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norrisreads · 1 year

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illicit affairs #CL16 #MS47

PAIRING: charles leclerc x ex-gf reader! mick schumacher x reader!

SUMMARY: he was once the man you’ve always dreamed of, until one day a decision made drunkenly by him made you realised you were never the chosen one

WARNING: angst + cheating, fluff at the end

masterlists

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

2018

being in a relationship has it’s ups and downs, not everyday is full of smiles and laughters, some times it’s deadly silence just like the situation right now between you and charles

you were in a relationship with charles leclerc eversince 2016, you’ve seen him won the formula 2 championship, jumping to formula 1, you were there when he went through hard times, there were days you had to put him over yourself and you’ve never once regretted it.

But here you are, in a relationship that’s full of rocky roads. Charles and you met through his younger brother arthur, you were just a year older than Arthur, and the both of you used to hangout at the leclerc’s apartment daily as the both of you were and still has a close friendship. Arthur had given an advice to you in the early stages of dating with his brother, an advice you should’ve listen clearly.

“i’ll pack my things later, and i’m moving out tomorrow charles” the both of you is currently in the kitchen, you sitting down sipping on your warm honey lemon tea and him just munching down on the breakfast you’ve made for him

“i’m sorry, i swear i do not know what came on to me. she just happened to be there, i should have pushed her, cherie” you heard the metal fork cling as it came in contact with the marble counter top, you refused to believe the news that was trending everywhere

Formula One driver Charles Leclerc caught cheating on his fiancé, y/n l/n last night

When you were woken up by Arthur calls, you were confused of course until you clicked on the link that was send to you from Arthur. Ironically last night, you were on the call with him frantically worrying on Charles whereabouts, other than being woken up by Arthur’s morning calls, you were greeted by the sight of Charles sprawled out on the sofa in the living room.

All the times you were asking for signs if he was made for you, and even though the news did broke your heart, it showed the truth to you and made you realise that you wouldn’t want to spend your precious moments crying and fixing a relationship that is probably isn’t even worth it anymore.

“Sorry doesn’t fix the heartache i woke up to this morning, Charles. If this relationship isn’t worth the fight for you, you could have ask for a break and not cheat on me with someone else. That is so low of you, you knew how cheating affects me, you promised you will never do what he did and here you are proving me wrong”

“i know mon cherie, i am aware and i am so sorry. all i can do right now is to apologise to you, i am so sorry. i love you, i really do. you’ll always be the person my heart beats for cherie, please listen to me” you could hear Charles footsteps approaching you

“sometimes i wish you are able to see how much i sacrifice myself for you, when you were devastated from losing races, i would drop every single thing i was doing and run to you, calm you down.” you could feel tears running down your cheeks, reminiscing the memories the both of you have made together, from bad memories to good memories

“i supported you in every races no matter how exhausted i was, i would pray everyday that you wouldn’t crash and hurt yourself or blame yourself. I had to turn down job offers because i know that i am your number one support system, and i’ll always have to be there” his hand reached yours and tightly gripping it not letting you go

“but I’m exhausted Charles, I’m exhausted that i am always the one putting so much more effort in the relationship, i know you’re fighting for your dreams but what about mine? You’ve never asked about it, i know so much of you yet you know so little of me. I’m sorry Charles, if this happened a year ago, i would have accepted you back in my life but i’m not her anymore.” you let go of his hand, walking to the sink of the shared kitchen and washed the mug

Charles of course had nothing to say because he knew how badly he has been treating you, especially when whatever you’ve spilled your hearts out were accurate, he knew too little of you.

“where are you going to stay, will you be at Arthur’s ?”

“i will crash over at Arthur’s until i found a place, you shouldn’t be concerned where i am staying, be more concerned with Arthur, he’s fuming Charles. He’s your brother, fix the relationship”

with that, you walked to the shared room and started packing your items while Charles left the house to give you space.

what Charles doesn’t know is that you had been blessed with a gift, but for now that is just for you to know.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

2021

Just 2 and a half years ago, on the 14th of February 2019, your baby girl was born into the world. Of course, Arthur, Pascale and Lorenzo knew about the pregnancy and promised to keep it a secret from him.

When you left the house, you were 2 weeks pregnant, you managed to settle in to an apartment nearby Arthur’s apartment due to safety reasons. You were glad that you’ve rarely bumped into Charles, because as of now you’re unsure if you would wanna let Charles know of the child that the both of you shared.

Pascale would constantly come over to provide assistance and you were glad she was there for you even when you aren’t apart of the family anymore.

Just a year after you’ve left, Charles had gotten in-to a relationship, Arthur would always talk to you about how she wasn’t you and it’ll end with you lecturing him on how he should’ve been happy for his brother instead of hating his relationship.

“she’s not you, y/n. she’s just so different” Arthur shouted across the living room while entertaining your daughter, Valentiné Aurore Hervé Leclerc.

Your lovely 2 and a half years old babygirl, Valentiné Aurore Hervé Leclerc, is the greatest gift to you, she was your strength and the reason you are still in this world.

Of course, you did struggled being a single parent but the support you’ve received from your family, friends and his family was never-ending.

“don’t say that thur, i’m sure she’s great and just shy. he’s happy, let him be thur” you lightly hit the back of Arthur’s head

“look baby val, your mum just hit me on the head” all val did was laughed and continued playing with the toys Enzo had gifted, with the exact same eye-smile Charles had

“would you ever let Charles know about val?” Arthur asked, taking a seat beside you

“of course, i wouldn’t mind because val deserves to know his dad too” you smiled while looking at your baby-girl playing

“though i prefer Charles to just be an uncle, rather than a dad. Furthermore she loves the existence of him, sooner or later she’s gonna call him papa”

“I’m glad you’ve found someone that truly treasure you, he’s a great person though you have to seriously stop dating drivers.”

the both of you laughed, and as you were speaking about him, you heard the keypad of your house door being key-ed in and just a minute later the door of your house opened.

“miiiiiicckkkkkkkkyyy” val dropped her toys and ran to mick.

mick placed his items on the counter top and picked up val, “how’s my favourite girl doing?” while giving kisses to your baby-girl

mick walked towards you and Arthur, “ thanks thur for your help, you’ve been nothing but nice to us”

“it’s alright mick, though i’ll prefer you to be away so val will start loving me more” arthur joked knowing before mick came into val’s life, arthur was her favourite uncle

“hello baby, I dropped by the restaurant and bought the soup that you were craving for, i hope it’s still hot though” Mick gave you a forehead kiss while holding val on the other arm of his.

Thur picked up his bags and said his goodbyes.

you are currently dating Mick Schumacher, the relationship has been since end 2020, you’ve met him when you were working at your cafe and happened to serve him and he happened to take a liking towards you. Mick knew of Charles and you history and have assured you that he does not really mind and he truly appreciate both val and you.

When val turned two years old, mick had brought her to one of val’s biggest dream place ever as all other kids calls it, Disneyland and spend the whole day with her and you’ve could see the look on val’s face that only lights up when she’s around Mick and realised that this was the man that you would want to build up your future with.

Charles knew about your relationship, with the presence of you you standing beside mick supporting him during the races.

You weren’t always there for the races but since it was mick’s first few races, you wanted it to be special for the both of you. Val was sleeping over at your best friend for the day, inviting her would’ve caused a huge mess between the both of you especially with the first glance of your daughter, anyone could tell she is related to Charles Leclerc.

Of course it was a surprise to him, leading him to text Arthur right after the both of you had a 5 minute conversation together.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

2022 MONACO GP

“okay baby, stay by mama and don’t run anywhere else okay? papa is gonna be busy for a while and you’ll able to see him on this track” you were instructing val to not run away, val has turned out to be a daddy’s girl ever-since Mick came in-to her life, being away from Mick for a few days was torture to her(us), face-timing was the usuals for the three of us.

of course, hiding val on the way to the paddock was hard enough, you had to ask gina’s help which she did assist in and came by earlier than you and Mick in order to avoid the assumptions.

“but will papa see me here? will he wave at me and you, mama?”

you’re now carrying your daughter on your other arm, while she’s fidgeting with the lanyards around her neck.

“i’m not sure baby, papa’s car pass by super fast val. they’re faster than the cars we have at home,baby”

val nods her head and snuggled her head onto your neck, signalling that she was sleepy.

“baby, you sleepy? wanna head back to the room?” she agreed as she had spend her afternoon nap being awake following Mick around everywhere.

On the way to the haas paddock club, you were on your phone, single handedly texting gina if she could bring out the blankets that was in your bag as she was still at the club waiting for Mick’s team meeting to be done.

until you bumped on-to someone, and that someone just happened to be him.

just when you’re holding your daughter, what a great timing

“mama, why stop?” Val’s rubbing her eyes wondering and snuggling back on to your neck

“a moment baby, just get back to sleeping okay?” rubbing val’s back soothing her down to get her back to sleeping.

Charles was shocked yet confused on why you’re holding a child and the said child was calling you mama. Charles knew your relationship with Mick had just been ongoing for 3 years and he knew that the little girl that you were carrying is more than 3 years old, but what he didn’t know was that the little girl on your arm was his own daughter that he had no clue off.

“y/n, you’ve never told me you had a daughter?” charles stopped in his tracks and you could see behind him was arthur and lorenzo, with a shocked face.

“oh look charles, you’re late to your team meeting. Let’s go carlos is probably finding for you” enzo distracting him, but it was no help because he was still there staring at you and your daughter.

at this point you were looking at arthur for help but from the facial expression on arthur’s you knew he had zero plans to back you up.

“yeah haha it’s something i’ve kept private” you tried to walk away but he stopped you and take a look at val’s lanyard that was around her neck.

and one thing you didn’t realise was mick had given the staffs val’s full name to print out on her paddock pass, and that is when charles realised he has a daughter.

“valentiné aurore herve leclerc?”

oh yeah we are so fuck, by we it’s lorenzo, arthur and i.

you were looking at arthur and lorenzo with wide eyes.

“the both of you are aware of this?” charles turned to both of them and questioned the both of his brothers with disbelief

“it’s not their fault, i made them promised to not tell anyone”

“why didn’t you tell me? i am her father” at this point you could see people were curious on the conversation that was happening, because why would mick’s current girlfriend be seen having an intense conversation with Charles Leclerc?

“let’s talk later, she needs her nap. i’ll come over to arthur’s apartment and explain everything ” and charles knew that tone of your voice, the one where you would always use when you’re anxious or nervous and charles agreed on meeting you at arthur’s apartment

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

ARTHUR’S APARTMENT

Mick knew what had happened when you bumped you onto Charles, Mick wanted to accompany the both of you to Arthur’s apartment and be there for you while you explained things to Charles, and of course you agreed.

You knocked Arthur’s door, and you were greeted by pascale.

“i’m sorry darling, I tried but he was too persistent” she apologised to you, holding your hand giving you comfort

“it’s fine, it’s time i guess” you smiled at her

when you’ve reached Arthur’s living room you could feel the tension between the three brothers, you took a seat beside Arthur and Val automatically went to Arthur’s Lap.

Mick sat beside you, rubbing your back, calming down your nerves.

“val baby, come to papa. don’t bother uncle thur” mick called out to your daughter which she listened and walked over to Mick’s lap and mick carried her to arthur’s guest room which pascale followed behind.

Charles cleared his throat, “tell me from the start”

“when we broke off and i left, i found out I was 2 weeks pregnant”

“and you didn’t think of telling me?”

“it was hard Charles, i didn’t want you to stay with me just because i was carrying your daughter”

“continue” charles head in his hand, stressing over this situation

“i kept it of course as you can see, but please don’t blame it on lorenzo and arthur. i’ve made them swore they wouldn’t tell you, i didn’t wanna ruin your career. I was gonna tell you, just not now. I was thinking of telling you when val’s gonna understand the situation more. Mick knows about us and he was there for me for everything”

“I could’ve helped you, y/n. as a friend I could’ve helped you. she has my dna, she’s mine, i deserve to be in her life too, does she know?”

“she knows her father’s absence in her life, but she doesn’t know it’s you. we’ve never really talked about it”

“why the name? why did you used my last name, if you didn’t want me to be in her life y/n?”

“She’s apart of you, of course i had to include that and she looks exactly like you, no matter how much i refuse to believe’s she from you i had to accept it”

Charles walked over and sat beside you and held your hand.

“please let me be in her life. not as a father but as someone she deserves to know. i don’t mind Mick being her father, he deserves that title, but just let me be in my daughter’s life”

you agreed to charles, because as much as you disliked Charles, you didn’t want your daughter to grow up not knowing how does her biological dad looks like and starts questioning if she ever did something wrong.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

2023

Charles took the time to get to know val more, Mick and you would allow Charles over to let him have his own time with his daughter or they would sometimes have a day to their own.

Val knew who charles were but wasn’t really keen in calling him papa, as for the past few years Mick was more of a father figure to her rather than Charles.

As much as Charles was disappointed, he understood where she was coming from but he was glad Val had accepted him in her life not as a father but as some she would like to keep close contact with.

As for you, you’ve still kept the news of you having a child private, though there were rumours speculating around which you didn’t really pay attention to but you felt that it wasn’t a need for you to go public that you had a love child with their favourite driver.

Mick’s gotten signed to Mercedes and since he was a reserve driver, he would spend most of the time at the paddock with val and val has never been much more happier being close to her papa.

She would sometimes be in the Ferrari’s building or Mercedes’. Of course other than P, and the other driver’s children’s, val is currently the favourite especially amongst Charles and Mick’s circles of friends.

You were glad that the heavy weight on your shoulders was lifted off. Though, it took you a while to let Charles know about val, it’s all sorted out and you’re glad.

—✩࿐ end note: thanks for reading! wanted to end it off more angst less fluff but dad! mick just warms my heart, i’m still finding for good ig post templates or twitter templates! other than that, i hope you enjoyed reading! ♥️

#mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher x you #f1 x y/n #f1 x reader #f1 fics #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc angst #f1 masterlist

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theostrophywife · 7 months

Text

kiss with a fist | chapter ten.

masterlist 💋 chapters 💋 playlist

pairing: theodore nott x reader.

song inspiration: the way i loved you - taylor swift.

author's note: get in, besties. we're crawling out of the trenches. i hope ya'll aren't too mad at me after this.

The fallout from your fight with Theo wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be. Mostly because you spent the entire weekend holed up in your dorm and avoiding the nuclear aftermath. It was a coward’s approach, but you were content to let sleeping dogs lie. You didn’t know if you could bear facing the others.

The newfound friendships you had formed with the Slytherins were all sure to implode given the circumstances. Theo was one of their oldest friends and they were loyal to their own. Once Theo told them what had gone down between you, they would undoubtedly take his side. You would've. The worst part was, you couldn't even blame them for it.

The argument with Theo hurt. Because you knew each other so well, he knew exactly what to say to push your buttons. You were so, so angry in the moment, but the more that time passed, you could see that you were both in the wrong. Yes, Theo shouldn't have acted like an emotionally constipated twat, but you also could've approached the situation better. Instead, the two of you crashed and burned, imploding whatever precarious thing you had built up over the past few months. You were afraid that your newfound friendships with the others would become collateral damage.

The possibility of losing all of them filled you with unbearable sadness. You cried in bed until you were sure that you couldn’t possibly have anything left in you and then you cried some more. Luna was obviously very concerned on your behalf. She had never seen you cry, so you could only imagine how incredibly jarring it was for her to witness you sob for three days straight.

To her credit, Luna never judged you for any of it. She just let you feel the range of emotions you’ve been holding back for months, often rubbing your back and fixing you a soothing cup of tea. Every now and then she’d ask if you’d like to come to the Great Hall for a meal, but you declined each time. You wanted to put off the inevitable for as long as possible.

When Monday crept around and hiding in your dorm was no longer an option, you carefully timed your arrival and departure to class so that you wouldn’t run into any of them. Especially not Theo.

The plan was working well and you successfully avoided everyone until Wednesday afternoon. You had just gotten out of History of Magic when Mattheo and Enzo cornered you. They were both out of breath and sweaty, presumably from quidditch practice.

“Y/N!” Enzo called from across the hall. You froze and rounded the corner, hoping to lose them in the crowd.

“I know you see us, Y/N!” Mattheo called after you.

Unfortunately, they were much faster and caught up to you easily. You clutched your books in your arms like a safety blanket. “I have to go to class.”

“No, you don’t,” Enzo said. “History of Magic is your last class of the day. We used to study after, remember? Before you decided to ditch us.”

“I’m not ditching anyone,” you countered defensively.

“Is that why we haven’t seen you for four days?” Mattheo pondered. “You don’t eat meals with us. You don’t attend game nights. You don’t let us walk you to class. Sounds like a classic ditching to me, Y/N.”

“Look, it’s just…complicated right now, okay.” You sighed, adjusting the strap of your satchel. “With everything that happened with Theo, I thought it would be best to keep my distance.”

“Is that why he’s been moodier than usual?” Enzo asked. “You two had a fight?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

Mattheo shook his head. “He nearly took my head off at practice, but when I tried to ask what the bloody hell was up his arse, the git just stormed off. I should’ve known it was because of you.”

You flinched. Enzo elbowed Mattheo in the ribs, which caused the latter to grumble dramatically. “What Mattheo meant to say is that ever since you stopped coming around, Theo’s been in a proper foul mood.” Enzo placed a hand on your shoulder. “What exactly happened between the two of you?”

The tears spilled out before you could stop them. You had done your best to keep it together during classes and club meetings and even prefect duties, but that one simple question seemed to push you over the edge. What happened between you and Theo? Your friendship, rivalry, flirtation, whatever had been forming these past few months had blown up in your face and you had been the one to light the match.

Before you knew what was happening, Enzo crushed you into a hug. “It’s okay, Y/N. You don’t have to tell us.”

“It’s bad, Enz. I fucked up. I fucked up really bad.”

To your surprise, Mattheo rubbed your back despite the mild discomfort on his face from seeing you cry. “Whatever it is, I’m sure you and Theo can fix it. You two are crazy about each other.”

“You don’t understand, Mattheo. We said some really awful things to each other. I think—I think I really hurt him. I figured he would have told you all by now and that it would mean the end of my friendship with everyone.”

“No way,” Mattheo countered. “You’re only just admitting that we’re friends. I’m not letting all that hard work go to waste.”

You chuckled, wiping a tear away with the back of your hand. Enzo grinned, pinching your cheek. “There’s that smile. Mattheo’s right. We wouldn’t drop you just because you and Theo are fighting.”

“The fight was my fault,” you sniffled. “I took it too far and I said some things that I really, really regret. I would understand if you took his side.”

“We’re not taking sides,” Enzo assured you. “You’re both our friends. We care about you equally.”

“But you’ve known Theo your whole lives.”

“Exactly,” Mattheo said with a nod. “We know how frustrating he can be sometimes. Even with us, Theo’s not exactly the most open person in the world. But something changed when you started becoming closer. You changed him, Y/N.”

“We all felt it,” Enzo added. “He started opening up more. Even talked about his mum and he never talks about his mum. I suspect you had something to do with that.” You felt the tears well up again. “My point is, it would be silly to let one little fight ruin a friendship. We’re definitely not letting it ruin ours.

Mattheo draped a shoulder over you. “You’re one of us now, Y/N. There’s no getting rid of us.”

Your heart felt like it might burst as you pulled the two boys into a group hug. Enzo chuckled as you practically crushed him and Mattheo ruffled your hair, messing up the neat braid you had arranged it in.

“If either one of you tell anyone about this, I’ll slip a whiz-bang underneath your pillows.”

"There's the Y/N we know and love," Mattheo said with a grin. "Now come on, you're coming to dinner with us."

"We're not taking no for an answer either," Enzo stated when he saw the hesitation on your face.

You chuckled. "It's Wednesday," you recalled, training your suspicion towards Mattheo. "You just want me to come to dinner so I can stop Malfoy from taking the last red velvet cupcake, don't you?"

Mattheo huffed in indignation. "Can't I be a good friend and secure my sweets at the same time?"

"You're officially demoted to acquaintance, Riddle."

He gasped dramatically. "You take that back, Y/N!"

The knot in your stomach eased as the three of you made your way over to the Great Hall. The reconciliation didn't fully rid you of the guilt and anxiety, but at least it was a start.

"Well, well, well," Draco drawled as he raised a pale brow at you. "Look who decided to join us."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Don't mind him. He's just upset you haven't been around to help touch up his roots."

"I'll have you know I'm a natural blonde, Zabini!"

"Merlin, all that bleach has truly seeped into your head," you quipped back.

The boys smiled as you took your seat. You appreciated how easy it was to slip back into things. They seemed to know that silly banter and arguments over cupcakes were exactly what you needed. You knew that they had to be at least a little bit curious about your situation with Theo, but they didn't pry. You would tell them when you were ready.

For now, it was just nice to sit and eat dinner with your friends.

After reconciling with Draco and Blaise in the Great Hall over dinner, you were at least comforted by the fact that none of the Slytherins hated you. With the exception of Theo and probably Pansy as well. Out of the entire group, she was probably the one that you were scared to face the most. You had made an entire deal out of threatening her not to hurt Luna and then turned around and did the same exact thing to one of her closest friends instead.

She had to be beyond angry. You put off speaking with her until the last possible second. As you walked back to your dorm that Friday night, you were nearly shaking with anticipation. You knew that Pansy would be studying with Luna before heading off on their weekly date night.

You winced as you opened the door. As expected, Luna and Pansy were sprawled out on the rug, surrounded by parchment and ink.

“Hi, Y/N,” greeted Luna.

“Hi, Loons,” you said, fidgeting by the door. You had never felt more uncomfortable than when Pansy turned over to look at you. “Hi…Pansy.”

“Y/N,” she said simply. Her glossy bob curved perfectly underneath her cheekbone as she turned towards you. “We’re finishing up here so you’ll have the room to yourself.”

You swallowed thickly. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you. If you don’t mind.”

Luna closed her book. “Would you like a moment alone, Y/N?”

“No,” you said a bit quickly. “Stay, Loons. I could use the emotional support.”

Your friend smiled and shot a pleading look at her girlfriend. Pansy conceded with a nod. “Are you going to finally tell me what the hell’s going on between you and Theo?”

You sighed, sitting cross legged on the rug between them. “We had a fight.”

“I gathered as much. Theo said something stupid, didn’t he? He always does when he gets scared of his own emotions.”

“We both said really stupid things to each other. I…think I took it too far though. I hit him where it hurts. Used his own words against him. I really hurt him, Pansy.” You averted your gaze, picking at the rug beneath you. “That’s why I’ve been skipping meals and avoiding everyone. Especially you. I know how much you care about the boys, and I really fucked it up with Theo. I understand if you’re mad at me, but I just want you to know that I really regret it.”

The Slytherin girl appraised you for a moment. You had never been one to shy away from scrutiny, but you felt incredibly small as Pansy looked you over. You deserved whatever condemnation and vitriol she wanted to throw your way. You braced yourself for the worst as you met her gaze, but all you found was hurt in Pansy's expression.

“I’m not mad at you because you got into a fight with Theo,” Pansy said. “That’s his and your business to sort out. I’m mad because you just pulled away from all of us without saying anything. You assumed we’d drop you, so you did it first."

“And it was really stupid of me, but I know how loyal you are to each other and I hurt one of you. I didn’t know how to face everyone.”

“You’re one of us too, Y/N,” Pansy declared. You felt your eyes brimming with tears as Luna squeezed your hand. “Not because you’re my girlfriend’s best friend, but because you’ve become my friend too. It hurt that you pushed us all away.”

“I’m so sorry, Pans.”

She sighed and awkwardly patted your back. Clearly displays of emotion were a completely foreign concept to the two of you. Luckily, Luna more than made up for the uncertainty. She nudged Pansy gently.

“It’s alright, Y/N. I get it, truly. If there’s anything Slytherins understand, it’s the sin of pride. We’re all quite good at hiding behind our cozy little walls of self preservation, as Lu likes to say. That’s exactly what Theo’s doing now.”

“How is he?” you asked hoarsely.

Not being able to see or speak to Theo this week had been hell. It felt like a part of you was missing. Like you were trying to function without a vital organ. As terrified as you were to admit it, Theo had become as essential as breathing.

Somewhere between your late night talks at the Black Lake, your childish arguments about pumpkin flavored creamers in the Great Hall, and sneaking him into Ravenclaw Tower to watch the stars in the common room, Theo's presence had become so ingrained in your life that its sudden absence felt like losing a limb. You didn't just miss him. You felt entirely lost without him.

“I won’t sugarcoat it. Theo’s not well. He’s moody and cranky and snaps at the smallest things.” You winced. “It’s not entirely your fault. I pushed him to tell you. Hell, we all did. I think we might’ve overwhelmed him.”

“Tell me what?”

Pansy smiled sadly. “I think you know.”

“I don’t.”

She sighed. “You two are so alike. Ignoring things that are right in front of you. Stubborn as hell, too. It’s bloody frustrating.”

“Sounds like someone I know,” Luna added softly.

Pansy chuckled. “Point taken, Lu.” The two of them smiled softly at each other, which made you grin a little. They were so obviously smitten and you were happy for both of your friends.

It made your heart ache all over again. You never knew how much you wanted that. That closeness, that intimacy. And all it took was a stupid, idiotic fight to realize that you already had it all along.

“When we came back from Hogsmeade, I took Theo aside and asked him about the two of you. Anyone with an ounce of common sense could tell that he's head over heels for you, but he was being an absolute wanker and stalling so I thought I’d give him a push.” Pansy crossed her legs, looking troubled. “I told him that he couldn’t keep ignoring his feelings, which is classic Theodore behavior. After some convincing, he said that he would tell you the following night.”

“The night of the slug club dinner.”

Pansy nodded. “Theo left the common room with a bouquet of wisterias. The boys gave him so much shit for it, but he walked out with a smile.”

A bouquet of wisterias. Like the one you’d seen in the bin outside of Ravenclaw Tower. You had plucked a flower from it and pressed it into one of your journals.

“I didn’t see him that night.”

“I think he might’ve gotten scared and abandoned the plan altogether,” Pansy confirmed. “I figured this week was just Theo’s way of coping. He has a bad habit of running away from things when they get too real.”

“We have that in common.”

“Trust me, we noticed.”

Luna nudged Pansy with her elbow. You covered your face with your hands and sighed in frustration. “What do I do now, Pans? How do I fix this?”

“I promised not to meddle,” Pansy started. You nodded, knowing that there were boundaries that you couldn’t ask her to cross. “But if I happen to accidentally leave the passcode to the Slytherin dorms as well as the proper spells to get past Theo’s door laying around, then I can’t be blamed if someone comes across it. After all, it’s not like I’d purposely do anything to reconcile two blubbering idiots who are so obviously miserable without each other."

She scribbled furiously on a piece of parchment and slid the page over to you. Her gaze softened. “Look, Y/N. I’ve been friends with Theo for a long, long time. He has a hard time letting people in and you did it so easily that I think it terrified him. As hard as it may be, you’re going to have to tell him how you feel. You can’t dance around it anymore. He deserves more than that. You deserve more than that.”

You nodded, taking her words to heart. “Thank you, Pansy. To truly show my appreciation, I won’t make you hug me.”

Her mouth quirked. “I knew I liked you for a reason.”

Luna beamed. She pulled you in for a hug and squeezed extra tight. “Good luck, Y/N. Remember what I said. Lead with your heart, not with your head.”

Lead with your heart, not with your head.

Your best friend’s words echoed over and over in your head as you paced across Theo’s dorm. Thanks to Pansy’s thorough instructions, you managed to sneak through the dungeons and into his room without any problems. Sneaking in had been a piece of cake, but forcing yourself to stay was another story.

Logically, you knew that only fifteen minutes had passed since your crime of breaking and entering, but it felt like an eternity. Your palms were sweaty, your head was spinning, and your stomach was twisted into knots. You were bloody nervous.

What if Theo didn’t want to see you? What if he turned you away? Oh gods, what if he came in here with another girl—

You shook your head so violently that you were surprised that you hadn’t given yourself whiplash. For Godric’s fucking sake. You truly needed to get it together.

The door swung open and Theo threw his quidditch bag on the floor whilst kicking off his shoes. He nearly tossed his Nimbus right at your head, but you dodged it with a yelp at the last possible second.

Theo whirled around, his eyes widening in surprise. “Merlin's fucking beard, you scared the bloody hell out of me!” He propped his broom up against the wall and crossed his arms. “What are you doing here, Y/N?”

In the dim dungeon lighting, you could see the heavy bags underneath those watercolor eyes. Theo looked like he hadn’t slept in days and a part of you felt guilty for contributing to his distress. Despite practicing outside for hours, he looked paler than usual like the color had seeped out of his skin. You didn't imagine that you looked any better.

Seeing Theo again was harder than you thought it would be. It was like receiving the kiss of life and having the breath knocked out of your lungs all at once. Every fiber in your being, every nerve ending, every cell and neuron came alive at the sight of him. Theo was the sun and you were just a wandering star resisting his gravitational pull.

You fidgeted with your fingers. “Pansy let me in.”

“Clearly my protection charms are ineffective against meddling witches,” Theo declared loudly, probably half expecting Pansy to be eavesdropping on the conversation.

“Don’t be mad at Pansy. She was just trying to help me because she knew how badly I needed to talk to you.”

He sighed and closed the door behind him. Theo stayed put by the doorway as though he was afraid to take another step closer. You couldn’t blame him. “I heard you loud and clear during our last conversation.”

“That’s the thing. I’ve gone over that conversation over and over again in my head and I can’t even figure out what we were really even fighting about. I said some truly awful things and I’m—“ you paused, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry for that, Theo.”

You wrung your hands together and averted his gaze. “If you couldn’t tell by now, I’m sort of shit at this whole vulnerability thing.”

“No fucking shit.”

A part of you knew you deserved that, but it didn’t hurt any less. You took a shaky breath, intent on focusing solely on the rug beneath your feet to keep yourself from crying.

Theo came closer, his lanky frame coming into view. The smell of sweat and sea salt and cigarette smoke was so overwhelming that it made you feel a bit homesick. “Sorry, force of habit." He sat down next to you, nudging you with his shoulder. You swallowed thickly, wondering how in the hell that tiny bit of contact instantly soothed your nerves. "To be fair, I wasn’t entirely innocent in that exchange either. I said some horrible things too and it's eaten away at me all week. I'm sorry, Y/N. I was a complete arsehole to you."

“Yeah, I guess we’re both pretty big arseholes.”

His throaty chuckle sounded like music to your ears. “Is that it? You broke into my dorm just to call me an arsehole?”

You shook your head and forced yourself to look up at him. The fact that he was this close yet you weren't able to touch him made you physically ill. “No. During our fight, you said that I had no idea how you felt and you’re right. I don’t. I think I was just so hurt when you said that you weren’t my friend that I flew off the handle and didn’t even give any consideration to how you felt.”

Theo clenched his jaw. “I don’t blame you. I was being an absolute prick when I said that.” His voice grew softer as he came closer. “What I really meant was that I didn’t want to be just friends. I was going to tell you.”

The pieces started coming together. He had been outside Ravenclaw Tower when Harry had dropped you off. “The night of the slug club dinner. Pansy said you were coming to talk to me and that you left the common room with flowers in your hand.”

He frowned. “I’m going to need to have a serious talk with Pansy about the importance of confidentiality. But yes, I had a whole speech prepared for you. I was going to pour my little heart out to you that night.”

“So why didn’t you?”

Theo clenched his fists and avoided your gaze. “I saw you kissing Potter.”

“You were jealous.”

It was more of a statement than a question. The entire thing clicked into place for you then. The discarded bouquet. The strange behavior afterwards. Theo had seen you kiss Harry on the cheek and mistook it for something else entirely.

“I wanted to rip him to shreds.” Theo shifted beside you and sighed deeply. "I was so angry. At him, at you, but most of all, at myself. I saw you two together and I realized that Harry is the type of man you deserve. A good man. One who isn't haunted by dark magic and bad blood."

"What are you talking about, Theo?"

"I've been so selfish these past few months. I let myself think that I could...that I could be someone who deserves to be by your side. Someone who makes you smile and snort and roll your eyes at all my stupid jokes. Instead, all I've brought you is grief. You almost turned down the Slughorn dinner because of me. You came close to fighting Romilda because you were defending me and my friends. People whisper and stare when we walk down the halls together. I never cared when it was directed towards me, but I can't do that to you. I won't drag you down."

Tears filled your eyes. "I don't regret any of the things that have happened these past few months. People will always talk, Theo. That's their own problem. But the fact that you think you're dragging me down breaks my heart." Theo took a shaky breath when you took his face in your hands. "Do you not see how good you are? You're caring and kind and resilient. You're annoyingly charming and you infuriate me like no other, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Anyone would be lucky to have you in their lives. You're the best person I know, Theodore Nott, and I'll not have you argue otherwise."

He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch. "I wouldn't dream of it, amorina. You always win every argument we have anyways."

You chuckled, releasing a breath that you hadn't realized you've been holding since the moment Theo walked away from you in that potions classroom. He gently grasped your wrist, rubbing soothing circles against your skin. "What about Potter?"

"What about him?"

"That kiss," Theo whispered. "You don't know how much it killed me to see someone else kiss you."

"You know he's with Ginny right?" you said, watching as relief visibly washed over him. "Even if he wasn't, Harry is not my type."

"Oh yeah? What's your type then, diavolina?"

The nickname that you used to hate so much suddenly felt like a comforting hug. It was your thing. An inside joke that was only between the two of you.

"Snarky little Slytherins who vex me to death by thinking that I have a crush on Potter when I'm so obviously only into him," Theo chuckled softly. “If you had stayed, you would have seen that it was just an innocent kiss on the cheek. I was thanking Harry for walking me back to my dorm and for saving me from myself during the dinner.”

The expression of concern on his face softened everything in you. “It didn’t go well with Slughorn?”

“No, it went brilliantly. I listened to him commend our stellar performance in his class and I couldn’t fucking stomach any of it. Not when the one person that deserved it wasn’t even there,” your voice cracked as you recalled the anger you felt that night. “All because of something that isn’t your fault. I lost it. I gave Slughorn a piece of my mind and stormed out. I would’ve done a lot worse if Harry hadn’t stopped me, but it made me sick…all of it made me sick. And I wished more than anything that you were beside me making inappropriate jokes that would’ve had me rolling my eyes in annoyance.”

Theo tilted your chin up, giving you a full view of the spreading grin on his face. “You missed me.”

You nodded, feeling your breath catch in your throat. “I did,” you confirmed. “I do.”

To your surprise, Theo wrapped you in his arms. As he hugged you, every ounce of dread and anxiety dissolved while he held you so tightly that you could hardly breathe.

“I’ve missed you too,” he whispered into your hair. “I have missed you every moment we were apart.”

Whatever armor you may have had around your heart came crashing down at that moment. Theo had taken a sledgehammer to your defenses and obliterated them entirely.

“I’m sorry, Theo,” you cried, clutching at his chest. “I’m sorry for all the horrible things I said. I didn’t mean it—I was just scared.”

Theo rubbed your back and whispered in a soothing voice. “I know, love. I was scared too. I still am,” he admitted shakily. You blinked as he swiped your tears away with his thumb. “When we started this, I thought it would be easy. Sleeping with someone who hated me meant that there was no chance of me getting hurt. It was supposed to be simple, but you made it anything but."

The tenderness in his gaze pierced through your very soul. "You clawed your way into my heart with your surly attitude and violent threats, but you also showed me this vulnerable side of you that feeds baby thestrals and defends my friends and drinks disgusting pumpkin flavored beverages. Then you started becoming more than just someone I wanted to sleep with. You became my friend.”

You sobbed, burying your face in his chest. “I’ll always be your friend, Theo. Always.”

“I know, Y/N. Aside from Pansy and the guys, you’re probably my best friend. Though if Mattheo asks, I'll deny it. You know how possessive he gets."

You chuckled through your tears. "You're my best friend, too. You're the only person I want to talk about my day with, no matter how eventful or boring. I care about your quidditch rants and your gelato obsession and your weird habit of cutting the crust off of every sandwich you eat."

"Hey, it's perfectly normal to have an aversion to crust, okay." You snorted, which made him grin from ear to ear. "Gods, I have missed that laugh. I have missed everything about you, my sullen, irritable, and borderline violent little Ravenclaw." You smiled as he caressed your cheek. "No one has ever stood up for me like you have. I’ve just gotten so used to being blamed for my father’s sins that I stopped fighting it. It’s easier to let them think that I’m the bad guy.”

You looked up and held his gaze, conveying everything that you wanted to say that you couldn't put into words. “But you’re not, Theo. You’ve never been the bad guy.”

He smiled softly. “I know and you know. That’s enough for me.”

“When did you get to be so mature, Theodore Nott?”

“Since the girl that I’m hopelessly and pathetically in love with told me to grow the fuck up.” Theo’s eyes shone with emotion as he looked at you. “I tried not to fall for you. Gods, I tried so fucking hard, but I failed.” He dropped his forehead down to yours. “I have failed utterly and miserably, because I am in love with you and I’m tired of hiding it. You have my heart, Y/N. Break it. Crush it. Decimate it. Do what you must, but please know that it's yours. It will always be yours."

A pained laugh escaped from your lips. “I love you too, Theo. I have no defense left. No armor of logic or reason that you haven’t completely destroyed. Hai conquistato il mio cuore.”

You have conquered my heart.

Theo placed your hand on his chest. “Do you feel that? I think my heart just stopped beating. The things you do to me, Y/N.”

You smiled and pulled him in by the front of his jersey. “I think I know a way to make it start beating again.”

“Yeah?” Theo asked with a smirk.

“Yeah.”

He smiled as you impatiently tugged him down, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him. Theo sighed against your mouth before picking you up bridal style, which made you yelp in surprise. You giggled as he gently placed you on the bed, his lips never once leaving yours.

“Gods, I love you,” he murmured. “Not just your body, but your smile. Your laugh. Your cute little snort. The way your nose scrunches up when I annoy you. I love it. I love all of it. I missed you so fucking much. Staying away from you was hell.”

“I missed you, too. All your snarky little comebacks and borderline vulgar one-liners and your eyes. Gods, you have no right having such pretty eyes.”

Theo smirked. “Oh my god, Y/N. You totally have a crush on me.” He dug his fingers into your sides as you laughed and wriggled underneath him. Theo continued his assault, bypassing the top layer of your robe for better access. His gaze softened as he hovered over you. “Are you wearing my jumper?”

You tugged at the hem and smiled sheepishly. “I may or may not have slept in it all week. You’re not getting it back, so don’t even ask.”

“It’s alright. At least now you’re finally representing the best uni.”

His words gave you pause. “Wait,” you said, looking down at the faded jumper. “Theodore, are you telling me that all this time I’ve been wearing a Cambridge jumper? The Cambridge jumper that you begged your mum to buy for you during your first visit?”

“The very same one.”

“But you love this thing. You said you wore it until it was down to its last thread.”

“Yeah, but I love you more,” he beamed as he kissed your cheek. “I knew I was a goner the night I gave it to you. I spent the entire summer thinking about you. I thought I was going insane. It was worse than nicotine withdrawals. Then I had you again and I thought that would take care of the craving, but I got greedy. I just wanted more and more of you.”

“Oh my god, Theo. You totally have a crush on me.”

“I fancy the pants out of you, Y/N.”

“Good, cause you’re about to get me out of them in a minute.”

“You,” Theo said, punctuating the word with a kiss. “Are,” Another kiss. “Perfect.” You giggled as he smacked his lips against yours. “Sono pazzo di te, amore mio.”

You smiled. “I’m crazy about you too, Teddy.”

“Teddy?”

“D’ya like it?”

Theo kissed you again, this time savoring every second as he pressed his body against yours. “I love it and I love you.”

“I love you too, Teddy.”

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szasfuckingwife · 10 months

Text

BABY GIRL

DAD!GETO SUGURU X MOM!READER

WARNINGS: just heavy fluff☺️

SYNOPSIS: Geto loves his daughters so much that he just can’t bring himself to tell them, it’s finally time for bed.

A/N: i love dad Geto and our his twin daughters. they have him wrapped around their fingers

Geto is scared shitless. Even his days as a sorcerer weren’t as scary as this. He figured that death would be better than doing what he’s about to do. But he needs to. He must.

“Girls..” He knocks on Mimiko and Nanako’s bedroom door. They pause playing with their dolls and slowly turn their small heads to look at him.

The raven haired man scratched the back of his neck, breathing deeply. “Erm…Girls…”

“Yes, Daddy..?” Nanako’s big eyes gazes up at her father.

Geto almost fails his task. No, he can’t do this to them. They’re too cute.

He sighs, “Girls, it’s bedtime. C’mon, lets go brush your teeth..”

Silence falls in the room. Geto stares at his girls whilst they stare at him back. You stare from the hallway in fear, Geto usually doesn’t tell the girls to go to bed, it’s normally you. The reason why you’ve been given that job is because the girls respond well when you say they can’t do something.

Suguru, however, not so much, he’s the one that spoils them rotten. Him saying ‘no’ or saying they can’t do something seemed like torture to the girls.

Mimiko and Nanako turn to look at each other.

Suddenly, a loud cry escapes their mouths. Your husband stands there helpless as they begin to sob loudly. Mimiko was red in the face with tears smearing down her cheeks while her sister had a snotty nose and a gut wrenching cry.

Geto looks at you for help but he knows you can’t help him, he has to do this alone. “No..No, girls. C’mere..”

Suguru falls to his knees as the twins hug him tightly. Secretly, you giggle at his poor attempt. They’re still sobbing.

“Daddy, we haven’t finished playing tea party!” Mimiko states as Nanako grips tightly at her father’s shirt.

“I know girls but, it’s really late. You should go to bed now so you have more energy to play tea party tomorrow!” He tries to smile at them, encouraging them to listen.

Nanako shakes her head, “Mommy tell him!”

You finally walk in the room, “You know, your father’s right, Mimi. It’s 9 o’clock. You should’ve been in bed an hour ago..”

The girls finally come to their senses, sighing dramatically. “Okay…” Nanako whines, wiping her eyes. “Bedtime..”

After you, Suguru and the girls clean away the toys, they brush their teeth, huffing and puffing whilst they do so.

“Are you sure it’s 9’o clock, mommy?” Nanako looks at up at you with doe eyes. You smile, kissing her crown. Nanako knew what that meant: it really was time for bed..

Suguru held Nanako whilst you held Mimiko and tucked them into bed. Their pouty lips and exasperated sighs almost make you burst out laughing.

Not Suguru though. His heart is breaking. He can’t believe he actually had to make his girls cry.

“I’ll get you ice cream tomorrow, yeah?” He says to both girls. They both sorta acknowledge him with nods, their anger at him starting to fade but not fully gone.

After you left their bedroom, he sighs earning a hearty laugh from you. You hug his side.

“I’m never doing that again.”

#szasfuckingwife #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk geto #geto suguru #geto x reader #geto x you #getou suguru x reader #jujutsu geto #geto suguru fluff

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janeyseymour · 4 months

Text

Tough Philly Girl- pt 2

Summary: Melissa has always been tough. Why? She'll tell you.

Part 1

WC: ~2.2k

“Well,” you sigh as Melissa stares at her feet now that she’s in the hotel room. You’ve since given her a towel to dry off, and she’s sitting across from you at the desk while you sit on your bed. It’s been five minutes since either of you have said anything. “I’m waiting.”

“I know, I know,” she grumbles. “I’m just… nervous.”

“For what?”

“My vulnerability,” she admits quietly. “That I’m going to tell you all of this, and you’ll still leave.”

“Have some faith in me, Schemmenti,” you roll your eyes. “Or don’t. I don’t really care anymore. This better be good.”

“It all started when… when I was little,” she starts.

—

Melissa was four years old. Four years old when this all started. Kristen Marie had just been born, and Melissa Ann was no longer the baby of the family. Her parents were always exhausted and preoccupied with the baby, and all the little redhead wanted was her father to play tea party with her like he usually did.

“Not now, Melissa,” he would say as he cracked open a beer. Being a persistent little girl, she continued to ask. “I said, not now,” he would grit through his teeth.

Melissa shriveled away, tears blooming in her eyes as she made her way to her bedroom. Her father came into her room a few minutes later to chastise her for crying.

“You’re not a baby anymore, and big four year olds don’t cry,” he huffed. That only made her cry harder.

Melissa was used to being the center of attention in her family when it came to gatherings at Nonna’s house. But now nobody gave her a second glance as they all gathered around her mother to fawn over Kristen Marie.

“Nonna!” the little redhead squeaked, trying to get her grandmother’s attention. She couldn’t get it though, and she immediately burst into tears- despite her willing herself not to cry. She couldn’t help it. Her small body held a lot of big emotions. She stormed off into the other room, grumbling as she went, and before she could stop herself, she threw her doll. It hit the wall with a loud thud before crashing down to the floor.

“Stupid Kristen Marie,” she muttered to herself. She heard footsteps approach, and it was Nonna. The warm loving eyes that were usually looking at her granddaughter were filled with fire though.

“Melissa Ann Schemmenti,” her grandmother barked, and the redhead immediately knew she was in trouble. After quite a stern talking to from Nonna, and a few punishments, Melissa knew her place- she was no longer the baby of the family. She was a big girl now- and big girls don’t cry.

From that day on, Melissa knew to put her walls up and knew not to shed tears around her family, even with all of the drama. And as she got older, she would only realize that her family held way more drama than she could ever imagine.

—

At five, Melissa was diagnosed with dyslexia. Her reading skills were never quite up to where her peers were, and she realized the words and letters moved around on the page to the point that she couldn’t make sense of anything. Letters were upside down, they were backwards, they were all over. Her eyesight was tested, but she could see just fine. When they did the different benchmark tests, her score in knowing the sounds for each letter was perfect, but she could hardly identify the looks of the letters. So they had her tested for dyslexia.

She overheard her father and mother talking one night.

“Stupid kid,” her dad grumbled.

“She isn’t stupid,” her mother argued. “She’s just challenged, and she’ll need to hunker down to be like the rest of her peers.

“That shit won’t work,” he groaned. “We’ve just got a dumb kid on our hands. Hopefully Kristen Marie will be the smart one in the family.”

She should’ve been in bed, and had she, she never would’ve known what her father thought of her. But that night, she vowed to herself that she would fight to be able to read, and even excel.

—

Growing up in an Italian family when you were expected to be a small, stick thin girl (even at a young age) was tough. Nonna fed everybody like it was her job, and Mom made sure her girls ate hearty servings of everything. Melissa kept the weight, while it didn’t matter how much food Kristen Marie was given- she never gained a pound. She was a stick, even at the young age of four.

The redhead was eight when she wanted to join dance classes. Of course. Kristen Marie also wanted to do dance because, “If Melly is, I wanna too!”

So, Mom signed both girls up for dance lessons, despite Dad saying that it was a waste of time and money. The girls went down to the thrift store to find some used dance attire, and then they headed for local dance studio that their own mother went to.

Upon entering, Melissa couldn’t be more excited. She was practically bouncing on her toes with excitement as she walked through thee front door to the studio. That was the first and only time she would enter that place with a grin.

“The little one can dance,” the Russian woman looked over Kristen Marie. She then glanced at the redhead with a look of distain. “She cannot. She is too big.”

“But you have classes for eight year olds,” Mom pointed out.

“She is too big,” the teacher stressed again. Now Mom understood. She gave Melissa a shrug. The redhead acted like she couldn’t care less despite that fact that her chest was aching and her heart was breaking inside of her little body. Her mother marched the older sister out, but left Kristen Marie to attend the lesson. Her younger sister quit two weeks later.

—

At nine, Melissa’s parents got divorced. She took it hard. But big girls don’t cry. So she didn’t mourn her parents’ marriage ending. And with the divorce went the house. That meant moving into two different apartment complexes and being shuffled from one place to the other every other week.

Her parents weren’t home as often, and she rarely saw either of them. She was forced to take care of Kristen Marie more and more often. Her comfort food was bread and butter with cinnamon.

—

At ten, she realized if she didn’t learn how to cook, she and Kristen Marie would starve- or survive off of bread, butter, and cinnamon. So Melissa taught herself how to cook. It was easy, in all actuality. The redhead had watched Nonna cook for the longest time. Quickly, Melissa and Kristen Marie were eating well again- so long as Mom and Dad were stocking up on food. She would make sure the two of them were fed properly- and thus began her love of cooking.

—

When Melissa was fifteen, she started dating. The boys in her school had started to take notice to the fact that she had quite a body for a young thing. Repeatedly, she would be pressured into various activities that she did not particularly want to partake in. She never let it get to her though. She allowed herself to be used, abused- she saw Mom handle it, so she could too. She was a Schemmenti after all.

With one particular boyfriend, he would constantly point out all of her quirks- things she didn’t even realize she did until he pointed it out.

“Jesus, Mel,” the teen rolled his eyes.

“What?” she asked.

“Can you stop doing that?”

“Doing what?” she glared at him.

“That.” He pointed to the way that her knee was bouncing incessantly, and she was playing with the fraying ends of her denim jacket.

“I’m not doing anything,” she sighs.

“All I’m trying to do is hold you, but you can’t keep your damned body still!”

“Sorry,” she mumbled. It took everything in her to stay still for the rest of the night. She fought every instinct in her body, every itchy feeling, to sit still

(You don’t mind that she can never sit still. Usually, you’re bouncing right along next to her and are playing with her hands so the two of you can focus together. If that doesn’t work, the two of you go for a walk.)

The redhead was telling a story, but she lost track of where she had started off and was now off on a tangent about god knows what.

“Can you make your point already?”

“I’m getting there!” She scrunches her nose while she tries to figure out what made her start talking about cooking pasta the right way in the first place (it was the idea of feminism).

(You love when she does this. She gets so passionate about everything that she’s talking about, and it makes you grin when she finally figures out where her story was headed in the first place.)

“Why do you constantly mumble to yourself?” he rolled his eyes once again at her.

“What?” she breathed as she made dinner for herself, her boyfriend, and her younger sister that night. She mutters a few things under her breath as she stirs the contents in the sauce pan.

“Like that!”

“I-” Her face turned a bright shade of red. “I don’t know. I just- have to get my thoughts out, and sometimes it helps if I say what I’m doing so I stay focused.”

“You’re so weird.”

(You don’t mind when she does any of this. You know it helps her stay on task, and her voice mesmerizes you anyway, so the more you get to hear it, the better.)

For the rest of that relationship, she fought to hold back those little stims.

Two months later, she would be tested for ADHD and come back positive.

—

Melissa and Joe had married when she was young. It was foolish love, but it was love nonetheless. About a year in, they began to have issues.

She suggested couples counseling because she was going to fight for this marriage- leave it to Melissa to always fight the fight.

Joe flat out refused. He came clean and told her that he was sleeping with Jolene, and that he was in love with Jolene.

Melissa had the divorce papers the next day. She also had a good amount of gasoline.

Barbara was there to pick up the pieces- to convince the redhead to continue on with life and to be the badass woman that Melissa Schemmenti was- is.

—

Nonna got sick. And Kristen Marie ran.

“It’s too hard for me to see her like that, Melissa!” her younger sister had yelled at her before turning on her heel and leaving.

So Melissa stayed. She took care of Nonna until her last days. She stayed right there with her family.

And then at the funeral, her sister showed up with a dish that would quite literally end up in flames. Melissa fought that fight. Kristen Marie had gone too far. First, leaving when it got too hard- not very Schemmenti-like if you asked the redhead. And then she had the audacity to show up at the funeral with her beloved Nonna’s signature dish- and it was wrong.

She wouldn’t speak to her sister again until their paths crossed through the schools. And even then, she fought that pretty hard. And then, when they had to… the Schemmenti sisters would join forces again and fight the fight together.

—

Gary was a joke. But she still fought that fight. She lost.

—

And then you came around. You shook up her whole world and changed her life. She fought herself and her feelings for you for about six months before you finally said something to her. She fought the different stims that had slowly made their way back into her life- convinced that you would leave her or think she was weird for always having to bounce her leg, never being able to sit still.

Slowly, with a lot of reassurance from you, you told her to stop fighting it all. Stop fighting against herself and the things that made her who she was. So she did, and the two of you fell absolutely head over heels in love.

—

“And now you’re trying to leave me,” Melissa whispers. “And I don’t want that. So, I’m fighting for you. I don’t want you to be the one that got away.”

You stare at her for quite some time. It makes sense why she was always so guarded now. Her life was tough, from the start. You had no idea.

“Mel,” you sigh softly.

“Please,” her voice cracks just slightly, and she has tears welled up in her eyes. “Please let me fight for you. This is one fight I actually want.”

This is the most emotion you’ve ever seen from your girlfriend, and you honestly hate seeing it. It’s shattering your heart in your chest.

You stand from your bed and make your way over to the chair she’s sitting in before wrapping your arms around her gently.

The dam breaks, and your girlfriend softly weeps into your chest. “Please don’t go. Please.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promise her gently. “I’m fighting for you, my tough Philly girl.”

#melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x reader #abbott elementary fanfic #abbott elementary fanfiction #abbott elementary

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 10 months

Text

Outside the Lines 5

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsessive compulsive behaviour, kidnapping, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader has her routine and her fellow patient gets in the way of those.

Character: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, (lumberjack AU)

Note: I'm feeling it so why not.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

Steve takes you downstairs. You marvel at the large kitchen, finished with dark walnut and brass. Bucky sits, dragging his fingertips over the island, leaning as he stares grimly at the wall. His eyes drift to you slowly and you flinch, cowering and shifting to hide partly behind Steve.

“She calm down?” He asks brusquely as he taps his metal fingers on the wood.

“Buck, she just needed to settle in, isn’t that right, sweetheart?” Steve reaches back blindly and grabs your arm, drawing you forward, “she’s going to apologise.”

You look at him. You can’t hide your surprise at his declaration. Apologise. For what? They lied to you. How could you know any better? But you suppose you should’ve listened. You nod and Steve lets you go.

You face Bucky and step closer, folding one hand over the other.

“Bucky,” you begin.

“Sweetheart,” Steve hovers behind you, “you call him sergeant.”

Your lips part and you look down at your feet. You place them within the lines of the hardwood and count to three. You’d been standing right on the lines. That's bad luck!

You look up again and bring your hands over your chest.

“Sergeant,” you voice quavers and you swallow to steady it, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. But I know now and I’ll be good because I know you’re just trying to help me.” Your eyes well as you remember his angry voice, “I’m real sorry about throwing the tea at you. I was only afraid.” You touch your cheeks and sway back and forth, “I’m not a mean person.”

His blue eyes are icy and his jaw set. He arches a brow and peeks at Steve. He raises his chin and lets his expression soften as he turns to you fully. He tilts his head as he grips his hip.

“Doll,” he says softly, “I forgive you. But I won’t a second time. Got it?”

“Yes,” you pout.

“We talked,” Steve says, “she understands now.”

“Ah,” Bucky hums, “good.”

You nod and look from one to the other. Steve touches the small of your back as he steps up beside you. You slouch and shy away from him.

“Why don’t you show the sergeant how sorry you are and make him a nice breakfast?” Steve suggests, “you know what they say about men.”

You shake your head. Who is they and what do they say?

“The way to his heart is through his stomach,” Steve chuckles.

“Oh,” you bat your lashes, “so… um, what should I make?”

“Coffee,” Bucky grumbles as he rubs his eyes.

“There’s bacon and eggs in the fridge, can you cook that?”

“Yes! Yes, I can cook,” you proclaim, “I know how.”

“Of course, honey,” Steve drags his fingertips up your arm, “you can do so much. I know you can. A lot more than you think. And we just want to help you learn how to do more.”

You don’t want to seem ungrateful. It’s only confusing. You did overreact. You didn’t even let them explain. It’s no wonder they got a bit pushy.

“Thank you,” you chirp, “you’re so nice.” You look at his hand as he caresses above your elbow, “and this is a very nice house. I’ve never been to a cabin before. It’s so nice you would bring me here.”

“Ha, yeah, you know, me and Bucky built it,” Steve explains.

“You did?” You round your eyes and take another look around. You can’t imagine all that work. “Wow!”

"Coffee," Bucky grits as he leans his chin in his hand.

"Oh, yes," you twiddle your fingers and flutter around, watching your feet as you step between the trim of the hardwood slats of the floor, "I can make... coffee. I don't drink it you know, just tea. Coffee makes me... hyper!"

You spin cluelessly. Not knowing where to begin. You have no idea where everything is. There are no labels like your apartment. Every shelf, every cupboard has the precise contents listed on the outside, just like you like. So everything is in order. You hate chaos.

Bucky grumbles and Steve lets out a soft breath, "sweetheart, one step at a time," he girds.

Steve comes forward as you step back to watch him open a cupboard. He pulls down a bag of coffee, burlap with print stamped across it. The smell of its contents seep into your nose. Comforting even if its too bitter for your taste.

"Oh, thanks," you step forward carefully and hug the bag with your hands.

"Grinder is here," he points, "and the press."

You look between both and try to hide your confusion. Oh. You don't know how to do all that. You chew your lip and loosen the drawstring at the top of the bag. You stare inside tenuously.

He opens a drawer and takes out a metal measuring cup. He offers it to you.

"One scoop."

You take it and scoop out the beans. Then you just stand there with it. You look at him and cringe.

"In the grinder," he directs gently as he pulls forward the little square machine and pops the top.

You pour the beans inside, the rattle of them making a small rhythm that carries in your head. You bop your head, trying to follow it as your nerves get the better of you. You can't help but make up little nonsensical songs in your head when you feel so lost.

He shuts the lid and steps back.

"Press the button."

You obey and press the button. There's a short whir then the machine quiets again.

He stifles a laugh, "hold it down."

You push and keep your finger jammed. You watch the blade turn the beans to powder and he gestures for you to stop. He slides over the press and pulls a spoon out of the open drawer. You reach over to shut it without thinking. He hesitates but says nothing about it.

"So, six table spoons. Open it up."

You try to flip the top of the machine open like he did but it won't budge. You grab it firmly and try to force it open. He moves forward.

"You gotta hit the switch--"

Suddenly the compartment detaches from the rest of the machine and the lid opens, dusting you and the floor with coffee grinds. You stand in stunned silence as a growl rolls up Bucky's throat.

"Steve, just make the coffee, I'm dying here."

"I'm sorry," you push your lip out, "I made a mess."

You look around at the smatter of grinds all around you and littered across your dress. You shake it off and shiver. You glance between the men.

"I'm very sorry," you apologise again, "I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to. Don't be mad."

"It's fine, sweetheart," Steve reaches to touch your shoulder and you flinch, "get the broom out of the closet. Clean it up."

"Uh, uh, alright," you shake off the front of your dress before turning on your heel.

You go to the closet, the weight of Bucky's gaze following you. You open the door and find a broom, taking it out with the dustpan. You shut it and look past it to the doorway that gives a peak of another; a door with windows that look out on a leafy yard.

"Doll," Bucky warns from behind you.

"Sorry, was just looking," you spin and nearly trip over the bristles.

"Can't go outside until we can trust you," he adds.

"You don't trust me," you stand dumbly with the broom and pan. "Why not?"

He gives you a look. Your lips form an O. Yeah, the tea. Fair.

"Sorry," you repeat.

You set to sweeping up the grinds and Steve shows you where the bin is. Then he goes about making the coffee himself as you watch. He peeks over and smiles.

"Bacon and eggs are in the fridge."

You nod and go to the large fridge, a wooden front that makes it blend in with the rest of the decor. You open it and find the eggs easily but can't figure which paper packet is bacon. Not until you see the scribble sharpy scrawled on the other side.

You go back to the counter and peer around. Just as clueless as ever. Steve directs you to the pots and pans and you take out what you need. He tells you to put the kettle on and you stop to do that as he stands back and watches you. It suddenly feels like a test.

You struggle to catch the gas burner, making yourself dizzy as the flame doesn't light.

"She's gonna burn this place down," Bucky snarls.

"Relax," Steve steps forward and gets the burner going for you. "There."

"She can't do anything on her own."

Steve retreats and points at Bucky. You don't look back as he approaches the other man and you hear the scratch of a whisper between them. You put the kettle on the lit burner, then lay the skillet on another. You focus and repeat what Steve did, managing to light the second.

"I did it!"

Bucky sighs as Steve praises you, "good girl."

You could smile. You're good. You can do things.

You turn on the oven, that's easier. You lay out bacon on a sheet and wait for it to preheat as you add oil to the pan. You search the cupboard and find a bowl to mix the eggs. You examine the spice rack, taking your pick of the many containers.

You shake your head and seal your lips as you have to smell them to see which is which. Steve hums before he speaks.

"What's wrong?"

You shrug, "nothing..."

He arches his brow and lifts his chin slightly. You clutch the oregano and gulp.

"Captain," you clear your throat, "in my apartment, I label stuff so I know. I can't find anything without the labels."

"Labels?" He repeats thoughtfully.

"Use your head. Remember," Bucky scoffs and receives a nudge from Steve.

"Labels, how about we make that your first project. Bucky can go in to town and get you a nice label maker of your own," Steve looks at his companion, "won't you?"

Bucky scowls, "if I don't get coffee soon, I'm not doing shit."

You widen your eyes and cover your mouth. Steve tuts, "Buck, watch your mouth."

"She's an adult, she can handle it."

"You're an adult too so stop being a brat," Steve warns, "sweetheart, keep going. I'll get his coffee."

He nears and pulls down a mug from yet another cupboard. He fills it and holds it up, "the sergeant takes his black, I don't mind a bit of cream. Okay?"

"Black," you nod at Bucky, "cream," you look back at Steve, "I'll try to remember."

"I know," he winks before he walks away.

He hands over the mug to Bucky and comes back to pour his own but you're there first. You put down the oregano and reach up to grab a red mug. You shut the cupboard and fill it, scurrying around Steve to grab the cream from the fridge. You add a little and offer him the cup. A grin slowly spread across his face.

"You're so sweet, thank you," he takes it, "you're a good learner, you know that?"

"I am?" You smile.

"Very smart girl," he raises the cup, blowing across it before taking a sip, "perfect. You got it just right."

You clap your hands together proudly, "see," you face Bucky, "I can do it, sergeant."

He squints at you over his own steaming mug and says nothing as he drinks. His blue eyes pierce you coldly. Your face falls and you tuck your chin down, turning back to take the oregano and you go back to the bowl of eggs.

You can do this. You're not going to burn the eggs. Or the bacon.

"Do you have a timer?" You ask. That's the only way you ever get anything done but you don't have your phone anymore, which means all your alarms are useless.

"Yep," Steve grabs a small apple shaped timer from the corner of the counter and places it by the stove, "just twist."

"Thank you, Captain," you take it and look at the numbers.

He leans in and lowers his voice, "he'll come around. You'll show him, I know you will, sweetheart."

You bite down your lip and look at him. His eyes fall to your mouth as it curves, just a little, your cheeks burning.

"I'm trying," you eke out.

"I know," he reaches to rub your arm, dragging his hand up around your shoulder and playing with the sleeve of your dress, "did I tell you how nice you look?"

"Thank you," you preen.

"Doesn't she look nice, Bucky?" He steps back and crosses to the island where Bucky nurses his cup.

"Not bad," Bucky says, not quite a compliment but not as bad as you expect.

You'll just have to do better. Put all those tools that Dr. Makira gave you to work.

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avastrasposts · 1 year

Text

The Pilot and his girl - ch. 2

So, I have vague plans for this fic now but the first two chapters are just dabbles, trying to find a way to write a reader insert and to write Frankie Morales. I'll have to think of a good title for the fic as I get the story together, for now it's just a bunch of scribbled ideas in a notebook. I'll update and give more of a summery once it's taken shape in my head I guess? Until then, I hope you enjoy a second date with Frankie and some fluffy flirting with our sweet soft boy.

Edit: making this easier to navigate- Chapter 3

Waking up late the next morning you catch up on the gossip from last night in the bachelorette party chat thread. It’s filling up with groans and promises to never drink again as your friends wake up across the city. You’re feeling fine, you’d only had a couple of cocktails last night, and now you’re poking fun at your friends while Lizzy curses at you for letting her do too many tequila shots.

Steve’s future wife: “Seriously, you should’ve stopped me, you were supposed to be my guardian last night!”

“I stopped you from ordering Long Island Teas for the entire club at 1am, your head and your credit card should be very grateful, Lizzy!”

Steve’s future wife: “My head doesn’t feel very grateful right now…”

Your phone suddenly pings with a new message and as you tap out of the party chat you see Frankie’s name on your screen. You can’t help but feel a little jolt of excitement as you pull up his message.

“morning. i was wondering if youd maybe like to get some coffee today, seeing as i didnt get a chance to buy you a drink last night?”

Your mouth pulls up in an inadvertent smile as you see the text, you’d been hoping he’d get in touch soon.

“Morning, yes I’d like that, I definitely need coffee this morning!

You hit send but instantly regret it, maybe that message sounded like you only wanted coffee and not that you were happy to see him again? You quickly type out a new message.

“Sorry, I hit send too fast… I meant to say that I definitely need coffee. But I'd also like to get some with you.”

The second you hit send you see the innuendo and bite your lip, fuck!

…

Frankie can’t help but chuckle as he sees her message come through. He knows she means coffee but he sees her typing away as the three dots move on his screen and guesses she’s trying to back track from the “get some” innuendo. He waits while she types, still smiling to himself. He’d been nervous about asking her out for coffee so soon but he wanted to give her a chance to get to know him a bit before he asked her out for dinner, less pressure for both of them he figured. When her instant yes came back he’d felt heat flash through his body, he really wanted to see her again and she seemed to feel the same way.

“Shit, ignore that last message completely, I mean, yes, I’d really like to get some coffee with you this morning, Frankie.”

Frankie chuckled again and typed his reply.

“no pun intended then?”

“Shut up :)”

And then;

“Where do you want to meet, and when? I’m free the whole day. My only plan was to recover from last night.”

Frankie suggests a coffee shop in a part of the city close to downtown. The area is good for weekends and has lots of places to hang out under the trees that line the river that runs through the neighbourhood. She knows the place and agrees to meet there in an hour and Frankie gets in the shower to get ready. For all the flack Pope had given him last night about making him pay up the one hundred dollar bet he’d also seen that Frankie was really into this girl. He’d spent the ride home telling his friend to not worry, that he was a great guy and that this girl would like Francisco Morales if he only gave her a chance.

“I know it’s a tired old line but just be yourself, Fish. You’re charming when you want to be and good looking, you know the girls always line up for you when we’re out, even with that damn cap shoved down your forehead. She’s into you so just relax and enjoy the company of a beautiful woman.” Pope had slapped his friend on the shoulder before getting out of the truck and now Frankie tries to force himself to feel some of Pope’s confidence as he scrubs himself down in the shower. “Just relax, he tells himself as his stomach flips at the thought of the way her lips had felt against his cheek last night. “You’ve got this, Frankie, you got her number, she replied, she wants to see you again, just take it from there.”

…

The second you’ve confirmed to Frankie that you’ll meet in an hour you rush out of bed and into the shower. Butterflies are back in your stomach and you’re kinda surprised at the effect this guy is having on your nerves. It’s not like you to get so nervous about a guy you’ve barely spoken to, even if he was cute and broad as a barn door. Something about Frankie’s shy approach, the way his face seemed to soften when he smiled, made your heart melt a bit. But there was definitely something more confident lurking under the surface, you could tell from his teasing replies to your messages. It gave you the feeling that he was probably hiding a more assertive manner under his initial shyness and you couldn’t wait to make him comfortable enough to bring it out. You were looking forward to getting to know him better and so far it didn’t seem like you’d regret your snap decision to give him your number last night.

The coffee shop Frankie suggested is right on the river and as you’re walking towards it Frankie texts saying that he’s got a table out back next to the water’s edge. You make your way through the building and see him sitting at a table looking snug in a dark green hoodie, the cap still firmly on his head. His unruly curls are poking out around his neck but it looks as if he’s made the effort to contain the ones around his ears, they are tucked in under the edge of the cap, still threatening to escape. He’s sitting relaxed, leaning back in the chair with his arms crossed, looking out over the river where two crews are rowing past. As you get closer he seems to spot you from the corner of his eye and his gaze finds yours, his handsome face splitting into a warm smile as he gets up.

“Hey, good to see you,” he says, stepping forward to drop a kiss on your cheek before stepping back, still smiling. Your butterflies make themselves known as his warm smell washes over you, that same warm cotton smell from the night before, mint from his toothpaste and something that has to be his body wash. His lips are soft as they brush against your skin, a sharp contrast to the light scratch of his beard. He seems to pause for a second against your cheek as his hand lands on your waist and when he pulls back you feel the cool tip of his nose on your skin.

“Hi, good to see you too,” you smile as you try to squash the butterflies, letting him pull out the chair opposite his at the small table as you sit down. He gets back to his own seat and leans on his forearms on the table, making it shift slightly as it takes his weight. You bite the inside of your lip as you suddenly feel very shy at the way his eyes are focused on yours and he seems to notice the movement, his eyes dropping to your lips as you worry at them.

“You’re gonna draw blood, hermosa,” he says with a soft voice and you feel his thumb smooth over your bottom lip, making you let go of it. His gesture is gentle and calming and as he drops his hand back to the table you find yourself wishing he’d continued, your face leaning into his hand. His crooked smile makes your own creep back as he captures your fingertips between his own on the table, gently tugging them towards him, as he leans closer, dropping his eyes to your lips again. Your breath catches in the back of your throat as you watch the pink tip of his tongue dart out over his bottom lip as he moves closer.

“Morning, early birds! Let me guess, some coffee to start off with to wake you up, huh? And then let me take you through our specials today. Ya’ll are gonna love our seasonal pancakes!”

You all but groan when the server’s chipper voice cuts through the moment you’re having, Frankie immediately pulls away from you and your fingers slips through his as he clenches his jaw before picking up the menu card on his side of the table. The server continues to rattle through the specials and you scan the menu in front of you.

“Do you wanna start with coffee, maybe?” Frankie asks, ignoring the server’s chatter.

“Yes, please, that sounds good. I don’t know what I wanna eat yet,” you say and flip the menu over to look at the huge drinks menu on the back.

“Black coffee for me, thanks,” Frankie says to the server who has finally covered all the specials. “Know what you want, hermosa?”

“A double shot cappuccino, thanks,” you reply, looking up at the server who takes your orders and walks away with a nod.

“Rude,” Frankie smirks as he leans forward again, capturing your fingers in his, his eyes crinkling at the corners. His shyness from last night seems to have disappeared in light of your own and his eyes are warm and soft as he gently tugs you forward, his gaze flicking down to your lips and up to your eyes. You feel heat pooling in the pit of your stomach as he gets close enough for you to smell his toothpaste again, his lips pulling up in a small smile as he gently strokes his thumb over your bottom lip.

The sharp signal of a phone suddenly cuts through the air and Frankie actually drops his head on to his hands and curses in Spanish under his breath before he leans back and pulls the offending item out of his back pocket.

“I’m about to toss this damn thing in the river,” he grumbles, throwing you an apologetic look. But looking at the screen his eyebrows pull together in a deep frown.

“I’m really sorry, I have to take this, it’s work but they usually don’t call on a Sunday.”

Frankie gets up and steps away from the table. You watch him retreat, realising you don’t actually know what he does for a living. You go back to studying the menu and after a couple of minutes Frankie sits down again, a disappointed look on his face.

“I’m really sorry, but I have to go,” he says, his hand shooting up to the back of his neck in that same gesture from last night, his face looking crestfallen and apologetic. “There’s an emergency at work that I have to deal with, the guy who’s on call this weekend is stuck in traffic behind some big pile up and can’t get to the airfield.”

“Oh,” you say, disappointment washing over you, feeling your stomach drop, and it must’ve shown on your face because Frankie’s hand shoots forward and grabs yours.

“Please don’t think I’m trying to get out of our date, I was really looking forward to hanging out with you but,” Frankie’s fingers are rubbing across the back of your hand, his eyebrows knitted together over his worried eyes, “it’s a medical transportation, some transplant organ that I have to pick up from Mount Hope and fly over to General, it can’t wait.”

“Wow, I didn’t even know you’re a pilot. You fly airplanes?”

“Helicopters,” he replies proudly as he pulls you up from the chair, still holding on to your hand. “I did it in the army for years but since I left I’ve been working at a local airfield, doing different transportation assignments.” His large hand feels like it dwarfs your own with how easily it fits inside the warmth of his and you hold on to him as he walks you across the patio into the coffee shop. “Maybe we can get the coffee to go?” he suggests, “And some pastries too? They do really good little hand pie things here.” He smiles down at you and you feel a bit better about the sudden end to your date, at least it doesn’t seem like he’s running off just to get away from you.

When you get to the counter Frankie asks for your coffee order to go and pays for a couple of hand pies while you pick them out, cherry for you and Frankie immediately goes for the same one when you point it out. While he’s waiting for the pies he suddenly looks over at you with a quizzical look.

“What?” you ask, his face suddenly mischievous.

“Are you afraid of heights, hermosa?”

“No, but I’ve never been in a helicopter if that’s what you're asking?”

“Do you wanna go up in one today?” Frankie grins, his eyes definitely looking like he’s about to get you into trouble.

“Can you do that? I mean, are you allowed to take someone up just like that?”

“You’re my new co-pilot in training now,” he beams, delighted with his idea. “I’ve got to fly from the airfield to Mount Hope, pick up the box, fly over to General and then back to the airfield. Shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours if you’re up for it?” His smile is infectious and the excitement in his body is palpable as you feel his hand squeeze yours, you can’t refuse him.

“Sure, I guess I’ll sign up to be your co-pilot, Frankie,” you laugh and he pulls you in under his arm, dropping a kiss on the top of your head as he grabs the bags with coffee and pastries. “You’ll love it, I promise.”

Frankie guides you out of the coffee shop and shows you to his truck parked across the street, taking you round to the passenger side door and opening it for you like a gentleman. It makes you smile at him as he gives you a hand up the high step and he grins back at you, making your heart flutter at the sight of his eyes lighting up. In the short time you’ve spent with Frankie, his eyes have definitely become your favourite feature, the dark brown irises changing as his smile comes and goes on his face. When he smiles they seem to soften, his eyebrows coming together as the corners crinkle, when he’s nervous or awkward he drops his head and looks up at you from underneath the peak of his cap and his eyes mirror the worry in his head, now they’re really sparkling with mischief and glee as he all but bounces around the front of the truck before pulling himself up into the driver’s seat.

“Your coffee, hermosa,” he passes the take away mug to you before placing his own in the cup holder. The truck has been sitting in the warm sun and Frankie pulls the hoodie over his head, tossing it in the back before starting up the truck. The white t-shirt underneath does nothing to hide the sheer width of his shoulders as he turns in his seat, hooking his arm round the back of the bench seat as he manoeuvres the truck out from the tight spot at the curb. You try not to stare at how his chest flexes as he twists half way around in the seat, his muscular arm resting right next to your head. You follow the line of it up underneath the sleeve of his t-shirt, it’s ridden up high on his deltoid and you can see the dark smudge of his armpit as he grunts, twisting around again.

“Admiring the view, cariño?” Frankie chuckles as he catches your eyes on his chest and you feel heat rushing to your face, quickly slapping your hand over your eyes, stifling a giggle. Frankie laughs loudly and pulls your hand from your face, tugging you closer to him across the wide seat.

“Come here, hermosa, you can look as much as you want,” his chest is rumbling as he laughs but he pulls your hand up to his mouth and presses his lips to the back of it before setting it down on his leg, moving his hand to the gear shift and pulling out into traffic.

“So, never been in a helicopter?” he asks, glancing over at you. “Ever been up in a smaller plane?”

“No, nothing like that, only regular commercial flights. Is it very different?” You’re slightly nervous about the idea but Frankie’s excitement is infectious, this is clearly something he loves.

“It’s very different from a commercial flight but I’ll make sure to go easy on you, no loops or flying upside down.” He moves his hand on top of yours as the traffic starts to flow smoothly, lying warm and solid over your own.

“I’ve never seen a helicopter fly upside down, you can do that?” Your limited knowledge of helicopters makes Frankie break out in a big grin.

“Only on special occasions,” he glances away from the road for a second and gives you a wink and you roll your eyes as you catch on.

“Ha. Ha. Very funny, you’re a regular comedian,” you pull out your hand from under his and punch him lightly on his upper arm, but you can’t help but smile as he chuckles and pretends to duck his head to get away from you.

“A few helicopters can fly upside down but not this one, unfortunately, I’d like to see your face when I do it,” he laughs again and takes your hand back, placing it on his thigh but holding on to it this time. “Really, don’t worry, hermosa, I’ll take us up and down and fly straight as an arrow, no fooling around.”

“At least not in the air.” It slips out before you know it and Frankie immediately snorts loudly and you feel laughter bubbling inside you as he breaks out in a wide grin, shooting you a mischievous look.

“At least not in the air,” he agrees, looking at the road again but his eyes are wrinkling at the corners as he smiles. “I’m gonna have to keep an eye on you, make sure you’re not touching any of my buttons.”

“Ok, that one was too obvious,” you giggle as he tries to contain the way he’s chuckling at his own joke.

“Yeah, I know but I couldn’t help it,” he smiles, tugging at his cap and looking over at you as the truck comes to a stop at a red light. His brown eyes are warm and happy, the sunlight shines into the car from behind him and his unruly hair has escaped from under his cap and is curling around his ears again. You hesitate for a second but the urge is too strong, you reach up and graze across them with your fingertips, feeling the soft strands brush against your skin. Frankie inhales deeply and the smile slips from his face, replaced by something more urgent. He leans in and the rich aroma of the coffee he’s been drinking washes over you.

“I really want to kiss you,” he mumbles close to your lips, “but not in my truck at a red light, so please, hermosa, do that again when I won’t crash any vehicles we might be in.” He stays close for a beat longer and drops his gaze to your lips before pulling back with a small groan just as the light changes to green.

You feel like the atmosphere in the truck is about to reach a dangerous boiling point so you try to calm yourself down by sipping on your coffee and reaching for one of the pies, handing the other to Frankie.

“I feel like I'm tempting fate by eating a cherry pie with one hand while wearing a white t-shirt.” he says as his first bite drips cherry juice down his fingers. “This is so good though,” he catches the trickle down his pinky with his tongue which makes you swallow and quickly look away.

He’s right, the pie is very tasty and you both fall silent as you try to capture every flaky crumb that falls from the pie as you bite into it. The filling is sweet and tart and gone far too soon.

“Fuck, I wish we’d bought three each,” you moan as you swallow down the last bite. Frankie is still juggling the last of his as he turns the truck on to a smaller road on the outskirts of the city, steering with one hand and keeping the pie away from his, miraculously still white, t-shirt.

“Here, have the rest of mine,” he offers, holding out his hand to you.

“You sure? You’re not one of those people who offer their food and then get offended when I eat half your fries?”

“No, I’m smarter than that, I always order a large fries when I’m eating with a woman,” he grins. “Just take my pie, I’m gonna need both hands here anyway.”

“I’m gonna test you on that,” you say as you gratefully take the last bit of pie from him, “this damn pie really is too good.”

“You wanna share my fries, hermosa?” Frankie smirks, the truck now rumbling down a long straight road, air hangars in the distance. “That must mean I’m getting a second date out of this?”

“That still depends on how this helicopter ride goes, you make me airsick I might change my mind.” You scrunch up your nose as the hangers come closer. “I’m actually kinda nervous, I don’t wanna fuck up your assignment by throwing up in your helicopter.”

“Do you usually get carsick or seasick?” Frankie asks.

“No, not usually.”

“Then you’ll be fine, that kind of sickness has got something to do with the balance system in your ear so if you don’t get seasick you’ll be fine in a chopper.” He reaches over with his clean hand and squeezes your thigh, giving you a warm smile, “Don’t worry, hermosa, I’ll take care of you.”

Frankie pulls up next to the hangar and parks the truck, grabbing his hoodie from the back, quickly coming round to the passenger side as he tugs it over his head and gives you a hand down.

“This is the place,” he says and waves in the general direction of the open hangar doors. “I’ll just get the paperwork from my boss and then we’ll be off.”

With a hand on the small of your back he guides you towards the hangar where you’re both greeted by an older man who introduces himself as Denny, Frankie’s boss, as Frankie explains that he’s taking you with him on the assignment.

“Sorry to commandeer your date, miss,” he says with a friendly smile as he hands Frankie the paperwork and a set of keys. “But I’m sure you’ll enjoy the trip, Frankie is one of my best pilots.”

You look over at Frankie who’s looking pleased about the praise as he flips through the paperwork Denny handed him.

“Thanks, boss, I’ll remember those words next time we talk about my pay raise,” he grins and closes the folder. “Come on, cariño, let me show you the chopper and get you strapped in.”

Frankie’s warm hand rests on the small of your back again as he takes you towards one of the helicopters parked outside the hangar. He’s rattling off facts about it and the technical specifications, you’re trying to keep up but most of it means nothing to you, and he soon breaks into a chuckle as he sees your confused face trying to comprehend what he’s talking about.

“Don’t worry about it, sorry, I get a bit carried away, even the guys in the army would tell me to shut the fuck up when I got too technical.”

“It’s really cool that you fly helicopters for a living but I genuinely have no idea what any of that means,” you smile at him, “I’m just happy you’re happy to let me tag along today.”

“Of course I am! It was my idea after all, I’d feel too shitty about ditching you before I even got you a coffee.” You’re at the chopper and Frankie unlocks it, sliding open the door and helping you up into the passenger seat. He picks up the seat belt but pauses, looking at your torso.

“You’re gonna be cold in just that t-shirt and jacket,” he says. You’re wearing the same jean jacket you had on last night with a fresh t-shirt underneath and as you watch he tugs his hoodie off again. “Put this on, I’ll run over and grab something from the locker room.”

You take the hoodie from his outstretched hand, “Thanks, Frankie,” and he gives you a quick smile before turning and jogging back towards the hangar.

You slip his dark green hoodie over your head after shedding the jacket and tossing it on to one of the seats in the back. The smell of him overwhelms you the second you pull it over your face, still warm from his body. It smells clean, like fresh detergent and something woody and spicy that might be his body wash. You stop for a second to inhale the scent that seems to be inherently his before pulling it all the way down. The hoodie is far too big for you and you have to roll up the sleeves just to have your fingertips showing.

You’re wiggling into the seat belt, hooking your arms through on either side, when Frankie comes jogging back with black hoodie on. This one is decidedly more well worn, the fabric fraying at the edges around his arms where he’s pushed it up to his elbows. Down by his hip you can see the white of his t-shirt shining through a hole that looks like something burnt through the hoodie.

“Comfy?” he asks as he steps up into the cockpit on your side, checking your seat belt and clipping you in securely.

“Yeah, very. Thanks for lending it to me,” you smile up at him. He’s very close suddenly, as he bends down and pulls on the straps, you feel the tension locking your body into the seat. Frankie looks down at you as his hands still on your waist, you’re holding your breath, his eyes seem to be fixing you in place as much as the seat belt and you hear him slowly exhale, almost in a shudder.

“Remember what I said about not crashing any vehicles?” he asks, his voice dropping into a low whisper, dark and rich. You nod slowly, the hoodie suddenly feels much too warm. “Please remind me about that when we come back here.” He stays locked on you for a few more breaths until he finally pulls away, caressing your waist as he lets his hands slip over you.

As he steps down and walks around the chopper to the pilot’s side you slowly exhale, trying to calm your racing pulse. That’s four times you’ve been close to kissing and the tension is building inside you to the point where you just want to grab his face and pull him down to your lips. Frankie’s presence is both comforting and rousing, his easy smiles make you feel happy and warm, but the tension that builds when he comes close is exhilarating and almost paralysing.

Frankie swings into the pilot’s seat and straps himself in, starts going through the pre-flight checks and hands you a pair of headphones to put on. He slips a pair over his own ears and soon you hear his voice coming through them as the helicopter's engine roars to life. It’s loud, much louder than you expected, and you’re glad for the headphones protecting your ears.

“You ready?” Frankie’s voice comes through the headphones with a slight distortion and you give him a nod and a thumbs up and he smiles back. His face shifts into a more serious look as he looks over the instrument panel and readies everything for flight before he pulls back on the stick in front of him and the helicopter slowly rises off the ground. You feel your stomach plummet as the tarmac drops away beneath you, the cockpit of the chopper seeming impossibly small. It makes you feel like you’re sitting on a tiny chair with nothing but sky around you as Frankie makes the helicopter climb higher. You focus on a spot on the floor between your feet to get your nerves under control and only throw quick glimpses out the window as the surrounding buildings fall away and are replaced by blue sky.

“Hey, you ok?” Frankie’s voice comes through your headphones as his warm hand lands on your leg and you glance up at him. His eyebrows have knitted together and he’s got that sweet worried look again.

“Yeah, I’m good, I think I just got a bit of vertigo as we took off,” you huff, drawing a deep, slightly shaky breath.

“We won’t be climbing anymore, I’m just gonna keep us straight and steady to Mount Hope now. Just keep breathing, hermosa.” He rubs your leg a few times and smiles before he grabs the stick with both hands again. You watch him as he checks the instruments, hailing Mount Hope Hospital to let them know his ETA and then corrects the chopper’s course slightly with a small movement of his hand. He’s moving with an easy confidence that makes you relax, he looks so comfortable in the pilot’s seat, so sure in every move he makes, never hesitating as he checks the instruments and manoeuvres the helicopter. This is the most confident and assured you’ve seen him yet. You trust yourself to sit up a bit straighter and start looking around, carefully glancing outside and actually admiring the view.

“Feeling better?” You look over at Frankie as his voice comes through your headphones again, he’s smiling as you nod and smile back.

“Everything looks so different from up here, I can’t even pick out any landmarks,” you remark, looking out over the city again.

“That’s city hall over there,” Frankie points at a large domed building in the distance. “And there’s General Hospital where we’ll drop off the cargo. And there’s the river,” he points at the long watery snake that glints like silver as the sun hits it from above.

Frankie continues to point out landmarks to you as he pilots the chopper towards the first destination and pretty soon you feel comfortable enough to lean closer to the window and let your gaze drop down below the chopper. Your stomach clenches at first but then you get used to the view and start enjoying yourself and Frankie’s easy company. He seems so happy flying, so in his element, that it’s hard to not get affected by his good mood. The shyness from your first meeting last night is gone and when he looks over at you it’s with bright eyes and a big smile.

“I love that I’m the first one to show you all this,” he grins as you get braver and turn in your seat to get a better view out the window. “Your very first helicopter ride, it’s a big deal.”

“I see why you love it so much, it feels addicting, to be able to fly above everything like this.”

“Yeah, I always knew I wanted to be a helicopter pilot, used to watch the traffic reports on the news, just to get to see how the pilots flew, even when I was just a kid.” He chuckles at the memory.

“And then you did it in the army you said?”

“Yeah, I joined up with the intent to train as a helicopter pilot, I was in Delta Force for years before I left the army.” You see his face change into something darker as he seems to fold in on himself a little. “It wasn’t exactly the experience I thought it would be, it…it was maybe…it left me a bit..I don’t know…” he falters and you see the light go out in his eyes as looks down on his hands for a brief second.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, you don’t need to say anything if you don’t want to,” you regret bringing it up as you see how it changes his mood, but Frankie shakes his head, giving you a small crooked smile.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s just…I wanna tell you about it but not now, it’s maybe something for a date much further in the future, if you still wanna have me around then.” He says the last thing with a look over at you that melts your heart, that soft smile that transforms his face.

“We’ll see,” you smile back at him, “if you stay true to your word about sharing your fries with me.”

He chuckles and takes your hand, giving it a quick kiss, before grabbing the stick again.

The radio crackles through your headphones and you hear someone from Mount Hope hail the chopper and Frankie responds, starting to prepare for the descent down onto the landing pad outside the hospital. It takes a few minutes and your stomach flips a few times as Frankie steadily brings the helicopter down towards the ground.

When you’re on the ground a hospital worker in scrubs and a jacket walks over to the helicopter holding onto what essentially looks like a big cooler with a red cross on it. Frankie quickly unbuckles himself and jumps out to slide the door to the back seat open. The middle aged woman with grey hair grabs his hand as she climbs into the back, giving you a quick nod, while Frankie checks that she’s safely strapped in and gives her a pair of headphones.

Soon you’re up in the air again, this ascent was much easier to handle, and Frankie turns the helicopter around and radios to General Hospital to let them know the ETA of the transport. With a stranger in the back of the chopper, the woman has the cooler on her lap the whole way, your conversation with Frankie is minimal. You keep looking out the window, trying to spot places you know, and at one point Frankie nudges your shoe with his boot and points down at a building ahead of the chopper. “The Outback Bar” is painted in large letters on the roof and he gives you a quick grin as you spot it and smile back at him.

This trip is longer but time still passes fast and soon Frankie is bringing the helicopter down towards the bigger hospital. This time the landing pad is on the roof of a tall high rise and Frankie’s eyebrows are knitted together in concentration as he parries the side winds and slowly makes the descent. You watch him from the corner of your eye as he gently shifts the stick and works the pedals to correct the position. You can’t help but wonder how different this must be from his experience in the army. You try to imagine doing this while at the same time being under threat of enemy fire, but you can’t even picture it.

When the helicopter touches down on the landing pad you barely feel it, just a slight sway. The lady in the back immediately unbuckles herself as Frankie gets out and slides open the door. You hear her yell a thank you to him over the roar of the rotor blades before walking with brisk pace towards the medical team waiting for her. Frankie swings himself back into the pilot’s seat and straps himself back in.

“That’s it, mission accomplished, back to the airfield for us.” he says through the headphones and gives you a bright smile before pulling back on the stick and making you rise into the air again.

“I feel bad,” Frankie suddenly says. “I just realised I never asked what you work with? I’ve just been going on about helicopters.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you laugh, “My job is nowhere near as exciting as helicopters, if I took you to my office you’d fall asleep in a corner before long,” you smile back at him.

“I doubt it, I’d be stealing snacks in the break room, isn’t that what office work is all about?” he smirks back at you. “What kind of business do you work in?”

“I work in publishing, with academic books mainly.”

“Really?” Frankie says, his eyes widening as he looks over at you. “That’s pretty damn impressive though, sounds like a job you need to be really smart to do.”

“I don’t know about smart, often it feels like I mainly baby sit grumpy professors who don’t understand why their thirty year old dissertations can’t be printed unedited as a text book,” you sigh, “my people skills are very often tested to the max.”

“But still, you’ve got a college degree right?” he asks, as you nod he continues, “I went from high school to the army and then on to this. I know nothing about anything except flying choppers.”

“That’s still pretty impressive to me though,” you smile at him. “If we had one of those Deep Impact situations, you know, where they have to select the important people to save to keep the human race going? Book editors would not make that cut but I’m pretty sure pilots would be needed.”

Frankie chuckles, “I fucking loved that one, with Elijah Wood and Morgan Freeman, right? I liked that the meteor actually hit earth, and they showed the destruction and the panic, most movies build up to it but then disaster is avoided at the last second..”

“Yeah, I really liked that too, in a messed up kinda way,” you say, ”and how they showed how that kind of event brought out the worst in the human race.”

“What kind of movies are you into?” Frankie asks as he corrects the chopper and sets a course towards the airfield.

“Uuhm…most of them, I guess? I love any kind of historical drama, makes me feel like I have a time machine. And although I’m not crazy about superhero movies I love all Spider-Man movies, really looooove,” you emphasise the love, pulling out the o while Frankie chuckles.

“I didn’t take you for a Spider-Man girl but that’s good to know.”

“What about you, what are your favourites?” you ask him.

“I’m pretty predictable, I love action movies, and superhero movies,” he laughs, “and any good horror movie, especially at home with all the lights out, really scare the shit out of myself.”

“Oh no, I can’t handle horror movies, Frankie!” you protest. “I get so scared I can’t sleep after them. I saw Gremlins when I was like nine and it scarred me for life, I haven’t watched anything scary since I think.”

“You never watch horror movies?” Frankie asks, his eyebrows raised, looking shocked.

“No, never really, I avoid them if I can.”

“Not even classics like The Shining, Psycho, Halloween?” Frankie’s looking over at you, rattling off horror films you’ve heard of but would never dream of watching.

“No, nope, never ever, absolutely not,” you shake your head firmly, you know exactly where Frankie is going with this.

“I think I need to plan a movie night for our second date,” Frankie chuckles.

“That’s one sure fire way of not getting a second date, Frankie,” you warn, crossing your arms and pressing your lips together in a firm line, “absolutely not happening.”

Frankie giggles and leans over, tugging at your arm, trying to uncross it, “Come on, hermosa, I’ll protect you, keep you safe from all the monsters, I’ll let you hide behind me when you get scared.”

“Why would I even wanna get scared in the first place?” you protest, his giggles making you smile as he tugs your arm free and pulls it over towards his seat.

“Because then you can hide yourself in my arms and I can feel like the brave guy protecting you from the imaginary monsters,” Frankie smiles and does that thing where he pulls your hand to his lips for a kiss while his warm brown eyes stay locked on you.

You smile back at him, his lips are warm and soft against your skin, and you wish you were back on the ground already. “I’m happy with you just being the brave helicopter guy who’s great at keeping me calm during flying.”

“Yeah, really?” he smiles and you recognise the way his eyes shift to something more mischievous, “wanna try something scary up here?”

“Uhu, what do you have in mind, Frankie?” you ask cautiously, “no crashing any vehicles please.”

“Just hold on to your seat belt, like this,” he lets go of your hand and motions you to grab on to the straps just below your shoulders.

“Why, Frankie?” you ask nervously.

“Just hold on,” he grins and you grab hold of the straps, watching him intently. He hails the airfield on the radio and tells Denny you’re almost back but that he’s going to try out something before landing. “We’re just gonna have some fun up here,” he says to his boss while grinning over at you.

“Frankie….” you plead, but you can’t stop yourself from giggling too as the all clear comes through the radio from Denny.

“Alright, here we go,” Frankie grins and you suddenly feel your whole world tipping sideways and you all but scream as the chopper suddenly tilts, Frankie pulling hard right on the stick. After a few seconds he straightens up again, only to bank hard left as you squeal, squeezing your eyes shut. Your stomach drops as you feel gravity pull you down, only the seatbelt keeping you in your seat. Next to you Frankie is chuckling happily as he pulls the chopper back up horizontal again. You press your head back hard against your set, trying to catch your breath.

“You alright, hermosa?” Frankie’s voice comes through your headphones, you can hear his grin and you open your eyes and look over at him. “I fucking hate you, Francisco Morales,” you huff but you can’t hide your smile creeping up. The rush had been exhilarating and Frankie laughs at you. “Wanna do it again?” he asks and when you nod, he looks delighted, “knew you’d like it. Hang on then, cariño.”

As Frankie puts the chopper through a number of skilled manoeuvres, the world around you tips and tilts until your head is spinning, adrenaline flowing through your system. It’s like being on the world’s best roller coaster and you can’t help giggling and squealing as you’re running out of breath. Until suddenly, out of nowhere, the air sickness hits and you feel nausea crash over you.

“Frankie,” you cry out, “please stop, please stop.”

Frankie immediately brings the chopper up to hover steadily and leans over, one hand on the stick, the other on your shoulder. You breathe in and out of your nose and try to control the panic in your chest.

“Just breathe, hermosa, just look at the horizon and keep breathing.” He rubs his warm palm over your arm, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done so much, I’m so sorry, hermosa.” He keeps rubbing his palm up and down your arm and the warmth from his hand and his calm voice in your headphones brings your breathing under control and the nausea dissipates slowly. Eventually you can look away from the horizon and over at Frankie, he’s still leaning over as far as his seat belt will let him, his eyes worried and guilty looking under the cap.

“Feeling better?” he asks, moving his hand up from your arm to gently cup your cheek, his thumb stroking over the soft skin. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to make you air sick, cariño.”

“I’m feeling better now,” you give him a small smile, “I don’t know what happened. I was having fun and then it just hit me all of a sudden.”

“I think I went a bit overboard on the banking, I should’ve been more careful with you, I’m really sorry.” Frankie’s pained expression tugs at your heart and you reach up and put your hand over his on your cheek.

“It’s fine, Frankie, I really had fun, it was like being on the best roller coaster. I guess it just got a little bit too much suddenly.”

Frankie looks a little bit less guilty and gives you one of those warm, soft smiles that makes the corner of his eyes crinkle, his thumb still caressing your cheek.

“I think I’ll get us down again now, get some solid ground under your feet, hermosa.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” you smile back at him, thankful for his calm way of getting your freak out under control. He leans back into his seat, reluctantly letting go of your cheek, and starts the descent.

As the helicopter smoothly descends towards the airfield tarmac you see Denny approach from the hangar. Shielding his eyes from the dust whipped up by the rotor blades he waits until Frankie safely puts the aircraft down and turns off the engine, the silence almost deafening after the constant roar in your years. Frankie gets himself out of the pilot’s seat before coming round the chopper to help you out, gently taking the headphones off your head and unclipping your seatbelt.

“Easy there,” he says, taking your hand and helping you to find your footing. Your legs are surprisingly jelly-like after being in the chopper, a bit like stepping off a boat when the ground still moves under you. “Don’t want you falling over, hermosa,” Frankie tucks his arm around your waist as Denny comes over.

“Thanks for handling that, Morales,” he says as Frankie hands over the paperwork and the keys to the chopper. “Head on out of here, I’ll finish up, go enjoy your date.” The last thing he says with a smile at you, still safely tucked in with Frankie’s arm around you.

“Thanks, boss, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he gives Denny a nod and guides you back towards the truck. You’re fine on your feet now but Frankie’s arm feels good around you, so you let your hand slip around his waist and with a little tug Frankie pulls you closer, you catch his smile as you glance up at him.

As you get back to the truck Frankie walks you over to the passenger side door but doesn’t open it. Instead he moves so that your back is against the side of the truck, with him standing close in front of you. You feel a shiver run through your body as you see the look in his eyes, his brown eyes almost black as he leans closer to you.

“Remember what I told you to do again, back when we were at the stop light?” he asks, his voice dropping low and dark.

“Yes,” you breath out, pulse racing so fast you can feel it in your throat.

You lift your hand and caress your fingers through the unruly dark brown curls poking out around his ear. Frankie inhales and briefly closes his eyes before opening them again as you let your hand slip down his neck, caressing the soft skin behind his ear. You stroke your thumb over his jaw, fitting your thumb against the bare patch.

Frankie steps in closer, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks, slotting them around your face. The pink tip of his tongue pokes out, wetting his bottom lip briefly.

“Can I finally kiss you now?” he whispers as his eyes flick down to your lips before looking up at you again.

“Yes, Frankie, please,” you whisper back at him.

His lips are soft, warm, supple, as he gently presses them against yours, his thumbs caressing your cheeks and his scent fills your nose. You wrap your arms around his waist and pull him closer and he steps in eagerly, pushing you up against the warm metal of the truck. His tongue darts out and runs along your lips, making you open up and taste him willingly. He deepens the kiss, tilting his head to savour more of your mouth as you feel his tongue slide along your own. A small moan escapes you and in response Frankie slides a hand behind your head, tangling his fingers in your hair, pulling you closer.

You’re bunching up the sides of his black hoodie with how desperately you’re hanging on to him as he licks deeper into your mouth, the gentle kiss quickly turning into something a lot more eager. Frankie’s pressed up against you fully and as he shifts his stance you feel the ridgid thickness between his legs press up against your stomach. The sensation sends a jolt of electricity through you and heat pools at the apex of your thighs as Frankie moans into your mouth, shifting his weight again. With a groan he pulls away from your lips, both of you panting, out of breath.

Frankie drops his forehead against yours and closes his eyes, you can feel his chest rise and fall against yours.

“You drive me crazy, mi hermosa,” he whispers, “wanted to do that since I first saw you last night.” You smile up at him even though his eyes are still closed.

“Probably would’ve let you do it last night too, Frankie,”

“Should’ve asked Pope for a bigger bet,” he grins, opening his eyes and looking down at you. You smile and reach up for his lips, he meets you eagerly and you lose yourself in how soft he feels as lets his tongue slip into your mouth again.

Chapter 3

#pedro pascal #frankie morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #triple frontier #frankie morales fluff

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crybaby-bkg · 7 months

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sᴄᴏʀɴᴇᴅ | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴇɪɢʜᴛ

Bakugou x f!reader Warnings/Tags: hero injuries, reader gives bakugou stitches, needle mention, PTSD flashbacks Word Count: 6.6k Minors/blank/ageless blogs DNI!

Main Masterlist AO3

You hadn't seen Bakugou for two days, after your training session with Kirishima at the gym. Scheduling conflicts, since by the time you were home after talking to Vanity, he was already in bed, his door shut. When you got up the next morning, he was gone to work, and you spent the rest of the day at your job, giving them one last group session before informing your boss that this would be your final day.

You told her everything, about you staying with Dynamight, about the opportunity you were given, how your life would be changing. Thankfully, she was happy for you, and asked you to stay in touch, despite the way her eyes filled with tears. You’re getting better, she had told you while squeezing your hands tight, just know we’ll always be here for you if you ever need it. You definitely didn’t cry as you walked out of the shelter.

After that, when you had gone back home, Bakugou was asleep again. Tired bastard, kept missing you, which made breaking the news that you agreed to become a hero even harder. The next morning went by no differently, except this time, you didn’t have anywhere to go.

You lounged around his apartment, going from writing in your journal to scrolling on social media, to putting it down because your heart hurt for the people who talked about the Red Medusa. So many posts about how much they missed her, how they hoped that she was okay, that she was a bitch for leaving and not saying anything, that she needs to come back.

It was overwhelming. Is this what your life will be now? Plagued with the death that has been bestowed upon the Red Medusa? Living in her shadow, knowing that the work you’ll do as a hero will never truly compare to the work you did in the streets, for the people?

So you put your phone down, vowing to stay off of it for as long as humanly possible. You decide, instead, to explore the apartment more, go snooping the way you should’ve when you first moved in just about a month ago.

As spacious as the apartment is, there isn’t too much to explore. There’s another room on the other side of the house that Bakugou sometimes frequents. An office, you discover, filled with cabinets and mahogany and papers. In the middle of a large oak desk sits a closed laptop, a couple of pens and notebooks beside it. Everything is so neatly placed, and you wonder if you’ve been living with a neat freak this whole time, and somehow hadn’t noticed.

You leave out of that room, finding yourself in front of his closed bedroom door. You’ve never been inside of his room, never had any need to, and you still don’t. But you’re curious, just a little, and promise that you won’t do any snooping. Bakugou never said that you couldn’t go in his room, just to not eat his protein bars and to stop wasting his tea, so it wasn’t a complete invasion of privacy.

But still, you only crack his bedroom door, don’t dare to take an actual step in. Just peek your head in, eyes scanning the dark room. It’s a mix of black, gray, white and tan, oddly soothing and easy on the eyes. His bed is large, even bigger than the one you have in your room, and you guess it makes sense, seeing his figure. The bed sheets are made, the duvet black and puffy looking, soft and quilted, pulled up to exactly six pillows, a small circular one placed neatly in the middle.

There’s another one of those handmade blankets styled into the bottom corner, and it stands out from the rest of the room. It’s in a bright orange color, with green and black woven in, and it resembles his hero uniform if you tilt your head enough. You wonder if it was a gift from a fan that he’s kept.

The rest of his room is spacious, with big dressers on either side of his bed, the tops adorned with various items. You spot two different colognes, a jewelry stand, and you wonder why he even has it if he never wears jewelry. Or have you just not noticed it? Or…does he wear it in places that just aren’t visible to the eye?

You shake your head as if to clear the thoughts away from your mind—your stupid, dirty, inquisitive mind—and look around the rest of the room. You have to tilt your head to see the TV mounted on the wall in front of his bed, almost jump out of your skin when you find your reflection staring back at you in a full size mirror nestled in the corner of his room. Beside it, is a closed door that you guess is the bathroom, another door open to reveal his packed closet.

When your curiosity is content, do you finally close the door, padding back into the open living room. You figure you could kill some time until he got home by watching TV, maybe try to do a few reps with the weights he stacks in the corner of the room. You want to, but as you examine the weights that start at your current weight before doubling the next size up, you figure its best to just lay on the couch and not pull a muscle.

And also not think about how easily he could use you as a weight if that was his smallest size. Definitely not thinking about that at all.

…

You hadn’t realized that you had fallen asleep through another shitty live action Disney movie, until someone bursts through the front door. You instantly sit up, eyes blurry as your heart drops, hand going to your hip before you curse under your breath at the empty feeling. Fuck, you left your gun in your room.

But, you suppose you don’t need it, seeing as its only Bakugou who comes stumbling through the door. He looks like shit.

“The fuck happened to you?” You ask, startled, as you uncurl yourself from the purple blanket to stand up and aid him. Bakugou leans heavily against the wall adjacent to the front door, his head hung low as his breaths come in quick and heavy. He looks up between his bangs, covered in soot and grime, and your eyes widen for a second when you see the bloody condition of his face.

“Stupid, fuckin’ shitty villain.” Bakugou huffs, face scrunching up as he pushes himself off the wall with a groan. “Got his ass though, ’s all that matters.” He mutters, limping his way past you down the hall. You only watch him go, and the tiny specks of blood that he leaves in his wake.

“Need some help?” You ask him, and you already know the answer if he’s as stubborn as you are.

“Nah, I got it.” He replies back, and you can only roll your eyes at him. It only takes another few seconds of watching him slowly drag his ass down the hallway, barely even halfway to his room, before you feel just the slightest bit of pity for the man. You can help him, you think, he’s let you stay here rent free for about a month now. It’s the least you could do.

So you walk up beside him, slipping under his arm so that his weight rests on you. Bakugou hesitates though, looking down at you with a frown, and you can see the dried blood under his nostril and the deep cut through his cheek.

“Said I got it,” he mumbles, despite the fact that he leans some of his weight on you. You stumble in surprise before planting your feet, frowning back at him as you wrap your arm around his middle.

“Yeah, but I got tired of watching your turtle slow ass drag down the hall. It’ll be time to go back to work before your dumbass makes it to bed.” You snark back at him, although it holds no malice. Bakugou snorts at you under his breath, but he doesn’t protest. Just lets you haul his heavy ass down the hallway and into his room. He moves as if to tell you he can take it from here, but his knees shake, and you cling onto him tighter. You move him until you’re deep in his bedroom, and he juts his head to the side.

“Bathroom’s in there.” He mutters under his breath, voice strained as if in pain. So you hurry him to the bathroom, kicking the door open, and you take a second to admire the size of it.

“How come my bathroom isn’t this big?” You grumble under your breath as you help him to sit on the lid of the toilet. Bakugou spreads out, head resting against the tile wall of the room, his arms limp at his sides, but he smiles faintly at you.

“‘Cause this is the master suite, dumbass.” He says softly, eyes fluttering shut slowly as you start rummaging around the cabinets in search of a first aid kit.

“I wanna be in the master suite.” You pout, finally finding what you were looking for with a noise of satisfaction, before turning to Bakugou. He’s fixed you with this look, with his eyebrow cocked and an almost amused smile twitching at the bottom half of his face. You go to ask him why he’s looking at you all creepily like that, before your words sink in. Your face goes warm as you slam the first aid kit open, grumbling to yourself as you douse a cotton ball in alcohol.

“Not like that, pervert.” You murmur, going straight into his face with the cotton ball. Bakugou groans at that, and you feel just the tiniest bit of contentment at the sound.

The minutes pass on like that, with you cleaning the cuts and blood from the neck up. His suit is torn again, but those places visible are covered in bandages and gauze. You try to make small talk in the meantime, something you learned from working with other injured vigilantes. Get their mind off of their injuries, distract them from the pain; it always seems to work well enough.

“Why not let the paramedics clean your face too?” You ask softly as you start applying antibacterial ointment on the surface wounds. Bakugou’s lip turns down at that, almost as if in thought himself, before he shrugs.

“Dunno. I was just ready to come home. Make sure you were okay.” He mutters, eyes downcast, his hands twitching where he rests them on his knees. You let his words linger, start feeling that same achey burn in your chest you’ve been developing for the past couple of weeks now. You swallow thickly, and think that maybe you should go to the doctor for that chest pain.

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” You whisper, standing back to look at your work before your eyes fall on that deep gash in his cheek. Finally, does Bakugou look up at you, his carmine eyes darker than ever before, his lips slightly parted, his hair pushed back to reveal his scraped up forehead.

“Dunno,” he repeats. “Hadn’t seen you in a few days. I wasn’t sure if you left, or something.” He grumbles, eyes rolling down to his lap again. But you tilt his head up by the tip of your index finger, only to get a better look at the gash on his cheek, before tutting to yourself.

“Gonna need stitches.” You tell him, and he only nods once, gulping soundly, face reddening at the feeling of your fingertip under his chin, tickling his scruff.

“Figured that.” Bakugou grunts, clearing his throat when you back away to prepare the needle. The air is charged in the room, makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up as you try to get yourself to focus on the task at hand. It’s silent for entirely too long, and you speak before the silence swallows you whole.

“I’m not leaving anytime soon, I fear.” You whisper to Bakugou, a playful lilt to your voice as you look at him from over your shoulder. His head whips up at your words, and he lets out a soft tuft of air from his nose as you shrug at him.

“Got it too good here. I can insult the landlord without getting kicked out, not pay rent, drink up all his tea, eat his good protein bars—”

“I thought I told you to not eat my fuckin’ protein bars—”

“I’m kidding!” You interject with a small chuckle, standing in front of him again with the prepped needle and thread. Bakugou is frowning at you, too big arms crossed over his chest childishly. But you only roll your eyes, signal for him to let his arms hang at his sides so you can get closer to him. He does, huffing petulantly all the while, but you only ignore his antics.

“Ready?” You whisper, voice as soft as the winds whispers against the bathroom window. Bakugou nods once, eyes focused on you, and it makes you gulp nervously.

“‘Course I’m fucking ready, I’m Dyna—fuck,” you cut him off as you slowly slide the needle through the skin around his cut, chuckling softly at his wince. Everything goes smoothly for a few minutes, as you stitch him up. You move slower than usual, as you haven’t had to do this in a while, but Bakugou doesn’t mind your patience.

“You’ve done this before.” He speaks up after a while, says more than asks you. He winces when the needle slides through his skin again, hands instinctively reaching out to grab your legs from the pain. You both freeze, your hands pausing in their movements before Bakugou quickly snatches his hands back to his lap.

“Sorry,” he mutters under his breath, eyes downcast as you watch his hands curl into fists. But you inhale sharply, try to redirect the oncoming anxiety and paranoia, remind yourself that you’re safe, that you’re the one with the needle right now, if he tried any funny business, which you doubt. So you exhale slowly, nodding once as you gesture to his hands.

“It’s okay.” You tell him, as you go back to stitching him up. “You can hold on if you need to, I won’t tell the world what a huge baby you are.” You tease, smiling softly when you glance down at his mouth. He frowns at you, eyes narrowing, but its playful nonetheless.

Slowly, with so much hesitance that it makes your heart skip a beat, does Bakugou place his hands around your legs, in between the space of your knee and thighs. It’s innocent, his touch, barely there, and warm, but not entirely unwanted. When the tension of his movements becomes too much, do you finally break the ice.

“I used to do this for the other vigilantes who wanted my help.” You mutter, a little over halfway done with his stitches, tongue poking out in concentration. You inhale deeply again, as you wonder if now’s a good time to drop the huge bomb.

“Guess I won’t be available as a nurse when I’m a hero.” You say as nonchalantly as you can, shrugging. Bakugou pauses at that, his hands briefly squeezing you as his eyes swivel from the corner of the bathroom to your own gaze. His face breaks into a slow but sure smile, even though you can tell it pains him with the pulling of his stitches.

“You agree to the conditions? Of becoming a hero?” He asks, head tilting to the side a little. You huff as if he’s annoying you, but you can’t help the grin that spreads on your own face. You straighten his big head with your hands, as you go back to finishing up his stitches.

“Yeah, I guess.” You roll your eyes playfully, and you have to pinch the bottom of his jaw to get him to stop smiling all stupidly big. It’s annoying to look at.

“I’m happy to hear that.” Bakugou says after a while, sitting back when you quietly announce that you’re done stitching him up. You drop the needle on the bathroom sink, hands on your hips as you look down at him with a confused face.

“You? Big bad Dynamight? Happy? The days must be coming to an end.” You sigh dramatically, eyes rolling into your head as you feel him squeeze your legs again, gently. Its like he doesn’t even realize that he’s doing it, and that makes your heart pump a little harder than it should.

“Shaddup.” Bakugou counters back weakly, absentmindedly licking his lips, his head tilted back and his eyes low.

“Make me.” You shoot at him, a reflexive response that you now wish you would’ve swallowed. Because the look he gives you is downright sinful, makes you swallow thickly as his head keeps tilting up and up, and your chin keeps tilting down and down, until it tucks into your chest.

When had you gotten that close to him? When had your arms started resting on his shoulders, hands interlocked behind his head? When…when was the last time you had gotten this close to a man?

You remembered. You remembered how his nose brushed against yours, the twinge of alcohol on his breath, the way his dilated pupils stared so deeply into your own. You remember the tears running down your face, the way your bottom lip trembled, how exposed you were, how you kept trying to pull away, how he kept pulling you closer.

Where had Bakugou gone? Where had his bathroom disappeared to? When had you been transported back to that same gloomy house, in that same dingy bathroom, with the same piece of shit man who had convinced you that he loved you? That what he was doing was how all men will treat their girls? That this was devotion? Love? Adoration? Normal?

When had Bakugou transformed into the dead man that still haunts your worst dreams at night?

Bakugou’s nose brushes against yours, but you pull away with a sharp gasp. You step back, making his hands rip away from your body, the skin cold now without his warmth. His eyes are wide and confused, hurt, that you’ve rejected him, that you’ve fucked up, denied him of something all men are entitled to.

You always were defective, weren’t you?

“You should be good to go now.” You whisper to him, shakily, don’t bother with putting everything away as you rush out of his bathroom, out of his room, straight into your own. But it was never going to be yours, now was it?

This was only temporary, something he had gifted you because he wanted something in return, right? Because they all did, didn’t they? Didn’t they?

“Stop,” you whisper to yourself as you crouch in front of your door, hands over your ears as if to stop the incessant voices plaguing your head. You try to remember what one of your many your therapists’ had told you before—your thoughts are not reality. Just because you think Bakugou is trying to get something from you, doesn’t mean he actually is. Just because you think he’s like your attacker, doesn’t mean he’s even similar to your attacker. Just because your trauma is trying to convince you that you’re in danger again, it doesn’t mean you actually are.

So breathe, you remind yourself, just breathe. It’ll all be okay. You can only hope it will be.

…

An hour or two passes before you finally emerge from your room. You started journaling in the meantime, trying to expel every bad thought from your head onto paper, as if to clear it all away from ever existing inside of you. It does a good job for the most part, but you come out feeling…guilty. You didn’t want Bakugou to think that he did something wrong, but instead you were still working through shit he couldn’t even imagine.

Would he be mad at you? Would he start raging, lecturing you about denying him something that was owed? Would he—would he kick you out for rejecting him?

Stop it. Fuckin’ stop it, you have to keep telling yourself, eyes clenched shut as you keep yourself upright against the wall beside your door. It’s so easy to retreat, to let your mind take over, to succumb to your fear and lash out anytime someone tried getting close to you.

But you won’t take the easy route, not this time. You’ll go out and face the fear spitting in your face, and you’ll wrangle it by its fucking neck.

With a deep breath, do you finally walk away from your door, peeking your head around the wall separating the hallway to the open space of his apartment. Bakugou is sitting on the couch, the TV turned on but the sound low, one large bicep slung over the back of the soft cushions. He doesn’t turn around when he hears you, but you know that he knows you’re there, with the way his cheek twitches when you approach.

“Can we talk?” You ask him as you stand to the side of the couch. His head instantly whips to the side when you speak, his attention focused on you. You were scared that his gaze would be fiery, would ooze irritation and hatred and disdain but—but his eyes only soften when they lay upon your form. He drinks you in, with your security blanket over your hunched shoulders and the way your eyes can’t stay on his for too long.

“Of course,” Bakugou answers back quickly with a sharp nod. He scoots down the couch, gives you the warm placement of his seat as he squeezes himself to the corner. You turn to him, leaning on your hip as you take him in. He’s changed his clothes since you locked yourself in your room, wearing only a tank and low slung sweatpants.

“How many tank tops do you own?” You mutter under your breath, telling yourself that you’re only staring at his arm and upper chest to assess the damage of his bandages and not the veins that run under his skin. They’re so blue against his pale flesh, and they bulge when he crosses his arms.

“That’s what you wanted to talk about?” Bakugou asks, a confused huff in his voice. He fixes you with a cocked brow, mouth turned down, and you shake your head quickly.

“Obviously not, dumbass, ’s just that, it feels like all you wear is tank tops.” You mutter, looking down to pick with your nails, whispering under your breath, “Fuckin’ show off.”

Bakugou makes a quiet little noise under his breath, something akin to a laugh, you think. It makes the tension ease in the room, your own mouth lilting up just the tiniest bit in the corners. The silence stretches on for entirely too long, with you picking your nails and Bakugou watching you from across the couch.

“You can get a little closer, you know. I don’t bite, unless prompted.” You tell him, eyes still downcast, as you force out a breathy chuckle. Bakugou is quiet, makes you look up from under your lashes at how he stares at you, taking your hunched form in.

��I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He says quietly, his voice softer than it should be at the moment. It makes you frown, eyebrows turning in as you place your hands in your lap, fidgeting with them still.

“Oh, so now you’re scared of making me uncomfortable?” You ask him accusatorially, watch the way his face screws up in irritation and confusion. “You weren’t uncomfortable walking around in those tiny fuckin’ shorts with your fuckin’ thigh meat out last week!” You snap at him, finger pointing in his direction. Bakugou goes through a range of emotions in only a few seconds, his face contorting as he tries to settle on something, before he grins. Chuckles under his breath a few times as he turns in his seat to face you fully.

“Are you slut shaming me? In my own home?” He asks incredulously, his voice small in the room despite his huff of laughter. Your face and finger drop in worry, eyes rounded in shame as you start shaking your head rapidly.

“Oh my—no, I would never!” You exclaim, worry overtaking your tone before he breaks out into a grin, making your eyes narrow at him. “You know what? I am, actually.” You admit, arms folding over your chest. Bakugou laughs at that, outwardly, head thrown back and all. You watch the way his Adam’s apple bobs, how pretty and straight his teeth are, the stubble dotting at his chin. When his head lowers, so do his eyes, and he’s never looked more feline than in this moment. It both intimidates and excites you, makes you feel like you’re out in the wild somewhere, with a trusted lion you know would never maul you. When both of your laughters die out, and you only sit there staring at each other, do you finally find it in you to speak.

“I didn’t come here to slut shame you, you know.” You tell him, quiet, voice drowning under the busy outside world filtering in through the open windows of the apartment. Bakugou shrugs, his knee digging into the pillow beside him, the other leg bouncing against the floor.

“I would’ve guessed otherwise.” He teases, smiles something genuine at you, makes that same stupid fucking ache flare up in your chest. You have to look away from the radiance that shines around his ash blond hair, even though nighttime has befallen the sky outside.

“I wanted to apologize for earlier.” You spit out after a while, swallowing thickly as you feel your throat start to close up on you. The air shifts in the room, goes from something light and playful to heavy, hesitation lingering around the both of you.

“You don’t have to be sorry for anything.” Bakugou tells you, quiet but firm. “I know, scarcely, what happened to you in the past, and I should’ve asked before trying something like that.” His words slow by the end of the sentence, spitting out the last few words as if they pain him to think about. The way he looks right now, so still and almost—tiny for you, curling in on himself in the corner of the couch, giving you all the space in the world. Something about it charges you, makes you speak before you can think about it.

“Something like what?” Your voice is teasing, and you feel a flare of heat lighting up your cheeks and neck when Bakugou’s eyes widen briefly. You think you’ve stumped him, but he leans forward the tiniest bit, never breaking eye contact.

“Like kissing you.” He states, firm and unmoved, and something about the way his lips form the word kissing, makes you feel things you haven’t felt in ages. You shift a little in your seat, so the security blanket falls from your shoulders to pool around your waist, fingers fidgeting with the edges of it.

“Well, do you want to?” You ask slowly, looking up at him from under your lashes. Your heart races with every second, every nerve ending flaring up, lighting up your entire system. You think you might start hyperventilating from the anxiety of it all, but the excitement of what’s to come keeps your breaths deep and shallow.

“Do you want me to?” Bakugou’s voice drops, just the tiniest bit so, but your ears pick up on it anyway. Makes you shift a little at his words, at the thought, at the image of you two. Sitting on his couch, your lips hovering above his, his hand around your waist, yours tangled in his hair.

Does he like his hair being touched? Will being grabbed around your waist do it for you? Will it flood you with the past? Will it create memories to override the bad ones? Will the bad ones rest in their graves, will they let you become someone new with better memories? Will you like it? Will you want more? Will he make you insatiable—reclusive—explorative—terrified to put yourself out there again?

“I think I do.” You answer, finally, after what feels like forever. Your voice is tiny, and you can’t look at him, in fear that you’ll run. In which direction, you’re still not sure yet.

“You think?” Bakugou asks in a quiet little voice, head tilting to the side as he takes you in, and you do the same. The distance feels so close and yet so far away, like you’re steadily reaching and grabbing for him, but always just an inch short.

“Yeah.” You nod, chin tucking delicately into your chest as you pick invisible lint from your sweatpants. “This is all…new to me. It’s a lot. But, I want it to happen. Naturally.” You nod, trying to convince yourself just as much as him about your words. Bakugou takes you in, eyes scanning the entirety of your form, of your body language, licking his lips slowly as he props his head up with his fist, elbow resting on the back of the couch.

“Is this too unnatural for you? Me asking?” He inquires, and you squirm a little under his scrutiny, shifting this way and that as you fiddle with the throw pillow beside you.

“Yes.” You say slowly, nodding your head. “But I think I like unnatural things, if they ask for consent first.” Your head tilts down, your eyes gazing up at him sweetly. He thinks he might explode with the way you look at him, and you think the same of him. He licks his lips again, shifting the same as you do, growing restless with the tension palpitating through the room. He asks what he’s been dying to ask since you sat on the couch, since you bandaged him up, since you got sushi with him, since you talked with him in the kitchen what feels like centuries ago.

“So, can I kiss you?” Bakugou asks slowly, his words quiet, tiny as they carry through the air. He’s scared that if he speaks too loudly, it might startle you. You’re dainty like that, he thinks, something he wants to hold gently and nurture in the rough palms of his hands, until you sprout into something stronger than even you know you’re capable of being.

“I would like that.” You answer slowly, heart beating so loudly in your eardrums, it washes out the tiny little sigh of contentment through his nose. Bakugou grins at that, jerking his head in his direction.

“C’mere then.” He tells you, shifting on the couch to welcome you into his space, but you shake your head.

“No.” You answer, watch how his face falls in confusion for a second. “You come to me.” You tell him, wobbling chin held high, despite your anxiety of telling a man to come to you, to seemingly submit. It might not be a big thing, but too many have rejected your wishes for you to be in control, for them to enter your space with your permission, for them to crawl on their knees to you.

But Bakugou doesn’t object one bit. Instead, he grins, as if that were the answer he was looking for. He scoots down a bit until he’s in your space, and momentarily you forgot just how big he is. How wide his shoulders are, the round expanse of his biceps that curl on the back of the couch, against his side. So you stand up on your knees until you hover over him, and he only smiles, bright and blindly and stupidly fuckin’ pretty for a man of his stature.

You lean in close to him, and he does the same, but he doesn’t kiss you, not yet. Let’s you control everything—guiding his hand to your waist, the other curling around your back to pull you in closer, how far his head tilts back until he has to look at you down the bridge of his nose. You just hover there, see his reaction, the way his pupils dilate, how his lips part and his breathing picks up in anticipation.

You never wanted to admit it, but Bakugou is sofucking beautiful, it pains you. To think, just a few months ago you hated his fucking guts, wanted him dead, your first pro hero kill. And now look at you—living in his place, using up all his tea, your lips skimming over his as you stare at each other, drinking in each of your awestruck looks of the others beauty. It becomes a little too much for you, and you find yourself blurting out,

“You’re kinda ugly.” You mutter. Bakugou’s eyes widen at that before they scrunch in a laugh, and he squeezes you tight, his hands warm where they hold you. Your own squeeze at his jaw and neck, chuckling at the obvious lie you just spilled. He shrugs at you when his laughter dies down.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Guess I do have an ugly mug.” He agrees with you, and—and it kinda makes you feel a bit like shit. You were such a shitty liar, you figured he knew that you were messing with him. So your heart pangs guilty, for a split second, and you find yourself leaning in even closer, watching the way his dark lashes flutter against the sharpness of his cheeks.

“I’m a shit liar,” you confess, feeling the softness of his mouth brush yours tantalizingly. “You’re actually kinda pretty, some days.” You tease him. He laughs softly, but its muffled when you slot your mouth over his.

You expected to feel—repulsed? Disgusted even, triggered and flighty. Maybe even a few sparks of something bright and hot, sure to die out in seconds. But, you don’t feel any of that when you kiss Bakugou. If anything, you feel…contentment. Peaceful, and serene, as your lips quietly slide against his own.

His bottom lip fits so perfectly in your mouth, and his head tilts the same time as yours does, his breath heavy against the space above your lip. His mouth tastes like sleepy time tea, and it makes the kiss all the more sweeter.

You pull away for a breath, eyes low as you swallow him in—the glassiness of his eyes, his top lip already swelling and pink, the way he breathes heavily from his mouth. And you want more, more, more of him, of kissing, of feeling his lips against your own. You dive in for another kiss and another, until you feel feverish, hand gripping him tightly by the jaw as you tilt his head back to swallow down the sound he makes when you suck sweetly on his bottom lip. A soft noise emits from the back of his throat, and it does something to you, something that makes you want to devour him whole until all you hear, taste, smell, and feel is Bakugou.

You’ve never liked kissing much, you always told yourself. But maybe—maybe it wasn’t the act of kissing, itself. Maybe it was always about who you kissed, that made you like the way his wet lips moved against your own.

Your tongue hesitantly peeks from the roundness of your lips to slide against his own, and the sound that he makes is heavenly. He’s squeezing you so tight, but his hands never stray from their position. Not until you move them, just a little lower down so they rest on your hips, your knees shifting in place as his palms warm against you.

“Fuck,” he moans under his breath, his own tongue coming out to play softly with yours. He’s hesitant, gentle, lets you take the lead as you slide your pink muscle against his. The velvety feeling of his tongue in your mouth makes you light headed, reaching your hands into his hair, and you pull lightly to help ground yourself. But that only makes everything worse when he only whines, soft and damn near silent from the back of his throat, but you hear it nonetheless.

You pull away with a gasp, holding him back with a fist in his hair, as you try to regain your breath. Bakugou is in no better position than you, with his cheeks flushed and his kiss swollen lips parted as he pants quietly. You kiss him once more before you pull away, loosening your grip on his hair to snake down and rest on the top swell of his pec.

“Guess I don’t hate you that much, after getting to know you.” You pant to him, leaning in for another kiss and another, relishing in the smacking of your lips against his own in the quiet air. Bakugou chuckles breathily at that, and it does something to you that you’re too not proud to admit.

“I don’t hear that often.” He replies, chasing your mouth when you pull back, and you let him, sucking on his bottom lip once more. He slots his lip between yours, and you nibble on it the tiniest bit, grinning when he makes that pretty noise once more.

“Yeah, cause you’re an asshole.” You tease, finally pulling back and holding him away from you. He looks so pretty like this, all flushed and swollen and—and needy. You don’t think you can handle it. So you pat his chest once, twice, try not to get too ahead of something you’re not quite ready for yet, as you sit on your knees, making him loom over you once more.

“I think,” you whisper, gaze still on his lips as you try to focus on his eyes. “I think we should stop here for tonight. Don’t wanna move too fast.” You tell him, even though your body fights you on it. Your mind wants to creep in and flash the memories you try to bury, but your body yearns for something that’ll cherish it. And you just know that Bakugou will cherish it, but not yet. You’re not ready for more than kissing, you mull over with yourself.

Bakugou handles it perfectly, nodding a couple of times as he scoots away just the tiniest bit, licking his lips as if he still tastes you on them. You have to look away from the sight, core tightening, and you pinch your thigh, reminding yourself that this isn’t something you’re entirely ready to fully jump into.

“Yeah, that sounds good.” He whispers, finally letting you go, his hand resting beside your knee on the couch. You watch it, the way his big and scarred palm twitches on the soft cushions. You both sit there in silence, unsure of what to do next, before you break the ice.

“Wanna watch the next episode of that sci-fi series we started last week?” You ask him, trying to shift the mood to something more neutral. Bakugou looks as if in thought, eyes still focused on your lips before they meet your gaze. He nods quickly, muttering an affirmative under his breath, as he reaches for the remote on the coffee table.

He goes through the motion of turning the show on, but he doesn’t comment when you sit fully beside him, leaning just the tiniest bit on his arm. You’re warm, you both tell yourselves, and I think your heat is going to be a comfort of mine that I seek out from now on.

chapter nine

please do not repost or rec on tik tok!

tag list: @endlessfreaky @iamaconfusedpan

#—new treat in the streets! 🍫#crybaby.bkg.scorned

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dramaticvhs · 1 year

Text

7 fics with 100k+ words (Teen Wolf)

I don't make a habit of reading longer fics because I get migraines and once I'm invested I can't bring myself to put them down. even if you're like me and don't read long fics, i encourage you to give these a try if they interest you. these are the longest ones I have bookmarked and I hope you enjoy them as much as I have ❤️

read tags. some fics may contain sensitive content. check pairings, ones included on this list might not be your cup of tea.

1. Don't Savage The Messenger by exclamation

(Sterek, Explicit, Graphic Depictions of Violence, 172,379 words)

There is an uneasy truce between the werewolves in the woods and the humans who live in Beacon Hills, protected by a magical boundary that gives warning any time a werewolf crosses it. Then the sheriff is taken by the werewolves and his son offers himself in exchange.

Stiles promises to serve the werewolf pack, not knowing what horrible use they might have for him. But it turns out his most useful skill is the ability to cross the boundary line between humans and werewolves. Life with the werewolves is nothing like he feared and the werewolves themselves are nothing like the hunters' stories would have him believe.

2. Bodies Can Be Bought But the Heart Cannot Be Owned; Only Given Freely by kyrene

(Sterek, Explicit, Underage and Rape/Non-con, 102,965 words)

In a world where the human race is enslaved by the werewolf race, Derek Hale struggles to recover from the damage caused to his teenage self by the human, Kate Argent. More to the point, he doesn't believe that slavery is right. But each werewolf gets a personal slave when they become an adult and he's long overdue.

The moment he sets eyes on the filthy, naked slave in the corner of the packed warehouse, Derek knows he has to bring him home. But can he ever gets Stiles, who has never known a kind owner before, to trust that he's finally found a safe place?

3. My, What Big Shoulders You Have (The Better to Help You Carry the Weight) by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(Sterek, Mature, No Archive Warnings Apply, 285,568 words)

“Talia was just telling me an interesting story,” his dad informed him. Stiles didn’t have the nerve to glance over at him, because he knew no matter how much he argued, the proof was all there. The wolves had found him, Parrish had picked him up on the side of the road, he had a fucking picture on his phone. He was screwed. No point in arguing, all it’d do is piss his father off even more.

“You don’t say,” Stiles offered slowly. “What uh—you know, I like stories. Is it a uh, good one?”

“It seems to be a matter of opinion,” Talia said with another kind smile. “I hear you had quite the night last night.”

Okay, time to cut his losses. He was already fucked, all he could do was apologize and hope she didn’t press for him to get fined and arrested. Given he was her husband’s friend’s son, he had high hopes.

“I’m really sorry,” Stiles blurted out. “It was stupid and-and irresponsible and just—I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have crossed into your territory. I should’ve known better, I do know better! It was a complete lapse in judgement and I am just—I am so sorry.”

4. Where the Real Beasts Are by kaistrex (weishen)

(Sterek, Explicit, Graphic Depictions of Violence, 109,100)

Crown Prince Stiles is gifted a direwolf on his eighteenth birthday by King Gerard I of Venatia. The only instruction? Never remove the collar.

Stiles never has been one to do as he’s told.

5. But I Know (a love like this will end in tragedy) by LadySlytherin

(Steter, Explicit, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, 175,687 words)

What happens when you combine outstanding medical bills with a werecoyote ex-something-or-other, who doesn't understand boundaries?

In Stiles' case, the answer is: Peter Hale as a sugar daddy.

Stiles knew doing this with Peter was probably a bad idea. He knew it wouldn't be easy. He knew his friends wouldn't understand. Stiles also knew he was going to do it anyway.

6. What the Hell Is This, Baywatch? by Jenetica

(Melissa McCall/Stiles Stilinski, Explicit, Graphic Depictions of Violence and Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, 101,913 words)

The summer Melissa expected: A happy reunion with Scott after his junior year of college, a slight uptick in work at the hospital, and a generally quiet couple of months.

The summer Melissa did not expect: A strangely tolerable friendship with Lydia Martin, a hellish bout of supernatural antics, and Stiles Stilinski turning into a hot lifeguard who’s decided he wants to spend his summer giving her some kind of sex-fueled conniption.

Guess which one she gets.

7. Divided Loyalties by LennaNightrunner

(Stackson, Explicit, Underage, 154,031 words)

Jackson returns home after a month spent in London trying (and failing) to start the next phase of his life there. Knowing now from experience that he’d be a fool to try to make it as a werewolf on his own, he asks Derek to take him in as a beta. Derek agrees on the condition that Jackson will do as he’s told. Jackson hopes that, despite the mess left in the wake of the Kanima, he might be able to repair his life in Beacon Hills. Of course, things haven’t really been going the way Jackson has hoped lately...

#sterek fic recs #sterek fics #sterek #steter fic rec #steter #stackson #teen wolf fic

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writing-intheundercroft · 8 months

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Your Ivy Grows // A Trip to Town

AO3

She should’ve been in bed.

Truthfully, many of her problems stemmed from her being out of bed at the wrong time. Her mother had always warned her that her disobedience would one day get her in trouble. In fact, she wouldn’t be living out of a musty old mansion had she not been out of bed the night Marvolo Gaunt and his lackeys dropped in to visit her father. She was supposed to be safely tucked away in her room, not out in the garden harvesting her dirigible plums under the moonlight. They would’ve never known of her existence had Marvolo’s associate not been standing next to the parlor window.

Then again, how was she supposed to know that her father owed Marvolo Gaunt a debt, and had spent the last six months trying to keep him from collecting? Twenty four hours after she’d been snatched from the garden, she'd been banished to the Gaunt’s seaside manor with just a house-elf for company. She’d remain there until her father found the blasted spellbook he’d promised to Marvolo.

Her first few weeks of living at the house were eventful. Marvolo had sent a bevy of governesses to supervise her, and she’d promptly chased each one of them off. Each had been directly instructed to keep a close eye on the girl, never letting her leave the manor. It only made her tongue sharper, lashing out even harder at her keepers. The first was old, and easily offended by even the lightest of jabs. The second had cried on her first night after she’d made a dig at her marital status. The third hadn’t even been there for a full twelve hours before she forced Golly to pack her trunks.

“Master Marvolo won’t be happy with you,” Golly scolded her, the morning after the last governess took off running from the manor.

She shrugged, smiling at the little house elf as she sipped on tea. “Can’t we just be on our own? I much prefer your company.”

The house elf sighed. “You know Master Marvolo won’t settle for that. He doesn’t trust me to supervise you alone.”

She could’ve run at any moment then. The manor had anti-apparition charms set around a wide perimeter (even down by the shoreline, she’d tried in vain) so physically running was her only option. A witch of her skill level could easily make her way back to London, and she had tried to do so the night after the last nanny departed, but Marvolo seemed to be one step ahead of her. He’d caught her climbing out of her bedroom window that night, and forced her back inside the manor by the collar of her nightgown. Her wand was promptly confiscated, locked away somewhere in the depths of the house. The threat that followed haunted her dreams.

If you try to run, I will find you. The house-elf? Dead. Your parents? Dead. Your father owes me a debt, and running will only make it worse. It’s better if you behave.

And so, the next week, the younger Mr. Gaunt arrived.

She hadn’t expected him to be so…different. He was the exact opposite of Marvolo; blonde, tall, and lean. His voice was charming, and she couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d smiled at the dinner table. Given her father’s profession, she was used to gruff, vulgar men. The younger Mr. Gaunt was so soft . Despite the angular lines of his face, the young Gaunt had a softness to him; his skin, smooth as cream, was unmarred by marks or stubble. His lips were plush and pink, and his eyes were like glimmering opals.

She was glad he couldn’t see her blushing at the dinner table.

Perhaps the summer could be salvaged, she had thought, once she slid from her bedroom to the back door. Golly had told her all about her former mistress, the Gaunts’ aunt who’d disappeared without a trace about a decade earlier. She was a lover of plants, the old house elf had explained, and her garden was in rough shape. The ivy had overgrown, and choked the life out of any other plant in sight. She’d taken to pruning and tilling the garden for new flowers when she couldn’t sleep at night; working with her hands distracted her from the worry she had for her parents.

Again, the younger Gaunt surprised her–this time, less pleasantly. She hadn’t heard his footsteps (he was quite light on his feet, she noted) over the sound of her own humming. She’d expected a bit of a scolding for being out of bed so late, but she hadn’t expected his screeching. He threw the wine glass, the rich red liquid flying over the two of them as he scrambled to the ground. He could see (she assumed) with his wand, but he’d discarded it, patting around the garden beds with his hands like a madman. He yelled about violets, bluebells, a whole bevy of flowers before yelling at her to return to her quarters. The linen apron and garden tools Golly had shown her were abandoned, and she returned to her room in shame.

The morning light came faster than she’d hoped. Grumbling to herself, she rolled out of the down feather bed, wrapping her housecoat over her nightgown as she descended the stairs to the kitchen for breakfast. Just as she was about to turn the corner into the kitchens, she heard a commotion; pots clanked on the ground, and what sounded like a hand met skin.

“Ouch!” The younger Gaunt grumbled. “I said I’m sorry.”

“You’ve apologized to Golly, but you haven’t said you’re sorry to her,” Golly gasped. “Golly is shocked you’d behave in such a manner, Master Ominis. Madame Noctua raised you to be kinder.”

She pressed herself against the wall, heart beating out of her chest. She’d never known a house elf to ever lay hands on their master.

“How was I supposed to know she’d been clearing up the garden?” He grumbled. He hadn’t said his first name at the dinner table; she repeated his name over and over in her mind. Ominis, Ominis, Ominis. It didn’t quite suit him.

“The young miss has been kind to me,” Golly chided him. “Golly must insist you apologize to her at once.”

She could hear his footsteps drawing closer to the doorway. There was nowhere for her to hide; he’d surely see her with his guiding wand, and things would be even more awkward than they already were. She wished the stone wall would absorb her, praying that he’d somehow turn around.

He did not–but he still didn’t see her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, anticipating the awkward run in, but it never happened. Opening one eye, she saw her chaperone turn the corner and walk towards the backstairs. His wand was stowed away in his pocket, just using his hand to graze the walls for guidance. His appearance was so different from the tidy, proper gentleman who’d met her for dinner the night before. His light blond hair had been perfectly groomed then; it was now messy, slept in, strewn across his forehead. His face was flushed, no doubt from the hangover he was probably feeling after downing an entire bottle of wine by himself. The collar of his shirt was undone, showing the slightest hint of his pale chest. His sleeves were rolled up over his elbows, displaying his forearms as they grazed the wall.

Ominis Gaunt was handsome , she thought to herself. Dreadfully handsome, despite the bite in his tone from the night prior. She wanted to hate him for the way he spoke to her, but something in her stirred at the sight of him so undone. She held her breath as his hand traced the wall, reaching out for the metal bar of the staircase handrail. He slowly ascended the stairs, and the sound of his footsteps disappeared as he got farther and farther away.

His houseguest finally breathed a sigh of relief, turning to walk into the kitchen. Golly had resumed her activities, whisking batter in a bowl, and smiled up at her when she entered the room.

“Master Ominis was just on his way up to apologize to you.” she tutted. “I’m surprised you didn’t run into him.”

“I did,” she admitted. “But he didn’t see me.” She sat across the table from Golly, leaning her chin into her palm. “He walks around the house without his wand. Do you know why?”

Golly shrugged. “Master Ominis practically grew up here, Miss. He did not spend a lot of time in his family home; I don’t think his mother quite had the patience for his blindness. Madame Noctua basically raised him, and until he was old enough to use a wand, he used the walls to guide himself. Perhaps it's out of habit.”

“I’m very sorry for him, in that case.” she mused, pulling a tea cup from the center of the table. “Such a lonely life for a child.”

“I’d wager you’d understand,” Golly hummed, snapping her fingers. A kettle floated over, pouring warm tea. “You grew up in seclusion, did you not?”

She eyed the house-elf. Golly was right, but her situation had been far different. She had grown up alone, mostly due to her parents’ paranoia. Their dangerous profession meant traditional schooling was unsafe, so she’d been homeschooled by her mother all her life. She hadn’t spent much time (if any) with people her own age. It seemed while Ominis had grown up alone in the big old house, he’d at least been able to go to Hogwarts.

“Golly thinks you should go out in the garden today.” the house-elf announced. “You’ll find Master Ominis now understands the undertaking you’re endeavoring with the plants.”

----

It wasn’t long after breakfast that she went out to the gardens. She stopped in the shed, picking up a fresh apron and a basket of gardening tools. Slipping on a pair of dragon-hide gloves, she walked out into the sunlight towards the rose bushes. Their former caretaker must have been cross-breeding varieties; the bushes were now a little too close, tangled together after years of growth without supervision. She knelt on the ground, taking out the pruning shears.

“Excuse me,” a crisp voice interjected.

She turned her head, blinking through the sunlight. Ominis was standing over her, his hands stuck in his pockets with a sheepish look on his face. “Do you have a moment?” he asked, digging his toe into the dirt like a sulking child.

She stood, dropping the shears into the basket. “Mr. Gaunt,” she mumbled. “Good morning.”

He winced at her words. “Please–you can call me by my first name. Ominis.”

“Ominis,” she repeated after him. It still didn’t suit him.

“I wondered if you might take a turn with me around the garden,” he asked awkwardly. His right hand was raised, the tip of his wand glowing red.

Without a word, she wiped her hands on the apron, following him as he turned on his heel. Their feet crunched on the gravel as they walked down the rows of boxwoods in silence, until Ominis cleared his throat.

“I’m very sorry for my reaction last night.” he apologized. “Golly explained to me–she told me that the garden looked horrendous until you arrived and started caring for it.”

“It’s alright.” she said softly. “You didn’t know.”

“I must explain,” Ominis insisted. “The garden is very dear to me. My Aunt Noctua loved her plants, and she made me promise to take care of them some day.”

“It’s quite a grand garden, Mister–uh, Ominis.” she corrected herself. “And forgive me for saying, quite an undertaking for a blind man.”

He let out a dry laugh. “Yes, I suppose so. I considered hiring a groundskeeper to tame it.”

“Let me,” she interjected. “I’d love to take care of a garden this big. It’s quite a challenge, but it keeps me busy since there’s not much to do around here.”

“Are you sure you can handle it?” Ominis asked hesitantly. “Even Aunt Noctua had gardeners.”

“I have nothing but time on my hands,” she snorted. “I can handle it. Besides, you could help me if you’d like.”

“I’m rather dreadful at gardening, actually.” Ominis admitted. “Noctua tried to teach me a few things, but I was so young, I doubt I remember. I was even rubbish at herbology in school.”

“Perhaps I can pick up where she left off,” she offered. “Teach you a thing or two about plants. You can accompany me to the flower market, I’m not allowed out without supervision anyways. I haven’t been able to go into town since the last governess left, and I’m dying to go to the market.”

“To the muggle market, you mean?” Ominis asked, quirking an eyebrow.

She hesitated. The Gaunts were supposedly considered the cream of the crop when it came to purebloods, descended from one of Hogwarts’ founders; they probably weren’t too accepting of muggles.

“If it’s not allowed…” she started to say, until Ominis cut her off.

“No, let’s go to the market.” he offered. “I haven’t been to the town since I was a little boy, Aunt Noctua used to take me all the time. I’d like to know if it's changed at all.”

“You’re okay with the muggles?” she asked slowly.

Ominis frowned. “I told you last night, I’m not like my brother.” he stated. “I’m not like my family much at all, really.”

“Indeed.” She said, a smile growing on her face. She knew he couldn’t see it, but she hoped he could feel it. “We’ll go to the flower market first thing tomorrow morning.”

Ominis gave her a kind smile in return. He looked so different from the morning–hair perfectly shaped, slicked back away from his face. His crisp white shirt was held together at the wrists with silver and emerald cufflinks, and forearms covered. Everything was buttoned up, tidy, and proper.

She preferred him the way she’d seen him in the morning, a little messy.

“What was that?” Ominis asked.

She blushed. “Er, what?”

He frowned. “About my hair. You said something about my hair.”

“O-oh.” She stuttered, mortified that she might have verbalized her internal thoughts. “I just meant it looks nice today.”

Ominis’s face flushed, turning a pretty shade of pink. “Er, thanks.”

The pair continued their walk through the garden, a healthy distance between them. Ominis offered pleasantries about the area, asking what she’d gotten up to in the time she’d been staying at the house without him. His wand remained in front of him, glowing red as he guided them through the winding garden.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” she interjected, “how does it work?”

“Hmm?”

“Your wand,” she asked. “How you use it to guide yourself.”

“It’s a mixture of things, really.” Ominis admitted. “My Aunt Noctua spent months researching–simply put, my wand helps me see.”

“Yes, but what can you see?” She asked, tilting her head at him curiously.

“Well, I can’t really see, if that’s what you’re asking.” Ominis said flatly. “I can sense locations of things, and I can sense when things are coming at me. But I can’t see what things look like, it doesn’t work that way.”

“I’m sorry if I’m prying. I’ve just never met someone with your abilities before.”

Ominis paused. “My abilities?”

“Well, someone who could cast such a charm on a continuous basis must be quite skilled. It seems like rather complex magic; your aunt must have been quite brilliant to come up with it.” she pointed out.

“No one has ever framed it up that way.” He blurted. “Most people call it a disability.”

“I prefer to look at things differently than others,” she hummed. “Makes life more fun.”

Ominis’s lips curved upwards, almost smiling. “Indeed.”

-----

She was quite eager for the next morning to arrive; nearly every night of her stay at the manor had been spent dreading another day of solitude, but she had high hopes for her new chaperone. Mr. Gaunt–Ominis, rather–had promised her a trip into the town, and she yearned to stretch her legs. The few weeks in captivity had been stifling, mind numbingly boring. With Ominis, she’d finally get a chance to leave the barrier of the grounds.

There was a knock at her bedroom door; likely Golly, who helped her dress in the morning.

“Come in,” she yelled lazily. She sat at the dressing table in her chemise, holding her hair up to see how it could frame her face. Perhaps Golly could help her pin up her hair in something fancy, so she could appropriately match Ominis’s opulent appearance.

The door opened, and boots clacked against the floor. She turned, gasping as she saw Ominis standing before her. She prepared to shout that she was indecent, but her lips faltered when she saw his empty hands. Like the morning before, his wand was stowed away in his pocket, only this time he held a wooden cane.

“I wanted to see if you’re ready yet.” Ominis said politely. “I remember the flower market opens rather early, and the best picks go first.”

“Almost ready,” she lied. “Give me a moment, I’ll meet you down in the foyer.” Even though she knew the man couldn’t see her, her arms still flew across her chest to cover herself. It seemed silly, even though his wand was far from his hands, but he was still a man.

Ominis bowed his head slightly. “Of course. I’ll see you downstairs.”

She haphazardly threw on her green day dress (the nicest one she’d brought with her) and braided her hair. Picking up her sunhat and gloves, she rushed down the staircase to Ominis, who was standing by the door.

“You’re loud when you walk.” Ominis noted. “I could hear you the minute you stepped out of the bedroom.”

She rolled her eyes, pushing the door open as she slipped on her lace gloves. “Did you get super powered hearing to make up for your blindness?”

Ominis pressed his lips into a flat line. “Actually, yes.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize.�� she stuttered.

Ominis rolled his eyes. “I’m joking,” he laughed. “You’re just as loud as an elephant, stomping your way up and down the stairs.”

She paused for a moment, chuckling in unison with him. It felt nice to have a companion to laugh with, and it meant after their disastrous first day together, he was starting to feel comfortable around her.

“So, Ominis Gaunt has jokes,” she teased. “Not all prim and proper, I see.”

Ominis gave her a look. “Despite my appearance, I do have a sense of humor. Now, follow me. I know a shortcut to the town.”

She followed him and his glimmering red wand through thickets of trees on the property. Ominis walked ahead of her, pausing only when they reached unsteady terrain. He’d hold his hand out, helping her step over thick tree roots. His knowledge of the property from childhood hadn’t faded, no matter how long it had been since he’d last returned.

“I’ll need to take your arm when we reach town,” he announced, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can’t have my wand out.”

“Of course. I’d be happy to guide you.” She murmured. They were nearing the edge of the town, muggles within seeing distance. Ominis flipped his coat, shoving his wand inside. He gently looped his arm through hers, the other holding out the wooden cane.

“To keep up appearances.” He said simply, as if he’d read her mind.

They walked, arm in arm, down the hill and onto the dirt path. The muggles didn’t spare a glance at them, likely assuming they were another young couple enjoying a marvelous summer morning. Ominis’s arm looped tighter around hers, his hands gripping the seam of his jacket.

He was nervous, she realized. His jacket flap opened in the wind, and she could see the handle of his wand tucked into the inner pocket. Oh how she missed having her wand…

She felt a pang of guilt run through her body; was she really thinking of stealing a wand off a blind man?

“It’s busy.” Ominis commented anxiously, pulling her tighter. The muggles packed around them, and the market was loud. Vendors yelled out their wares and prices, and old women were haggling over flower pots. It had to be sensory overload for him; he was practically clinging to her. Without his wand, Ominis had to rely on her arm and the meager wooden cane in his right hand.

Bodies started jostling them, and a dog across the road barked. Ominis startled, letting go of her arm. She quickly side stepped a puddle in the street, jumping onto the curb with her skirts in hand. Ominis, now cut off from his only guide, started jerking back and forth against the crowd in the street. Again, no one minded him, bumping into him as they went about their business.

She could run.

Ominis wouldn’t dare pull his wand out in public in front of so many muggles; she’d have at least a ten minute advantage on him. He was also far too gentle–she knew he wouldn’t immediately report her missing, not to Marvolo. Ominis had made his dislike for his brother well known within the first twenty four hours of meeting, so he’d likely try to find her himself. She could be in London by nightfall, and could escape with her parents by morning. It would mean sacrificing her beloved wand, but she could always buy a new one someday.

She froze on the pavement, staring at him. His head twisted and turned, even though he couldn’t see; Ominis yelped out her name over the crowd. He’d shaken out his well kept hair, a lock of blond hair falling in the middle of his forehead as he wobbled against strangers in the street.

There would be other opportunities, she thought. It would be sick to leave a disabled man in such a state. Besides, it wasn’t worth leaving without her wand anyways. If Marvolo was sick enough to threaten a sweet old house-elf, she couldn’t imagine what he’d threaten Ominis with.

“I’m right here,” she called out, stepping back into the street. She caught Ominis’s flailing hand, drawing him closer. “I’m sorry–I’m right here.”

His chest was heaving, and he pulled at his cravat, loosening it from his neck. “I was worried you left me.” He admitted. Ominis said it so honestly, it shocked her.

“I wouldn’t,” she lied. She smoothed her gloved hand over his hand to reassure him. “Shall we peruse the flowers? Perhaps we can bring home some roses for Golly.”

Ominis nodded, taking a deep breath. “Yes, let’s move on.” he said shakily.

-----

An hour later, the pair walked back up the trail to the house. To her surprise, Ominis had purchased nearly every bouquet she’d stopped over.

“You didn’t have to buy every single one, Ominis.” she grunted, shifting the weight of four wrapped bouquets in her arms. “They don’t go together at all, it’ll look horrendous.”

He shrugged. “They smell good. Besides, it’ll be nice to have flowers in the house. Golly could leave the windows open for days and it’ll still smell like mildew.” he wrinkled his nose. “The poor thing has gotten too old to clean that big house by herself.”

She pursed her lips, adjusting the bouquets against her hip as they started walking uphill. “How about I put these flowers in vases when we get back? Would you like an arrangement for your bedroom?”

Ominis gave her a flat lipped smile. “That would be nice.”

As soon as they were covered by the trees, Ominis pulled his wand out of his jacket. The tip turned red, and Ominis shuddered as he adjusted back to his sight . He was no longer nervous, now confidently walking through the wooded path back to the manor.

“You don’t like going long without your wand.” she observed.

Ominis shook his head; his hair remained mussed from the panic at the market. “No, I don’t. It’s a little disorienting going back and forth.” he cleared his throat, squeezing his eyes shut. “I didn’t thank you earlier, by the way.”

She leaned her nose down, sniffing some particularly potent sweet peas. “For what?”

Ominis bit down on his lower lip. “For not leaving.”

She froze in place. “What do you mean?”

“Here, let me carry some of those.” Ominis offered, taking a few of the bouquets with his free hand. He nodded his head forward, beckoning her to follow. “There’s no need to lie. I know you contemplated it, at the very least. You had a chance to run, but you didn’t, and I appreciate that you stayed.”

Ominis Gaunt was far more perceptive than she’d anticipated. She supposed being honest with him would push her further into his good graces. “I thought about it–but staying was the better option. Besides, your brother locked my wand up somewhere in the house.” she admitted.

Ominis clicked his tongue. “Of course. I’d expect nothing less from him.” His face softened; it was a mystery how a man with such sharp features could look so gentle at the same time. “For what it's worth, I’m sorry. If I could help, I would.”

In just the two days she’d known him, Ominis Gaunt had proven to be quite different from his relations. He was honest and kind, and actually made for good company. He somehow understood how she felt; perhaps he too knew the feeling of being caged in. She couldn’t imagine growing up with a brother like Marvolo Gaunt. Something about the way Ominis stiffened when he heard Marvolo’s name told her he wouldn’t have been kind to his younger brother.

“I won’t run,” she said softly. “Not yet, at least.” It was the truth. No matter how kind her new companion was, her first priority would be returning to her parents. As soon as she got access back to her wand, nothing could stop her.

“Well, when you do, at least give me a heads up.” Ominis teased. His dry humor was endearing. “That way, I can run too.”

There was an ease between them that soothed her. Ominis wasn’t like a governess, watching her like a hawk and criticizing her every move. He’d been quick to apologize for his mistake in the garden, and even more understanding of her motives. They weren’t too different from one another, she thought to herself. Perhaps Golly had been right. They might understand one another. Perhaps even become friends.

“Do you need a hand?” Ominis asked.

She hadn’t realized that she’d stopped in her tracks. They’d stopped in front of a large root; Ominis had shifted the bouquets under the arm wielding his wand. His free hand was outstretched, offering her balance.

She gladly put her hand in his.

#ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x oc #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt fanfiction #hogwarts legacy fan fiction #writing-intheundercroft

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jomiddlemarch · 3 months

Text

The shapes a bright container can contain!

III. “Who’s looking after you?” Draco asked.

He was sitting in a slat backed chair he’d dragged up beside her bed. It seemed mean that the few private rooms in the Hogwarts infirmary only held a twin bed and a side-table, far more like a prison cell than he felt was appropriate but perhaps reflective of the very little time anyone at Hogwarts had spent at Azkaban. Hermione was propped up with pillows, her hands laid flat on the white coverlet on her lap. Her hair had been washed but not tended especially well, wrestled back into an unruly, lumpy plait that spoke to unfamiliarity with either charms or potions. There was a cup of tea on the table, apparently untouched, as was the iced biscuit tucked at the base of the saucer.

“What do you mean—”

“I mean, who notices when you leave meals early? That you’re too pale, that you always answer when anyone asks, that you don’t count any danger to yourself too great? Who should’ve been the one to follow you, to stop you. To keep you from drowning?” Draco said, his voice a little too tightly controlled, too calmly even for her to not to be aware he somehow, for some reason, was nearly incandescent with rage. “It shouldn’t have been me. You’d never have thought I’d come running—I almost didn’t come, didn’t run, except that the children were too quiet—"

“They were scared,” she said.

“They bloody well should have been,” he said. “I was terrified—”

“I look after myself,” she said, answering the earlier question. She looked down at her hands but he didn’t think she saw them.

“You look after other people,” he countered. She looked up, startled. But not offended, not yet. Perhaps she wouldn’t be. “I understand, when we were children, everyone thought you were the brightest witch of our age. You knew better than everyone else, it was all right to rely on you but now—Potter doesn’t try? Neville?”

“Harry was brought up by people who treated him about as badly as your father treated House-elves. And then he lost Sirius and Molly basically commandeered him as an honorary Weasley with years of parenting to be made up for. She can be rather smothery, it’s not an approach he could really model himself after,” Hermione said. “He’s not very good at it. And he uses most of what he’s got to give on his own children, as he should.”

“Fine. I think you’re cutting him too much slack but I am willing to admit you know him better. But Neville? It’s not like him, not to notice, he’s always been so fond of you,” Draco said, trailing off.

“Exactly,” Hermione replied. “I can’t—it’s not fair to him, when he feels one way and I…”

“He’s in love with you and you only care about him as a friend, so you don’t let him get close,” Draco said.

“You’re as blunt as a bludger,” Hermione said.

“If you mean a Gryffindor, you might as well say it,” Draco shrugged. “You nearly died, I’m trying not to tax you too greatly.”

“You needn’t worry,” she said.

“You’re wrong. I know it’s an unfamiliar experience for you and that you’re likely to tell me I’m the one who’s wrong,” he said.

“Because you are,” she replied.

“No, I’m not. Because I’m the one who dragged you out of a loch in Scotland in November, because you couldn’t get yourself out, despite being one of the most powerful witches alive in England,” he said. “Someone else needs to worry about you. Though I prefer looking after, since worrying is largely ineffectual and won’t stop you from depleting your entire magical core, a real feat, I must add, given your previously mentioned magical strength, and getting yourself killed or at least maimed without the prospect of any recovery, if we go by your predilections. And it will surely be in a way that creates maximum guilt in your friends and associates. Neville will be beside himself and Potter may end up going through a midlife crisis and becoming the next Dark Lord. He’ll grow a goatee and be generally intolerable.”

“You know what a midlife crisis is?” Hermione said. Her lips curved and he realized it was the first time he’d seen her smile in months. A real smile, where the expression in her eyes matched.

“Yes, I don’t live under a rock. Potter would be a little young by Wizard standards, but I think like you, he still sees himself as a Muggle first,” Draco replied.

“Not wrong,” she said.

“Oh, are we playing a game now?” Draco said. “I’ll win. You’ve always been pants at chess and you can’t stand Quidditch.”

“Draco, what do you want?” she said. She settled back against the pillows and he could feel her exhaustion. The Hogwarts linens were too thin. She ought to be covered in a fluffy duvet, supported by a featherbed. There should be a pair of sheepskin slipper warming on a fender.

“I want you to be properly looked after. I’ve—we’ve both lost too many people in our lives. I don’t want you to be someone else who’s lost,” he said. “I spoke to Abbott and the Headmistress, they allowed me to see whether your quarters were adequate for your recovery and the suite is hardly better kitted out than this room, might as well belong to a hermit—”

“You had no right,” she said.

“You’re right. I didn’t. But I did ask permission from your physician and your superior. When Neville heard, he didn’t scold me,” Draco said. “All the plants he gave you are dead, by the way. Even the metalmalarky cactus”

“You still haven’t said what you want. Not directly,” she replied.

“I want to look after you. Myself. I have a property nearby. You know I don’t live in the dungeons like Snape did,” Draco said. The man had been a masochist or Dumbledore had had him under house arrest. There was no way Draco would ever have agreed to live adjacent to his classroom and he certainly wasn’t going to allow the Hogwarts dungeon to be his son’s home. He and Astoria had bought the small estate shortly after Scorpius was born, an act of faith that the baby would not be a Squib and a commitment to being present in their child’s life as neither of their own parents had been.

“You want me to live in your house?”

“It’s a not insignificant property. There’s a carriage house, entirely separate. But it’s got all the mod cons and a library, a conservatory,” he said.

“A carriage house with a conservatory. Only you, Malfoy. Will you feed me hothouse grapes from your lily-white hand?” she said.

“I’ll stock the library with Regency romances, as you seem to have a taste for them,” he said, slipping the cufflinks out of his cuffs and rolling them back so she could see the calluses on his palms, the spatter of old burns he’d never bothered to fully heal. “Not lily-white. Say yes, Hermione. Let me help—”

“You’ll badger me endlessly if I refuse, won’t you?” she said. She could have sighed and didn’t. He let himself hope.

“I’ll have to. I don’t fancy a repeat of today’s dip in the loch. The Squid is whatever squid is for handsy,” he said. She raised an eyebrow and he decided to pivot. “It was too close. Please. Please allow it.”

“I suppose since you’ve asked so nicely, I’d be an utter wretch to refuse,” she said.

“Yes, I think that would be the consensus. Here and of course, elsewhere. Abroad. Across the pond,” Draco said, relief making him a bit giddy. “Shall I go on?”

“I think I’d rather nap for a little while. Then Hannah can tell us whether I’m allowed to Side-along or whether we’ll have to take Muggle transport.”

“That’s fine. I’ll get everything sorted. Let the looking after commence,” he replied, lowering his voice as Hermione’s eyes grew dozy.

#dramione #hermione x draco #draco POV #hogwarts professors AU #epilogue what epilogue #hurt/comfort #tw: near drowning #slow burn #harry potter #neville longbottom #caretaking as a love language #draco loses his temper judiciously

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ali-annals · 4 months

Text

I Knew You'd Come Back To Me

Cardigan AU Masterlist | Part 1 | Master Masterlist | drabble 1 | ao3

Jasonette, Chapter 2/2, ~6k?

I Knew You’d Come Back To Me

Two nights after defeating the Untitled, Jason showed up in front of Marinette’s door.

“Hi.” She poked her head through the doorway.

“Hey, Marinette. Can we talk?”

She considered his words momentarily, then opened the door wider in silent invitation. He followed her to her living room, where she curled up in the fluffy recliner and picked up her tea mug.

Jason sat nervously on her loveseat, noting her clear boundaries in the choice of seating.

“Would you believe me if I gave you a good reason for my odd actions?”

“I’ll decide ‘good reasons,'” she interjected. “Let’s hear them.”

“I’m Red Hood. I was on Bat and Hood business when I left all those times. I would have told you sooner, but I saw how hurt you were after you told me about Multimouse and I knew I couldn’t drag you into that again, so I just… kept quiet. I figured out you’re Onyx from the things you said and I saw how capable you are and… I had to… At least tell you why I did those things. I know I broke your trust and I am very sorry for that. I was trying not to hurt you, but in doing so I still hurt you in a way I promised myself I never would, and I am so sorry for that.”

Marinette sat in silence and Jason focused on his breathing so he wouldn’t panic while she considered his words.

“You’re the Red Hood…and you know I’m Onyx,” she finally said slowly.

Jason nodded.

“Why tell me now? We broke up. We could’ve avoided each other. Do you feel guilty that you figured my identity out, so you’re giving me equal footing?”

“Well, I do feel guilty, but mostly because I didn’t trust you enough to tell you sooner and let you make your own decisions about it. I did know you kept in contact with your hero friends, and I should’ve given you the choice of what to do with my information, at least. That is what I feel guilty about.”

Marinette put her mug down on the coaster and leaned forwards a teeny bit. “So was anything else a lie?”

“No, I never lied to you about anything except my night job, I promise, Pi- Marinette.”

“I need time to think about this, Jay. I’ll text you when I’m ready, okay?”

Jason nodded and left.

He wasn’t happy, but he was relieved that she had listened and was thinking it over. She’d also addressed him as Jay, not Jason, so that was a good sign. At least she didn’t seem to hate him completely.

He just hoped she knew how sorry he was, even if he never saw her again.

•○•○•○•

Marinette was back at school, but they avoided each other like the plague and barely saw even a glimpse of each other’s hoodie when they weren’t in the same classes.

Nine days later, Jason’s phone buzzed with the specific tone he had set for Marinette’s contact.

Pixie: Can we talk tonight?

Yes!

Me: Yours, mine, neutral ground?

Pixie: Mine is okay. Can you bring supper from your secret Chinese supplier?

Me: Absolutely. Usual order?

Pixie: Yes, please.

Pixie: Can you make it for 5:45?

Me: I’ll be there.

The three dots of typing ceased and Jason flung his phone onto his couch and commenced panicking.

What was he going to face?

What should he wear? Dress up nicely to show her he was making an effort, or his usual tee and sweats or jeans to keep it casual?

What was he gonna say? He should definitely keep apologising, but he didn’t want to sound like a broken record and seem like he was pressuring her into getting back together or forgiving him.

Oh, did his freezer have enough ice cream to last future-him’s depression if she said she hated him and would never talk to him again?

Finally, he slapped himself out of the spiral of anxiety and made himself think logically.

She wanted to talk, and she wanted him to bring them both dinner, so clearly she wasn’t going to yell and then kick him out. She didn’t completely hate him, because she wanted food, and she still trusted him to bring their dinner. Plus, it was one of “their” things to go on dates or study dates and then come back and have Chinese at hers and watch a movie or hang out; so she still wanted their tradition.

So far, she was giving positive signs.

Okay. He could work with that.

•○•○•○•

At 5:45 on the dot he knocked on her door and was let in.

His brain short-circuited momentarily as Marinette appeared in his her Wonder Woman tee and jeans, and then nervous anxiety set in as she took the bag of food with a slight smile and headed to the kitchen to set it out. He’d finally decided on toeing the line between formal and casual, wearing jeans and a green button-down instead of his usual tee and/or hoodie, but it appeared Marinette went for straight casual.

What if she felt underdressed? He didn’t want to make her feel even more uncomfortable (the tension in her body language was very obvious).

He finally got his feet to move and followed her to the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves as he went. It was a little breezy outside, but rather warm in her apartment. No wonder she hauled out the tees, even though it was only March.

•○•○•○•

Marinette impatiently yanked the door open for Jason, unsurprised by his punctuality and waiting nervously.

While she’d stress-baked and stress-cleaned she’d tried to nail down the wording she wanted, but kept getting distracted and more stressed. Now, she hastily combed her memories for her explanation while she had a moment alone since Jason was staying in the foyer, for some reason.

Oh dear, had she made him feel unwelcome?

Was this a sign of his reluctance to associate with her anymore? What if he wanted to stay broken up? He deserved someone who wouldn’t drag him down with their own traumas-

She heard him finally follow her and turned to smile welcomingly at him. He was focused on rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and oh, he knew what he was doing, maybe he did still want them to be together.

That was illegal, surely, or unethical at the very least, giving her health problems this early on in life.

Reminding herself to breathe, she got out two pairs of chopsticks (her own, not the small bamboo ones the restaurant provided) and tried to act unaffected by his blatant show of forearm.

“I thought we could talk in the living room and watch the sunset while we have supper,” she waved at the penthouse’s wide scenic view of Gotham’s Diamond District and the faint line of ocean blue on the horizon peeking through the skyscrapers.

•○•○•○•

“Sounds good.” He nervously flipped the knife in his pocket around his fingers.

Why was she still so tense? Maybe she was overthinking it too; that sounded like Marinette.

They settled by the window with their food, on opposite ends of the couch, and ate quietly for several minutes.

Finally, Marinette spoke up. “I have many conflicting feelings about everything, but I’ve simplified them and worked them out; the bottom line is, I forgive you. I know the struggle of wondering how much to say and worrying if those you care about will be in more danger if you tell them, so I know how hard that must have been.”

She sighed and chewed a piece of broccoli slowly. “It’s not easy being a hero.”

A spring roll later, she continued, “I won’t deny that I was hurt by your lack of trust, and I am still hurt, but I don’t hold it against you. I considered telling you that I was the Guardian, myself, but decided against it. I do appreciate you attempting not to hurt me, even if it didn’t work out.”

Marinette inhaled deeply and Jason almost fell off the couch in tense anticipation of her next utterance.

“If… You are still willing…I’d like to continue our relationship, but with mutual trust in each other this time.”

“You really want to? I know I really hurt you, Mari, I-”

“Yes, Jason. I’ve thought it over and weighed our relationship carefully, and I want to continue. No relationship is easy, and I must confess I was waiting for the other shoe to drop part of the time, even when I ignored the suspicion of your…activities. Now that we know where the other stands — we do know, right?” she looked at him suddenly, a little panicked.

“I think so, but we should go over them once you’re done talking, just to make sure,” he replied. “We know where each other stands now, so…?”

“…we can have a more trusting relationship and we’ll likely be a lot happier not hiding all the hero secrets?”

Jason smiled happily at her. “I’d like nothing better, Marinette.”

He was about to ask to clarify where each other stood when she burst out.

“Now that that’s settled, will you please stop calling me Marinette?”

“…uh… What else am I supposed to call you?”

“You always call me Pixie or Pix, except when you’re super serious, and I missed it,” She pouted.

“I thought you didn’t like that I called you tiny?” He grinned.

“…I liked your nickname, though,” she mumbled.

“Okay, Pixie. Now, where do we stand with each other?”

“We have no more secrets to hide, right?”

“I don’t think I’ve forgotten any…” he mused.

“Good. We know the other is a hero-slash-vigilante, we want to be together without any secrets, and if we need to go hero-ing, we’ll let the other know first. Did I miss anything?”

“I don’t think so. If we think of something, we can always bring it up at a later time.”

“That sounds fair,” she agreed. “Now that all the details are hashed out, can I have a hug? I missed you.”

Be still my heart.

“Of course, Pix, you don’t need to ask.” He held his arms out in invitation.

She moved their dishes to the coffee table and scooched over to snuggle beside him, his arm wrapped around her.

“Cozy, Pixie?”

She nodded. “Quite. I’m so glad we worked that out, I missed you so much. Even when I didn’t know you were a hero, I felt that you understood me better than most.”

“I’m sorry I never told you anything.”

She wiggled around to face him. “I forgive you, you can stop apologising now. We both kept secrets and that hurt us. We’ve learned from this, hopefully, and we’re planning on doing better in the future. We don’t need to keep rehashing an already finished subject…unless you think it’s necessary?”

“No, I just…you’re the best thing I have, right now, Pix, and I’m infinitely sorry that I hurt you. I guess I just need to forgive myself.”

“…If you’re sure that’s all, then. Try not to beat yourself up too much over it or I’ll be sad, okay?”

“Whatever my Pixie commands,” he pressed a kiss to the side of her head.

•○•○•○•

"Hey, Jay.”

Jason opened his eyes and looked at Marinette, curled up and leaning on his chest.

“Yeah?”

“I know it’s a sensitive subject, but how’s it going with your family?”

He sighed. “Not great. When we broke up I was really mad at B because I was always leaving you to help him and kinda blamed him for our breakup. I didn’t tell him about you, because then he would’ve gotten all nosy and you don’t deserve that, but I yelled at him for a lot of stuff. I probably set our progress back a few months.”

“I thought you were doing Bat or Hood business when you ran off?”

“…Wait, did I not tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Uh, Batman is my dad…and the rest are my siblings.”

Marinette was quiet for a worryingly long time. “I should have put that together,” she said at last.

“Yeah, it’s a…thing. It’s not really broadcast, because Hood is still on iffy terms with the Bats and it would be suspicious if Red Hood suddenly reconciled with them at the same time Jason Todd’s death was repealed. There are enough scarily accurate theories about the Waynes being the Bats, we don’t need to give them more information to prove their hunch.”

“The Waynes — the Waynes are the Bats?!” Marinette yelped, sitting upright and muttering in French under her breath.

“I didn’t tell you that either? I’m sorry, I thought you knew and were just being polite and ignoring the elephant in the room.”

“I ignore the news, especially about celebrities. It’s usually gossip or dramatically inflated rumours, so I never take it as a reliable source on any of them if I do see 'reports’.”

“I wish everyone had your maturity,” he half-joked. “Yeah, the Waynes are the vigilante protectors of Gotham — the Batfamily, as they are called by some — confirmed. More with Red Hood at 9. I’m Vicki Vale, Gotham Gazette,” he mocked. “You got the first-hand report.”

“That makes a lot of sense actually…” Marinette mused. “So that’s why you were so popular in the beginning of the school year?”

“Yep. It always pays to be in the Waynes’ favour, or at least not their disfavour. It’s actually part of what made me notice you, how you ignored me and challenged me instead of trying to grovel or be friends. That and how quiet you were with everyone else. You were new, too, but you seemed happy that you weren’t getting as much attention as me.”

“I just wanted a drama-free final year,” she mourned. “No boyfriend, no hero-ing, just school…look at me — a boyfriend, a breakup, defeating the Untitled after my Miraculous, being the translator for the Parisian class — what happened to my quiet year?”

“I’m sorry, Pix.”

“It’s fine. I got one fewer enemy after me and I got a wonderful boyfriend out of it! It’s not a bad trade-off, in my opinion.”

○○○○○○○

A Friend to All is a Friend to None A couple months later

“The Parisian class arrives today.” Marinette nervously picked at the hem of her skirt.

“It’ll be fine, Pix, I promise. I’ll be right here beside you all day. This is your turf and you’re fighting for it, remember? And you have a Wayne backing you, so the school will definitely not hold back if anyone tries anything.”

“Thanks, mon chére, you’re right; though I hope we won’t need to use your father’s name.”

“Don’t worry about me, Pix. And you know what I think? You’ve told me so much about how selectively dumb they are, that they probably won’t recognize you with your new style and last name.”

“You have a point. Honestly, they probably wouldn’t notice me even if I only grew my hair out,” she rolled her eyes and pulled him into the school. “Let’s get it over with.”

No one batted an eye at her blatant manhandling (emphasis on the man), since the past few weeks they’d acted much closer than before, likely from meeting to practise their French and go over the details of their volunteering. (Mrs. Perez’s Marison-shipping-heart was well-fed lately, and she took credit for forcing them to work together in the first place months ago.)

“Channel your inner Ladybug and your outer Marinette Stone confidence, Pix. You got this!” Jason whispered as they walked over to Mr. Patel, who was preparing for the welcoming speech and reiterating the rules for the host and visiting classes.

Thankfully, the speech was fairly short and their introductions brief.

Principal Luther introduced Jason and Marinette as the class’s hosts and translators, ‘Mr. Todd’ and 'Ms. Stone’.

Then everyone was dismissed and Marinette and Jason decided how to divide the class.

Once everyone was seated and introduced to their temporary classmates, Marinette quickly ran through the introductory notes she’d prepared.

“Good morning, I am one of your temporary translators, Marinette Stone. My partner, Jason, and I have already completed the content you will be learning, so we can help explain as needed. If you need help, just raise your hand and we’ll translate as you need. Please respect the fact that there are only two of us, so it may take a minute to reach you. Your teacher, Ms. Lee, also speaks some French, so she may be able to help as well. I hope you enjoy your time here.”

From the back of the room, Jason gave her a sneaky thumbs-up, telling her that his recording of her was complete. If her ex-classmates recognized her and tried something, he’d have video proof of everything.

She smirked back and headed to her seat beside him, which had a lovely vantage point of the whole classroom.

"So, you have Juleka, Chloe, Rose, Ivan, Mylene, Marc, and Alix?”

“Yep. I’m good with that, as long as you have Lila, Alya, Adrien, Kim, and Sabrina,” Marinette responded. “They’ll be the ones asking for the most help.”

“Chloe and Juleka know who you are, right?” Jason whispered.

"Yeah. No one knows C and I made up because I left fairly soon after, and Jules and I made up when Uncle Jagged talked to her. They’ll be fine.”

•○•○•○•

For the next two weeks, the exchange program went fairly smoothly - Ms. Lee wouldn’t buy Lila & Co™’s excuses/lies, Lila couldn’t flirt with Jason too much because he loudly announced that he had a girlfriend and she was making him uncomfortable, and the class didn’t visibly recognize Marinette with her new style and name change.

On the final day of the exchange, Jason and Marinette rode in on his motorcycle (that no one was allowed to touch).

The curious GA students were buzzing over the latest gossip — was this year’s most popular ship actually coming true?!

Money was to be made on this, after all, many students had secret betting pools on what stage the enemies-to-friends-to-lovers arc was exactly at.

One of Marinette’s kind-of friends bravely walked up was pushed forward by everyone else in the betting pool she was part of to ask about their relationship status.

Jason and Marinette laughed in their faces and said they’d been dating for months.

The news spread quickly among the gossip mills but was quickly silenced when over the intercom, their names were called and their presence requested at the front office.

The couple shrugged at each other and walked leisurely hand-in-hand to the office.

•○•○•○•

Caline Bustier, Lila Rossi, and Principal Luther were waiting.

Marinette sighed. “What?” she asked sharply.

“Mlle. Rossi here says you are a missing person from Paris and a con artist. You dated her boyfriend, M. Agreste, until his father’s company went broke, and then came here to trick the Waynes, she claims. She also says you were unprofessional and ignored her all the time when she requested help in class.” Thankfully, Principal Luther looked sceptical of Lila’s charges.

“Right. Well, Mlle. Rossi here also claims to have saved Uncle Jagged kitten from being run over by an aeroplane, and that she has tinnitus from that event, and later became Uncle Jagged’s muse,” Marinette stated flatly.

Principal Luther looked like she was repressing a smile. “I see. But how is this pertinent to the allegations against you?”

“It’s proof that she claims ridiculous things. You can call Uncle Jagged if — actually, his daughter, Juleka, is in Lila’s class. You can confirm with her about Lila’s stories, and prove that she is lying about them. I did date Adrien Agreste, but I broke up with him because he was cheating on me with Lila. It was just after we split that Gabriel went under, but that was because of his acts of terrorism. And I actually didn’t know Jason was a Wayne until a few weeks ago when he told me. He goes by Jason Todd, and I don’t pay attention to celebrity news, so I had no way of knowing he was a Wayne.

“Also, I came here because it’s Uncle Jagged’s hometown and he helped me escape Paris, which wasn’t helping with my PTSD - which is also partly caused by Mlle. Rossi bullying me. I did not ignore her in class, Jason and I already agreed on how to divide our translating responsibilities. I did not purposely not help her. If you want proof, Jason and I have texts detailing our dividing.”

Principal Luther scrutinised Marinette and Lila, then turned to Jason. “Mr. Todd, any comments?”

“Marinette isn’t a gold-digger. She didn’t know I was a Wayne ‘til I told her, and my family ran a background check on her — she’s clean. And Marinette isn’t a missing person or a runaway — her godfather Jagged had her parent’s blessing to help her move to Gotham, and her parents are working on closing their bakery and moving here to be with her. Her friends, Chloé Bourgeois, and Juleka and Luka Couffaine, knew she was here. Also, no missing person report was filed for her. I’ve been with Marinette for several months now, and I’m sure that she isn’t faking the repercussions of her PTSD and Li- Mlle. Rossi’s bullying.”

“Juleka Couffaine to head office, please.”

Juleka arrived a minute later and confirmed Marinette’s story. She also called Jagged and he immediately jumped to Marinette and Juleka’s defence.

“Thank you, Mlle. Couffaine. Please return to class. Miss Stone and Mr. Todd, I think it’s alright if I give you a pass. You can have the day off. Before you go, could I have a word with Miss Stone in my office?”

Marinette followed Principal Luther into her tiny, cramped office behind the larger antechamber where she’d been pleading her case.

“I’m sorry for the way they treated you, Miss Stone. If you knew it was your class, though, why didn’t you turn down the volunteer role? I assure you we wouldn’t have held it against you.”

“Um… I guess I was just used to my old school in Paris, and how they supported Lila, so it didn’t really occur to me. And I thought I’d like to see my friends, at least. Jason dealt with the ones who were the meanest to me or needed the most help, so I didn’t have to interact with them that much…..Plus, I was kind of planning my revenge. I wanted to get records of them to turn in to the proper authorities so they could be punished.”

Principal Luther sighed. “Marinette… alright. Is your mental health okay? Will you need another couple of days off?”

“No, I should be okay. Thank you, though. Jason has really helped me with my mental health, and I’m seeing a therapist.”

“Okay… Don’t worry about translating at the goodbye party tonight. I’ll find someone else to do it. Thank you for your help these past two weeks.”

“You’re welcome! Have a good day. I don’t envy you dealing with the class,” she sympathised.

She left the small office, completely ignoring Lila and Mme. Bustier’s mean faces, striding quickly to the door, where Jason awaited.

“Hey, Pix. Are you good?”

“Yeah, she wanted to thank us for our work and apologise for making me translate. We don’t have to translate tonight either.”

“Sweet! What do you want to do, then?”

“Go home and watch a movie?”

“Sure. Let’s go.”

Jason took her hand and they escaped to his bike.

○○○○○○○

Giving me Your Weekends

The next morning Jason got Marinette to visit the Manor for Saturday brunch. They pulled up at ten to eight, and Jason warned Marinette once again of the craziness and suspicion that was sure to barrage her.

“Jay, I’ll be fine. I’ll take their suspicion as a sign that they care for you, because they want to make sure I’m not going to hurt you.”

He smiled at her. “You’re so optimistic. But you’re right, that’s a good way to look at it. Thanks, Pix.”

He kissed her head and led her into the chaos.

Damian was chasing Tim downstairs with his katana. Dick was on the chandelier shouting for both of them to slow down with sharp objects and Steph was stealing a waffle from the stack Alfred had made, choking on its texture. Babs, Bruce, Cass, and Alfred were nowhere to be seen.

The chandelier spun as Dick wiggled on it and he caught sight of the newcomers. The shouting and chaos ceased immediately.

“Jay! You’re here for breakfast!” Dick flipped off the chandelier. “And you brought a guest, welcome,” he smiled charmingly at Marinette, but she could see the cloud of questions in his eyes.

Alfred materialised and gave Damian the 'put-your-katana-away’ stare.

“Master Jason, you came for brunch today? I’m so glad to see you, my boy. And who is this?” he smiled warmly at Marinette, who thrust a plate of homemade waffles at him.

“It’s nice to meet you, Alfred! I’m Marinette. I made some waffles for breakfast, and couldn’t just show up empty-handed. Hope that’s okay!” her voice was higher-pitched in her anxiousness to have Alfred like her, but he just took the plate and handed it to Tim with a stern glance.

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Marinette. Brunch is almost ready, and these look lovely. I’m afraid mine will never turn out as good, although I tried a new recipe today…” he saw Steph’s frozen face of revolt and sighed.

“Ah. This didn’t work either. I’m sure Stephanie would love to be your critic. Please sit down, everyone will be here momentarily.”

“Thank you.” She smiled at everyone, suddenly nervous, and Jason put his arm supportingly around her waist and leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“Ignore them, Pix, they’ll warm up to you soon enough.”

The present Batfamily members sat down at the table somewhat robotically, sizing Marinette (and Jason) up.

“So, you’re Marinette? I’m Dick Grayson, Jason’s older brother. I assume you’re his girlfriend?”

She smiled, “You are correct.”

“So… how’d you meet Jay?”

“Um, at school. A teacher paired us up on a project, and we got to know each other and liked what we saw.”

Bruce and Babs came in, discussing a new update to their filing system, and paused when they saw the visitors.

Jason stood up. “Cass, I know you’re here somewhere, so since we’re all here I’m only going to say this once: This is Marinette, my girlfriend. I expect nothing, but I hope you’ll be polite since she’s the reason we’re even here in the first place.”

The family eyed Marinette after Jason’s declaration until Steph broke the silence.

“These waffles are so good, Marinette! You said you made them yourself?”

“I did, Jason told me you all liked waffles. He helped, of course.”

“They’re amazing. Do you bake a lot?”

“I stress bake, and I grew up in a bakery, so I know how to make a lot of baked goods.”

“Welcome, Marinette. I’m Jason’s father, Bruce. It’s nice to meet you,” Bruce smiled at her but she could see him calculating. “Do I detect a French accent?”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, monsieur. And yes, you do. I’m from Paris. I moved here last summer for my final school year.”

Switching the focus from her, she casually asked as she took a sausage from the plate Cass handed her, “Jay hasn’t told me much about his family, beyond you being loud and crazy, so I’m looking forward to getting to know you all. What sort of hobbies do you have?”

Dick cleared his throat. “I’m an acrobat, and I teach gymnastics and aerial skills at a gym in Bludhaven some days. I also like solving puzzles, like most of the rest of us. Timmy is pretty good at computer games and stuff like that,” he nudged his brother jovially.

“Oh, do you know UMSIII?” Marinette leaned forwards eagerly to face Tim.

“Jay refuses to play with me anymore.”

“You don’t even leave me a chance, Pix,” he grumbled under his breath and she smiled sweetly at him.

“I’ve heard of it,” Tim acknowledged. “I take it you play? We mostly have MarioKart marathons in this house.”

“Oh, nice!” Marinette turned to Alfred. “Your French Toast is delicious, Monsieur Alfred.”

“Thank you, Miss Marinette. Perhaps we could exchange some recipes later?”

“I’d love to!” she grinned at him and looked at Damian, who was clearly eyeing her for nefarious intentions. “And I don’t believe we’ve been introduced yet, I’m Marinette.”

“Damian,” he grunted, sounding like a mini-Bruce. “Do you like animals?”

“I do! Unfortunately, I never got a pet because I lived above a bakery, so for health and hygiene reasons it wasn’t feasible, but I love playing with them when I can.”

“I will introduce you to Titus, Alfred the Cat, and Batcow after brunch if you desire,” he said stiffly.

“I’d love to meet your pets, thank you for offering!”

“So you attend GA with Jason?” Babs asked, finally speaking up now that most of the Bats had their mouths full of food.

“Yes. We were both the only new transfer students this year, so we had some camaraderie. We have most of the same classes together, which is nice.”

The inquisition calmed after that and normal conversation flowed, but all in all, it was the most subdued family meal the Wayne table had seen in a while.

After breakfast, Alfred requested Jason’s help with the dishes, presumably to interrogate him, and Damian kidnapped Marinette to meet his pets.

Titus absolutely loved her and became her new best friend. Damian was surprised at his Great Dane’s reaction since Titus was normally wary of strangers until he okayed them.

Even Alfred the Cat warmed up to her quickly, possibly smelling the Camembert on her from when she’d fed Plagg before coming for brunch.

“What are your intentions with my brother?” Damian inquired as he led Marinette to Batcow’s stable out back.

She smiled slightly at his protectiveness and replied, “I have no intentions with him beyond making him happy. I hope that means we stay together for a very long time, maybe eventually marry, but if we agree that he’s better off without me…then I’ll go. I don’t think that will happen, though.“

“I approve of your commitment. Father also wants to talk with you, I believe. Once Batcow has sufficient pets, I shall escort you to Father’s office.”

“Thank you, Damian. Oh, hello, Batcow! Aren’t you gorgeous, petit vache,” she cooed.

•○•○•○•

Damian showed Marinette the way to Bruce’s office, and she stepped inside when he bid her enter.

“I must admit I was quite surprised when Jason showed up for family brunch this morning, and even brought a guest,” Bruce started as soon as she sat in the comfy leather chair before his desk.

“Jason hasn’t been…very active with our family, lately. I believe I have you to thank for encouraging his visit?”

“Yes, M. Wayne. He hasn’t spoken to me about much of you – I didn’t even know his family were the Waynes until a couple months ago–but I did want to meet all of you, since you are all important to him.”

“Thank you for the encouragement, Mlle. Stone. I had wondered if I had driven him away for good, after the last fight we had. Looking back on it now, I think it was because of you that he was so angry with me. He certainly acted more strangely than normal, like he was protecting someone or something, with all his warnings not to spy on him.”

“He told me he was quite angry with you for constantly calling him away on our dates, and he worried he’d set your progress back months. I do hope that’s not the case.”

Bruce noticed a cold edge to Marinette’s previously polite, warm tone.

“Of course not, I was merely confused at his sudden anger. I didn’t know he was dating anyone. I can give you my word that it certainly wasn’t a targeted attack against him or your relationship.”

“Good. I think we should all get on well, then. Is there anything else you wanted to ask me?”

“…No. Thank you for your time, and for coming for brunch with Jason. I’m quite pleased to have met you.”

“You as well, M. Wayne.”

Marinette left the office and walked into an eavesdropping Jason.

“Hey, Jay. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just waiting for you. The others want to interrogate you now, but we don’t have to meet them if you don’t want to…” he nodded at Bruce’s now-closed office door.

"I’m fine, Bruce just wanted to thank me for coming and bringing you. I’ll go be questioned by the rest of your siblings now.”

“Yeah, they’re all hanging out in the family sitting room,” he took her hand and they walked side-by-side, following the increasingly louder noises of all his siblings in one room.

“Dami didn’t scare you away?” asked Dick as soon as they entered the room.

Marinette shook her head. “He was quite polite, and I really enjoyed my time with him. So, what do you guys do for fun around here? All Jay has said is that it’s loud and chaotic and you take things to extremes.”

“Regular games are too boring, so we spice them up with house rules or dares, stuff like that,” said Tim, slurping something out of a 42-oz mug.

Steph grinned sharply. “How about some icebreakers? Truth or Dare, perhaps?”

“I’m in,” Marinette said immediately, to Jason’s horror but not his surprise.

She plopped on the couch between Babs and Cass and motioned for Jason to join, which he did reluctantly.

Babs was usually the mediator/emcee/referee, so she explained Bat-Truth or Dare quickly and the game began.

They had cards specially made that said ‘truth’ or ‘dare’ on them, which removed any bias for one choice over the other. The second deck of cards, which were blank and only coloured in to match the ‘truth’ and ‘dare’ cards, were dealt as in Uno, though only 5 cards were dispersed, not seven; a separate, communal stack of the ‘truth’ and ‘dare’ cards was shuffled by Babs and placed in the middle of the table.

The first person to play a card of corresponding colour then won the right to give a dare or ask a question to the original card player.

Jason began and played a green ‘truth’ card.

Dick slapped the matching green card in his hand down and asked excitedly, “When did you first meet Marinette? Was it love at first sight?”

Jason groaned. “One question, Dick. This is all gonna be about our relationship, isn’t it?” he added to Marinette, who nodded sympathetically at him.

“I first saw her when we passed each other in the street. A couple days later, I officially met her at school, ‘cause we were both transfers and in the same class.”

It was Marinette’s turn and she picked up a pink dare card. Steph immediately played her matching card with a victorious crow and turned to her future sister-in-law.

“I dare you to let Tim post something on one of your social media accounts.”

Marinette made eye contact with Jason and they immediately knew what each other was thinking.

She handed her phone over to Tim, open to Janette@pothamcrack on Twitter.

He typed for a few moments, then tossed her phone back.

She caught it and read the tweet. “'I’m secretly a celebrity but I bet none of you will guess who’,” she giggled. “Oh really? Jay, I’m famous, too!”

She turned from her boyfriend to his brother. “Which celebrity am I?”

“Wonder Woman, of course,” Jason interrupted. “Because you’re just that wonderful.”

Damian physically cringed at the cheesiness, though the rest of the players cheered at it, and Marinette blushed only a shade darker than Jason, who realised he just said that in front of his family.

“MOVING ON,” Marinette announced loudly, as Cass leaned forwards for her card.

The game went fairly smoothly after that, though as Jason predicted, they were mostly encouraged to spill things about their relationship.

“Okay, final round,” announced Babs, seeing Marinette pick up the final card, which was a truth.

Jason played his card and asked, “What’s one thing you haven’t told anyone before?”

“Uh…I hope next time we play this it’s as the Bats so we can do even more unhinged dares!”

With that shocking revelation, she grabbed Jason’s hand and they sprinted to his bike before they could be detained for even more questioning.

They sped out of the Manor property and headed to Marinette’s apartment, making sure to take detours to drop the trackers in random places and lose their tail.

Marinette unlocked her door and they entered her apartment, giggling at the hoax they’d successfully pulled off.

They kicked off their shoes and Marinette headed to the kitchen to wash her waffle-making dishes, which she’d left to soak while they had brunch, and froze.

“Hello, Jason,” said an unfamiliar voice from her living room, soft but deadly.

Drabble 1

#jasonette #fic #ali writes #cardigan au #dcxmlb #maribat

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