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golden-barnes · 3 years

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Audacity

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: Bucky has a long list of reasons to hate John Walker. But the fake Captain America deciding to flirt with you, definitely takes the cake.

Category: Smut 18+

Warning: Jealous Bucky is just soft dom! Bucky, dirty talk, penetrative sex, slight chocking, closet sex, and just John Walker being annoying

Word count: 1.9k

Author’s note: trying out this new format bc I liked the way it look when I did the Spencer Reid fic. A small spoiler warning for the newest FATWS episode but other than that it’s like an AU bc this really has nothing to do with yesterdays’ episode. Comment and reblog pls and thank you!

There’s a lot to hate about John Walker. The fact that he is trying to replace Steve as a cheap version of Captain America. His stupid face and the way he handles the shield. Even the way he speaks comes off as pretentious and arrogant.

But what really made Bucky seethe with anger is the fact that his little beady eyes would not stop looking at you. Undressing you with his eyes. Taking in every move and gesture you made. It made Bucky’s blood boil. He kept clenching and unclenching his fist. How haven’t you noticed his insisting fucking starring?

“Can you chip your teeth? Because I’m pretty sure you might by how clenched your jaw” Sam said, patting Bucky on the back. He just rolled his eyes but decided not to say anything.

There was nothing that can be done. They made a silent pack not to anger the imposter. The government had asked Sam, Bucky and you to help out with a smuggling ring that they have discovered and low and behold, their little Captain America got his ass handed to him. They basically begged them to help. Bucky almost screamed a Fuck no into their faces but you managed to hold him off from punching the soldier that appeared at your apartment.

You turned around and bent over to pick up something. You were unaware that the fake Captain America licked his crusty lips while looking at you. He kept eying you like a piece of meat. Bucky rolled his eyes again and turned to Sam who was quietly reading the reports.

“Can I punch him?” Bucky whispered to Sam.

“Do you want your pardon to be revoked?” Sam said to him, not even looking up from the reports.

“There’s nobody here. Y/N won’t say anything. You definitely won’t mind.” Bucky whispered, glaring at the blond man that kept staring at you. You clearly didn’t give a shit about him. Therefore, why was he still looking at you?

Sam rolled his eyes at his ex-assassin friend. “Yeah, and later we can steal the shield.” Sam looked up from the reports and pushed them to the side.

“Exactly! Yeah, now that’s a plan.” Bucky said excitedly, standing up from his chair trying to make his way to John before being stopped by Sam, who grabbed his friend by the arm and pulled him back into his chair. Before Bucky could protest, he heard you whistle at them.

“Hey, guys! I think I have something.” You said. The three men surrounded you, while you were explaining how you found out the new base location for the smuggling ring.

Bucky tried his best to focus on what you were saying and your explanation, but he couldn’t help but notice that the Kmart version of Captain America was inching closer and closer to you. Didn’t this man have a wife? Bucky swore he read that somewhere. Why does he keep staring and getting closer to you?

“Oh! Sorry, ma’am.” The jackass said, when he “accidentally” bumped into you, he grabbed your waist and forearm to stabilize you.

“It’s okay.“ You told him, and let out a soft chuckle. Bucky felt his pen explode in his hand. The three of you turned to the pouty super soldier who just rolled his eyes and went back to looking at the schematics.

You knew something was up with Bucky. He didn’t say anything. Not after the pen exploding incident. Not even when you were joking around with Sam. He loved making witty comebacks to your jokes. It was your thing.

But maybe it was John Walker’s presence that made it uncomfortable for him. You knew Bucky hated the guy, mostly cause he took Steve’s spot without earning it. But there was something more to this. Bucky has always had a staring problem, but the number of sharp glares he has been sending to Walker has been enough to alert anyone. You couldn’t comfort him, not without making it super apparent that you are dating. And Bucky had already expressed that he doesn’t want to publicize it unless it’s only Sam that’s around.

“Agent Y/L/N, I think I found something,” Torres said, signaling to you to go follow him upstairs. You took one last look at Bucky, who was still glaring at the oblivious John Walker.

“Damn, I don’t know how you guys get any work done with that around you all the time,” John said, staring at you walking up the stairs. More specifically, staring at your ass.

Bucky looked at Sam, almost begging him to let him punch the douchebag that is this man. But Sam gripped his forearm. Bucky will not lose his pardon like this.

“How about we focus on the damn mission?” Bucky almost growled. John Walker put his hands up.

“I’m sorry man. It’s just- look at her.” John sat back and leaned into his chair. From the distance, he could see you talking to Torres.

“C’mon man. You asked us for our help but we aren’t here to do all the work.” Sam said trying to be the peacemaker between the super-soldier with a murderous gaze and the soldier with the wondering eyes.

“Yeah. Yeah sorry.” John said trying to go back to the records. You were descending from the stairs and walking over to them. John brought his attention back to you. The way your hips would sway when you walked. The confidence in every step. Everything Bucky loved, and apparently fucking John did too.

“Guys, I think we need to rest for today. I am a little bit burned out. I think we all are.” You said, with your hands on your hips. Bucky felt his heart clench, you did look tired. Especially because you were almost doing all the work and piecing all of the clues.

“That’s an incredible idea.” Sam said stretching in his chair. He also looked tired. It made Bucky feel bad that he has been focusing all his energy on glaring and not helping out. He almost felt guilty.

Almost because a surge of rage flows through him again. John “Can’t take a hint” Walker smirked at you while you were grabbing the files that were on the table.

Bucky didn’t even give you a chance to say goodbye. To Sam or the annoying motherfucker that made Bucky want to break rule number 2.

“Woah, Buck. what are you doing?” You said while the brunet dragged you around the base. His grip on your forearm was hard but not enough for it to hurt. Bucky wouldn’t hurt you, not in any way you wouldn’t like it.

There was something about how Bucky was walking, the silence, the way he was searching for something but never letting go of you.

Bucky opened up a closet door.

“Get in, doll.” He whispered in your ear, in a low deep voice. You let out a gasp, feeling goosebumps all over your body. You looked at Bucky in the eyes, and you knew he wasn’t in the mood for a fight. You entered the closet space without protesting.

It was a small storage closet. It barely had anything in it so you felt cramped. You turned to Bucky, while he closed the door. The man stalked towards you and you walked backward till your back hit the wall. Bucky had you cornered, and you didn’t mind it.

“Did you have fun, doll?” Bucky said, getting close to your face. His hands went to your hips, pulling you towards him.

“Buck, what are you talking about?” You whispered to him. Bucky rolled his eyes and took one of his hands off your hips. Placing it on your neck, lightly applying some pressure to it. You gasped at his touch, he chuckled a bit at your reaction.

“C’mon darling. Did you have fun playing around with the imposter Captain America? I mean he had fun looking at you. So I’m assuming that you had fun being looked at.” He said, with his hand still on your neck and his face inches away from your face. You looked at your boyfriend with wide eyes.

“Oh, you didn’t notice that. Well, I did. Maybe I should teach you who do you belong to. Would you like that sweetheart?” He said, his breath tickling your lip. You nodded, breathless. Bucky smiled at you.

The hand that was around your neck, went to your chin. Grabbing it and pulling you closer so that your lips would meet. His hands started to wander across your body, while yours looped around his neck.

Your kisses started to grow hungrier, more desperate. As if Bucky spotted kissing you, you would fade away. His hands reached the zipper of your pants and pulled it down. Not even breaking from your kiss, Bucky managed to push your pants down. You break from your kiss to get out of them, while Bucky took off his pants and underwear.

He didn’t wait. He pushed you softly back on the wall and started to leave kisses and soft bites all over your neck.

“Jump, baby girl,” He said softly against your skin, patting your butt.

And you did just so. Wrapping your legs around his waist, with one of his hands on your ass and another moving your panties to the side.

“Hold that there, baby. Let me make you feel so good.” Holding his neck with one hand, you moved another hand to hold your panties to the side, to make it easy for him.

“Good girl.”And with one thrust, he was inside you, hitting all the spot. You moaned and gripped the back of his neck tightly.

“Like that doll? Can anyone else do this to you uhn? C’mon doll give me everything you got.” With every word that came out of his mouth, he would thrust hard and deep into you. You felt lightheaded. Your legs tightening around his waist but his thrust wouldn’t stop.

“Fuck, Buck. Don’t stop.” You gasped. Bucky kept kissing your neck. Overloading your senses. You were close, you knew it. Bucky knew it. You could feel him grin against your skin.

“Who makes you feel this good, doll?” He asked. You gasped at his sudden change in pace. He started to thrust more desperately, less controlled. He was close too.

“You. Fuck, only you.Shit, Bucky. I’m going to cum.” Bucky smirked at you.

“Then cum, doll.” Bucky silenced your cries with his lips. Still thrusting into you, letting you ride your high and getting to his. And that wouldn’t be long.

With one final thrust, Bucky came. He gave you a soft kiss on the lips and let you down.

“I love you, James Buchanan Barnes.” You said, putting on your pants.

“I love you too, Y/N.” He smiled at you. You slapped his chest lightly, which made him laugh.

“I hope you realize that I would never go with discount Captain America over there.” You joked which made Bucky laugh even harder. You both were dressed and tried to look as decent as you could to leave the closet and the base.

“Let’s hope that fucking in an army base won’t be the reason you lose your pardon.” You said, grabbing Bucky’s hand, to give him reassurance. He gave you a smirk.

“Maybe if we let them watch, they won’t take it away,” Bucky replied to you, giving you a wink.

“Yeah and get John Walker to join would also help your case.” Bucky stopped in his tracks and looked at you.

“Oh, you are gonna get it when we get home.” Now it was your turn to wink at your boyfriend.

“I’m hoping I do.” Bucky shook his head but pulled you closer to him. Wrapping his arm around your shoulders, walking towards the exit of the base. Confident that John Walker couldn’t take you away from him.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader smut #winter soldier x reader

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owo-shenanigans · 3 years

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I wrote this for myself bc my favs are hot <3 (there are four characters because, again, I wrote this for myself. My character limit has not changed.) LORD this is self indulgent i wanna make out with em so bad. This took me FOREVER to do theres a reason my limit is 3. (CW's; gets a small bit heated but I don't think I would classify it as even lime. Use your own judgement)

Getting interrupted while making out with Kazuichi, Gundham, Kaede, and Celeste

KAZUICHI SOUDA

Y'all were at the usual triweekly party. Togami decided that parties would keep spirits up while everyone searched for a way off the island. Monokuma was pissed, but it was a rule that he couldn't hurt you all. At this point y'all had almost forgotten about the murder package (which didn’t exactly make Monokuma happy).

You and Kazuichi had been sent to the supermarket to grab more sodas, an unplanned chugging contest having taken out most of the stock.

Once you had the sodas by the door, though, you hummed. "Hey, Kazzie? Can you come here for a moment?"

Your lovely boyfriend bounded up to you. "Yeah, what's- mmph!"

His words were cut off by you grabbing the collar of his jumpsuit and pulling him towards you, smashing your lips into his.

The kiss quickly turned into a heavy makeout session, Kazuichi getting backed into the windowed wall at the front, though he was definitely pulling his own. Your leg was hoisted to rest on his hip, his hand gripping your thigh tightly. The two of you broke apart for air, gazing at each other with dusky eyes.

Licking your lips, you dove back in to continue the session-

"TIS I, THE OVERLORD OF- oh. Oh, uhm."

You and Kazuichi stared at each other before slowly turning to the new voice. Gundham was standing there, sweating and covering his hamsters innocent eyes.

"The humans were worried that you had fallen into darkness, as the sands of time have fallen much more than they needed. I will go inform them of your delay. Worry not, for the overlord of ice can hold his tongue!"

With that, Gundham picked up the soda bottles and left, though through the dark window you could see that he started sprinting once he was a few feet out.

"Well, that was… something." You said, and burst into laughter.

"Kinda ruined the mood, though." Kazuichi complained, tugging on his hat.

"Oh, I don't know." You reached up and tugged a lock of his hair, his pupils dilating a small bit. "I think we can still have some fun."

The glinting of sharp teeth was your only warning before your back was up against the wall, his left hand clawed into your thigh and his right holding the back of your head.

GUNDHAM TANAKA

The two of you were in the storage closet at the old building. Everyone was searching the island for music or other media to listen to- while you were all glad that there were no deaths, going weeks without listening to any music was a mild torture of itself.

But, any annoyance you may have felt in searching the dusty old room vanished because your boyfriend was there.

Though…. There was something you two could do that would be more fun.

“Hey, babe?” Your voice caused him to look up from the box he was searching in. The Devas looked up from their searching of the shelves, but you discreetly shood them off- you didn’t want to risk Gundham lecturing you about exposing his Devas to themes too mature to them.

You gestured him closer to you, and once he was in front of you you leaned in. “You have some dust on your face. See, right-” you gestured on your own face, and barely held in a laugh when he attempted to brush it off.

“Here, let me.” You threaded your fingers in the neck portion of his scarf and pulled his face to yours, gently pressing your lips together.

Two minutes later, the kiss wasn’t quite so innocent, the spit linking your mouths and heated atmosphere proof of that. His Devas were in a box by the door at this point, their master pinned to the wall by your body. The two of you were breathing heavily, taking a moment to catch your breath.

Then Hajime burst into the room.

“Hey you two, Togami sent me to- oh. Oh god.”

Later, you would admit that bursting into a room in the middle of a makeout session is extremely awkward. But in that moment, you were mad. Only Gundham hiding his face in your shoulder kept you from stalking over to him.

You pointed at him, then pointed behind him, lastly making a slashing motion across your neck. Hajime slowly nodded, shutting the door quickly. The newly darkened room settled your nerves, but with it your… Other emotions settled a tad too much to continue your previous activity. So instead you hummed and draped your arms around Gundham’s shoulders.

KAEDE AKAMATSU

Kaede was putting on a concert. But not just any concert- a concert at the largest music hall in all of Japan. While other Ultimates had done the same thing before, it was still an incredible honor. You along with some of your classmates were there to support her.

It was, of course, an utterly gorgeous concert. You even cried during some of the pieces, your girlfriend putting so much emotion into them.

A few minutes from the end, you snuck out of your balcony seat and into her dressing room, holding a humongous bouquet in your arms. Hey, she absolutely deserved it!

Once the piano music over the speakers and the uproarious applause ended, Kaede entered the room, letting out a sigh of exhaustion as she closed the door.

“Kaede, my beloved!” You called, and thrust the bouquet into her arms. “I loved the performance! It was just as gorgeous as you are.”

It was a testament to how wrung out she was that she didn’t even laugh at your pickup line, merely smelling the flowers with a tired smile on her face before setting them on the table. She fell into your arms, you supporting her with the practiced ease of having done it before.

“Mind if I kiss you, beloved?” You whispered after a minute of holding her, having slowly moved the two of you to sit on a bench. At her nod, you leaned in and pressed kisses all over her face, gentle as a feather.

A few minutes later, the kisses were getting sloppier and sloppier, your hands all over each other as you desperately made out like you were poisoned and the antidote was in each other's saliva. She was still in her rental dress, the only thing keeping you from going at each other like animals.

A knock at the door caused your eyes to widen, but it opened before you could do anything more. Shuichi stood at the door, with a flower in hand.

“I figured I should warn you-” He started, and froze at the sight of you two. You pulled yourself off of Kaede, blood rushing to your cheeks as you dusted yourself off. Kaede did the same, her face completely red and staring anywhere but at Shuichi.

For his part, Shuichi looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there. He placed the flower, a daisy, next to the door, and coughed.

“The… Rest of the class, is, ahem, going to come by. So.” He fled once his piece was said, and you and Kaede locked eyes. No more kisses until the two of you got home, unless you wanted Kokichi screeching and spraying you two with water.

CELESTIA LUDENBURG

Celeste is a very reserved person in public, usually limiting PDA to simple hand holding or kisses on the cheek at most.

However, she had just won the largest poker tournament in the world- while she had been a popular name in the gambling world, for the first time her name was known by EVERYONE.

And the payout for the tournament was no small thing either. In fact, it was enough to finally help her achieve her dream- the European castle with her every need taken care of.

So if she dragged you off to a small, unused room, it wasn't anyone's business but yours.

"Celeste! I'm so happy for you-" was all that left your mouth before she grabbed you by the shoulders and melded your mouths together. You couldn't help but let out a small moan as she pushed you back towards the table in the center of the room.

However, you weren't going to let her do all the work. With the hand that wasn't stabilizing you against the table, you tugged at some hair peeking out from her wig, she gasped in surprise enough for you to lean forward, no longer needing to support yourself on the table.

After a minute of this, the two of you broke apart, your fight for control a temporary draw. Her makeup was slightly mussed, though not for your lack of trying.

She pulled her makeup pouch out, touching up her makeup and lipstick. You didn’t wipe off the lipstick marks she left on you, though that was mostly from your dizziness.

Once she looked up from said makeup touchup, you were in front of her and pulling her into a deep dip. Gazing into her eyes, you gently kissed her, wary of messing up her lipstick again.

This is, of course, when the reporters broke in.

You all stared at each other, you pulling Celeste out of the dip, her wig thankfully still stuck firm on her head. If that had come loose, you would be begging for mercy for weeks.

“Do you… Need something?” Her fake accent was pulled up and stronger than ever as you dusted her off, avoiding eye contact with the reporters. “No? Then I’ll interview you after you GET. OUT!” At her shouts, they fled the room, tripping over each other in their haste. You slammed the door behind them and turned to her. To your disappointment, she was touching up her makeup into her ‘publicity’ style. No more kisses for you, then.

#danganronpa x reader #danganronpa imagines #kazuichi x reader #celeste x reader #gundham x reader #kaede akamatsu x reader #kaede x reader #kazuichi soda x reader #celestia ludenburg x reader

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misterghostfrog · 4 years

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So I was reading someones post about what if Jon went back in time to save everyone, and he managed it. He kept Martin away from Prentiss, he Kept Sasha alive, Tim never even know the unknowing existed and he never had Jons paranioa to ruin him. But They never knew, there was never those moments of bonding between the terror. Martin never had that moment when he realized Jon wasn’t just his shitty boss. And sure the assistants were close, but there was no room for Jon. And it gave me thoughts.

Under the cut bc I started to Ramble and it got Long, warning; its Big Sad Hours down there. No happy endings here.

Jon solves all these problems before they start, he fixes it without anyone ever knowing. The assistants are blissfully unaware, maybe he stops sending them on ‘real’ statement followup. The archives are a normal, safe job for all of them. Sometimes it gets too much, pretending he doesn’t know them. So he’ll record, mostly for himself. Sometimes for them, though he’ll never share. He sticks them all in Gertrude's old storage locker, where he knows they’ll never be found.

And then something goes wrong. He knows the unknowing can’t work, of course it can’t. But Nikola doesn’t, none of the avatars know. And Nikola still wants her skin. She still wants his skin, actually. And she’s not afraid to play dirty to get it, she’s hands-on like that. Because why stop at the archivist when he’s got so many lovely ignorant assistants?

So he fixes the problem before she can make good on her threats, she can’t be killed that easily. He knows. But she died during the unknowing, and there are some pretty simple steps to follow to replicate that result. He knows the easiest way to make sure it works is also a death sentence for him. But that’s a simple choice to make. Alright no, it’s not. He’s terrified of death, of dying. He doesn’t want to die, but he can lie to himself. He can delude and say maybe he’ll get another chance. And just in case, he makes sure the assistants know they can quit now.

Tim, Sasha, and Martin don’t know what to make of the news that their boss died mysteriously in an explosion. They know even less what to make of the notes he left them.

Clearly the ramblings of a very unstable man. They all knew Jon was a bit off but this... Well, they all know there’s something weird about the job. But the apocalypse? Really?

Sasha believes some of it, she’s worked in artifact storage. She’s seen what this stuff can do. But, well. Jon’s never come off as the most stable person, and with no proper proof to back up any of this there’s no reason for them to follow suit. After all she’s known lots of people to quit the institute, she even knows for a fact that Eric Delano did it when she was rooting through employee records for perfectly rational legal reasons.

Then Martin gets called up to Elias’s office, and gets the news he’s the new head archivist.

He tries to turn it down, but he’s offered a pay-raise and a promise that he can step down anytime if he doesn’t feel suited to the position. Elias just sees so much potential in him.

Martin tries to feel flattered and not thoroughly terrified by the way Elias says potential. He takes the promotion, after all, he can always step down if it’s too much.

He offers as much when he finds out Sasha probably should have been given the position, but she turns him down. It’s not his fault their boss is a sexist old bastard, and at this rate he’d probably just turn around and give it to Tim.

Things are normal for a few months. Until slowly a strange noise starts to be heard around the archives, a weird sort-of squishing sound with no source. Along with a metallic scent of meat.

An infestation, of course. They’re getting the problem worked on, or so Elias says. But aside from the occasional exterminator coming in to ‘take a look’ nothing ever seems to change. Weird statements start showing up on Martins desk, surrounding meat and twisted up things, eaten alive and wrong. Suddenly he understands how Jon went off his rocker so easily.

It’s hard to believe all this supernatural stuff as it’s suddenly getting crammed down his throat, after so long of the archives being normal in almost every sense of the word it’s like missing a step on the staircase. The more awful statements he finds- that Tim and Sasha confirm -the more he realizes how much his boss was hiding from them.

He wants to quit, he thinks about it, he tries to think about it. But he just, can’t.

It’s another or two month before it happens. Meat and bone and gristle erupt from the floor, taking on horrible mangled shapes of almost-humans reaching out with hands full of teeth and hungry.

They all survive, though Tim gets eaten up a bit more than the rest of them. And they’ll all have nightmares for the rest of their lives. They’re alive.

And they find Gertrude’s body, though none of them know how to feel about it. They’ve realized by now there’s something to Jon’s nonsensical ramblings. And they’re long past regretting not quitting before this all happened.

There’s a section of document storage that got uncovered during the cleaning,an old cot that was shoved behind some of the shelves, and a box that had a few sets of clothes, an old teacup, and a key. The cleaners say they burned the clothes, but the cup and the Key are given to Martin for him to keep to return to whoever left their things in the archive.

Neither of those items belong to Tim or Sasha, so they all assume they belonged to Jon.

They start following Jons footsteps, they find out he was a suspect in an arson case surrounding Carlos Vittery’s old apartment. Nobody was there except one unidentified body. He was arrested for trespassing on a dock, though no charges were filed. There was an incident that ended in the near arrest of one Jude Perry, though no charges were filed and she soon fell off the grid. And then he exploded using C4 he had no way of getting, Nothing concrete, no proper genuine evidence except a series of weird encounters their dead boss had.

Martin Decides to try and hunt down Jude Perry, it takes some time. He has a very nice cup of tea with one Micheal Crew. Who points him in a general direction and is just a bit weird about tall buildings.

Martin finds Jude, and asks her about Jon. She laughs at him, of course. But she tells him anyway. Jon was trying to have her arrested- no, not arrested. Killed. Officer Tonner would have seen to that, he knew one of the Hunt could do her in, well. At least of Officer Tonner’s sort anyway. Jude resisted, naturally. He escaped her clutches only barely, by running. Like a coward. And she escaped the policewoman by playing innocent. She’s still on her tail though, damn dog. It’ll be a long time before she’d rid of her, but she knows better than to run. Oh, he doesn’t know what any of that means, does he? Oh he really doesn’t, how sweet. Just a little baby archivist- she was going to kill him after this. But watching him stumble into his own ruin will be so much more fun.

She sends him on his way with a burn.

Martin is terrified, he genuinely tries to quit. Almost manages it before his computer shuts off. The others try too, and then they all have a lovely freak-out together.

They decide to try and talk to Detective Tonner, which proves easy. She’s the partner of the one who’s been interviewing them. She comes to the institute, and they ask her about Jon. She tells them they believed he was responsible for killing Gertrude, seeing as he was next in line. Martin accidentally Compels her into a statement, and then into admitting she's mostly just saying he killed her because dead men don’t put up fights.

She threatens him right then and there, though Basira comes in and intervenes before anything happens. He files a dispute with the station, and avoids the police after that.

Basira brings him some of the tapes, she says it’s an apology. He’s pretty sure she’s just trying to get him to drop the dispute in the weirdest way possible. He does learn some about Gertrude though, and through her what he’s dealing with. And something about an ‘unknowing’

A man named peter Lukas visits the institute, one of the doners. Elias says he wants to see how the archive runs, Lukas says a few choice words about it. And Martin tells him in the most polite of terms to shove off. Lukas threatens him, and very briefly makes him forget everyone he’s ever loved. And then tells him he got off lucky, and that Elias should have picked a better archivist. You can hardly trust someone so childish to run something as important as this now can you.

Daisy visits him in his home, and threatens him in much more physical terms now. She tells him if he tries to do what he did to her again he’ll get more than a scar.

After that it’s a bit unclear how he gets marked by the next two (Curruption, Stranger.) but he does.

There’s a delivery, a few weeks after the stranger mark. It’s not supernatural in any sense, just a young woman dropping off a small box in the archivists office. She says her name is Georgie, and no, she doesn’t know what’s in the box. She just had an old friend tell her to deliver it if he didn’t check in after a bit. Then she found out he died on the news, and then she hadn’t wanted to deliver them- clearly whatever was in the box was going to get someone killed. And she wasn’t scared of it, she wasn’t one for fear, but the thought of putting anyone in danger made her skin crawl. But she didn’t want it in her house, and she refused to be haunted be this box forever. And there was no reason to defy the poor guys apparent final wishes- wait, why was she saying all this again?

In the box was tapes, a dozen or so of them. All addressed to ‘the next head archivist’

It’s Jon’s voice, on the tapes. Talking to who he apparently assumes to be an entire stranger, explaining the fears. And how Smirkes 14 wasn’t wrong, but wasn’t right either. It tells the next archivist to avoid eyes, paintings, doodles, abstract representations, and to keep playing dumb. There’s a lot out there, and the more you know the worse it gets. There’s no fighting, don’t struggle the nets already around you. There’s a way out, but you’re not going to like it.

It gives an odd image of Jon, the man who awkwardly tried to make small-talk int he break room, only to shuffle away after it fell flat. Carrying this world-ending secret on his shoulders. Stiff, awkward Jon. Grim, sad Jon. not so far apart but still so far outside of what Martin had known about him.

What had Martin known about him?

Tim decides to quit, Sasha stays. Elias hires Melanie. Who turns out to be another connection to Jon.

Melanie says he was kind of a prick, he belived her about her Sarah incident, but refused to give her library access. Probably because he was sexist, or maybe just a dickhead. She’d been trying to learn more about her encounter for ages. And this was finally her chance. They try to explain the way out but she won’t listen.

Martin starts following Gertrudes tapes, things about the unknowing have been popping up on his desk lately, and it sounds like Jon was right about an apocalypse. He goes to america, gets a bit kidnapped, and meets Gerry. He offers to help, and then asks about the unknowing. Gerry points him towards the storage locker. And when he gets back He and Sasha and Melanie check it out.

It’s mostly empty, apparently somewhat recently cleared out. Though in the corner there’s a large box of Tapes. There has to be dozens of them, and when they pres play it’s Jon. Talking to them. Except it’s not them, it’s another version of them, and something this version.

And there’s another Jon to add to the mystery of a man he was. The jon on these tapes isn’t stiffly awkward or forcedly professional. He’s open, sad. He cries, he laughs at memories they don’t have. He apologizes, a lot. Too much really. He talks about time travel, about forgetting faces and losing friends.

“Sometimes I-I think- I can’t help but be a bit... upset. At how unfair it all is. You’re all happy and laughing and together and i’m-

i’m alone.

I suppose it must be some sort of- cosmic Karma, I doomed the world so in this new one bright an new I pay my penance in isolation.

Or maybe it’s the other way around. I doom the world- suffer its horrors, and get a little bit of time to taste what humanity would be like.

Or maybe i’m just not that likable without an apocalypse.

Probably says a lot about me either way.

Is it bad that I- I sometimes consider letting things play their course? W-without any of you dying of course I just... I suppose it is bad, to want to end the world because you’re lonely. Just because i’m a bit sad doesn’t mean the planet should suffer, no... maybe i’ll try and reconnect with Georgie, it’s been... well. No. Perhaps best not.”

Sasha says that if she knew she would have at least brought him out for drinks or something.

But they did sort-of know didn’t they? Not about the apocalypse, but about the loneliness. After all, nobody chats so awkwardly in the break room because they have a thriving social life.

“I’m going to kill Nikola tonight- i’m not going to die. I’m not. I didn’t die last time, a-and there’s no reason for that to change. T-there isn’t. I’m going to try and be a safe distance from the blast this time, too. But... Well, it’s not like I have anyone to miss me if I do go.

I suppose... Martin, if you’re listening to this- I... I miss you. You always did say I should be more open with my feelings, and it’s weird. To miss someone who’s right there. T-to look at a face and see a friend and a stranger. To love someone you’ve known for years who doesn’t even really know who you are.

It’s all very stranger, ironic really. Considering what i’m about to do.

I love you, and I miss you. I know you’re not listening, even if I did die you’ve probably long since quit. I hope you’re happy, whatever you’re doing. Happy and safe. All of you.

And maybe you are listening, maybe... maybe we do become friends, maybe you actually choose to talk to me someday. Maybe I tell you about all of this and... And you don’t think i’m mad. Maybe you let me take you out to dinner and we’d be together again. We’d never be like before- not that that’s a bad thing what with the eldritch horrors. There’d be bits missing, memories we don’t share- but, it would still be you... It’s always been you, I think. And maybe I've decided to give this to you as some sort of silly romantic gesture.

A-and in that case. I love you, Martin Blackwood. More than you’ll ever know.

[HE SIGHS]

When I come back, i’m recording over this.”

[CLICK]

But he didn’t come back. He died that night. He died loving Martin, who never even really knew him beyond passing awkward conversation. Martin doesn’t know how to feel about it, besides guilty that is.

The tapes point them towards Georgie Barker, the woman who delivered the other set to the archives.

Georgie doesn’t really want anything to do with them, she knows whatever they’re stewing in got Jon killed. But she tells them about her encounter with The End, though she’s tetchy afterwards. Martins finally starting to understand this whole compelling business and is feeling pretty sorry about it. He redirects, he starts to ask about Jon. Who he was, really. What she knew he was like.

They talk, Martins curiosity is part Eye and part knowing that someone loved him, really, really loved him. And feeling like he missed out, like he skipped a train he hadn’t known was there. And wanting to know what kind of person would- could love him the way Jon did. And why that kind of person could end the world.

They talk, Georgie explains why they broke up (clashing ideals, he didn’t believe in the supernatural and her trauma was so inherently tied to it. He was a sleep-clinger and she kicked when she dreamed) And why it took so long for them to break up (Jon was funny once you learned to get his jokes, the Admiral loved him, he had a weird way of caring that was really sweet) they talk about things, Georgie lets him hang out with her as long as he promises to keep the supernatural out of their conversations. And how is Melanie doing by the way?

Sasha has a hard time splitting her time in the archive and helping Tim. He can manage himself of course but it’s hard knowing he’s sitting in her flat alone, he’s getting back into publishing though. Sleeping easier now he knows that not only is he free of the eye, but Jon very much killed the thing that killed Danny. He only wishes he could have been the one to pull the trigger. Sasha is getting more involved though, the eye has it’s own grip on her.

They finally confront Elias. They know it won’t do any good, Jons tapes explained what he was, who he was. But they’re frustrated. Low on options. Jon never really explained what the apocalypse was- if Martins learned anything from the other tapes it’s probably because he forgot, thought he did somewhere and didn’t.

Elias isn’t entirely surprised that they’ve figured it out, he knew something was going on. Though he wasn’t quite sure what. He claims he knows what oncoming apocalypse Jon was talking about, and that he was likely underestimating the amount.

He sends them to Ny-Ålesund. And Martin views the black sun. Gets briefly taken hostage by Manuela. And gets “saved” by a man who pops out of a door to stab her.

He says his name is Micheal, and he’s not there to help. He does his whole distortion bit, confuses them. Stabs Martin when he tries to take his statement. Says he was going to kill him, but what happens next might be much better than death. And leaves after stating that he’s very excited to watch how the rest of this plays out.

They go back to the institute, and Elias says he must have been wrong. Oopsie. Anyway the web is planning a ritual you should go check out the spooky house from all these statements.

They meet Annabelle in person, Martin gets marked by the web.

This continues on for the end the slaughter and the buried. They finally confront Elias again about these wild goose chases, he claims innocence but he’s done it enough times they don’t believe him. They stop trusting Elias. Not that they ever really did, but they stop listening to him.

Melanie isn’t as angry as she was. Though she is still angry. She didn’t go to india so no ghost bullet, but she’s still trapped. Though she knows how to quit, it’s been a scary idea. But the longer she stays the more she realizes how low she is on options. So she quits.

Martin is angry, he’s exhausted, he’s confused. Nothing makes sense. And another one of Elias’s goddamn doners is visiting. A weird old man who, when he shakes his hand, makes him feel like he just dropped off a rollercoaster at a million miles into empty nothingness. He laughs when Martins regained himself, and says that that tricks better than a buzzer every time.

He visits Georgie again, he’s thinking about quitting. But he can’t figure out what the apocalypse he’s supposed to stop is, because according to Jon it’s pretty bad. And he’s the one who can stop, or maybe start, it. But he doesn’t know what it is.

He talks to Georgie about Jon some more, it’s funny, to grieve a man you already knew. Except four years too late. There’s a sort-of helpless frustration to it, every time he talks about Jon he wishes he could be learning this first-hand. Not from someone who hadn’t spoken to him in years before this.

He also finds himself glued to the tapes, he can relate, in a way. To Jons loneliness. To have a person so, so close but so far away. He wishes he could meet the Jon on the tapes now. Then neither of them would have to be lonely. But Jon is dead. And Martin... Martin might love Jon. Jon, who died years ago. A dead man who apparently loved him enough to consider ending the world for the chance to have a real conversation with him.

He goes back to work, frustrated and so, so lost. A million questions that genuinely can’t be answered. There’s a fresh statement on his desk. It’s a statement of Jonah Magnus, regarding stopping the apocalypse.

Certainly a goddamn roundabout way of giving Martin information, but he’ll take it.

He reads the statement.

The world ends.

Sasha, Tim, Melanie, and Georgie all get their own domains. And wander free in the hills of suffering. Martin is alone, well and truly alone. He ended the world, because he was too stupid and sad to read a few extra paragraphs before starting the tape.

But Jon went back, didn’t he? He went back in time and stopped this once. Maybe Martin can too. Maybe he can stop the flesh from attacking, maybe he can stop Melanie from joining the institute. Maybe he can meet the real Jon.

He goes back, he does it. Nobody remembers but him.

Nobody remembers but him.

And things keep happening he can’t have predicted.

Worms, Sasha is gone, Gertrude. It’s all wrong. And Jon isn’t the Jon he knew, he doesn’t know Martin, he doesn’t even like Martin. Nobody is the person he knew before.

He is alone. And things keep happening he can’t have predicted, worms tables and paranoia. He starts recording. Trying to follow in Jon’s footsteps and leave information behind, easier to access this time of course. In his flat, and he’ll have the key sent to the archives if something goes wrong. He’ll record until Jon trusts him enough to believe him, Maybe he’ll even stop him before it’s too late and he’ll never need to find out what happened at all. Maybe he can't get close as he was to everyone, but he can keep them safe.

He doesn’t get to finish his recordings, he wasn’t careful enough. Jonah catches wind and half the tapes are destroyed when he dies in a mysterious housefire. But what’s left does get delivered to the archives.

And the cycle continues.

#jonmartin #the magnus archives #tma #angst #writing #ghostly scribbles #Tma is a tragedy and so is this #not a proper fic more like a really weird outline

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spencerspecifics · 3 years

Text

Okay yes hi hello this is me gracing y’all with my writing Bc I’ve had this idea forever!! This is going to be multiple chapters, here is chapter two. Enjoy :)

Technical Analyst (ch.1)

Short description: Spencer works as a technical analyst alongside Garcia and Kevin, though he hasn’t ever really worked directly with the BAU team, he works more in filing and researching. But when Garcia goes on vacation leave, and Kevin is busy with his own work, Spencer steps up to help- and that’s when he meets Derek Morgan.

———————————————————————

Spencer hated technology. He hated computers, tablets, cell phones, he hated it all. He hated everything and anything that isn’t on printed onto paper. So how the fuck did he end up as a technical analyst- whose entire job was based around proficient use of technology? In very short, budget cuts.

He originally worked in domestic terrorism, though he never fit in well there. He was a good worker, fast and able to do a lot. But his coworkers never let him feel included. He would hear them make plans without him, ignore him in conversations, only reaching out to him for his great memory to help solve a case. It was dehumanizing. He was just a brain for them, nothing more.

Then, the budget cuts came. And he got removed from the team, as he had the least amount of hours in the field- which wasn’t his fault. The rest of his team always forced him into the research position, so while they were off chasing the bad guys, he was stuck researching with a computer he doesn’t trust.

So yeah, he wasn’t an asset to them. But the bureau knew a mind like his in general was an asset, a fountain they’d like to keep a tap on. So they made work for him. It was mostly menial. He would assist with intense cases when necessary, but even then it was just research. No one knew what he would be like in the field, because they never gave him the chance.

Spencer tried not to think about how unfair this was, how stupid and purely tedious it was. He would rather be working as a T.A. at this point- which wouldn’t even be that bad. At least he gets heard and seen then.

Spencer’s normal day consists of going from his apartment to the bureau building, to directly into his cramped little office that was about the size of a jumbo walk in closet. A nice size to store clothes, but not so nice when you have to have a person, a desk, a chair, three computer monitors, two filing cabinents, a trash can, a fax machine, and a printer all crammed in there.

Yeah, his workplace was entirely too small. Thankfully it didn’t impact his ability to work, though, most the time Spencer finished his work quickly; and would end up reading. Spencer didn’t venture out from his office that much at all, (he always brought his own coffee so he didn’t have to worry about bugging the field agents.) the exception to leaving his office was to go across the hall to Penelope Garcia, his only sort of friend that he had at work. She was always so bubbly, it was a breath of relief for him to go see her- she reminded him of all the positive things, he definitely couldn’t do the job without her.

Not to mention, she had to train him from starting point zero. Spencer hated technology, after all. So he never made an effort to learn coding, hacking, how to re-route and track things. He knew nothing like that, hell, he struggles with his cellphone turning on sometimes.

Thankfully, she was able to get some sense into him, and he was pretty good at what he could do. Though he was still working out python coding, he was enjoying the learning process of using technology.

That being said- he still despises technology, and he hopes that once he leaves the job, he can throw away his very unnecessary but work mandated laptop.

Spencer made his way into the bureau building, messenger bag slung over his shoulder awkwardly as a thermos of coffee was held tightly in his right hand, while the left one reached for the door handle to enter. He got in no problem, security didn’t stop him anymore, thankfully. Though in the beginning, they did check him constantly, verifying that he belonged there. After all, he looked young, and he definitely didn’t belong in the bureau building. But then again, Garcia didn’t look like she belonged there either.

Security just made presumptions about people, he shrugged that thought off as he made his way to the elevator. Thankfully no one else was in there, he pressed the button for floor six, and the elevator doors shut.

The elevator whirred to life, taking him up to the sixth floor slowly. Thankfully today was a slow day, there wasn’t really any important case he had to work on. (Not like he ever really got given cases to work on, anyways.) So Spencer was hoping he would be able to finish his work quickly, as he had some books he brought with him that he wanted to read and re-read before the day was finished.

The elevator dinged, a signal it had reached its necessary location, before the doors finally slid back. He stepped out, taking his usual left down the hallway immediately. Forward through the glass doors was the bullpen with the agents who worked in the BAU. And god, what he wouldn’t give to be a field agent, working as a profiler. That’s why he wanted to join the bureau, and yet he was so close- his office only down the hall. But he was simultaneously so far, not being trusted by all the bureaucratic bosses, who didn’t know if he would be a good agent to warrant being put out into the field.

He hated it, but he tried not to think about it as he reached his office, Garcia’s door was shut, she was on vacation, or so he had heard. Spencer pulled on his office door, entering with ease as he moved into the cramped workspace.

Spencer sat his messenger bag down onto his desk, sitting himself down in his office chair and taking a minute to breathe in and out before continuing. Spencer hated this job. It was mind numbingly boring, he was so close to quitting. He knew the bureau would fight tooth and nail to keep him, however, but if that was the case, why not give him a better job- he didn’t want a nicer office, he wanted to help people.

He sighed, today was just one of those days where he was extra mad about not being treated right, he tried to ignore this thought process as he got ready to work; setting his coffee down by his computer mouse to his right, setting his messenger bag onto the floor next to him, pulling off the scarf that was wrapped loosely around his neck and hanging it over the back of his chair. Now he was ready for the day.

Penelope didn’t mean to forget to tell the team that she was going to be gone- she assumed they knew. At least Hotch did, all the rest of them knew was that she was going to take a week off to relax, they just didn’t know when (she had too many vacation days saved up, so she had to use them or lose them. She chose the former.) It was just a total brain fart moment on her part, so while she decided to hit up her favorite stores, spas, and websites; the team had no idea, they assumed she was holed up in her office, hacking away at whatever she normally does.

This would only show itself when Derek needed her, calling her office number and it going to voicemail “Hi, this is Penelope Garcia with the FBI and I’m too awesome to come to the phone right now, if it’s an urgent matter please call Aaron Hotchner-“ yeah, Derek hung up his phone by then, deciding to call her personal cell.

“Hi, hot chocolate!” She answered cheerfully, the sounds of people talking and laughing could be heard in the background, which Derek took note of. “Babygirl- your work phone sent me to voicemail, where are you?” Garcia was quiet for a second, before practically blowing Morgan’s eardrums out; “Oh- damnit! I knew I was forgetting something!” “Care to fill me in?” He asked her curiously, “Yes-“ Garcia sighed before continuing on, “Sorry. I’m taking those vacation days Hotch told me I had to use or else I’d lose.”

“So you’re not at the office.” He stated, “That I am not, I’m sorry I forgot to tell you! But my pal Spencer Reid should be covering for me.” “Spencer Reid?” Derek asked, unfamiliar with that person, “Why not kevin?” “Ugh, I don’t know- he’s doing that thing where he’s actually busy with other work for once. But Spencer is good, I taught him everything he knows- and I’m pretty sure he’s got three PhDs, so yeah, you replaced one genius with another- so don’t worry!” “Okay, well...” Derek took a second, “You sure I can ask Spencer about everything I’d ask you?” He meant work related, within being able to hack and get everything that Garcia would be able to get. Because Morgan knew that her talents were very special, and having someone else replicate them seemed near impossible, so he was a bit hesitant to trust someone new.

“Oh yeah- he’ll find everything easy peasy lemon squeezy. Don’t worry yourself, sugar.” “Okay, thank you mama. Have a good week of rest.” “I will! I have an appointment for a spa, and oh my god Derek- they do a seaweed wrap thing, isn’t that crazy?” “So you’re gonna get rolled up like sushi?” “No! Ew! Don’t compare me to raw fish!”

The phone call continued for a bit after that, as Derek wasn’t in an urgent matter. It was just a filing day at the office, before he hung up he asked where Spencer was, though; “Oh, he’s in the office next to mine, across the hall!” Garcia told him happily. Derek had thought that was a storage closet, but he didn’t tell her- instead thanking her and hanging up.

Now to pay this mystery computer whiz a visit.

Spencer was in the middle of re-routing a bunch of information that Garcia needed to send to her boss, Aaron Hotchner. Spencer didn’t share the same boss, since he was technically working in a more basic division of the bureau, he instead answered to Strauss- which was a royal pain in the ass, but he always turned his work in on time, came in when needed, he had never had to face her wrath yet, thankfully.

Spencer typed away, trying to get all the data to get to Hotchner as quickly as possible so he didn’t have to wait, though it wasn’t crucial the work did get completed right now. Spencer just liked to get things done.

A knock sounded Spencer out of his methodical typing, it wasn’t Garcia, obviously. And he knew Kevin was in a meeting right now with some IT people over his keyboard acting funky (Kevin could fix it by himself, but office administration forced him into talking to IT.)

“Yes?” Spencer asked curiously, turning around in his office chair, because he had no clue who it was that could be interrupting his work. The door pushed open, revealing a tall, classically handsome, muscular man carrying some files in his hands. Fuck, that would be Spencer’s luck. An attractive guy swooping in and making his IQ of one hundred and eighty seven go down to sixty in two second flat

“Hi- you Spencer?” The man asked, stepping forward into the cramped office. Spencer stood up instinctively, “Yes, I am. How can I help you?” The man handed the files over awkwardly, “I’m sorry, I usually ask Penelope Garcia for this but she’s on vacation and she referred me to you- I just need these put through VICAP, I’m not too familiar with the system as a whole, ‘cause Garcia usually handles it.”

Spencer nodded, taking the files and looking through them briefly, there were nine of them. “I’m sorry, I know that’s a lot of work to do... I’m sure I can figure it out myself-“ Derek started, doing his best to apologize. Little did he know Spencer could get this done within an hour or so.

“Oh no- not a problem at all, this should only take me about an hour, two at most, but that’s a generous estimate.” Derek raised his eyebrows, “An hour or two? Garcia usually finishes up this many files within three or four. How are you able to get this done faster than her?”

“I have an eidetic memory, which helps me recall anything that I read. I can read these files once and put all the information into VICAP knowing it’s accuracy is one hundred percent without having to double check, that cuts down my speed by half per case file.”

Derek looked confused and shocked. Yeah, Spencer could understand why. “Sorry, um. That’s a weird explanation, but it shouldn’t take me as long. I’m assuming you’re out in the bullpen?” Spencer asked him, putting the files down atop his keyboard.

“Yeah, I’m Derek Morgan with the BAU.” Derek finally introduced himself, reaching his hand out. Shit, this was Derek Morgan? Garcia has mentioned him a few times to Spencer, saying he’d love him “oh he’s so handsome, but so sweet and loving, like the hottest man on earth- I’d marry him in a heartbeat, but we don’t roll like that, Y’know?” That’s how she described him once, and of course Spencer remembered that word for word. Spencer felt like it was just his luck, that his only work colleague was best friends with a man so attractive that his mind isn’t working fully.

Not to mention he was in the BAU, Spencer guessed he was, since Garcia was their technical analyst. But still, it would be just his luck to know this insanely attractive man was part of the team he wanted to belong to so bad. Spencer wasn’t sure how to respond as he kept his composure. After all, yeah, Derek was attractive. But they probably wouldn’t speak again after this exchange. It wasn’t worth Spencer thinking about him, or how Garcia described him.

“I’m sorry, I don’t shake. But it’s nice to meet you, I’ll find you once I’m done. If you need anymore help, feel free to let me know.” Spencer told him, looking back at the files on his desk as a distraction away from this hot guy that was just standing so calmly in his office, as if Spencer ever had any visitors into the cramped space besides Garcia and Kevin.

By the time spencer looked back up, Derek’s arm was back down by his side. “Okay, thank you.”

Derek was surprised by their exchange, to say the least. How did he not know about this genius before? How was he not more well known, a memory thing, three PhD’s- that would be a useful asset? How come he was hidden away in a closet sized office? He had to know more. Even if it was nosy and stupid.

Normally, he’d call Garcia and ask her if it was about an employee. But in this case, he couldn’t. And he couldn’t go to Spencer, that would be weird.

So, he did the next best thing. He asked Hotch.

He knocked slowly on Hotchner’s door, hoping he wasn’t going to tell him to mind his business and not ask about employee facts when they definitely were irrelevant.

Derek was smart though, he figured out a foolproof way to play this. So when Hotch said, “Yes?” He came in, starting his plan into motion.

“Hotch, where’s Garcia?” He asked him, as if Derek hadn’t immediately checked up on his babygirl when he couldn’t find her. “Oh,” Hotch started, setting a file down that he had been looking over, “She took some vacation time.”

“So, who am I supposed to go to for computer help?” Derek asked, “Well,” Hotchner started, matter of factly, while he reached for a thin, unopened file on his desk. “We have a new guy helping us. Kevin’s busy with helping the child abduction unit reset their computers, as well as he’s in an IT meeting right now, so we have..” Hotch stopped, looking down to read the name off the file; “Doctor Spencer Reid. I’m sure he’ll be just as good.”

“Hotch. No ones as good as Garcia.” Derek pointed out, Hotch shrugged. “Maybe not. But this guy has a glowing personal history- and Garcia told me she taught him everything he knows.”

“What’s his personal history?” Derek asked curiously, stepping a bit closer but still trying to play nonchalance. “You know I’m not able to disclose that. You can go ask him for yourself.” Derek sighed. Of course Hotch wasn’t gonna tell him shit. He should’ve expected this. But sue him, call him hopeful. He was hoping he could’ve gotten some information on this mysterious doctor.

Derek made his defeated way back to his desk in the bullpen. And Emily, whose desk was directly across from his, immediately noticed his slight annoyance at Hotch. So she asked in a hushed voice as soon as he sat down;

“Did you get yelled at by Hotch?” Because in her mind, that was the most logical explanation that made the most sense. Derek just shook his head as a response, “No,” he clarified, “I was asking about our Garcia fill-in, and Hotch wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“Garcia fill-in? She’s gone?” Emily asked confusedly looking back to the hallway that led to Penelope’s office, as if she’d magically appear. “Yeah, but just for the week.” Derek explained, “She’s using those vacation days she had saved up. And Kevin isn’t our standby, ‘cause he’s busy. Instead it’s some new guy.”

“Who?” Prentiss asked, this time she was curious. And as if on cue, Dr. Spencer Reid came through the glass doors, and into the bullpen, carrying Morgan’s stack of files.

“Him.” Morgan pointed back simply as a response as he waved Spencer over.

To say Spencer felt out of his element by being in the BAU bullpen was an understatement, he felt like a fish out of water. Like he was suffocating and everything around him was too much.

He purposely avoided the bullpen, first reason being because he didn’t have any work with the BAU. But the second reason was he knew if he stepped in, he’d be more upset that he couldn’t be on the team. And the last thing he wanted to do was make his job worse for himself.

But, this experience was an outlier. And though Spencer can remember almost anything and everything, he planned on doing his best to purposely forget all of this. Every last detail.

He wasn’t going to let himself remember how there were field agents with real life guns holstered at their sides, how they were all sitting casually, looking over cases and drinking coffee, how they had the title of SSA (he only had SA, which he still was bitter about.), and then how at a moments notice they could fly away in a jet. How astonishing their work is, how jealous he is.

But Spencer entered through the glass doors nonetheless, looking around quickly before seeing Derek wave him over. Derek was sat at his desk, talking to a woman whose head was turned away from Spencer, all he could see was that she was his desk mate, and that she had black hair.

Spencer made his way over at a brisk pace, he just needed to get in and out. If he stayed for too long, he’d let himself remember to much.

“Hey, I- I got these into VICAP no problem,“ Spencer started as he handed Derek the case files, “But I noticed some errors on the date stamping on when you found the unsub so I corrected it myself, I hope you don’t mind.”

Derek shook his head casually, “Not a problem at all, I have a habit of messing that up. Thanks doc.” Fuck, ‘doc’? Spencer hadn’t been called ‘doctor’ in months, let alone ‘doc’. This was turning into a tailspin moment for him as he smiled awkwardly, feeling a blush rising to his face, he wasn’t sure what else to do. But he wanted to get out of there.

Thankfully, the woman with black hair introduced herself, as once he had rounded the corner to see Derek, he also saw her face. She was pretty, and had bangs. “Hi, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Emily Prentiss.” She reached her hand over to shake Reid’s expectantly, “Oh I-“ Reid started, hands down at his sides, he wasn’t going to move them.

“He doesn’t shake, Prentiss.” Derek explained casually, “Oh,” Emily said, dropping her hand down, “Sorry! It’s still good to meet you, though. So I hear you’re covering for Garcia?” She asked Spencer, who nodded as he pushed a piece of hair back behind his ear.

“Yeah she’s taking vacation time, and Kevin is currently busy with helping the child abduction unit. So I’ll be you technical analyst for the next week or so.”

“I’m sorry, but how long have you been with the bureau? You look really young. I don’t mean to be rude I’m just-“ “You’re really asking him the rudest possible question, though, huh?” Derek joked to her, and she just smacked him on the arm lightly before turning her attention back to Spencer.

“No you’re fine to ask I- um, I’ve been with the bureau a year and a half, but originally I was on the domestic terrorism field unit.” He explained shortly, he didn’t wanna go into how he got on the bureau to begin with, or how he left the domestic terrorism unit. All he wanted to do was have this conversation end, or else it would just be that much harder to forget.

“Domestic terrorism? So how do you end up doing technical analyst work?” Derek butted in curiously, up until now it has been Prentiss asking all the questions.

Spencer stayed quiet for a moment, before finally responding, “If you need anything else, my office is next to Garcia’s. It’s been nice meeting you, Emily.” All he gave to Derek was a curt nod before walking out at the brisk pace he had entered with.

“Wow, well you fucked that up.” Prentiss spoke to Derek once she saw Spencer exiting through the glass doors, and turning down the hallway.

He sighed and rolled his eyes at her, “I’m just curious about him, can you blame me?” Emily just chuckled softly in return, shaking her head as she turned her chair around to face him more head on.

“Are you curious about him because he’s cute, or because he’s replacing Garcia for the week?” Derek blinked at her in surprise; “I never said he was cute.” He protested, more confused than anything else.

“You didn’t say it, but your body language did. You think he’s cute. You called him ‘doc’ and he almost blushed, and I have a feeling you’re gonna try and call him ‘doc’ again to see that same result- and you watched him the entire time, even if I was talking.”

“You think random bureau agents are cute all the time, what’s it matter?” Derek rebutted, trying to deflect and ignore, because Prentiss wasn’t making sense. Derek wasn’t attracted to Spencer, he didn’t think he was cute. Spencer’s level of attractiveness had nothing to do with his curiosity.

Derek did have a right to be curious for other reasons, anyways. This guy was replacing Garcia for a bit. It made sense Derek would wanna know more about the guy, even if he was or wasn’t attractive.

“Yeah, I find agents cute. But I don’t go asking Hotch about them.” Prentiss said with a smirk, Derek just shot her a glare. “I asked Hotch because he’s replacing Garcia. And I’ve not heard of the guy before.”

“Whatever you say, man.” Was all Emily replied with as she turned back to her work, Derek just rolled his eyes at her again before turning to his own computer.

Okay, so he knew Spencer was in domestic terrorism. It couldn’t hurt to just search it up, right? It wasn’t anything classified, he’d be able to see it, Derek hoped. He wasn’t meaning to be nosy, but he was just so curious and confused. He just had to know more.

———————————————————————

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thecaptainhelm · 4 years

Text

Good Love

ch.2 is here, it’s technically an interlude, which is bad bc it’s so early. i never claimed to be good at this, so here’s Alfred being worried for almost two thousand words

Enjoy!

That day, it was one of the rare, bright mornings in Gotham, where the sky was overcast but the sun managed to shine through, sending dappled sunlight into the eastern wing of Wayne Manor. Alfred Pennyworth had been up before sunrise as he had been for decades, carrying out his more mundane tasks in service to the Waynes, though it would have been preferred that they learned to rely on him for other things.

Normally he wouldn’t complain quite so much, the stress from it was cumbersome in his old age, but the situation had been truly aggravating this past month.

The youngest master of the house had begun acting...strange. Strange in a way that genuinely worried both himself and Bruce. Damian was by no means the best at communication, but he did at least check in from time to time, and they saw him for when they needed extra hands on deck for their ‘night shift’ as they’d begun to call it.

He didn’t contact anyone for an entire week, dropping off radar, and the only reason anyone knew was that Dr. Norfey had left a message with his emergency contacts, asking him to set up a date to reschedule his bi-monthly appointments.

Everyone called Damian in a rush, and he said he was fine, but it was strange because Damian never did anything without a reason, ever. He was literally raised to make carefully planned decisions, and that idea was only reinforced under their care. They’d had to find out because he missed his therapy session as if he didn’t worry Alfred enough.

For the past three years, he had been in the care of a reputable therapist, competent, and more importantly, safe for Damian. They specialized in mentally and emotionally abused patients and unearthing childhood trauma. The success rate of Dr. Norfey was slightly above average, as most patients either leave positive reviews or receive recommendations for more intensive help. After arguing for days on end with the entire family, he finally relented and scheduled a two-hour session. After that, he went about his routine as usual.

Nothing extreme had happened, thank God, but there did seem to be a positive response. He met with Dr. Norfey again after two weeks, glaring at anyone who would look too long, daring them to speak up. It wasn’t long before it became the new normal. The young master gradually lost his scowl for something gentler, appearing relaxed when home, though he went back to it as soon as he left the premises. Certainly, he had his good days and his bad days, but he seemed all the more certain of himself as an individual. Truly, he didn’t think Damian could make him anymore proud.

Then, he met a young lady.

Her name was Marinette Dupain-Cheng, a petite young woman with kind eyes and a bright smile set upon a youthful face. She was polite, witty, with no small amount of talent and charm, and an endless amount of patience for Alfred’s brood. She was a breath of fresh air, especially for the suffocated Damian.

An investigation into her profile revealed that she was a rising star of the cutthroat fashion realm, her resume boasting high-profile clientele and lucrative business contracts. She hadn’t had anything notorious to her name, no criminal record, no illegal transactions, almost normal to the point of suspicion. After a while though, they managed to dig up something insidious.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng had connections to a terrorist.

Six years prior, a supervillain appeared in Paris for the first time, holding the city, it’s citizens, and tourists hostage for what would be the better part of three years. During that period, Ms. Dupain-Cheng would then begin to date Adrien Agreste, and then break up with him a year later. She and her entire family disappeared soon after. A month later, Hawkmoth was arrested, along with his accomplice Mayura, and seventeen years old son, Adrien Agreste. It didn’t take a detective to figure out what happened.

Looking at the classified investigation reports uncovered more of the truth, that Gabriel had the idea to use the miraculous to revive his wife. He planned to sacrifice his son’s girlfriend, a girl his wife would never know about by using Adrien to make the wish. In the end, he never even got his hands on the miraculous. Marinette had started to become uncomfortable with Gabriel’s strange questions and talked to Ladybug and Chat Noir.

When she told them of what types of questions she was asked, they grew concerned and sent her and her family to a safe house outside of Paris. From there, with police assistance, evidence was gathered and a warrant was issued. Gabriel was confident until Supergirl arrived, using her x-ray vision on the property and revealing the hidden lair beneath the building. He was quickly apprehended without fuss, and it was case closed. Adrien had been arrested as well, but he was quickly acquitted when evidence showed that he wasn’t involved in any way.

After that was the media firestorm, and the Dupain-Chengs weren’t spared. However, Ms. Dupain-Cheng was skilled as she showed her hand, and it was a revolution. Out from the woodwork poured celebrity after celebrity, vouching for her and her family.

She managed to turn her pariah status into that of a martyr in the eyes of the public because that was the bible-sworn truth. She’d rose to the occasion and exceeded all expectations. After that, she faded from the media for two years before returning as a critically acclaimed designer. The Bats gave her a grace period and soon they too began to gradually lower their guard.

And young master Damian appeared to be quite smitten as he decided to open his heart as well.

He watched his young master attempt to curry favor with the young lady, awkwardly wooing her to their family’s amusement. He saw her cautiously reciprocate, and he saw their tentative courtship, budding and fragile, blossom into something beautiful and delicate. He saw them weather the tough days and work hard for their relationship. He saw Damian start to let himself be happy without restraint. Soon a year had passed, then two, and then three. In the fourth year, master Bruce started to hint to Alfred to update the family registry, as joyful as he was.

So when he was sent word that Damian’s belongings would be shipped home, he hoped that Ms. Marinette would be there with him. Perhaps misfortune had come to their apartment and most of the young lady’s things had to be sent to storage, but it wasn’t meant to be. The message he sent left no room for misunderstandings.

I’m sending my things back to the manor. I’ll be home by the end of the week.

The young master shall be returning alone, then.

Alfred had long since received the delivery and moved everything back to its original place, save for items that were acquired after he’d moved out. Now the day had come for Damian to arrive home. The moment was both exactly and not at all what he’d expected.

On an unusually sunny morning, about an hour before noon, the one and only Alfred Pennyworth opened the doors to the sight of the youngest master, Damian.

His appearance was neat, shoulders back, and posture straight as a rod. There was not a hair out of place. However, his eyes…

It had been a while since he’s seen his eyes look so strained, it was clear that he had not slept well. This was when he knew that Ms. Marinette would not be returning for a visit for some time

“Welcome back, Master Damian,” he said.

“Hello, Alfred.” A rigid nod. “I have returned.”

“So it appears,” he opened the doors and waved Damian in. “I have your favorite pot of tea on. Would you care for a cup in the dining room or the parlor?”

“Neither. I’ll have some, but I’d like to rest for a while.” Damian stepped gingerly through the door, as though he was indeed tired. Normally, he wouldn’t let such an obvious wound slide, but he knew better to pressure a man trapped in a corner.

“Very well, young master,” Alfred shut the door and turned to accompany Damian through the main hall, a step behind.

“You’ll find your belongings in your old bedroom with the facilities fully stocked, as per usual. Please be sure to take care of your wound and to reschedule your session with Dr. Norfey before tomorrow.”

“Yes, thank you, Alfred.” A pause. Damian had never been one for conversation, but he would usually ask what was going on in the manor without wasting time.

“As your father will be out late at the office along with your brothers, dinner will be held an hour earlier to accommodate their sudden absence.”

A noncommittal hum came from the young man in front of him and Alfred nearly furrowed his brow in worry.

All too soon they arrived and Damian turned back to the Wayne family butler, stoic.

“Thank you, Alfred,” he nodded slightly. “I’ll be out for dinner, but I am feeling a bit hungry after my drive. “

“Say no more,” Alfred gave him a placid smile. “I’ve already set out the tea and snacks on your desk. I shall return for the platter after you have finished.”

Damian finally let loose a tiny smirk. “Thank you, Alfred.”

“Of course, sir.” A courteous bow was the last Damian saw of the butler as he entered and closed the door to his room.

Alfred walked back towards the kitchen to check on his pot roast, feeling relieved. Damian wasn’t at his best, that much was evident, but that didn’t mean he was at his worst. At least not yet. However, there was still hope, because while it seemed like he had regressed in his current state, his tired eyes said that he had some sort of revelation.

Alfred began to prepare Damian’s portion, wondering what could have happened between the two for him to return alone, looking as though he would rather be anywhere else? The list of options was short but severe. He could have told her any number of secrets about his past, family history, current vigilante occupation, and while he had faith in Ms. Marinette, the young woman was by no means a saint.

It could have also been that she broke up with Damian, and it might be his extreme bias, but he couldn’t fathom why. Yes, this was Damian they were talking about, but he’d been in therapy for close to eight years now and was making steady progress as he continued to root out his trauma and slowly but surely heal. However, he did not know how their relationship was faring, as both proved to be rather private. Though, the young miss was more shy than possessive.

Damian had over ten years of trauma, all throughout his early childhood, and suddenly he was becoming an adult. A confused, depressed, and unstable child had become trapped in the body and mind of an adult, and while everyone helped to the best they could, all while trying to help themselves, it wasn’t enough. It never would be, not for this battle.

Alfred sighed, feeling his years. He pulled dinner out to rest and started to set the table, just in time for the proximity sensors to notify him of Bruce’s car pulling into the estate. Right on schedule.

“Welcome home Masters Bruce, Timothy, and Duke. If you would, hurry and wash before dinner. It’s been quite the long day, has it not?”

there, it’s gonna be a while for ch. 3

#Good Love ch 2 #daminette #marinette x damian #maridami

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farfromtommy · 5 years

Text

the rest of our lives //chris evans x reader

A/N: wrote this bc I couldn't sleep. its almost 4am and im tired but felt like writing some cute shit tonight. I love this so much and sorry if it doesn't make sense and for the mistakes but I LOVE IT. pls give it some love .

Summary: chris and y/n visit her childhood home and tell her parents about their plans for the future

Warnings: angst, FLUFFFFFFFFFFFF, language I think, age gap but its not gross (chris 38, reader 22)

Word Count: 3,780

masterlist

With one final zip of your suitcase you were ready for your trip. You and your boyfriend of 2 years, Chris, were taking a couple days off to spend time with your parents. You hadn’t seen them since your college graduation and they had been bugging you for months for you and Chris to spend some time in your hometown.

You were currently living in Boston and had completely expected that you weren’t going back home following your completion of university. Your life was in Boston. Although you missed your parents and your sister, you were so ready to start this new chapter of your life and be able to make it your own.

You and Chris had been looking for a house together since you decided to stay in Boston with him. Your relationship was headed in a good direction and both of you were 100% in it for the long run. You wanted to wait till after you graduated to move in together, not wanting to worry about anything besides school. Chris had his realtor on the phone the minute your grades for your last semester had been finalized and everything was approved for graduation.

When you sat down with him and both said what you were looking for in a house, the topic of kids came up. You knew Chris wanted a family, and you did too. You had both agreed to bring the conversation up again after some time in the house together. You were secretly hoping he was planning on proposing to you soon. You’ve been dropping major hints at him through your Pinterest board ever since you started having serious conversations about your future with each other. You were ready for it all. You wanted to marry Chris and fill your beautiful new home with a bunch of kids.

You were also slowly convincing him to get Dodger a friend since both of you were always working, and you wanted to make sure he was never lonely when you were at work.

Your amazing realtor had found a beautiful house right outside of Boston that had everything you were both looking for. You were just waiting for the final pieces of paperwork to come in and finally be able to call the house yours.

Your lease on your apartment was up last month and had been staying at Chris’s place. All of the big things you didn’t sell from your place were in storage and everything else was with you.

When you had mentioned to your sister that you and Chris were days away from closing on your new home, she had asked how your parents felt about everything.

“They know our relationship is serious. They met him at graduation and had known about him well before that. Mom even talked about us having a fall wedding here, since the weather would be perfect. I haven’t told them about the house since we’ve known about this trip since everything with the house started. I want to tell them in person, so don’t mention anything to them.” You huffed.

“I talked to mom the other day and she thinks that you made a mistake staying there to be with Chris. She doesn’t think your relationship is going to last, since he’s so much older than you. Hell, that’s what everyone thinks. She’s just worried, I think.” She expressed.

“I’ve been hearing all of that for the past 2 years from everyone I know, especially from mom. Nobody knows our relationship better than we do. We both want the same things and are happy being together. So what if he’s older than me? Dad is way older than mom and no one questions the integrity of their relationship, why does everyone have to question mine?” I said back.

“I know. I know you keep hearing this, and I’m sorry. I’m really happy for you, Y/N. I really am. Buying a house together is a big deal and I’m glad you’re ready to do that with him. You have everything so figured out and people are just jealous. I mean, you have the hottest dude in Hollywood in your bed every night. Who wouldn’t be jealous of that?” She chuckled.

“Anyway, we’ll talk more when you get here! I’m so excited to see you. Call me when you land and I’ll meet you at home. Love you!! See you tomorrow.” The line clicked and you threw your phone onto your bed. You let out a deep sigh and moved your suitcase off of the bed so you could collapse.

You were slowly dozing off when you had heard Dodger starting to bark, alerting you that Chris was home. He had been doing some small indie films in Boston, not wanting to get back into major productions until you were settled in your new house. You picked yourself off your bed and walked into the living room, seeing Chris toe off his shoes and place his things down. He greeted Dodger and walked over to you, mumbling a quick hi and placed a quick kiss onto your lips.

“Hi my love, how was your day?” He asked as he walked into the kitchen. You took a seat on the barstool facing the kitchen, and watched as Chris started to look around for something to snack on.

“It was pretty good. Work was how it usually is. I came home early and got all my packing done for the trip and just cleaned a little bit around the house. I left some things you might want to pack out on the bed just incase. How was yours? Anything exciting happen on set?” You asked, leaning back on your chair.

“Wrapped up everything I needed to do so I could relax and enjoy the next couple of days without worrying about needing to get back to set.” He took a beer out of the fridge and leaned against the counter and took a drink from the bottle. “How are you feeling about seeing your parents and telling them about the house? You haven’t really said much about it.” He took another sip and walked closer to you.

He sat in the chair next to you and just looked at you, waiting for your response. You thought for a moment, collecting your thoughts before giving him an honest answer. You sighed and thought about the conversation you had with your sister.

“I’m excited to tell time, but really nervous. I talked to my sister earlier and she had told me that my mom has been having doubts about us and was just worried that I didn’t know what I was getting myself into and blah blah blah. But I’m ready to set everything straight and tell her that she can’t doubt us anymore. It’s important to us that we do this and she needs to be on board with that. I know she’ll be happy for us, but you know how she gets. I think dad will be happy for us. He really like you, y’know. Tells me all the time that I need to fly him up here so you two can go to a Pats game. Poor guy had a house full of women his entire life and now he finally has the son he always wanted.” You rambled slightly.

“Everything is gonna a work out, don’t be nervous. It’s 4 days with your parents and then we close on the house when we get back and should be moved in by the end of the next month. I know how important your family is to you and how much it means to to get their support on this, but you have so many other people who support you. You’re basically and Evans now and you have all of them standing behind us, cheering us on. Don’t worry too much on what might happen with them, but think about what’s happening with us now. Our life together is finally getting started.” He grabbed your hand and kissed the back of it before pulling you off the chair and moving you closer to him. You stood between his legs and wrapped your arms around him. His comment about you being an Evans filled your stomach with butterflies but you didn’t think much into it.

For the rest of the night you just sat on the couch watching movies and eating random snacks you had in the pantry, not bothering to cook something for dinner. You snuggled up next to Chris and Dodger was next to you as you stayed in the living room well into the night. You had fallen asleep on the couch and next thing you knew, you were being placed on your side of the bed and tucked in gently.

Chris placed a kiss on your forehead and moved some of your Y/H/C hair out of your face. You sleepily smiled at him before turning to your side and let sleep consume you. You heard shuffling around the room, assuming Chris was finishing any packing he had left. You woke when you felt the bed dip beside you and your were wrapped in a pair of strong arms. You moved closer to Chris and let sleep take over you once again.

It was late afternoon and you and Chris had landed safely in your hometown. You were driving down the street that was still so familiar to you. You saw your parent’s house come into full view as you instinctually turned a corner. You drew in a sharp breath as you put your rental car in park and stared up at your childhood home. You had spent so many years of your life here and it was so weird not seeing it as your home anymore. You looked over at Chris and he grabbed your hand and squeezed it. He grabbed some of his things and opened the car door and stepped out.

You walked up to the front door hand in hand and raised your hand up to ring the doorbell. Not even 5 seconds later your mom had answered the door and immediately wrapped you in a hug. She grabbed your shoulders and looked at you with joy. She brought you in for another hug before giving one to Chris.

“It’s good to see you again, Chris! How have things been going for you?” Your mom questioned, moving out of the way so you could walk inside.

“Everything has been going great, thank you! How have you and Y/D/N been?” Chris asked, looking at the beautiful house he walked into. He had never seen this place in person, just in pictures you had and through a phone whenever he was around when you video called your parents.

It was so elegantly decorated. Family photos littered the walls, he could pick you out of all of them. One of the things he had hoped he’d get a chance to see were photos from your childhood. You have been through every photo album the Evans family had created, thanks to his mom. You knew he was looking forward to those, so you had made sure your mom pulled them out of storage for him.

“Same old same old. We’ve been really looking forward to you guys coming to visit us. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve made Y/D/N clean this house over the past week. Had to make sure everything was in tip top shape for your first visit.” She winked at Chris and looked back at you. You plopped down on the couch, exhausted from your hectic day.

“Thank you, Y/M/N. It’s really a beautiful house.” Chris said as he sat down next to you on the couch, putting his arm across the back of it. She nodded at him and went to go find your dad. You leaned into Chris’s side and he put his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer. He placed a kiss on the top of your head before continuing to take in his surroundings.

“Don’t fall asleep before giving your old man a hug!” Your dads voice said as he walked into the living room. You and Chris both stood up and you ran into your dads arms. You loved both of your parents, but you were always closer to your dad. He gave you a big hug, picking you up off the ground slightly and placed a kiss on your cheek. Chris walked up to him and extended his hand for a handshake once you were done greeting your dad.

“It’s great to see you! Glad you guys could take the time to make it out here.” Your dad said, shaking Chris’s hand and pulling him in for a “bro” hug.

“Me too. I’m excited to finally be here. I’ve heard a lot of stories and seen a lot of pictures of Y/N growing up here.” Chris said as everyone took a seat in the living room, the two of you going back to your original spots.

You all sat around the living room talking for a while, just catching up on everything that had been happening in your lives. Your dad and Chris started to get into sports talk and your mom motioned for you to go with her to the kitchen. You stood up from your spot, excusing yourself from the conversation you were no longer interested in and followed your mom. She poured you glass of wine, and then one for herself and told you to take it to the back porch while she got something for your dad and Chris. You sat down on one of the chairs and got comfortable, your mom joining you a few minutes later.

“So, how are things in Boston with Chris? We haven’t really talked much about it. After graduation we thought you were going to come back, and then you stayed and we were all kinda confused.” Your mom said taking a sip from her glass.

“Things are really great between us right now. Chris has been spending most of his time in Boston doing some small projects so I see him basically everyday. Work has been going super well, I’m loving every second of it. I know you guys were really disappointed when I didn’t come back, but my life is in Boston now. Chris is there and all my frien-“ You were saying before your mom cut you off.

“So Chris is your life now? Chris and work? What happened to family first? You were supposed to come home and help us out. We thought you were going to find your own place here and find a job and be able to be here for us. We were there for you all your life.” She criticized.

“Mom, I’m 22 years old. Don’t you think I’m old enough to start building my own life? Chris and I are building our future together and I couldn’t just leave and continue doing that from here. I wasn’t going to make him uproot his life up to follow me here just because you wanted me to. I’m sorry that you don’t agree with my decisions but I think I’m allowed to decide what I think is best for me.” You said back to her. She rolled her eyes at your response. Before she could say anything back your sister opened the door excitedly greeting you. You were relieved she was finally here to pull you out of the conversation that had taken a turn south between you and your mom.

You had gone inside with your sister and saw that she brought dinner for everyone. You went over to Chris and asked him to help you get your bags out of the car before you sat down for dinner. He had noticed your change in mood and quickly followed you outside. You quickly ranted to him about what your mom had said and blew off some steam before heading back inside with your things. Chris followed you up to your childhood bedroom, where you two would be staying for the next few nights. It was still the way you had left it. Pictures of your high school friends scattered around the walls, and posters of things you loved when you were in high school. Chris chuckled at some of them and you two headed back to the dining room.

Dinner had been going well, despite your moms discreet bashes at your life choices, you ignored them and continued to enjoy the rest of the meal. As everyone was finishing, you decided it was as good a time as any to bring up the big news.

“So mom and dad, you guys don’t know this but Chris and I have been talking a lot the past couple months about our future and where we see it going. Things between us have been getting serious for a long time, but we just put off pulling the trigger on anything until I finished school and found a good job. Now that I am done with school and found a really amazing job, we decided that it was time to start settling down and getting ready for the rest of our lives together. With that being said, when we get back home, we are closing on a beautiful house that we found. We bought a house and we’ll be moved into it by the end of next month.” You said looking to your parents, hoping to be able to read their expressions. Your sister had a smile on her face, already knowing the news.

Chris grabbed your hand under the table and gave it a reassuring squeeze. You shot him a small smile and looked back at your parents. Your mom had an unreadable expression. She seemed to be going through a lot of things in her mind as she processed everything you had just said. You looked at your dad, hoping to get a better reaction from him. He stood up from his chair and walked over to the space between you and Chris, and gave you two the most bone crushing hug possible. He whispered a few words of encouragement to you two before letting go and going back to his seat.

“I’m so happy for you two. This is such a big step in any relationship and it can be really tricky. You seem to be handling it with grace and I’m really proud of you two. I’m sure you have searched high and low for the perfect home for you two, and I already know its going to be beautiful. I hope that once you are all moved in and settled and are ready for guests, you invite us to spend a couple days up there with you. All I ask is that you make sure the Pats are playing so Chris here can show me how you New Englanders party when they play.” Your dad said, looking at your and Chris with such love and admiration. “Not to push or anything, but I hope this house has some extra bedrooms ready for kids whenever you decide you’re ready for them.” He added.

You chuckled at your dads comment and wiped some tears that fell from your eyes. “Yes, dad, there are plenty of bedrooms for kids. One of the things on our list was it needed to be family friendly. When you see it, you’ll see how perfect it is for a family. But we’re taking it one step at a time and we’ll talk about kids again when we’re ready.” You assured him. He mumbled good and looked over at your mom, who had been silent the entire time. She looked at you when she realized that all eyes were on her. “Mom, are you going to say something to them?” You’re sister chimed in.

“I didn’t know you guys were really this serious about each other.” She responded.

“Well after 2 years together I would hope we were serious about being together.” You smirked.

“I’m sorry for the shit I was giving you earlier, I was just so scared that you were throwing your life away for some guy you were dating. If I had know the depth of it, I wouldn’t have been so harsh. I should’ve listened to you, Y/N. I was just worried about you and worried that he was going to leave you broken and battered. I’m sorry for not giving you more faith, Chris.” She admitted. You and your mom had both stood up and gave each other a long hug. This was the first time in a long time where your mom had been so genuinely happy for you. There was a big family hug, with Chris included. You joked that he was basically a Y/L/N, referring to the joke he had made to you yesterday.

“Well I do hope that buying a house together means that a wedding is in sight.” Your mom had whispered in your ear. You shot her a look of ‘ I know right?! ‘ and you gave her another hug. Chris winked at you from across the room when you made eye contact. You send him a loving look and mouthed ‘I love you’ to him. He returned the look and mouthed ‘I love you too’ back. You felt butterflies in your stomach and your cheeks heat up.

You had gotten ready for bed before Chris had and was all tucked in and ready to sleep by the time he came up to your room. He had stayed downstairs and helped your parents clean up from dinner while you showered and started to unwind. He saw your body on the bed and assumed you had already fallen asleep. You stared at him as he undressed in front of you and admired his amazing body. He caught you staring and shot you a suggestive look as he turned the lights off and went back to get into bed with you.

“We’re not defiling my childhood room by having sex in here. Plus my mom finally came around to our relationship and my dad probably loves you more than I do, so we can’t risk them hearing us.” You whispered as he pressed his body against yours. Your back was pressed against his bare chest and you gripped his forearms as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders. You turned your head towards him and pressed a kiss onto his lips. He mumbled ‘I love you so much’ between kisses.

The love that was flowing between your bodies that night was unreal. You spent all night in his arms, exactly where you belonged.

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mxsinistir · 5 years

Note

May I request a Good Omens Gabriel x Human! Reader please?

Pairing: Gabriel x [y/n]

Warnings: n/a besides the fact that the bad writing ™ becomes worse writing ™ towards the end bc it’s 2 am while I’m writing this.

Summary: Freelance London Photographer [y/n] is friends with the bookshop owner Aziraphale, and happens to be sitting in one day when a mysterious stranger enters to have a meeting with her friend. Suspicious, this artist is ready to find out as much as she can about the man.

Word Count: 2390

(tried to keep this gender-neutral but tell me if I screwed this up anywhere bc I probably did)

Hope you enjoy!

***

The first time you met him was whenever you were inside A.Z. Fell & Co., discussing a book you’d just read and returned (since you were aware he despised the permanent purchasing of his collection) over two cups of hot chocolate.

The moment he entered, you were intrigued. You turned your head to watch him saunter in, and some part of you screamed deafeningly that whatever he was, he did not belong here. That was saying something since unusual people were not uncommon in the little London bookshop. You’d known Aziraphale’s eccentric friend Crowley for quite some time now.

“Aziraphale,” His voice was hearty, one you should have taken comfort in hearing. But in addition to his picture-perfect, incredibly fake smile, it set your nerves on end. “May I have a word?” Part of you decided this was your chance to run from the off-setting visitor, but that would leave your friend alone with him.

“Hi, I’m [Y/n],” You shoved a hand into space between you, “I don’t believe we’ve met before.” He looked you up and down, your eyes unwavering until he met your stare. His eyes - your stomach flipped, oh god his eyes - bore into yours, and you nearly recoiled when you noticed the color. A glassy purple with no signs of contacts. Just unexplainably rich violet that made the hair stand up on the back of your neck.

“Gabriel,” He said, shaking your hand with a grip that was just a little too strong. You were too proud to coddle your sore hand, though. “I need a moment with Aziraphale.”

“Sorry, can’t,” You couldn’t leave Aziraphale with him! What if something happened? You’d picked up that Aziraphale had been involved with some sketchy people before, and what if this guy happened to be a well-dressed gang member? Well . . . well dressed wasn’t exactly the way to put it. You didn’t know what look Gabriel was going for, but it just added to his overall wrongness.

Besides, Aziraphale and Crowley had always remarked on your excellent intuition. Warning Aziraphale about bad customers, giving Crowley advice on problems he hadn’t explicitly explained, knowing that both your friends were thinking at a given time - and at this time, Aziraphale felt very, very anxious about Gabriel waltzing into his shop.

“What do you mean, you can’t?” He half-snarled, his fake smile faltering.

“My bike got stolen earlier,” You explained, casually turning to drink the rest of your cocoa before it went cold. You also needed something to hide your growing smile. “I told the police to drop it off here when they found it.”“Are you sure you didn’t miss them during your chat?” He said, “I swore I saw a bike parked in the front.” You stepped past him, putting your nose against Aziraphale’s window. Sure enough, a blue bike was leaned against the glass pane.

“Well, silly me - Guess they just left it and had better things to do.” You laughed, turning back to smile at Aziraphale and Gabriel. “See you later, Zira!”

You walked outside, planning on walking home. You weren’t going to take some random bike from in front of the bookshop just because some guy had snapped and made it appear for you.

You didn’t own a bike.

***

The next morning, before you even had the chance to ask questions about the purple-eyed man, Crowley had come into your studio, mentioning that he was bored, due to Aziraphale’s sudden occupation with work. Aziraphale had never been truly busy since you’d known him.

“Crowley, do you know a Gabriel?” You asked, not looking up from the photo you were currently editing the lighting of, trying to decide if you could amend the conflict between the clashing color palettes. If anything, Crowley just hoped that you were too occupied with your work to even notice that you opened your mouth to ask the question. A few seconds ticked by, and then you stared up at the redhead.

“Yeah, I know him.” He said under his breath, “He’s a friend of Aziraphale’s. Definitely not a friend fo mine. I’d keep your distance.”

“What does he do?” Even without being able to see his eyes through the glasses, you sensed the panic in them as he proceeded to mumble out an answer.

“Paperwork,” He steadied himself, easing into the lie now. “Some company Aziraphale used to work for. I think he’s kind of a jerk, but he and Zira go way back, so I don’t intrude.”

“Funny, I thought the bookshop had been family owned for a hundred years?”

“Part-time job, maybe?” Crowley stammered out. You just rolled your eyes.

“Is Aziraphale in . . . is he in any danger with this guy?”“What? No, no, [Y/n], you’re just being paranoid.” You weren’t so sure. You’d never heard Crowley so nervous about the subject of someone, and you’d certainly never heard of him willing staying out of Aziraphale’s affairs. It was common knowledge that he was the nosiest man in London, especially when it came to his friends. “Seriously, Just stay out of his way and it should be fine.” He had a certain voice he used when he wanted you to believe things were fine, even if they weren’t.

“I’ll just ask Aziraphale since apparently, you won’t explain.” That little taunt was usually enough to make Crowley spill everything. Not for this, apparently. “He listens to you, Crowley. Just make sure he doesn’t get hurt.”

Just because he didn’t say the promise doesn’t mean she didn’t see him make it.

***

The second time you saw Gabriel wasn’t at the bookshop, but on a bench in St. James’ Park. You were currently looking over some pictures you’d taken of the vibrant area, the photographs dotted with jogging passersby and fluffy ducks that reminded you of Aziraphale. You stood up to walk by, snapping a few more when your camera focused in on a not-quite-familiar face.

“Gabriel,” You said, curiously approaching the benched man. “Fancy seeing you here,”

“[Y/n], is it? Aziraphale’s . . . acquaintance.” Who the hell used the word acquaintance anymore? You thought. “Is there something you need?”

“Just came to clear my eyes - I’ve been staring at this one picture I took for Aziraphale last week.” You briefly explained how one of the customers had split their coffee on one of Aziraphale’s old wall paintings, which he had sat on the table to clean the walls behind it. He had been furious, and though you knew you couldn’t possibly replace the expertly preserved painting - ruined by only human clumsiness - you’d offered to gift a photograph to him. Though he was obviously still disgruntled over the lost air, he did say that even something modern would eventually become history. You’d gotten to work. “I’m supposed to bring it to him this evening.”

“I was planning to speak with him this evening as well, actually.” The man remarked.

“Well, if you wanted, you could com toe hang out at my studio for a while.” You had a feeling that no matter what, this man would try to keep up appearances. Meaning he would accept your offer, even if only not to appear rude. Thanks to some information you’d gotten out of Crowley, you now knew that you wouldn’t be in any real danger as a human inviting him to your studio. He, on the other hand, wouldn’t be expecting the onslaught of questions you had for him.

“That sounds great,” He said with clenched teeth, and so you just smiled and packed up your laptop and camera equipment, making sure to walk beside him all the way back to your flat.

The square footage wasn’t much - you were honestly surprised you could manage to fit two people inside at once. Beyond that, every inch of the place was stacked high with frames and camera equipment and printed portraits. Your bed was usually just the couch by the window, and even then, you more often than not just fell asleep at your work desk, head draped over crossed arms.

“I’m gonna be a little bit - I’ve gotta play with some finishing touches, and then I’ve got to print it.” You explained - Aziraphale had given you a faux-gold 18 x 21 frame, nearly identical to the one bordering the ruined painting. “You can sit on the couch if you still want to hang out. You okay with music?” You asked casually, bringing him a glass of water. You may be suspicious of him, but your mother had always stressed the importance of hospitality.

“Do you like music?” He thought for a moment, staring blankly before nodding as if he’d been assessing whether or not it was the correct response to say so. “Queen?” He looked even more confused but nodded again. You synced your Spotify to a small speaker and set it to shuffle, sliding into your chair as We Are the Champions began to play. You snuck a glance over at Gabriel while mouthing the words and concluded he was possibly the only person in the world who didn’t know the lyrics. If anything, that just confirmed your suspicions of the man.

Gabriel, on the other hand, was just as confused by you as you were by him. When you’d first met, he hadn’t known how to react to you. You’d stood up to him with no background knowledge, purely because you thought he had ill intentions towards your friend. Humans were always willing to throw themselves at things for no reason, but you were different - you had a reason, and that reason was nothing more than intuition to protect those you care about.

And now, you’d carelessly brought him into your apartment - if he could even call it that. It was a glorified storage closet, filled to the brim with art and junk and beauty. He’d never been exposed to such a mess; heaven would have never tolerated it. He couldn’t even imagine that Hell was this chaotically organized.

He could barely focus on that. How could he anymore, when there was you to look at? Smiling truly and losing yourself in the music blaring, snapping your fingers with bad timing, singing the guitar riffs, and constantly standing up just to pace around while mouthing the lyrics.

You walked around him more than a few times, asking him random questions while leaning far back to see what your photo looked like from afar. He eventually saw that it was of an eggshell white duck in St. James, curiously floating alongside a dark goose that had landed in the waters. He could have scoffed at the symbolism, wondering if you understood the irony of it all yourself.

Gabriel had never seen so much life in one plac.e It radiated from you, from your camera, from your fingers. It felt raw and unexplainably human, and not in the way that disgusted him with its mediocrity. There was nothing mediocre about you. You oozed with some sort of high that no angel could ever dream of finding themselves on. Angels were too flawless for something as uncontained as the day-to-day life you lead.

During the middle of one of your lyrical outbursts, you glanced over at Gabriel. He was drinking tea now, staring out into London from your window, sunbeams casting over his dusty hair and stunning eyes. Without a word, you pulled your camera in front of you and stepped towards him, snapping photos of him a quick succession. He whipped around at the sound, just quick enough to see you smiling.

“Stay where you are - the lighting’s amazing.” You said, steadily walking closer to the man. He truly was a vision in an element like this. You leaned back to observe the picture he’d found himself in. “Do you think you could give me one with your wings?”

And just like that, you watched the Archangel Gabriel freeze to the core as you shuttered a few more photographs.

“Come on, everyone knows Aziraphale isn’t human.” And of course, there was no way Crowley could keep a secret like that once he was sufficiently drunk. “And besides, humans don’t usually make this pretty of muses.”

He unfurled his wings gently, being careful not to knock over anything. All three pairs appeared in pristine, white condition, though when the window light scattered them, they reflected a spectrum of glistening violet.

He nearly asked to confirm that you were human, though he knew the answer. No one but a human could accomplish this - a demon nor an angel could live in such harmonious chaos with their own little world, dancing to the raw beauty of it all and flourishing in the flaws you did not perceive as such.

Gabriel had never felt love - a sort of ‘love for all humanity’, of course, but not the thrumming in his heart he felt now, looking at you in your element, high on the artistry of what you saw in him. On what no one else had ever seen in him.

“I could have a photoshoot with you, you know.” You said, looking at your camera screen. “You look great on camera.”

“There’s still a few hours before I need to meet with Aziraphale,” He lied - he was two hours behind schedule, not that that mattered. “He’d told me about this bakery beside his bookshop that he apparently adores.” He didn’t even like food. It didn’t matter - he figured you would.

“Am I being asked out by the Archangel Gabriel?”“That’s strong wording-”“I’m famished,” You smiled, and as you walked over to your computer, he expected you to print and frame your imperfect perfection. Instead, you just saved the photo and eased your computer shut. “I can make something here, though. I don’t want to leave. Does the Archangel Gabriel want to watch a movie?”

He was about to make a snarky comment about your sarcastically calling him that, but he paused as you did the unexpected. You settled down on your couch right next to him and smiled. That was enough for him to decide that his meeting with Aziraphale could wait till morning. To hell with Heaven questioning him - him of all people - being off schedule. He would deal with that in time.

Right now, all that mattered was that he was sharing in on an artist’s high, and he wasn’t ever coming off.

#good omens #good omens gabriel #archangels #archangel gabriel #gabriel good omens #gabriel #good omens x reader #gabriel x reader #goom #i love artists x gabriel #gabriel x human #good omens imagines #gabriel imagines #archangels gabriel imagines

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muzzleroars · 4 years

Note

I hc akechi is like a really messy person his room looks like several dragons live there he just has piles of different stuff and the big reason he never invites akira over

i hope you don’t mind i put these two together bc they’re following similar thoughts and LIKE....BIG SAME....i imagine goro is a VERY messy kind of person, mostly because he doesn’t have time to clean, he has Depression, and he loves collecting things (like a crow lol) he comes from a very poor background and so he can’t really help it either, he wants all these things he never got to have and i think material objects make him feel less alone. at least his apartment looks lived in, like he has so many things precious to him, and so he feels just a little less isolated than he really is. plus it’s just...an easy way to make himself happy, to buy a little something as a pick-me-up and have it where he can see it to (hopefully) bring back that feeling again, even if it’s small. and i really think of goro just being a little bit of a mess in general as a person. he puts so much into looking presentable and polished but the rest of his life kind of runs off into a ditch and it’s very much reflected in his living environment. SO LIKE there’s a lot of reasons for it, but i don’t think of him as neat in the slightest sjdfsndf like when he actually first goes to akira’s room, fully thinking it’ll probably be even worse than his apartment, he’s stunned to see that this weird old attic is practically spotless. akira looks all scruffy and kind of unkempt but he keeps his space perfectly organized and neat even with all of his knick-knacks and his less than ideal living situation, while goro is the exact opposite. so he doesn’t invite akira over for the LONGEST time, but we all know akira would just find out where he lives (thanks futaba!) and show up at his door...only to be appalled at the state of things. and just like with futaba’s room he immediately starts to clean like “i love you and you NEED an intervention”. but very unlike futaba, goro is overseeing all of this and is constantly snapping like “YOU CAN’T THROW THAT OUT” “goro it’s just a tag off a shirt-” “AND??? IT LOOKS COOL AND I LOVE THAT SHIRT PUT IT BACK!!!!” so akira needs to build him some shelves (that proficiency really comes in handy), get him some storage bins, and teach him how to scrapbook so he can keep all his weird shit but like. be able to breathe or function sdjfndg

#akira cleaning goro's space is so....cute....#and i love the reversal of akira being the neat one and goro being messy #i mean akira is like a cat he's very fussy #and he won't rest until he fixes this #it stresses goro out at first #but then it's actually really nice having akira help him organize #p5 #akira kurusu #goro akechi #shuake #Anonymous

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mothmansfriend · 5 years

Text

when i’m sad oh god i’m sad (pt. 2)

link to pt. 1

follows a very similar timeline to @tearxofink‘s fic Rules for a Functioning Alcoholic but will prob have differences (such as no established relationships) and takes place in @illogicallyinclined‘s hockey au after the mention of Remus possibly having undiagnosed bipolar disorder

update: i think its important to acknowledge roughly where this takes place in the big timeline bc D doesn’t really drink past freshman yr in this AU because of self preservation and trauma, alcoholism was more an issue before then in high school (when remus and d were Rowdy Boys) but the stress of Logan’s concussion lead to some heavy drinking that was caught quickly by Virgil because Remus Cannot Keep Secrets.

summary: Remus has undiagnosed Bipolar Disorder and is dealing with a severe depressive episode in the aftermath of realizing that binge drinking with D wasn’t just his own search to Feel Something, but was also D’s relapse into alcoholism. Remus comes to the realization of lost time during manic episodes and refuses help.

tw: graphic descriptions of a depressive episode, self harm (burning), suicidal thoughts, and suicidal intent (but not attempt). unhealthy coping mechanisms, alcohol abuse, mentioned alcoholism, undiagnosed mental illness, miscommunications on shared trauma, ask to tag if i missed any.

There are a number of places that are simply uncomfortable to sleep. Barely sitting up and using the chairs provided by the previous tenants as a pillow is certainly one of them. It takes Remus a moment to identify what woke him up as there's another round of knocking on his door and he doesn’t want to respond. It’s bright out,the sun is blocked from his figure by the curtains covering most of the windows. He hears Roman’s muffled voice as the locked doorknob jiggles, “See? I told you he’s not here, Virge. There’s nothing to be worried about, if he doesn’t show up by tomorrow I’ll go look for him. You know how he is”.

Their footsteps move away and Virgil speaks, “Can you text him? I’m just worried, Thomas said that-” his voice fades as they enter the kitchen.

Remus can barely pick himself off the floor before his phone lit up with a notification.

the shittier twin: You good? LMK when you’re coming home, Virgil is lowkey freaking out (received: 10:14)

He stares at the words willing his brain to focus as he decides, maybe he should reply.

He sends a photo of a fat pigeon he took outside a club him and D got kicked out of a few weeks ago. It would be clear that the picture was taken at a different time, but does get message of ‘I’m alive’ across. Which is about as much as Remus is willing to communicate to people that haven’t even tried to contact him before now. How sad is it that his twin brother didn’t even check on him until six days later. Or maybe he should be asking if it’s sad that after four days Roman still hasn’t noticed that he’s home, or that it took Roman six to even ask? Remus spends all this time in the theatre and in the arts studio, and still Roman was the only one to ask, though at the request of someone who wants to get mad at him. He considers if maybe that he is a bad person, and that isn’t something he normally would care about, but if he weren’t then people might have checked on him. He usually hangs out with D almost everyday and he swears he’s never been gone more than maybe four days. But no one else seems concerned at all.

He considers reasons why this might be and gets stuck on Roman’s comment that he hasn’t been gone that long, and the implications then of him being gone longer. Things that don’t really make sense, but he knows losing your train of thought and getting distracted is a part of ADHD, but maybe, this is much more concerning. How does he know that he’s only ever been gone so long, maybe those lapses are more than a few minutes of zoning out. Which leads to, does Remus know who he is during these lapses? The contrast between the two prince twins have always been clear in their behaviour, Roman who follows every word their parents whisper in his ear. The boy grew up to be an actor after years of who takes any command without thought at that chance to be on top, and revelled in praise. It’s the cowards way of survival, are you really living if you’re not you? He knows Roman wasn’t quite loving that, but he still complied. Remus has always known exactly who he is and who he always will be. But the uncertainty of who he is in those spaces that seem to be taking up more and more space, maybe he;s been following someones script too?

He’s constantly changing his mind and forgetting where he is, are his feelings his? If everything the thought he knew about himself is slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass than how does he make it stop?

—

Virgil slides into the recently empty chair next to Roman the second Patton gets up to ask the waitress for another round of coffee, he steals one of Roman’s sausages and speaks, “By the way, I’m catching a ride to your place with you and D”.

Roman squawks at the sausage thief, “Why? I already told you Remus isn’t home!”

Virgil rolls his eyes, “Yeah I know, just humour me. I went to talk to Joan before we left and Thomas said Remus texted to apologize for missing practice, he’s never done that before! I just wanna come check, you can make fun of me later or whatever.”

“Fine, whatever, I know you’d just show up anyway. I don’t think him texting Thomas means anything though, even if it is weird.”

“Well we can agree to disagree then.”

—

The entry to the apartment the Prince twins share with D was just as full of banter as expected. D and Roman irritating Virgil without effort but Virgil matching that with his own comebacks and determination to check on Remus. “Alright, Emo Knightmare, let’s go knock on his cave door so I can know you again, that he isn’t home” Roman drops his bag next to the couch and heads down the shared hallway of D, Remus, and the storage closet. D walks past him with comments of a essay due tomorrow and disappears. Roman walks down and knocks on the door sternly once maintaining eye contact with Virgil knowing there will not be a response. Virgil follows him and he knocks again after a moment and jiggles the knocked door handle. “See? I told you he’s not here, Virge. There’s nothing to be worried about, if he doesn’t show up by tomorrow I’ll go look for him. You know how he is.” Roman turns and leads them back out into the living room towards the kitchen.

Virgil pauses for a moment watching the door before he follows, “Can you text him? I’m just worried, Thomas said that he actually texted to apologize for not showing up today. You know when Remus is out he never remembers to charge his phone, it just seems weird.”

Roman exhales and wordlessly pulls out his phone shooting off a text to his twin before pulling some leftovers out of the fridge to offer to Virgil despite the fact they had eaten not long ago. Virgil accepts and he puts it on two plates for the microwave. Roman’s phone vibrates on the counter with a text. The emo leans over to read and snorts, “Wait, is Remus’s name actually ‘the shittier twin’ in your phone? He just send a picture of what appears to be an obese pigeon, that doesn’t answer my question at all!”

Roman shrugs, “Of course it is, and yeah that sounds about right, it’s like he’s trying to communicate through hieroglyphics, he’s just telling us he’s fine.”

Virgil’s dark eyes examine Roman’s face for any reflection that he’s just trying to make him stop bothering him with his concern, but when he sees nothing he drops his defensiveness, ��Yeah, okay, he’s your brother, he’s kind of like a cat I guess. He always comes home right?”

The microwave beeps and Roman slides the extra plate in front of Virgil, “Exactly, he’s just like this, I’ll text you when he comes back. You don’t need to worry about it, Virge.”

Virgil shoots him a small smile before taking his plate to the couch closely followed by the oldest Prince twin as they settle down with Netflix until they need to leave for their respective classes.

—

Roman blearily wipes his eyes as he wakes up in his dark room and rolls over to check the time. 2:34am wake up and bathroom break time. He briefly considers just rolling over and waiting four or five hours until he needs to get up for class, but decides there’s just a higher chance of getting a restless sleep the rest of the night. The hockey captain rolls out of bed standing in his room shirtless and only wearing a random pair of soft sleep pants and stumbles out of his room, crossing the living room and entry way he’s about to try the handle of the dark bathroom door when it opens to reveal a tall dark figure.

Roman jumps back with an admittedly embarrassing squawk before recognizing the dark figure to be a freshly showered, exhausted, and almost weak looking Remus. The two stood in silence for a moment, Remus not even reacting to the sight of his brother. Roman awkwardly laughed for a moment, “Holy shit, Remus! I didn't even realize you were home.”

Remus stares emptily, moving to walk away without replying, Roman stops him with a hand on his shoulder, “Are you like, uh, okay? You kind of look like shit”

That was clearly the wrong thing to say as suddenly Remus’s face hardens into a snarl, “Oh fuck you, Roman.” His voice cracks halfway through but it doesn’t do anything to diminish the venom in his voice, “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Christ! If you’re going to be an asshole then nevermind, I just wanted to check up on you. You know, like a concerned brother just might do?” Roman fires back suddenly feeling defensive. The tone of voice Remus uses almost sounds scared to him but he doesn’t have the energy to pry at Remus in the hallway less than 6 feet from D’s door at 2:30am.

“You don’t get to play any kind of concerned brother role right now! You don’t just get to decide to be concerned one day, it’s all about appearances with you, I dont fuck with that!” Remus’s voice raises as he gets more and more riled up, his voice sounds like shit as if he hasn’t used it in days, “Tell me when you think I got home, Princey, huh? You don't know shit about me and it’s time you stopped asking like you do.” He steps towards Roman edging back down the hallway to the living room.

“Why am I supposed to know when you got home?” Roman fires back, “You’re an adult! You’ve taken care of yourself fine for years, I’m not your parent I don’t need to know where you are twenty-four-fucking-seven!”

Vaguely, Roman hears D’s bedroom door open and feels brief regret that was smashed by Remus shoving him backwards. “You don’t need to know! But, did you ever think to wonder? Did you ever once care enough to ask? No! I don’t remember ever being gone more than three or four days.”

Roman recoils for a second in confusion but counters standing his ground, “What does that fucking mean? You own a calendar, a phone, you should know your average in the last year has been like five to seven days, you can’t blame me that you decide to go on a bender every 6 months or less. Can’t you ever grow up?”

“It means I don’t know where I was for two to four of those days at least! You self absorbed prick! Fuck!” Remus crumples for a second, his facial expression looks so, lost. He violently grabs and tugs on his still damp hair. He stands back up face guarded once again. “I know I never go out without a plan, I have paid some fucking terrible prices for that that you never need to know about. But, you’re telling me that I was out there and I don’t remember it? And no one thought to mention anything to me? And you’re asking if I’m ‘okay’? Fuck that, fuck you. I’m going back to my room, and ideally I’ll fucking rot and die before I have to look at you again,” Remus seethes before turning and slamming his door without waiting for a response.

Roman sags at his brothers exiting remarks, making tentative eye contact with D who waits in the dark hallway. “I don’t know what to do,” Roman says quietly.

D moves towards him moving them to the couch offering a comforting touch to the remaining twin, “Roman, I cannot tell you that I have any idea about what just happened. But, it seems like he just wants you to be there for him, in his own weird displays of affection he does love you and I think maybe he’s scared sometimes that you don’t care for him, and he lashes out. But right now, you need to go back to sleep so you can go to your boring nine am lecture, and I’ll try to spend time with him tomorrow. Sound good?”

Roman examines D, letting himself feel vulnerable for a moment but trusts that D knows what to do. He’s known the twins since high school, if anyone knew it would be him. “Thank you, D” Roman whispers, leaning into the little affection for a moment before he stands up and moves them back down the hallway.

Roman goes to the bathroom as originally planned but thinks about the things his younger brother had said. How much is he missing? What does it mean for Remus to simply not remember days at a time? Is it because of drinking too much or something else?

As Roman tucks himself back into bed, preparing himself for the restless sleep he had been trying to avoid. His mind wanders, and he can’t help but think that maybe he should be questioning blood stains on Remus’s carpet a little more.

#sanders sides angst #sanders sides #remus sanders #hockey au #university au #creativitwins #roman sanders #virgil sanders #remus prince #roman prince #virgil fosc #bipolar disorder

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whirlybirbs · 5 years

Note

i’m begging u .. can u write a rlly fluffy blurb about bee’s human getting injured and worried!bee is all over her

UNLAWFUL ARREST ;

summary: charlie, memo and you accidentally intercept a distress call.enter barricade & frenzy. it’s fight night at the junkyard. frenzy has rabies.pairing: bumblebee x human!readerrating: t for canon-typical-violence & some swearing!a/n: this was very fun to write bc i love ‘cade and i love ‘bee and i love one bad-ass reader with one (1) good wrench. set in the 2018 bumblebee movieverse!

Shit.

Charlie had woken you up out of a dead sleep, rattling your window frame with rocks much larger than pebbles to indicate the urgency -- sure enough, her and Memo were saddled up on her bike.

Leaning out the window, you hush them both.

“What?” you whisper-yell, “Shh, stop yelling, you idiots --”

“The junkyard!” Charlie finally gets out, eyes wild, “Something’s going on. Something bad. We need to help them.”

Sector 7? The Decepticons?

The blood drains from your face. You don’t even respond, just begin to tear your room apart in a desperate attempt to throw on a sweater and jeans and tuck the long-distance Sonic Ranger radio into your back pocket -- your Adidas beat down the stairs as you burst through the door, meeting Charlie and Memo half-way down the cul-de-sac. You’re running, hair wild and sleep forgotten.

“How’d you know?” you ask, lungs burning as the three of you beat the tarmac in the direction of Old Maccadam’s Junkyard. Charlie’s electric bike has a lot on you, peddling like a bat out of hell, “Is ‘Bee okay?”

“We got a call on the radio -- sounded like a distress signal -- a lot of yelling --”

You move, tugging the walkie talkie from your jeans and clicking on the signal. There’s a lot of static, and then you press the receiver.

“’Musketeers to base, I repeat, Musketeers to base.”

Nothing. Just endless static.

“What the hell?”

“I know,” Charlie says, “Sideswipe always has the frequency on. No one’s responding.”

Suddenly, headlights flood over the three of you.

“Charlie --”

“Shit.”

You turn, still peddling, spotting the paint-job of s Dodge Diplomat behind you.

“Is that Prowl?” you ask, confusion flooding your voice as your eyes bounce to Charlie next to you. She blinks, turning to look.

Memo, upon hearing the name of the Autobot Second-in-Command, brightens visibly and begins waving his arms wildly. “Prowl! Hey! It’s -- it’s us! Your friends! You know --”

Suddenly, the police cruiser surges forward and it’s lights paint the night sky red and purple.

The Decepticon insignia on the hood sneers in your face.

“Not Prowl!” Memo screeches, “So not Prowl! Bad guy! That’s a bad guy!”

“Shit!”

You both turn fast, dipping off the road and into the rocky path towards the run-down scrap-yard turned Autobot base in attempt to shake the sudden predator who’s tailing you too close for comfort.

The sand and rocks and cacti don’t do much to dissuade Barricade, though. He’s trudged through worse to track down Autobot filth. In this center console, Frenzy vibrates -- his senseless chatter seems to grow as nimble metallic servos tune his own radio to Judas Priest.

“BREAKING THE LAW, BREAKING LAW!”

Barricade doesn’t mind this Earth music too much.

The three of you hit the Junkyard’s wall fast, breaking in opposite directions along the fence. You break hard, kicking up sand and peddling as fast as you can along the western side of the scrapyard.

“‘Bee! Optimus!” you screech, “For fuck’s sake, Sunny! Anyone!”

The growl of the engine behind you startles a scream from your throat.

You cut the handlebars fast, turning into the back-end of the scrap yard and hauling your bike over the fence as fast as you can. Slipping through the gaps in the chain-link, where it’s curled and rusted, you take off on foot and are fast to duck into the shadows of the scrapyard’s rusted and gutted cars.

At first, Barricade rolls by.

You look around wildly, wondering where the hell they all were.

They were twenty-foot tall alien robots. They weren’t hard to misplace.

Suddenly, the large flood lights fixed high above the Junkyard crank on -- and Barricade spies you duck fast beneath a bottomed-out Buick. From your spot, you see Charlie and Memo climbing the cat-walk, desperate to get a sight on the Autobots normally here.

The yard is silent.

For a second.

And then, Barricade transforms.

You reach for the radio, shaky hands tuning the dial. You whisper desperately.

“Musketeers to Car Show, we’ve got a problem here! So, I dunno, return to base!”

He seethes, peeling away the fence and taking his time to stroll through the Junkyard. “So this is what they call home now.”

Charlie and Memo freeze, gripping one another tightly.

Barricade seems to ignore the reaction, seems to ignore them both completely. He isn’t interested in fleshlings -- he’s interested in Optimus. And that fragging scout of his.

“Where are they?” Barricade asks casually, “Where are the Autobots?”

Red optics sweep around, no doubt trying to get a read on the absent energon signals. Even still, the three of you are silent.

A ped crushes the car next to you like a tin-can and you squeak.

“Frenzy,” Barricade rumbles, “Handle the humans. Pick their bones.”

“Pick our bones --?!”

“Shit!”

The compartment in his chest bursts open, revealing the three-foot tall death mini-con hankering from a snack.

You scream then, launching yourself over the Buick and throwing the walkie talkie as hard as you can. It nails Frenzy straight between the optics, giving you enough time to book it to the main storage space -- but, Frenzy is hot on your heels with sharp denta snapping at your knees. You trip, landing hard on the concrete as Frenzy’s servos dig into your ankles. You scream, landing a hard kick that sends the mini-bots servos offline for a second.

You bound up the catwalk, just in time to see Bumblebee make his entrance.

Sometimes you forget he’s a soldier -- he’s strong and fast and lands lightning punches that nearly cripple the Decepticon in a seconds time. His battle-mask is up and ready, blue optics narrowed in an angry determination.

With Barricade on the ground, those blue optics connect with your gaze. He seems to go soft for a moment, waving slowly. You laugh -- dirt covered face cracking into a grin.

You’re enthralled, completely and totally, but the current Decepticon threat ruins the moment. Barricade pulls the scout down by his door-wings just as Frenzy chatters out a sharp cackle and continues his hungry pursuit of you.

“Get off of me, you gear shift!” you holler, hands winding into the spaces in his plating as you toss the bot to the catwalk stairs. The whole thing rattles and Charlie, up above, shouts your name.

“Catch!”

A 12″ wrench.

Or, in this case, a blunt-force weapon.

You swing down hard and fast, catching the minibot as it rolls away and shrieks.

Suddenly, the junkyard is flooded with more Autobots -- Prowl is first through the gates, landing a hard hit on Barricade as Bee staggers back from a blow to the processor. Optimus is next, full of grace and power as he draws his gun and nails Barricade’s shoulder amidst the scuffle.

Frenzy, now corned by the three of you, has set it’s sights back on your ankles -- he clings, scaling the skin there and landing a harsh bite on your thigh.

“Son of a bitch!”

“FRENZY! RETREAT!”

You unceremoniously throw the minicon off you, hammering home with the 12″ wrench. It’s barbaric and the move even has Ironhide wincing as the small Decepticon dashes from the premise and follows the taillights of the Dodge Diplomat into the night.

You huff, hands dropping to your knees.

“Jesus.”

Charlie, behind you, has a hand wound in Memo’s shirt. They both look shaken, albeit safe. Silence settles in the junkyard. Along the comms, Ooptimus is barking out orders. You can tell by the way his optics move.

‘Bee is by your side in a second’s time, rolling onto his knees and eyeing you with a wide and worried look. He coos, offering a gentle prod. Blood is running down your leg, ruining your jeans and splattering on your Adidas.

“Bad dog -- zzrt -- he’ll bite ya! Woof!”

And then you laugh.

And then Charlie does. And Memo, too.

And Prowl looks at you three like you’ve shorted out.

“I’m gunna need,” you say between breaths, “A tetanus shot. He bit me. That fuckin’ thing bit me. It bit me.”

‘Bee whirs again, sounding sick with worry.

Ratchet steps in then, gesturing the rest of the crew to get to work at cleaning up the mess the scuffle made. He kneels, servos gentle as he narrows his optics and blinks at the wound.

“Let me clean his up,” he says slowly, “You three are lucky we came when we did.”

“We tried calling,” you mutter, “But no one was home.”

“We were trying to locate Barricade. He’d broadcast-ed a distress signal when he landed. Though, it seems our Musketeers found him before we did.”

Ratchet transforms, opening the back doors of his alt. mode. You crawl in, accepting the ride to the main hangar. ‘Bee follows close behind, the rush in his systems starting to quiet and cool. Right now, you’re the main focus of his worries -- he’ll rip Frenzy to shreds later.

“Pants off.”

Ratchet says it so curtly, Charlie and Memo take it as their cue to leave -- so they make their way to Optimus leaving you and ‘Bee and Ratchet in the main hangar. You grumble softly at the command, rolling your eyes slightly and tugging at your belt buckle.

“Could at least take me to dinner first.”

‘Bee chirps angrily from his spot behind Ratchet.

“Bumblebee,” he sighs, “I need to clean the wounds. I have no intent on seducing your mate.”

Your eyes widen. You blink. ‘Bee has worked himself into a flurry at that, waving wildly and buzzing more like a wasp than anything.

“What did you just call me?!”

“Will you sit?”

You do as your told, wiggling your pants off and hissing softly at the sting. There’s a lot of blood -- the gashes are deep, too. Just seeing them makes your face run cold. Settling on the edge of the bench, Ratchet deploys his holoavatar.

Older, with white hair and a kind face. His hands are gentle. ‘Bee watches the whole way.

You try to distract yourself.

“See ‘Bee? Nothing more than a scratch. I’m fine.”

“These are deep wounds,” Ratchet counters. You whack the shoulder of his holoform. It fizzles out at the rough contact. He yelps. “I am just being honest!”

“Yeah, well,” you chirp, “Stop being a good doctor and tell me I’ll be fine.”

“You will be fine,” he mutters, “If I can ensure you don’t get any Cybertronian-prone bacterial infections.”

‘Bee nearly wallops Ratchet himself.

“Great,” you breath, “Nice. Here I am, no pants on in the middle of the base, bleeding, and that little Decepti-freak might have given me robo-rabies.”

‘Bee drives you home that night. By the time you make it in, the sun is starting to creep up along the horizon. You crawl out of the cab, moving to tug the garage door up. You’d borrowed a pair of shorts from Charlie -- she’d had some in the basket of her bike -- and Ratchet had done a nice job at patching you up.

The bandages are tight.

‘Bee rolls into the garage. You sigh, patting his hood. He transforms slowly.

“Long night, huh, buddy?”

An affirmative coo.

“You were a bad-ass out there, though. You handed Barricade his aft.”

“Not -- zzRt -- as cool as you!” ‘Bee’s gaze is heavy though. He whines a bit, nudging his face into your hands and nearly purring at the contact, “Glad -- srt -- you’re safe with me.”

You hum, enjoying the attention. A delicate servo has secured itself to your back, nudging you close to his chest. You can feel his spark vibrate under the plating there. Two hands splay across the glossy paint there. Bumblebee coos -- it’s happy and content, not full of worry like it had been earlier.

For a while, you two settle in like that. You crawl into his lap, curled up around a big servo. His optics dim, going from a vibrant blue to a soft, pale glow.

But, after a moment, you break the silence.

“‘Bee?”

His antennae twitch.

“Why did Ratchet call me your ‘mate’?”

Shit.

#bumblebee x reader #bumblebee imagine #transformers imagine #bayverse barricade is my boyfriend #maccadam #bumblebee movie #autobot imagine #Anonymous

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fmdminaharchive · 4 years

Text

❧ hopefully sky (pt. 1).

date(s): february/march 2020 mentions of: n/a word count: 1296 warnings: n/a details: part 1/2, composition verification for hopefully sky. aka minah thinks she knows better than the producing department of bc entertainment and maybe, she’s actually right.

her solo debut isn’t something that’s very high on bc entertainment’s priority list, minah knows that. it has however never stopped the company from letting her sit with their in house producers every once in a while, presenting her with new demos just to get a feel of what she thinks about them and hopefully saving them away as possibilities of the future.

so far, that’s not going to great.

every time minah finds herself back in the studio, she finds herself dissatisfied by what is offered to her. she’s ought to be a little less demanding on this, it’s an opportunity she should take with both hands no matter what is presented to her but that doesn’t change the fact that none of it ever feels quite right, that there is always something missing. it doesn’t help that all of the songs come accompanied with ideas for possible concepts, styling, choreography, what not, all far too bold and bright for minah to carry on her own. as a member of lipstick, she can get away with it but as a solo artist, it could never seem believable, no matter how hard she tries.

all minah wants is something simple, a light backing track, a soft concept, nothing to distract from her vocals, they should be the focal point anyway. she’s no amazing performing, can’t wow anyone with her dancing. but her voice, that she feels secure in, that’s her strength, that she can charm large crowds with all on her own, without her members by her side.

“why don’t you make your own song if you’re so sure you know what you want.” one of the producers jokes one day after minah pulls a face at yet another demo, one that would supposedly come paired with a futuristic concept with enough metallics and holographic to blind her. if it was anyone else, chances would have been she’d be a little affronted by the comment but the man is one she knows well, a producer that she mainly remembers working with on lipgloss’ early releases and because of that she doesn’t take it too seriously.

until an idea springs to mind.

“what if i did?” she responds, eyeing the producer expectantly, trying to gauge his reaction. she expects him to laugh again, brush it off as another part of the joke.

instead, he moves to sit more upright as he faces her “what if you do?” he mirrors her words and minah can tell from the serious undertone in his voice that he’s waiting for her to offer something, anything that they could actually work with.

“if i come up with something, would you want to give it a look? i can play instruments, i can come up with something and if you like it, you can add whatever you think is missing.” minah proposes and the producer nods slowly, like he’s processing the offer. “if the song is bad i won’t sugarcoat it.” are his first words, a clear warning.. “i can’t make any promises either, if we make a proper song out of it that doesn’t mean you get to release it and if you do there is no saying when that will be.” as the determination in minah’s eyes doesn’t waver he hold his hand for her to shake. ”do we have a deal?”

without hesitation, she shakes his hand. “yeah, we do.”

➽───────────────❥

writing a song isn’t easy, especially not if you’ve never done so before. minah realizes that a few hours into playing random chords on her guitar. she doesn’t really know where to start or what to do and it makes her wonder if she made a mistake, if the challenge she took on isn’t simply to big for her. maybe, writing songs is for people who know what they’re doing, not for girl group members who think they know better than their management.

minah feels embarrassed at her own arrogance.

she can’t give up already but she also can’t create something out of nothing. it makes her feel stuck.

so instead, she puts her guitar down and goes outside to take a walk, get some fresh air, clear her head.

it helps, a lot. because not only does she manage to clear her head, shake off all the stress and center herself again so she can tackle the problem, it also gives her an idea as to what she wants to write.

she wants to write something that feels like this: calm, hopeful, inspired.

when she returns to her apartment, minah picks her guitar up again, sitting down on a spot on her couch that allows her to bask in the sunlight that comes filtering in from the large glass sliding door to her balcony and she begins to play again.

it’s a path of trial and error, sometimes scrabbling one chord down on her notepad only to scrap two, but the baseline is set and from there on, all minah has to do is color between the lines, to experiment with her ears and her gut as guidance, following the trail of what sounds good, what feels good.

by the time she finishes the first draft of the song, or well, the guitar part, the sun has already begun to set, painting her livingroom in soft orange hues.

when she finally gets up from her seat, stretching her sore, stiff limbs, it’s not to go cook dinner like her stomach is begging her to. instead, she goes to retrieve her keyboard from its storage in her bedroom.

by the end of the day (or the beginning of the night) her fingers are sore and there is the packaging of take-out in the trash but also a written out draft for both the guitar and piano part of the song and minah goes to bed feeling satisfied.

➽───────────────❥

when minah plays the song for the producer at their next studio session, he seems pleased with what is presented to him.

“it’s far from finished and it’s definitely going to need some tweaking.” he tells her but he does see potential in it. enough potential to cancel his last two appointments of the day to help minah to turn the rough draft in something real, a proper song, one worthy of being recorded and sung.

it starts with the addition of a harmonica, the producer pulling out the small instrument from between his equipment before asking minah to play the written guitar parts so he can play over the chords, experimenting with a sound that fits.

“it’s a very gentle song, it suits you, but you’re going to need something to make it stand out.” he explains and minah doesn’t protest, the man knows what he’s talking about and truly, she agrees, it does sound much better, much more distinctive.

the rest of the evening they spend rewriting the draft as she had handed it in. a lot of the piano part ends up getting replaced or cut and the guitar parts get cleaned up too, making the song as a whole sound more cohesive and pleasant on the ear.

but the song still sounds like hers. better than it did at first, most definitely, more polished, more obviously done by a professional but it still feels like what she wants to convey.

when minah leaves the studio that night, she does so not only with a sense of fulfillment, proud of her own achievements but also with an audio file of the rough draft recorded on her phone.

she also has a new challenge.

(“i’ll go produce this into something pretty, in the meantime, write some words to go with this yeah? if you do well, we might actually be able to record a demo of this to show management.”)

#fmdverification #*:･ﾟ♔– «am i the only one who remembers» // solos.#«hopefully sky // era.»

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afewmarvelousthoughts · 5 years

Text

Truth Pt. 11

Truth Master List

Request:

What’s up sug! sorry you’re struggling right now but I’ve come to help you If you could bring this to light for me I’d absolutely love for YOU TO DO JT So basically Bucky X Enhanced reader who are fuckin enemies. Hate each other to every last fiber of their beings bc Bucky is rude and she calls him out on it. AnywHs, they get drunk, truth or dare (go crZy baby) and LOTS LF dirty talk if u wanna do smut but if u don’t then buck taking care of her while she’s drunk cause she admitted her feelings

Pairing: Bucky X Reader (Enhanced)

Summary: Since The Avengers gave you a home the only blight has been Bucky Barnes, a ghost from your past that you can’t seem to shake. It makes you hate him. The feeling, it seems, is mutual. But… a simple game reveals that maybe things aren’t quite so simple. (Post Winter Soldier AU)

Warnings: Feels, mentions of addiction, violence

A/N: HELLO MY DARLING PRECIOUS PATIENT PUMPKINS! Did you miss these two? I know I did. This starts off domestic and then veers into like two-three completely different territories. It’s a ride that’s for sure.

I hope y’all like it!

Tags are open!

@midnightdream83 @mywinterwolf @disagreetoagree @breezy1415 @peachthatdrinkslemonade @wonderlandmind4 @piensa-bonito @handplucked @buckysstar @sam-jae @marauderconvos –harder @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @meg-asaur @jewelofwinter @fairislesheets @animegirlgeeky @lydklein1 @katecolleen @siriuslycloudy2 @zannemes

He stills your hands with his. Your eyes meet his, tears sneaking down your cheeks. He wipes them away.

“You keep your memories displayed… I shove mine in a box under my bed…”

When you had pulled all of this out you were on the verge of completely melting down. Days without sleep, hardly eating, seeing that woman’s face over and over again, the flashbacks… You wanted to remember what you were before you became a monster.

It only served to remind you of everything you lost. That’s when you’d gone to the gym when Bucky found you… You’d forgotten your misguided attempt to keep yourself together until there it was spread on your unmade bed.

There wasn’t much. Your family hadn’t been big on photos, just a few posed pictures, school photos, some holidays. But you loved photos… A grotesque amount of polaroids of your friends… people whose names you forgot or who were possibly long gone… at shows, parties, on the street. Glazed eyes, leather jackets, cigarettes hanging between smudged lips are spread out.

Maybe the names alluded you for some but you could smell the sweat, the smoke, the whiskey. Faded flyers from underground shows at Safari Club and other D.C. and East Coast punk venues add pops of color to the mix. A few misbegotten AA coins peak out to remind you of wasted time.

You pick one up as he looks over at a photo of 15-year-old you standing stiffly between your parents in front of a Christmas tree. Your expression annoyed, kohl heavily lining your eyes, hair bleached within an inch of its life and huge.

“Is this you?!” A smile curls his lips and you almost laugh.

“Yeah, don’t judge me too much… it was the 80’s.” You flip the coin in the air and catch it. “Probably the last Christmas I spent sober.”

His brow knits and you sigh. “Hi, my name is Y/N, I’m a cocaine addict… and an alcoholic... and… you get the gist.” You toss the coin at him. He looks it over. “Nine months… as long as I ever got.” Picking up the photo of you and your parents you feel your chest tighten.

“She wanted me to be perfect. Her pride. Pushed me to be the best at everything. I was a nationally ranked athlete, excelled in everything from cross-country to martial arts, incredible at any art she threw at me, damn near a genius, graduated high school at 15, got into every Ivy League school…”

Setting it aside you pick up a photo of you and someone who’s name you do remember, Dana, your first girlfriend. “I was even excellent at being a drug addict, never OD’d, high tolerance… Others weren’t so lucky.” You toss the photo aside, not wanting to linger.

Bucky takes your hand, lacing his fingers through your own. “Who kept these for you? Family?”

“I don’t have any family.”

“But… anyone? I mean… you’re so young?”

You snort, “Is 47 young?” Jesus, you were almost 50… such a strange thought.

“Well,” he laughs a small empty sound, “in comparison.”

You nod conceding. “My Mom… she lost her family in the war… in the camps,” you can’t look at Bucky. “Dad was an only child. Fury kept them tucked away in a storage locker at S.H.I.E.L.D. after…”

He nods, “He knew your father didn’t he?”

“Yeah, they worked together…” You release his hand and push through photos to find your favorite of you and your Dad. It was from that nine-month stint of sobriety, he’d been so happy that you’d been doing well that on your 20th birthday he took you to Paris. His smile was so bright… your hand trembles a bit.

“You look happy here,” Bucky rests his cool left hand on your bouncing knee as he looks at you and your Dad, posed in typical cheesy tourist fashion in front of the Eiffel Tower.

“I was… we were…” Your voice cracks. “I never knew what he did… just thought he was some low-level diplomat, never questioned it… I don’t even know that Mom knew…”

“Was she here?”

“God no,” your eyes slide shut for a moment, remembering. “She was hardly speaking to me… I was a disappointment.”

“She didn’t…”

“Tell me that? Oh yes.” You hold up a hand as he opens his mouth, “I don’t know that she was wrong. I… I did everything I could to be the opposite of what she wanted me to be. I doused her American Dream in gasoline and set it on fire…”

“Still you’re not-”

You shrug, “Doesn’t matter. I… never got to prove otherwise.” Your eyes scan your memories, hazy and painful as most of them were.

“They killed her, ya know? Hydra…”

He gives your knee a gentle squeeze, “I assumed.”

“After my last go at rehab… I really thought… I was going to be better, I wanted to be better. Go to school, live my life, make her proud. They took that away… left her bloody on the kitchen floor.” Your skin tingles, energy pulsing through you.

“I… what about your Dad?” The look on his face is pained like he doesn’t want to ask but feels like he must.

“He killed himself.” You shake your head, “At least that’s what the official report says. “Makes sense though… wife dead, daughter missing, all because you were getting a little too close.” Glancing over at his smiling face a tear slides down your cheek, “Who could blame him?”

A small sob trips over your lips and Bucky pulls you into him. Surprising yourself still, you allow him to comfort you and allow yourself to feel this… to mourn them even a little.

Ever since being here you had tried to bury the guilt and the grief. Thinking about the void they left in you, the years you wasted, the final image of her… dead for days collapsed by the back door… It was too much. You couldn’t help but think that maybe if you’d been there, instead of in rehab, you could have saved her… even though you knew the ending would have been the same.

After a bit your sobs quiet. He’s leaned against the headboard, you’re curled into his arms, the steady beat of his heart soothing. When you look up at him his eyes are so soft, warm despite the cool color. The feeling of his fingers gently grazing your skin as he pushes stray strands of hair from your face sends shivers through you.

“Sorry…”

He smiles, “For what? Having feelings?” You shrug a little. “Well if you want to make it up to me,” he reaches across the bed a bit and grabs a picture of you sporting a particularly heinous head of Aquanet enforced hair looking like some combo of Cindy Lauper and a Clash groupie, “explain this.”

You can’t help but laugh and agree to explain your questionable fashion choices.

The rest of the day is spent intermittently cleaning your apartment and telling Bucky what you remember of who you once were. The good, the bad, and the ugly. He listens and most importantly doesn’t judge.

When you put on some music from your own youth he's not too pleased. It was safe to say that bands such as Bad Religion and Misfits were maybe not his speed. However, he’s much more in tune with Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones, and surprisingly The Runaways.

“I’d say you’ll pass inspection,” Bucky says as he puts your mop in the closet.

“Definitely.” You look around and feel oddly sad. His place really was so much warmer than yours. It felt like someone actually lived there, rather than just existing.

“What’s wrong?” Your face must be showing your disdain.

“Nothing,” you flash him a smile. “So… got any dinner plans?”

The smile that lights up his face takes your breath away, “None.” He grabs your waist and pulls you close to kiss you.

“How about I cook? Your place?”

“You cook?”

“I mean, I’m no Julia Child but I can promise it will be better than those packaged meals in your fridge.”

He laughs, “I’ll take your word for it.” You grab some things from your own kitchen and a change of clothes, which he doesn’t even question before you both head down to his place.

Five days later Bucky watches you slip into a pair of leggings as he sips his coffee.

“Are you sure you can’t even have some coffee?”

You roll your eyes, “I’m sure, 12 hours fasting for the tests.”

“You don’t have-” You cut him off with a glare. “Fine. But if you decide you want me there-”

“I’ll call. I promise.” You toss on a tee and a cardigan.

He looks away, chewing on his bottom lip. “Hey,” you pluck the coffee from his hands and set it on the nightstand, “I’ll be ok, Buck.” Cupping his face in your hands you place a kiss on his lips. He can feel his heart stutter just a touch, he wonders if it will ever go away. You release him and he buries his face in your chest, breathing in your now familiar scent.

When he lifts his head your smile makes his breath catch. “I’ll be back in a few hours.” Your soft lips press against his forehead. All he can do is nod.

As soon as the door closes he feels himself wilt a bit, anxiety rising with each passing moment. He wants to believe you but he knows they could accidentally trigger something in you. Be it a memory or a reaction with your power, either could have horrible consequences.

After almost an hour of running worst case scenarios, he can’t stay here anymore. He tosses on some gym clothes and texts Steve to see if he’s free to train. Bucky’s already to the gym when he gets a response of ‘No, sorry pal.’

Sighing he turns around and heads to the shooting range. Clint is already there, experimenting with some new arrows Tony whipped up for him. While Bucky usually prefers to be here alone, he doesn’t necessarily mind Clint. He’s a fellow sniper after all and doesn’t ever seem to want to force Bucky into conversations he’d rather not have.

The two men shoot in silence for a little more than an hour before Clint pipes up. “So, you and Y/N seem to have taken a turn for the better.” He’s taken up the spot next to Bucky under the pretense of changing his angle.

“What of it?” He may like Clint but the thought of sharing details of his private life isn’t high on his to-do list.

“Nothing. I think it’s great.”

“Yeah, you and Romanoff seemed to have an opinion the other day.” Bucky’s tone is gruff remembering Clint’s quip about her owing him.

He laughs, “Just a good-natured bet. I saw the chemistry between you two.” Bucky doesn’t respond. Some mix of anger and embarrassment blooming in his chest.

“Look, man,” Clint has stepped out of his booth and is leaning on the wall between them, “people like us should take any chance at love we can and run with it. It’s rare enough for civilians and most of them don’t spend their free time getting shot at.”

The tone in his voice drips with sincerity and Bucky can’t help but look back at him, the glare quickly melting off his face. “Who said anything about love?”

Clint shakes his head smiling, “You’ll be one lucky bastard if it ends up being that Barnes. Even if it doesn’t, friends are worth a whole hell of a lot too.” He claps a hand on Bucky’s metal shoulder, “As soldiers, it’s sometimes hard to allow ourselves to be happy. You deserve it. Promise.” Bucky says nothing for a minute and Clint nods, walking away.

“Thank you,” Bucky’s tone is low, sort of unsure. He does mean it though…

“You got-”

“Sargent Barnes and Agent Barton, you’re both needed in Mr. Stark’s lab immediately.” Jarvis’ voice cuts Clint off and Bucky feels the blood drain from his face. The two men hold one another’s gaze for a fraction of a second, a flood of emotion and information being exchanged in that one fleeting moment, before sprinting to the elevator.

When they burst out of the elevator they’re met by Steve and Natasha. Everything seems fine, nothing is on fire or blown to bits so that has to be a good sign. Still, as soon as he’s got eyes on you nothing could keep him back.

You’re sitting in a chair, wires stuck to you all over leading to a computer, tendrils of white light pulsing beneath your skin. “Y/N?!”

“Hey! I’m fine,” his hands are lightly grazing your body where the wires touch you, eyes frantically searching your own for any signs of distress. “Really, Bucky, I’m fine.”

You do seem ok. He wishes he was. His heart is thundering, muscles tense, ready and willing to do whatever he needed to keep you safe. Taking a shaky breath he rests his forehead on yours, trying to calm himself.

“Sorry if we scared you, Manchurian.” Tony quips from beside the computer as he pops a baby carrot in his mouth. Bucky shoots daggers at him.

“They were able to get a lock on the specific energy signature I emit pretty quick and scan for it. We found a match.” His eyes shoot back to you, unsure if you’re glad they found something or not.

“Well,” Bruce pipes up from another monitor, “near enough anyway. Too close to her unique signature to be a coincidence.”

“Another base?” Natasha asks from behind Bucky, who’s still kneeling in front of you, unable to move away.

“That’s what we were hoping you and Clint could clear up for us,” Tony flicks some images up so everyone can see the area they narrowed the signal down to.

Your eyes dart between the two and Bucky finally looks back. The map shows a spot just outside of Cleveland. Yet another nondescript building, nothing that says den of torture about it at all. Clint and Natasha exchange a look.

“Yeah,” she holds a finger to her lips for a minute thinking. “We may have something on this, didn’t seem like much so it’s low on the list.”

“Well, it’s top priority now.” Bucky doesn’t like the tone in Steve’s voice. It’s the one he gets when he’s going to do whatever bullheaded thing he has in mind no matter the consequences.

He sees you nod in his peripheral. “When’s the soonest we can head out?”

Bucky’s glare shoots back to you. “Absolutely not!”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not doing this.” His tone is just as stubborn as Steve’s, if not a bit more so.

You scoff, “Oh? I’m not?”

“No. You are not.”

“I hate to break it to you but you don’t get to tell me what I am and am not going to do, Bucky.” Your eyes darken just a touch as the air around you dips just a touch toward cool.

“After last time you really think this is a good idea, Y/N?!”

“No. But I’m the only one who can properly handle these assets if they attack. I’m the only one who understands even a little how this energy functions. I’m the only one-”

He can’t believe this. “So you’re just gonna throw yourself back into that?! After what almost… after… Y/N you’re being-”

“I’m doing what needs to be done. I cannot in good consciousness allow this to pass unchecked. Too many people are at risk if-”

“This isn’t a negotiation!” He bellows. “You’re my-”

“I don’t give a damn what I am to you or you to me.” It feels like you punched him in the chest. “You don’t give me orders, Barnes.”

When you look away from him to Natasha the dismissal is clear. “There’s some good surveillance footage of the area from local businesses security and traffic cams. Should be enough to establish patterns. After last time we know trying to scan is a lost cause.”

Bucky feels his rage prickle under his skin. You don’t look back to him when you’re done. Huffing he stands and stalks to the elevator, unable to be a part of this ill-begotten plan a moment longer.

“You know he’s coming right?” Natasha’s tone is light but she knows her words are heavy.

“Yeah.” You clip the stabilizer cuffs Tony made for you onto your belt. They were just a prototype and only to be used if you felt like you were about to lose it but they still felt strangely comforting to have. Nothing like the comfort you’d felt with Bucky… who you hadn’t seen in three days.

“Assuming you still haven’t spoken to him?”

“Not much to say.” You don’t want to have this conversation now.

“That’s bullshit.” She slips her Widow’s Bites on.

You shrug, “No. You heard how he spoke to me. In front of everyone. Like I was a fucking child like he could just say no and I’d say yessir.”

“He’s from a different time, Y/N.”

“I don’t give a fuck. It’s not 1945.” You slam your gear locker closed. “Plus, not like he’s spoken to me either.”

You barely catch a glimpse of him before he gets on the jet. Grinding your teeth you hang back for just a second.

“Need me to whoop his ass,” Sam says from behind you.

“That is not a fight I’d care to see.” You sigh, “But no. Just think we got ahead of ourselves is all.”

“Well,” he slings an arm over your shoulder, “you’ve still got me, kid.”

You laugh, “You do remember that I’m older than you right?”

“Psh, age is just a number. I got one of them old souls”

As usual Sam’s ridiculousness puts a smile on your face and by the time the two of you are boarding the jet you’re cackling. That all fades the moment you feel Bucky’s stare. Steeling yourself for the uncomfortable mission ahead you keep your eyes averted and your mind on the prize.

Things have gone smoothly for the most part. Some minor scuffles, every computer has been beyond destroyed, and no files that tell you a goddamn thing to be found but less than an hour into the mission and it seems this will be in and out. You’re not even sensing any of the telltale energy like you did last time.

You’ve all spread out a bit to try and wrap this up quickly since it all appears quiet. The area you’ve chosen is just about clear, or so you think. There’s the slightest whoosh in the air before you feel a blade nestle itself in your back.

“Fuck!” You scream as you stagger in pain and surprise. Just barely you can hear Bucky’s voice call out in the com as a foot crashes into your jaw.

It takes you a second but you get your bearings and land a blow to the asset’s abdomen. “I’m good!” No need for anyone to run to your aid when you don’t need it.

You focus a thin sliver of energy in your right hand and shoot it toward them like a tiny spear. They dodge and for a moment you think nothing of it, spinning despite the throbbing in your back from the knife wound, determined to take them out. A groan rings both in your com and from behind you followed by a thud.

Somehow you know before you even turn who’s going to be on the ground. You feel yourself somehow grow cold while also pulsing with energy, dread and rage and heartbreak crashing into you all at once. The asset forgotten, you rush to Bucky’s crumpled form on the floor.

“What the hell?!” His eyes are squeezed shut, teeth grinding in pain as he grasps the wound in his side, red sliding over his fingers.

“Heard you,” he grunts through clenched teeth. You can’t even feel the knife in your back at the moment.

“I said I was good!” You force his hands away and he groans. It’s bad, not as bad as it could be but still…

“Behind-” He doesn’t finish his statement. The asset grabs the knife and twists.

You scream, pain surging for an instant before it’s replaced with something else entirely. Thick cords of energy curl around you, pulsing in time with your suddenly steady heartbeat. There’s nothing in your mind for this moment, not even Bucky. One goal. Eliminate the target.

Pulling away the knife rips out of your back. It should feel like something. It’s just a tingle. Whirling you grab the asset by the neck. You could make this much faster than you do but… Pinning them against the wall you let your power trail down their body from your hold on their neck. They make a noise somewhere between a scream and a gurgle as superheated energy burns its way through them. It only takes a minute.

Once their eyes go dark you hurl them to the side. The sound of bones cracking. It’s then you come back to yourself, the monster sated. Bucky.

“Bucky is down. West sector cleared, I’m taking him up.”

“No, I-”

“Shut up,” you growl as you lift him.

Sam is stitching up Bucky when Nat and Steve declare the facility cleared. Nothing of value gained. They know you’re all looking for them, that’s clear enough by how quickly they abandoned this place.

The ride back is quiet. Sam takes care of the wound on your back and you can’t take your eyes off Bucky’s side. You could have killed him. If you had…

As soon as the door opens you’re bolting out. You think you’re going to run to your apartment but instead, you go to the range. Even so, all you manage to do is pace in the space anxiety thrumming through you, yet you’re unable to bring yourself to let loose the energy that almost killed him…

Before your brain knows what’s happening you’re riding the elevator up to not your apartment but Bucky’s. You know he’s in medical but he’s not hurt badly enough to stay there more than an hour or so. Pacing the hall, you wait.

The elevator doors slide open when you’re at the end of the corridor. Two voices, Steve’s and Bucky’s. You freeze.

“I’m good, promise,” you hear Bucky say.

“Alright. Call me if you need anything.” The doors slide closed and Steve is gone.

He hasn’t even opened his door before you’re on him. A small surprised noise comes from him as you turn him to face you. Logically you know he’s injured, need to be careful, but…

Your fingers tangle into his hair, pulling him to you. His kiss tastes like sweat and desperation. Tears burn your eyes as his tongue finds its way between your teeth, his arms winding around you, holding tight.

Suddenly you pull away, pushing against his chest. You punch him hard in his left pec. “You fucking idiot!” Your voice cracks.

“Yeah. I am.” A sardonic smile curls his lips. “Just for you though.”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier

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jessethejoyful · 6 years

Text

part three bc i’m weak-willed

more of this art school au that is dominating my life tbh

read it here on ao3

BAZ

Class on Monday is an unexpected balm to my stress, and I’m feeling rather pleased with myself when I walk out. The professor was very complimentary, as they always are, but this felt different. Maybe because I’d felt so unsure about the piece. The colors had felt off, and I told the professor as much, but he told me it conveyed something private and almost intimate about me.

Which is cool, but a little scary. I don’t like to convey too much about myself, not to anyone.

Dev had texted me that morning about getting lunch, and I agreed to meet him in the student union after class, where several fast food restaurants had set up storefronts. I don’t have much interest in the food, but I do get myself a milkshake and let myself enjoy it. Meanwhile, Dev sits down with a tray full of fried food, and I try to ignore how the smell makes my stomach twist. My cousin might also come from money, but he never really acts like it. It’s almost refreshing sometimes.

Almost.

“So you ready for the show?” Dev asks, shoving food in his mouth like a cretin. He even talks with his mouth open. “Aren’t you taking like three pieces this time?”

I grit my teeth, fighting down the swirling stress that threatens at the edge of my mind. The art supply store in town is hosting another huge art sale party. I always attend with one piece, and am out of there before ten o’clock. That much of a crowd, milling around and talking about art - nope. My social anxiety doesn’t allow for it. But Fiona was up my ass this summer to do more (“You could be making a mint off these, Basil! What’re you doing, holing up with these at home, building yourself a nest? Don’t be such a coward!”) and I’d finally given in, if only to get her to shut up. I had three large paintings ready to go, but I still felt the nerves like a hot poker shoved into my side, burning me.

“Of course I’m ready,” I say through my teeth. “It’s in two days. Unlike you, I don’t procrastinate everything until the night before.” Dev grins at me, and he’s got a mouthful of food, and it’s horrific.

“Well, I can’t wait to see them.”

I stare at him, straw halfway to my mouth. “You’re coming? You’ve never come to one of my shows before.”

“Thought you might like some support.”

“What ever gave you that idea?” Dev shrugs and doesn’t say anything, focusing on his disgusting food again. “I… thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome, Basil.”

I head back to my apartment, my classes over for the day and with half a mind to take a nap, even knowing how it’ll ruin me later. Usually, I’d spend the rest of the night in the studio, but the sore ache behind my eyes is getting to be too much. And I’m hungry. I’m regretting not eating lunch, especially since that had been the point of meeting Dev today. My cousin had looked dubiously at my milkshake, but hadn’t commented.

In the end, I decide to go to the bakery down the street. The scone Snow had given me had been wrapped in paper with the store’s name printed repeatedly across it and it had actually been quite good, even when it was lukewarm.

When I step inside the cushy space, I immediately regret it, because there’s Penelope, Simon’s other friend, behind the counter. Another potential girlfriend? Probably not.

If I didn’t know any better, I would think this idiot boy is trying to take over my entire life. But it’s too late for me to step out, she’d called out a welcome when the door chimed, so I step over to the line. I stare hard at the pastries behind the glass without really seeing them.

“Basil!” Penelope greets me, and I’m taken aback by the friendly tone. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here before.”

“I’ve - never come in.” I swallow down any snarky remarks, ready to make nice. “Snow brought me one of your scones the other day, and it was quite good. I wanted to see the source.” She smiles at me, and her chubby cheeks push up her garish turquoise glasses.

“Well, you came at a good time. Just took the cherry scones out of the oven. How many would you like?”

“Ah - just two, I think.” Penelope nods and pushes the glass open, wrapping the two pastries in wax paper before slipping them into a bag and handing it to me. “How much do I -?” She’s shaking her head, and I frown at her.

“Take ‘em. I’m glad we’ve a new convert, and I expect to see you in here more often, alright?” And then she winks at me, inexplicably.

“Yeah… alright. Thanks, Penelope.” She looks pleased, and gives me a small wave as I turn to go. I leave feeling oddly warm, if a bit confused by the kindness I’ve been shown by Simon’s two friends, after the treatment I’ve subjected him to. Maybe they’re all just too nice for their own good.

My keys are in my hands, hovering by my lock, when I have an idea. I go across the hall and knock before I can talk myself out of it, and wait. Snow could easily not be home. But then I hear a thump and a grunt inside, followed by a moment of silence before the lock clicks and the door swings open. Simon is staring at me, brow quirked and glasses on, half of his hair poking up like a rat’s nest.

“Yeah?”

I try not to frown as I dig into the bag and take out one of the scones, holding it out to him. He takes it slowly, looking at the pastry and then back up at me, eyes wide. And then I turn away, quickly unlocking my door and diving inside before Simon can get a word out. I shut myself in and lean back heavily against the door, breathing heavily and closing my eyes.

What was I thinking? What the fuck was that? Simon probably thinks I’m an asshole as well as a fucking weirdo now. Not like it matters.

Safely in my apartment, alone, I kick off my shoes and wander through to the second bedroom of the flat, which I’d converted for my use to a type of studio. But it’s carpeted, so I mostly use it for storage, supplies and paintings. The three I’m planning on selling are carefully leaning against the wall, staring at me.

One of them had sprung from an absolute fit, when I’d woken in the middle of the night with the shakes, drank three mugs of tea, and shoved paint across a canvas until I was happy (or as happy as I get) and went back to bed. The other two were from this summer, when I’d spent two dreadful weeks at home, closed into the studio my father had decked out for me three years ago for my birthday. That was the only good part of going back to the family manor. That, and my little sister, Mordelia. I give her a lot of shit, but I’m quite fond of her.

Those two pieces aren’t within my usual style. One is far more colorful than anything else I ever do, with flowering branches and a fading backdrop. The other was a fluke, some error of my subconscious. It was of a kneeling figure, a dancer, in her final resting position in the bottom corner of the canvas, bathed in dim light but with darkness surrounding the edges. It reflected Snow’s animation, and I hadn’t realized it until I was through. I might have painted over it, but it was beautiful, and I ended up keeping it.

I’m ready to be rid of it. After everything that’s happened, I don’t need any more reminders of Simon Snow. There’s no way he won’t avoid me now, and I try to tell myself it’s for the best.

I should make some tea.

PENNY

I’m exhausted when I get back to the apartment. The evening rush was hellish - we’d run out of filling for the eclairs, and I thought the roof was sure to fall it.

I might have been grateful if it had.

All I want to do is rip off my clothes, take a bath, and go to bed, but instead, Simon greets me at the door like a dejected dog, having another one of his stresses.

“He actually came into the bakery?” he asks, following me as I go into the kitchen to shove a piece of cake I’d stolen in the fridge. “Like, he was actually able to get through the door? I thought vampires had to be invited in.”

I look at him skeptically, furrowing my brows. “Simon - what? How is he a vampire? Aren’t vampires pale? His skin is nearly darker than mine.”

“With a widow’s peak like that, you’d doubt it?”

“He can’t help his hairline, Simon.” I’m too tired for this conversation. I continue to my room to put on my robe for the bath. Simon stays in the living room, but keeps talking to me, elevating his volume.

“Was he rude? Did he shove over the other customers in line? Did you see him put poison in my scone?”

“You ate it, didn’t you? You’re not dead yet. If you were, I’d have some peace right now.”

“It could be slow working!” I come out of my room, comfy in my fluffy yellow robe, and stare at Simon tiredly.

“He was incredibly polite, Simon. He complimented the one you gave him, and thanked me by name when he left. I don’t know what you’re getting so worked up over. He’s not out to kill you.”

“He’s a wanker, Penelope! You said it yourself, he’s endlessly contrary!” Simon leans over the back of the couch, spreading his arms at me wildly. “He’s trying to turn all the people in my life over to his side!”

“Simon, for the love of God.” I close myself in the bathroom and flick the lock loudly for good measure, making sure Simon hears it. I hear him groan, but he doesn’t keep trying to yell at me. I turn my music on loudly and start the bath water, sliding in before it’s finished filling and not minding the heat.

I glare at my nails. They’re caked with both flour and clay. That’s the struggle of being a sculptor - it’s all but ruined my hands and my nail beds. I try to let them soak in the bath, beneath the foaming fizz coming from my bath bomb, but I’m too fidgety. I dry my hands and reach for my phone, typing a quick text to Micah to see what he’s up to. Maybe I can convince him to bring me dinner.

Sure thing, he texts back almost immediately. Curry?

Perfect.

SIMON

This new job has honestly been really good. Even if it did take me a bit to figure out the register. It kept honking at me anytime someone tried to put their card in, and it took me too long to realize it was in the wrong mode.

Anna’s been very sweet, gently reminding me of things I forget when I need it. She blushes whenever I ask her a question and it’s kind of adorable.

It’s Wednesday, and we’re decorating the store for the event this evening, another one of the big local sales. Penny has two pieces she’s putting in, and I’m excited to see the party. I know a few of the other kids from the art school will be there, and I’m intrigued to see what they decide to sell, if I’d seen any of them hanging in the halls at school.

I can’t help but wonder if Baz will be there. Baz. Basil. I haven’t seen him since Monday with the whole scone thing. I figure he’s been holed up in his studio, being a recluse and hissing at sunlight, or whatever. I couldn’t help but take in the dark circles under his eyes the other day.

I don’t imagine he’ll be here - that would mean actually interacting with people. Smiling. Selling. I can’t fathom Baz willingly doing any of those things. The thought makes me snicker.

We’re closing up at seven for an hour, so we can all run home and put on nicer clothes. I end up taking a shower, trying to tame my curls to look a little more presentable, and dress in the smart suit Agatha helped me pick out. It’s sky blue, perfectly fitted, and I push the sleeves up to my elbows so my tattoos are visible. Blank ink wings, my designs, on the insides of both of my forearms. The white button-down underneath is well-fitted also, so if I get hot (which I tend to), I can easily take the jacket off and still look nice.

Penny finishes up about the same time, stepping out of her room and coughing. I look up from my phone and feel my jaw drop. She looks amazing. Her normally frizzy curls have been tamed into a sleek braided crown around her head. She’s wearing a deep green, flower-covered dress with a very vintage feel to it, with a boat neck and a natural waistline, and a pair of shiny heels finish the look.

“Holy shit, Penny,” I say, pushing up from the armchair, “you look - amazing. Seriously.”

“Such a way with words,” Penny says fondly, going to pick up the box holding her sculptures. I intercept, grabbing the box and slipping away.

“Uh-uh, no way you can carry these looking like that. I won’t have anything distracting Micah from how good you look!”

“He’s already my boyfriend, Simon, I don’t have to impress him anymore! Give me my stuff!”

“No way! I won’t drop them, Penn, I swear.” She glares at me, hands on her hips. “Penny. Trust me. I would never, ever let anything happen to these.” She finally relents about the time that there’s a knock on the door, and she goes to let Micah in. He comes into the room, raving about how good Penny looks, and I think he must have had a heads-up on her outfit. His suit complements her dress perfectly, a navy blazer with tan trousers, and a tie the exact green of her dress.

I like Micah, but the guy always makes me feel small. I’m not short, at a hundred and eighty-two centimeters, but Micah has to be nearly two hundred.

“Looking good, Simon,” Micah says, grinning at me with his blinding white teeth. “Working man. Congrats on the new job, dude.” He offers me his massive hand, and I grip it firmly, smirking.

“Thanks, Micah. Penny kind of forced me, but I’m glad she did.”

“I’m convinced she knows what’s best for both of us at this point. I’ve stopped arguing with her.”

“That is false, and you know it!” Penny calls from her room, where she’d left her clutch. “You argue with me constantly! About everything!”

“Only to keep you on your toes, babe!” She comes out of her room, snickering and shaking her head, and Micah stops her to press a kiss to her temple as she passes him.

“Ready then, boys? Simon can’t be late.”

Micah turns to me. “Want me to take her sculptures, man? I don’t mind carrying them.”

I shake my head. “No, no, I’ve got them, don’t worry.” He doesn’t argue, going to take Penny’s arm. I step out the door first, and they follow me out, locking up behind us.

When we get to the store a bit before eight, there’s hardly anyone there apart from the selling artists. Penny told me that people who aren’t selling don’t usually show up until eight-thirty or nine, so I’m not really surprised at how quiet it is. Anna is excited to see Penny, recognizing her from last time, and Penny takes a moment to introduce Anna to Micah. I continue on ahead, taking the sculptures to the spot where Penny wanted to set up, carefully placing the two beautiful sculptures on display before continuing to the back room.

My manager is back there, a big man named Alex, and he tells me my main role tonight is just greeting and talking to people, and making sure that the hors d’oeuvres and wine don’t run out. Which is fantastic, because I’m really good at talking to people.

I return to the main room, dazzled by how posh everyone looks, and approach one of the artists. It’s a boy I recognize from school, and Penny and Micah wander up and fold easily into the conversation. When it gets to eight o’clock, the door swings open, and I look over.

And there’s Baz, standing in the doorway and staring back at me, holding three canvases very carefully, another boy following him in and nearly running into him.

“Oi, Basil, go on, mate,” Simon hears the boy say behind Baz, and it’s like he gets an electric shock. He comes all the way inside and goes to set up, obviously used to the routine. I try not to watch him, but he looks so good in a fitted green and black suit (more posh than the rest of us) that I can’t really help it. I give him a few minutes to set up and get his bearings, before I excuse myself from my conversation and start over.

Baz actually meets me halfway, leaving his companion by his paintings, hidden from my view.

“Er, hi,” I say, trying for a smile, and it’s awkward. “I’d actually been wondering if you were going to be here.”

“I always come to these.” I’m startled, then look around the room for Penny, who could have (and should have) warned me. I find her watching us, looking smug. “But you’ve never been here before.”

“Oh. Well, no. I just started working here last week, and -”

“You work here?” Baz cuts me off, and I take a half step back. “Sorry, just - ehm, congratulations. On the new job. I’m in here all the time.”

“Oh! Thanks.” An uncomfortable pause settles over us, in which Baz adjusts the cuffs of his green blazer, a faint blush on his dark cheeks. “Thanks, by the way. For the other day.” Baz looks confused, so I add, “For the scone?”

A slight nod. “Just returning the favor.”

I figure he must be shit at things like this, but he’s actually working to be friendly. I make up my mind suddenly and offer Baz my hand. He stares at it like he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with it.

“How about a truce, Basil? It’s clear we can’t avoid each other, you seem to be basically everywhere I go anymore - and you seem like an okay bloke. Maybe not friends, yet. But not all this bickering. What do you think?”

He stares at me, so fucking cool, like he’s just mulling it over, weighing his options. Finally, like a swan lifting its head, he raises his hand and places it in mine. His skin is smooth and surprisingly cold, but his grip is solid. “Alright, then. A truce.”

BAZ

I don’t know what to do with myself now. I didn’t expect Snow to be at this sale, let alone looking so fucking good in that suit. The color perfectly balanced with his skin and his eyes, it was hard to look away. I’m not ready to admit how badly I’ve got it for this stupid boy, when I don’t even know if he’s gay or not.

We parted ways after shaking hands, which had been almost too much, and I returned to Dev.

“Who was that then?” he asks, having watched the whole unfortunate exchange. “Guy turned bright red when he saw you. Nearly matched his hair.” I look sharply at Dev.

“Did he really?”

“Yeah, mate, I figured he was your boyfriend or something. Or maybe that you two were just fucking, I dunno.”

I nearly choke, but pass it off as a scoff. “Don’t be so vulgar, Dev, good lord. That’s Si-, er, Snow. He’s an animator from school.”

“He sure did seem pretty animated.” I can’t deal with this, and I leave Dev again to wander the floor and look at some of the other artists’ works. Penelope is there, standing beside two pieces that really are quite good, with a black boy who nearly dwarfs me.

“Oh, Basil!” Penny calls me over like we’re friends, and maybe we are. I step over. “Baz, this is my boyfriend Micah. Micah, Basilton Pitch. He’s a spectacular painter.”

I shake Micah’s platter-sized hand, surprised by the compliment from Penelope. I didn’t realize she was even aware of my work.

“Baz. Nice to meet you.” American. A bit of a shock, but I don’t show a reaction. At least this confirms for me that Penelope isn’t Simon’s girlfriend.

“And you.” I clear my throat and step forward to look at the two pieces Penelope is selling, and they really are nice, but I don’t know enough about sculpture to give an educated compliment. “Those are lovely, Penelope. I can tell you put a lot of time and work into both of them.” She beams, and I think maybe I said something right for once. One of them is a smaller bust, with impeccable attention to detail, and I think she might have used Simon as a reference, because the nose and the hair look impressively familiar. The other is a bit more abstract, possibly two people embracing, but the colors are far more aggressive than the neutral grey of the bust.

I continue on, replying with a few quiet words to any greetings, but I keep mostly to myself. I’m painfully aware of Snow bouncing around the room like a hyper mutt, talking to pretty much everyone. I’ll glance at him now and then, because I’m weak, and always seem to catch him turning away, a blush spreading across the back of his neck.

Agatha shows up at some point, and she makes sure to say hi to me (and Dev, who’s awestruck by her), before going over to Penelope and hugging her and the American boyfriend.

I don’t see Snow again for another hour, when he finally wanders over, where Dev left me on my own to try his luck at flirting with Agatha, who clearly has no interest.

Simon smiles at me, shy again, and takes his time looking at the two paintings I have remaining. The flowering one sold almost immediately, to an older woman I didn’t recognize, and who gave me far more than my asking price. When his eyes slide to the dancer, I freeze, remembering where the idea came from. He goes stiff as well, leaning closer to the canvas.

“That’s -” He doesn’t continue, looking at me in alarm.

“I saw your animation reel at the student showcase.” No point in hiding anything now. “The ballerina clip… it was hauntingly beautiful.” He runs his hands through his hair, looking back at my canvas as I continue. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I wasn’t really thinking about it when I made this. But I realized when I finished, I’d tried to draw some of the emotion out of yours.”

He’s quiet for a long moment after I finish explaining, and I’m worried he’s going to get mad at me for plagiarizing or something. Instead, the eyes that turn to me are like pools of warm water, flickering under the surface, and I’m instantly drawn in. “Baz, this is - amazing. Really. You somehow captured - everything. All of it.” He looks back at it, and my heart catches.

This is too much of a soft moment for my cold, dead heart. “But the bit after the ballerina - two stick figures having a fight? Really? I was ready to shut the laptop off when that came up and ruined the mood.” He looks up at me, brows furrowed, but the look didn’t sit like anger.

“Two stick figures? What are you talking about? I didn’t put that in my reel.” I narrow my eyes at him, trying to figure out if he’s messing with me.

“Yeah, the clip immediately after the ballerina was two really shit looking stick figures beating the shit out of each other. You don’t remember?”

His eyes widen in sudden realization. “Fuck. Fuck! I hadn’t meant to leave that in! I’d put it in there as a joke when I sent it to Penny - I must have set up the wrong file.” He claps his hand to his forehead, bursting out in sudden laughter. “No wonder you wanted to shut it off! Christ, that’s embarrassing. I can’t believe that shit was playing at the showcase.”

I’m breathless, because watching him laugh is such a fucking gift. A gift from the universe that I don’t deserve. His whole body goes into it, his head going back and his legs tilting. I knew he was an idiot, though. Somehow, this doesn’t surprise me.

“Amazing. I’m almost impressed by your ineptitude, Snow. Such lovely work, and you manage to fuck it up.” He looks at me, ready to fight, but realizes I’m teasing and grins, breathing out a weak laugh.

“That’s me, the inept, lovely idiot,” he chuckles, and I wish I could tell him how much I agree.

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hwarangbangbang · 7 years

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mark tuan » better. much better.

i got the idea of doing this from reading a bed sharing AU i found on Tumblr, you can find it here. i take no credit for these prompts or gifs, however i do take credit for writing these stories.

title - better. much better. prompt - “we've had this tradition as besties to have a sleepover once a year but ths year... it feels different... were your pajamas always this cute?? did I always have butterflies???” pairing: mark tuan/fem!reader tags - hella fluff cause it's what I do, kissing, hickies, friends-to-lovers, angst I guess?? JFC just read it. pls be nice bc im soft af, who doesn't love frazier, and forgetting sarah marshall coME ON, ask me about me weiner, sry not sry word count - 3,012 words author's note - this is one of the longest oneshots i've ever written, it's just barely over three thousand words I know I'm weak I'm sORRY. enjoy!

Four years. Four years was how long you'd gone without seeing your best friend. Four years since he moved to South Korea from his home in Los Angeles to become a trainee under the JYP Ent. corporation and become an idol. Four years since you two last hugged, last physically saw or touched each other face to face.

But more importantly, four years since you'd had your annual best friend sleepover.

On those nights for the first two years, the third weekend in the month of July, you two would FaceTime and Skype as much as you could, with Mark's apologies that he couldn't be there, and you two just talking and catching up. However these past two years, he never called. And when you would attempt to get in touch with him, he'd either be too busy with schedules to pick up, or too tired to answer.

Either way, you got nothing.

Sure, he'd text you an 'I'm sorry,' but after that and a few hours of messages, you wouldn't hear anything. And it's not like he didn't care. He was busy -- and you understood that. And as that third weekend in July began to come up, you weren't surprised to hear your phone ding while you were in the middle of grocery shopping. However what you were surprised to see was that it was a text message from Mark.

I have a surprise for you, (Y/N)~

Your brows furrowed in confusion, sending a quick message back before you began to pile your groceries onto an aisle's conveyor belt so you could pay and go home.

You somehow managed to get me a date with Gong Yoo? Ooh, no! Wait, let me guess, Park Hyung Sik?

A small smile graced your features and you had to remind yourself that he was your best friend. Your best friend who you totally weren't crushing on at all. You planned to tell him before he left for Korea, but considering it was so sudden, you hadn't mustered up the courage when his parents drove you both to the airport so you could say goodbye to him with them.

His parents shipped you two more than all of the Aghases in the world shipped MarkBam. His mother would constantly ask you when you would be giving her grand children, when you two were going to finally get together, it was rather endearing, but it always had to come to a stop when you realized you couldn't actually do that. Because you didn't want to fuck things up in the end. The only thing it did was get your hopes up.

You didn't tell him because you didn't want him to feel like he had obligations to you. Because you wanted him to go live his life and enjoy it without worrying about you. Because you didn't want to fuck up the one good friendship you'd had since you guys were four years old. Because you were scared of the rejection you knew you'd face.

You pulled out your money and paid for your groceries, giving a small smile to the bag boy and told him to have a nice day, before rolling the cart out to your vehicle. It was dark outside, very dark, it was almost ten at night, but you had gotten caught up late at work so you had a late start getting groceries. After you got all of them in, you got in your car and put on your seatbelt, starting the engine.

And there goes your phone again, dinging from where it sat in the passenger seat.

Better. Much better.

Ominous. Very, very ominous. You didn't know whether to be excited or scared. Regardless, you put your phone back down after replying and began your drive home.

You're scaring me, Tuan. Should I be worried?

Your phone dinged once more as you were driving, but given that you can barely walk and chew gum at the same time, it wasn't wise to try and read a text message while piloting a huge piece of machinery. As you pulled into your driveway, you picked up your phone, killing the engine.

However, just as you were about to reply, a FaceTime request with Mark popped up. You tilted your head slightly in confusion but clicked accept.

"(Y/N)! Are you ready to see your surprise?"

You could barely see him apart from the streetlights on the small screen of your phone, and his did little to illuminate his own face.

"I'm a little nervous... But su-"

The reason you didn't finish your sentence was because you let out an earth shattering scream.

Because there was a knock at your window, which startled you. And peering closer, you saw that none other than your best friend, Mark Yi En Tuan was the one knocking on said window.

It took you a good few minutes to process it. But then you were ecstatic. You threw open the car door, at risk of ripping it off it's hinges, and you embraced Mark in the biggest and tightest hug you ever thought imaginable. You buried your face in his neck, small squeals of surprise and happiness overtaking you as he lifted you off the ground and spun you a bit, hugging you just as tight as you did him.

And you felt your heart ache a little when you two parted.

"What the hell are you doing here?! I thought you were still waiting for your comeback in Korea?"

A beautiful smile graced his face. "This tour is spread to the U.S. as well, and our second concert is in a few days here in L.A."

Your eyes grew rather big as you thought it over. "So does that mean... d-does that mean we can have our amazing spectacular best friend sleep over this year?"

Mark gestured to a miniature suitcase that was on the ground next to him that you assumed had clothes and other necessities in it.

"Yes. This means we can have our amazing spectacular best friend sleep over that I've missed the past four years."

~*~*~*~*~

Mark helped you bring in the groceries and you put them away while he got changed into his pajamas for the night. You couldn't believe this... Your best friend after four years finally comes back -- he remembered and he didn't forget about you and it made your heart swell with contentment. After putting away the groceries, you pulled out a few bags of popcorn and set them in the microwave one by one, filling the huge bowl you had stuffed away in storage, used only once a year at the sleepover. It definitely was dusty, but a good wash had it clean in no time.

You hadn't heard Mark walk in until he came over and rested his chin on your shoulder, a small gesture that you had completely forgotten about and it made you jump slightly. "Popcorn smells good." Mark commented, rubbing his hands up and down your arms, trying to warm them up since externally you were freezing.

However having him this close, with how much he'd grown up and how long you'd been apart, was making your cheeks warm in no time.

"Would you mind watching it for a minute? I'm gonna go change." You told him and he nodded, rubbing your back in a small departure gesture before you scampered off to your room to go change.

This kid was gonna be the death of you eventually.

You decided on a pair of black shorts and a white tank top with a pair of fuzzy grey socks, appropriate sleep over attire, making sure nothing important was on display before you walked out to see him pouring the last of the popcorn in the bowl, filling it to the brim.

You watched him as he did it. He certainly had matured from the awkward, cute kid you knew him as... He had gotten much taller, and thankfully they had let his brown hair live to see another day. It was slightly long, not too much, and his skin was tanner though only by a little. His shoulders were more broad, his shirt leaving little to the imagination as it clung to his body. He wasn't muscular, but lean -- and the veins in his forearms were definitely not helping with your act of playing cool around him.

"(Y/N)?"

You snapped out of your daze, just in time to see him throwing a few pieces of popcorn into his mouth, sucking off the butter and salt from his fingers and dear god that wasn't helping. You tried to ignore the smirk on his face, walking up to him and grabbing a few pieces of popcorn for yourself. Opening the fridge, you grabbed a few sodas and walked out to the living room, setting down the sodas on the entertainment center before going to pull out the futon.

"So-" Mark began, putting down the popcorn and nudging you aside so he could do it for you -- though not that you were complaining, it gave you ample time to lowkey watch his physique. "What are we watching tonight?" He said with slight strain to his voice as he pulled it out, grabbing the pillows off the floor and tossed them on the bed, plopping down with the bowl of popcorn in hands.

"Well, as much as I wish to torture you with romance films and chick flicks-" you started, sitting up at the far right corner of the bed, grabbing the blanket as you were cold, "I think I need a few laughs. You up for a comedy?" You asked and he grinned brightly. "When am I ever not up for comedy?"

You two ended up watching White Chicks, followed by Anchor Man, and then binged on a few episodes of Fraizer. You missed it. Laughing with him until your sides hurt, throwing popcorn at one another, poking each other randomly just because -- you missed the friendship, the closeness, you missed him. God, it'd been four years since you'd seen him and it felt good to laugh out the frustration you had the past few years without him.

"(Y/N)? Wanna play a game?"

This caught your attention. Games with Mark were dangerous.. Mainly due to the fact that it was typically truth or dare, and the last time you played that with Mark you nearly broke your ankle after running around outside in nothing but a BatMan onsie, yelling "ASK ME ABOUT MY WEINER" at four in the morning four a solid minute.

That was when you were thirteen and ''Forgetting Sarah Marshall'' was the shit.

But for some reason, you always agreed.

And here you were, six truths in from either side, and two dares from his side. You found out what kind of girls he dated in Korea if any, he found out that you watched the same K-Dramas Yugyeom did. They were all normal and not as mean as you knew Mark out to be in these types of games.

Which was suspicious as all hell.

"Alright, Mark. Truth or dare?" You had an overly dramatic tone to your voice, and he chuckled lowly, his eyes never leaving yours from where he sat on the opposite side of the bed before answering just as dramatically. "Dare."

Well that was a change.

You thought for a minute before a small smirk came over your face. He'd been playing with you all night, at least it felt that way in your head, with lingering stares and touches, so now it was time for a little teasing in return.

"Mr. Tuan, I dare you to tell me your kinks."

Mark pinked sightly, but brushed it off easily. "And here I thought you were going hard on me-" he laughed and you thought you'd caught a glimpse of silver, but you just nudged it away as he responded.

"Well, it's definitely been a while...Almost too long since I've gotten any with schedules. But my kinks definitely revolve around," Mark licked his lips and you saw it. The two silver barbells just underneath his tongue. "Using my tongue." Fuck, if that didn't have your panties flooded by now, you didn't know what else would. You often imagined what it'd be like to kiss Mark, but after seeing those it brought a whole new perspective into light.

You shook your head slightly, running a hand through your hair. "Y-Your t-turn."

Mark pretended to think for a minute before biting his lower lip, looking down at you. "Dare or Dare?" You scoffed, "it's truth or dare!" You protested and he shook his head. "No, you've been picking truths all this time! Come on, (Y/N) live a little!"

With a groan, you planted your face into your palms. "Fine, dare." You grumbled.

"I dare you to give me a hickey."

Your head shot up, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.

"I-I beg your p-pardon?"

"Give."

"Me."

"A hickey."

"You know, those marks you leave on someone's neck or chest or hi-"

You squeaked at his teasing words, scrambling to shove your hands over his mouth. "H-Hey, I know what it is! I don't need an explanation!" You yelled and he laughed, grabbing your wrist and pulling you fully to sit on his lap, your legs wrapped around his hips and your faces dangerously close.

"If you're not comfortable, we don't ha-"

Mustering up what little courage you had, you cut him off mid sentence.

"I'll do it."

That certainly got his attention. A big smirk spread across his face, and he bit his lip before slightly lifting his head so you got more access. "Do your worst, (Y/N)." And you were more than happy to. All the teasing from his end was about to get handed back to him, and you couldn't be more enthralled.

So, you got to work. You made little kitten licks up the side of his jugular, blowing cool air on his skin to which you saw goosebumps forming already. You placed a small open-mouthed kiss just at his pulse point, feeling him shudder and he could feel you smile against his skin as he gripped your thighs slightly.

"Someone's enjoying themselves."

He scoffed, "don't make me laugh, (Y/N)-"

To cut him off, you bit down into the skin, just hard enough to get his attention, you sucked lightly at the skin until a small red and purple mark formed, and you pulled back after a small kiss of apology to the blooming bruise on his neck. He was breathing heavy, his lower lip worried in between his teeth so badly you were fearing he'd draw blood. He wouldn't let go of your thighs either, his grip having hardened throughout the ordeal.

"Are you satis-"

Then he attacked. His lips clashed with yours, one hand moving up from grabbing at your thighs to grip the back of your neck, pushing your lips closer together if that was even possible, the other still massaging his own set of bruises into your thigh. He lightly pushed you down towards the bed, and you felt two small, cold steel balls at your bottom lip, asking for entrance.

He had his tongue pierced, as you previously suspected. That was fucking hot.

You allowed him entrance, and the two of you kissed languidly, your hands curling in his hair and when you pulled away, he was still chasing your lips for more. His hands were halfway up your shirt, dancing along your ribs and pulling it up but not all the way to where you'd be entirely exposed to him.

"D-Does this m-mean that-"

"Yes, (Y/N), it means I like you back. And it also means I'd very much like to stop being your best friend and start being your boyfriend."

A small flush of pink dusts your cheeks as you looked up at him in awe. "You knew I liked you? All this time?"

He smiled brightly, a small laugh leaving his throat. "I had the suspicion when I left for Korea. You only confirmed it just now with that hickey. No person I know would give their best friends a hickey that well if they were just best friends-" He brushed a strand of hair away from your face. You sighed, opening your mouth to make a smart ass retort when he leaned down and gave you another kiss that took your breath away in seconds.

He let his lips trail further until they were at the top of your sternum, just between your breasts and he sucked a dark mark into the skin, doing the same to the spot where your neck met your shoulder. Oh, your friends were never going to let you live that down. But then again, you were almost positive that you didn't mind it with how he was making you feel right now. It blew your mind to think that your best friend of so long could make a fire erupt in the pit of your stomach in mere seconds.

However, he stopped and pulled back, a concerned look on his face. "So is that a yes?"

With a huge grin, you nodded in response.

"But that makes me better than Gong Yoo and Park Hyung Sik, right?"

With a chortle, you rolled the two of you over so you were straddling his waist, you leaned down and kissed him sensually, your knew-found knowledge of making out servicing you well. When you pulled away, you dismissed his worries.

"You're better. Much better."

general masterlist

#mark tuan #got7 #got7 scenarios #got7 imagines

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