, breaking apart killer robots, throwing aliens onto the ground and twisting them so they won’t be able to hurt anyone anymore.

Y/N and Mark are Avengers, though they sometimes joke that they’re not really true Avengers. Avengers work out the large-scale events, Y/N says. She and Mark just look out for the little guys. That’s how Spiderman and Silk got their start, after all, and even now, they haven’t left behind their day-to-day duties in Queens.

Wanda thinks that makes them truer Avengers than the rest of them. She and the others? They only destroy, sworn to protect Earth at all costs. But if Y/N and Mark weren’t there to protect the people? Well, Earth wouldn’t be Earth without the humans who populate it.)

The rest of the Avengers hate them. Sam relentlessly yells curses when another bucket tips over and douses him in freezing water. Clint groans when he finds his arrows covered in webbing (“I thought I hid them well this time!”). Dr. Strange loathes it when the interns come to pick Wanda up from training (“Put that down, Ms. Y/N, or so help me –”). Steve literally leaves the room whenever the three of them are together because he knows they won’t stop making references to his old Captain America PSAs (the day Y/N and Mark sat down to show Wanda all of them was the greatest day of her life).

Oh, but Wanda loves it. She loves the life that the interns have given her once again, the freedom to act her age and not so much older. With them, she learns to cope. She goes to therapy at their suggestion, citing the help they received with their own troubles. She gets better.

Sometimes, though, she feels guilty, that she’s enjoying life so much when Pietro is gone. She still has bad days where she lies on her bed, unblinking, thinking these thoughts, staring at her ceiling plastered with little glow-in-the-dark stars, wishing with her entire heart that her other half was still alive. And even on her good days, where she and Y/N and Mark and Haechan are fucking around at a coffee shop or something, she’ll look out at the sky and think, I wish you were here, Pietro.

But it’s okay. In the end, she knows that he’s there. Watching, listening, smiling down on his baby sister by twelve minutes.

(By God, she can still hear his voice saying that.)

And he’s happy for her.

Tony, by nature, is a forgetful person. Or at least he likes to say so. It might just be the result of purposely forgetting too many family dinners or Stark events, to the point that he’s just become forgetful. And who can blame him for not wanting to see Howard Stark any more than he actually had to?

It’s not too bad when it comes to the science stuff. He’s got a pretty good head for remembering what needs to go where, whether or not DUM-E needs greasing again, and oh fuck, I need to put this thing in before that thing otherwise the house will explode. Sometimes there are minor accidents, but he doesn’t talk about those.

(His interns do. They’re terrible teenagers, those two, in particular Y/N. Mark’s a little nicer. But he loves them anyway, even though they give him gray hairs.)

But when it comes to people? Social situations? Telling other living human beings things?

Yeah, he’s not the best at that.

To be fair, he’s been making progress. Every single year he’s managed to remember that Pepper is deathly allergic to strawberries (he doesn’t need a repeat of that time he fucked up and brought them as an apology, which only made things worse). He remembers date nights, he remembers (more or less) when he has to attend a meeting about the Accords, he remembers when Pepper sets up dinners with him, Rhodey, and his interns’ families.

So he’s been doing better. And if he “forgets” one or two meetings with Fury or that nitwit Secretary of State Thaddeus Ross, no one gives him too much shit for it. It’s not like he’d care, anyway.

But sometimes he still forgets extremely crucial information, and the aftermath makes him suffer dearly for it. Like now. It’s been months since The Incident, and he already thinks he’d like to be six feet under.

Because ever since the newly pardoned no-longer-war-criminal Avengers moved into the Compound, Tony has had a permanent headache (not that he didn’t already have one, what with Morgan learning to walk, but now it’s worse) in the form of his interns mixing with the newly reinstated Avengers.

In all honesty, he should’ve known this would happen since the day he forgot to inform the new freeloaders that he had two new interns and consequently forgot to tell the interns that it was moving day for the former rogues. But since he was woefully shortsighted, the ensuing chaos resulted in a broken table, a knife in the wall, a chokehold, a thigh hold, a black eye, and an arrow embedded in a bookcase.

Well, the table needed replacing anyway. And the most important thing at the time was that somehow, amidst the chaos, Morgan didn’t wake up.

After that disastrous first meeting, though, they’re all getting along surprisingly well. Sam likes to rib on Y/N, who just snaps right back. Steve likes to draw while listening to Mark play guitar. Nat and Clint have taken it upon theirselves to teach them both more self-defense, Barnes sometimes cooks with Y/N (and the food is surprisingly good), and Wanda gets along with them like a house on fire, which results in far too many pranks and broken items around the Compound.

(It’s not even just the pranks. It’s the sheer chaos that the three young adults bring when they put their minds together. They yell the randomest shit even when they’re beating off attackers and it drives him and the others nuts.

Example A. After Wanda enrolled in the kids’ university, they had a chemistry test at some point and got called to battle immediately after.

“WANDA, WHAT DID YOU GET FOR QUESTION TWELVE?” Mark yells as he rounds up a group of civilians.

“298!” she screams back.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Y/N pauses in webbing an alien to start yelling. “I GOT 312!”

Tony thinks his brain is going to explode. “Kids, please focus on the fight –”

“Y/N, DID YOU FORGET TO CONVERT CELSIUS TO KELVIN?”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then a loud “FUCK” sounds over the comms, and Tony isn’t kidding when all the Avengers wince or flinch at the pure chaotic rage exuding from Y/N’s person.

Scott Lang, who literally just came by for a visit, later asks Tony if it’s going to be like this when Cassie gets older. Tony just pats the poor man on the back and wishes him luck.)

It’s part of the spiderkids’ charms, Tony thinks. Despite their different personalities, they fit together like positive and negative, like two opposite poles. And in this, they drag other people into their bubble of laughter and joy. Like they did with him.

There’s been a lot of bad in Tony’s life – Howard, the party years, his parents’ deaths, all the death threats he’s gotten from others (and himself – that palladium wasn’t doing good things to his blood). But there’s also been a lot of good – Jarvis, Rhodey, Pepper, Badassium, the other Avengers, and the latest additions: his interns, and now Morgan.

There isn’t anything specific that Y/N and Mark do that make him feel good about life, he thinks. It’s just the way they fit together so well, the way they bring a sort of comfort to his own fucked up existence. It’s there in the way Mark will hold out a hand for a tool in the lab and Y/N will immediately hand the correct one over. It’s there in the way Y/N makes soup for Mark when he gets a headache. It’s there in the way they play with Morgan, two college students laughing and smiling with a babbling baby with sticky, messy hands.

Tony hasn’t always been able to recognize love. It took him a long while – his childhood didn’t have a lot of it, and what little he got was from either Maria, who was often cowed by Howard’s presence, or Jarvis. Rhodey was the first to introduce him to something other than distant familial care – love between friends. Then Happy came along. Finally, with Pepper, he found someone he wanted to wake up to every single day.

That’s how he zeroed in on his interns, the day he drove up to their little apartment and flipped their lives inside out. He was taking a break with Pepper, but he could recognize the aura between them. The way Y/N looked at Mark, the way Mark squeezed Y/N’s arm when she started getting agitated.

Tony knew, from the start, that these were two kids who had seen each other at their best and worst points in their short lives and had made the conscious decision to keep caring for each other, to keep loving each other. And from the biographies he’d pulled together when he first started searching them up, they had had a lot of bad points in their lives to see each other at.

He couldn’t believe they weren’t dating. It wasn’t possible. But at the time, that hadn’t been the point, so Tony had just assumed that they’d figured things out and finally gotten together sometime after Germany. They certainly looked it – even through the dark circles and stifled yawns and half-lidded eyes, they never strayed from one another.

Imagine his surprise when they told him months later that they were finally fucking dating.

Honestly, Tony thought he was going to have a fucking aneurysm, but he stayed himself. But after the panic attack (and the resulting scene where he nearly cried in front of his two high school interns, one of whom had just had said panic attack, what a fucking mess), he’d immediately gone off to Pepper to rant. When she kicked him out a half hour later, he went to Rhodey, who was much more obliging (mostly because he ignored Tony the whole time).

And as the years passed, as he watched them transition from awkward high school students to awkward college students, their friendship and love only grew into something more beautiful that Tony never actually thought he’d see. Two brilliant minds who stayed geared on kindness and love and protection even after years of heartbreak.

What more could Tony ever want to see?

(Well, Morgan growing up. That, he wants to see more than anything ever. But that’s beside the current point.)

Tony walks into the living room to his favorite interns sitting at the piano. Mark’s holding the guitar Tony got him for his nineteenth birthday after finding out his old one broke and Mei couldn’t afford to replace it. Y/N has her hands on the piano that Tony got her for her twentieth after she mentioned she used to play, but Johnny had to sell their keyboard when money got tight. Wanda’s flicking through her phone on the couch, Johnny’s trying to keep Mei from experimenting in the kitchen, while Clint plays with Morgan and Nathaniel in the background.

Despite this, Y/N looks at Mark like he’s the only person in the world, while he looks at her like she hung the stars in the sky. The living room is quiet, broken only by Morgan’s and Nathaniel’s babbling, but it could be silent for all his interns cared.

He just watches them with a smile on his face as they begin playing in tandem. Tony knows Y/N is primarily a classical pianist, while Mark likes to learn pop tunes on his guitar, but when they come together, it really is something beautiful. Neither are perfect players, but when they begin a song, it’s like everything else disappears, and only two things exist – the music and them. Even Morgan and Nathaniel stop babbling to listen.

Eventually, they’ll finish the piece. Maybe they’ll play another one together. Y/N might show off the latest Chopin she’s been working on, or Mark will play a song he’s just finished composing. They’ll look at each other with those dopey smiles and star-crossed eyes, and they’ll kiss.

Wanda and the kids will probably groan in mock disgust. Johnny and Mei will exchange smirks. His interns will just laugh it off, maybe start a tickle fight with the kids or a brawl with Wanda. There’ll be a lot of kicking and yelling and laughing, and then they’ll tire and raid the cabinets for snacks.

It’s Y/N and Mark’s world, Tony thinks, and the rest of them are just living in it. It’s a messy existence, and Tony knows his headache isn’t going to go away anytime soon. In the face of this chaotic peace, though, he can’t bring himself to care at all. He can only be grateful to be a part of it.

The love between his favorite interns brings people together. And as he watches them smile at each other across their instruments, listening to the music they make under their fingertips, Tony wouldn’t have it any other way.

#starryktown #nct #nct 127 #nct dream #nct mark #nct scenarios #nct mark scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #nct dream scenarios #nct u #nct u scenarios #fluff #angst #triggers #cursing #spiderman!au #swing!#repeat #scriptura-delirus

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sincerelymarinette · 4 years

Text

Life Swap - Adrien Agreste x Marinette Dupain-Cheng

Words: 2215 Summary: Marinette Dupain-Cheng is the heiress to her father's fashion house, Dupain Designs. With her talented assistant, the baker's son, Adrien Agreste by her side, will they come up with the right ideas and be able to meet their deadline? Author's Note: ahhhh i love this so much. It was so much fun to write! I got inspiration from @chocoluckchipz on Tumblr with their beautiful life swap art for adrienette April! They are aged up a bit in this and it still has superheroes but PRE REVEAL. Gabriel or Tom is not Hawkmoth. I love life swaps/reverse crush sm. I kinda have an idea for a part 2 but idk I wanna see how this goes :) let me know if you want to see a part two!

---

"Shit, shit, shit, shit," Adrien mumbled to himself as he rushed through the busy streets of Paris, trying to contain his bag and the few coffees he was carrying. He was almost late for work, which he was unsure how he still had a job from his constant shenanigans (possibly caused by a slight crush), but he was still thankful he had his job.

"Marinette!" Adrien huffed when he reached the Dupain Designs office, more specifically, the head designer and heiress. "I'm so sorry. I got stuck at the coffee shop and-"

Marinette shook her head with a small smile. "Adrien, careful! Are you alright?"

"I'm coffee- coffee's fine," He stammered out. "I mean, I'm fine. Here's your coffee," He said and handed it to her as she set her files down on her desk. Once he smoothed out his shirt with his free hand, he took a deep break. "Sorry about that. Can I grab you anything else right now?"

"Thank you," Marinette smiled. "But yes, my scanner is still broken, and I was up all night working on these. Can you go to the copy room and scan them to my email really quickly? Once you get back, we can go look at fabrics, and I can start a mock-up for the designs," Marinette explained and handed Adrien the files.

"Right away!" He said, his face still a bit red, and practically ran out of the room with the files. Marinette only smiled as she watched him stumble away, then went to sit behind her desk.

"I'm surprised you haven't fired him yet," Plagg flew out from his hiding spot.

"Plagg!" Marinette whispered-screamed. "My office is all glass, people could see you!"

Plagg crossed his arms. "Kid, they're all too afraid of you to even look your way. You are kind of in charge around here."

She laughed. "That's my dad."

"Yeah, but you're the heiress to the company and basically the world's biggest designer in the fashion industry right now," Plagg reasoned. "Now, explain to me why you haven't fired Mr. Spill Your Late Coffee?"

"That's a long nickname," Marinette commented and typed her password into her computer. "I don't know; I like him. He makes me laugh, and I like having an assistant my age. Most times they're either older and think they know more than me, or too young and don't want to do anything. Adrien may be a bit late and clumsy, but he's talented, and I like him," She explained. "Oh! And plus, his dad owns a bakery, so he brings me cookies sometimes. That's always nice."

Plagg stared at her for a second. "Do you like him?" He asked.

Marinette shook her head. "Just as a friend. You know I'm in love with Mister Bug."

"Blah blah blah, you humans and your love," He complained. "All I love is cheese."

"I know," Marinette sighed. "If only it were that easy for me."

In the copy room, Adrien was trying to pull himself together. "Why do I have to be such a fool?" He groaned.

"You're not a fool, Adrien," Tikki reminded him as she flew out of his pocket.

"I'm sure Marinette thinks so," He said.

"If Marinette thought that, you wouldn't be working with her. You've had this job for, what, almost a year now? If she didn't like you and your clumsiness, she wouldn't keep you around," Tikki reasoned with the boy.

Adrien sighed and grabbed the papers out of the scanner, waiting for confirmation. "I guess you have a point. "Maybe if I weren't so stupid around her, things would be easier. I can barely get out two words without stuttering."

Tikki flew in front of Adrien, ensuring she had his attention. "It's just because you like her. I doubt she even notices," She said. "Now, hurry up and grab the rest of the papers and head back to her office so you can go help her with fabrics."

Adrien did what Tikki said and hurried back to Marinette's office. As soon as he set the files down, Marinette grabbed her laptop, and the two of them headed to the fabric room on the other side of the building. Lining the walls were pictures from Marinette's modeling days from her childhood all the way through high school. Modeling all ended when she expressed her interest (and talent) in design, and practically blew up overnight when she was announced as the new head designer a few years ago. But that didn't mean her father would ever let her forget how successful she was in modeling, and those pictures would be there forever.

When they got into the fabric room, Marinette hooked her laptop up to the screen on the wall so they could view the sketches to their fullest potential. "I'm thinking of light pink silk for the one on the left, but it could also work with a pattern. What do you think, Adrien?" Marinette asked as she held the two fabrics in front of her. "The silk makes it more like loungewear, but the pattern makes it more office-appropriate."

Adrien stared at her, lost in thought for a minute. "Adrien?" Marinette repeated. "What do you think?"

Since Adrien wasn't getting the message through to his head, he was brought back to reality when Tikki hit his chest from his shirt pocket. "Oh! Uh, I think you could both do- I mean do both, actually. Use the silk on the inside, and the pattern for the outside," Adrien explained. "It could be reversible if you find a matching pattern, or just use it way one- one way," Adrien continued to correct himself. He was usually nervous around Marinette, but it was even worse when she was asking his opinion. He loves fashion, and it can take his mind off most things, but when it comes to Marinette...it's all a gamble.

"Do both? As a reversible jacket?" Marinette raised her eyebrows and looked at the sketch on the wall. A few moments of silence passed before she opened her mouth again. "That is an excellent idea. This could totally work for both professional and casual, and by mixing the different types of fabric, it won't be too heavy, or too light," Marinette smiled wide and turned back to Adrien. "You always have such great ideas! Now, I know I want to use this pink, so let's find a pattern that goes well with it."

---

It was dark out; most people already in bed. Marinette let Adrien go home hours ago, and her parents ducked out for a date night. Marinette, however, was still behind her sewing machine working on perfecting her jacket design and figuring out the best way to make it reversible. It wouldn't be perfect the first time, but she was going to try her hardest.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Plagg remarked from a shelf with a piece of Camembert in his hands.

"Yes," Marinette said, leaning back in her chair to give her back a break. "This could do so well, especially with the business line I'm working on. Go from business to casual in one easy swoop, Adrien really has some good ideas," She complimented. "See, I told you there's a good reason to keep him around."

"You do know what time it is, right?" Plagg asked and pointed to the window.

Marinette shrugged as she looked out. "Yeah, but, I have deadlines."

"Don't you make the deadlines?"

"And what kind of boss would I be if I didn't meet my own deadlines? I want my designers to meet them, it will be a bad example if I don't meet them," Marinette explained, followed by a yawn.

Plagg set the piece of cheese down and flew over to Marinette, blocking her sight to the sewing machine. "Kid, you've had a long day. The machine will still be here tomorrow. You need to get something to eat; all you had for dinner was an apple. Go pick up some food and go home," Plagg tried to persuade the stubborn Marinette. "Get a good night's sleep and ask Adrien to bring some treats tomorrow so both of you can work all day to meet your deadline," Plagg said. Most times, he was sarcastic and annoying, but he really did care about Marinette. Between her crazy designer job and having to save Paris from supervillains, she needed all the rest she could get at night.

Marinette took a deep breath and stood up from behind the machine. She ripped out a piece of paper and left a note: Marinette's. DO NOT TOUCH. It was one way to get a point across in case anyone happened to make it there before her.

After she turned off all the lights and collected her things, she went out of the back exit so she could grab some quick food from a random shop open nearby, then head back to her car right afterward. She wasn't worried that it was late; she could defend herself if anything were to happen.

Once she got her food, she took a slow walk back to her car. Though it was dark, it wasn't very cold, and she was enjoying the fresh air and the quiet streets. The moon was bright and let off just enough light, but the side effect of Plagg did leave her with pretty good sight in the night.

"Miss Dupain-Cheng?" She heard a voice from behind her, then a loud thump on the ground. "What are you doing out so late? Are you okay?"

Marinette turned around, not sure who to expect. Once she saw Mister Bug, she relaxed and mentally told Plagg to stand down. "Oh, Mister Bug, to what do I owe the honor?" She asked, a slight blush appearing on her cheeks. Thank god it was dark, he wouldn't be able to see.

"I was doing a late-night survey and saw you walking. It's late and wanted you on check- I mean, wanted to check on you!" He said quickly. "Are you okay?"

Marinette shook her head with a laugh. "I'm fine, just a long day and late night in the studio. Deadlines," She shrugged,

"Oh! Well-well that's good. Can I walk your car back to you?" He asked. "Agh! Can I walk you back to your car?" Mister Bug corrected himself.

Marinette tucked the few loose strands of hair behind her ear. "I would love that, actually," She said. "No bad guys you have to take care of, right?"

"Not that I spotted. But trouble seems to lurk around you," Mister Bug said as they started walking. "I mean! Because you're such a big name, you've had a few run-ins..." He cringed.

Nodding, Marinette thought. "Yeah, a few times, I guess. Normally it's at releases, or if someone spots me at a store because either my clothes are expensive or they didn't like what I created. But I can hold my own," She smirked.

"Oh, oh, I'm sure of it! I didn't mean to-"

"I'm just messing with you," She cleared up. The walk from the store to her car wasn't very long, and Mister Bug interrupted when she was already halfway back, so the walk didn't last forever. "Thank you for checking on me; you really are a great hero of Paris," She said. "I hope I'll see you around," Marinette smiled and got in her car, waving before she drove away.

Plagg flew out from his spot in Marinette's purse. "Bleh!" He pretended to puke. "You're so gross, Marinette! Both of you are!"

"Plagg, I'm only going to do it more because it annoys you so much," She joked. "Besides, you have nothing to worry about. I don't think Mister Bug particularly cares for Lady Noire so much," She sighed. "Let's just get home and end the night."

As soon as Marinette drove away, Mister Bug flew off in the opposite direction near his apartment. As soon as he landed on his bed, he transformed. "Tikki, spots off!" He squealed. "Ahh, I walked Marinette to her car! And I think I held myself together pretty well."

"Aw, Adrien, I'm proud of you," Tikki said. "Now only if you could do it at work, too!"

Adrien glared at Tikki, jokingly. "I'm trying, it's hard. She's so sweet," He admired, putting his face into a pillow. "When we get married, do you think she'll want a hamster?"

"Adrien, I think you're thinking too far into the future," Tikki giggled.

"You're right! We should get one before we get married!" He celebrated, but was cut off by his phone going off. "Oh my gosh, it's Marinette."

Marinette Dupain-Cheng: Hey Adrien, great work today. We've got a busy day tomorrow. Any chance you can bring some pastries from your dad's bakery? (Plus the coffee I like- we'll need it) I'll pay for everything.

Adrien Agreste: Hey Marinette! Of course, I'm sure my dad would spare some. He likes you, he won't make you pay. I'll be sure to bring extra coffee for the extra-long day!

"See Plagg, another reason to keep him around," Marinette said and set her phone down to start digging into dinner.

"Tikki, tomorrow is going to be awesome," Adrien said. "I have to be on time!"

#mlb #ml #miraculous #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug and chat noir #adrien agreste #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #adrien x marinette #adrien agreste x marinette dupain-cheng #adrienette #adrinette #ladynoir #marichat #ladrien #life swap #au #lilly writes

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