#sorry for going on a warpath but like. the game has been out long enough for you guys to grow a brain | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

joaquinwhorres · 2 years

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Tailspin - Part 3 (Fanboy Garcia x F!OC)

SUMMARY ››››› Having grown up just across the bridge from North Island, Carolina Alvarez has been told her whole life to stay away from the Top Gun boys. And for the most part, she has. That is, until Fanboy catches her putting quarters in the jukebox at The Hard Deck and initiates a game of cat and mouse that ends with her exactly where she swore she’d never be.

PAIRING ››››› Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia x F!OC

WORD COUNT ››››› 5,474

WARNINGS ››››› None

MASTERLIST ››››› Here

A/N ››››› Wow this took forever to figure out. But here it is! Also, yes, this takes place two years before Penny buys the Hard Deck, but in my head, she works there before she buys it from the previous owner.

It was entirely possible that the whole Top Gun class would be banned from The Hard Deck by the end of the week.

Or murdered, judging by the look on Penny's face.

The bartender stormed out from her station, crossing the room in long, purposeful strides. She looked every bit like an Admiral, ready to ream out a young officer for a victory lap.

A hand came down on Fanboy's shoulder, drawing his attention away from Penny's warpath and onto his friend. "Good luck," Payback said, offering a smile that somehow managed to be equal parts amusement and sympathy. His eyes flicked from Fanboy's face back to Penny who had come to a stop next to the jukebox. She stooped down and yanked the cord from the wall, cutting off Van Morrison mid-lyric.

"The next idiot to play that song is getting thrown overboard," Penny announced, threatening the bar with a wag of the cord. Applause broke out amongst the other patrons, a few even cheering as she bent over once more to plug the jukebox back in.

Payback let out an amused exhale as he raised his eyebrows at the WSO. "You're gonna need it."

He wasn't kidding. Fanboy was definitely going to get banned if she didn't show up by tomorrow.

The pilot patted the backseater's shoulder once more before heading off towards the doors to rejoin the rest of the aviators headed back to base, leaving Fanboy alone at the Hard Deck for yet another night.

As much as he wished Columbus or Payback had stuck around a bit longer, he wasn't exactly sorry to see the rest of the class go. Three straight nights of Ripley and Beaker ripping into him for "pining over that jukebox girl" was enough to have him at the end of his patience. He was just as relieved as everyone else to hear Blondie singing once the jukebox whirred back to life.

"So you're aware, that rule goes for tomorrow night too."

Fanboy whipped around to face Penny, finding her standing at his back with a finger pointed threateningly at him. "And if I do have to hear Brown-Eyed Girl again, you're buying everyone a round."

"Fair enough," Fanboy conceded, offering a good-natured smile.

"Good," Penny said, lowering her finger and jerking her head towards the bar. Fanboy slipped from his seat at the high top, gathering up his friend's abandoned beer bottles before trailing after Penny.

"You know," he started, placing the bottles in front of what had become his usual spot. "I'll even help throw them overboard."

"You'd better," Penny huffed, tossing the bottles a couple at a time into the recycling where they crashed against the others already there. "It's your fault I'm losing my mind."

"If I could control Beaker, I'd be a captain by now," Fanboy reasoned. The bartender shook her head, throwing the last of the bottles crashing into the bin before heading over to the fridge.

"You know damn well they only play that song because you keep responding to it," she rebutted, pulling out a new beer for him.

He acknowledged this truth with a sheepish smile. He couldn't help his reactions. Every time the beginning guitar riff started, his heart stuttered with the possibility that it could be her. None of the other aviators, or even Penny, had experienced her smiling right at them as an oldies song played in the background like a moment straight out of a movie. If they had, maybe they wouldn't be on him as much as they were.

"It's only Tuesday," Fanboy shrugged as Penny set the beer down in front of him. "I'll start to give up hope on Friday."

"God willing she shows up before then," Penny muttered as she removed the bottle cap, vapor curling up and out of the neck as the piece of metal clinked down onto the bar.

"She will." The words were out before Penny could even pick up the cap. She paused, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow.

"She will?" Penny repeated, not even bothering to keep her disbelief contained to her face. Fanboy opted to omit the fact that if she didn't come by Thursday, she probably wasn't coming at all.

He'd worked it out in the spare moments between the drills and lectures and debriefings that filled most of his time in Fightertown. He'd reviewed all of the details from their too short encounter on Friday: from the look of wonder on her face while scrolling through the song catalog, to the subtle upturn of her lips when she spoke about her friends, to the glint her eye as she set up their agreement before slipping into her Lyft. He'd turned over her statement that she didn't talk to naval aviators and her friends' confirmation of her stance. He'd considered every possible scenario of how this week could turn out, all with the same precision he brought to analyzing a mission.

"She'll show up," he affirmed. "And some of the pilots are going to lose a lot of money when she does."

The skepticism faded from Penny's face, replaced with a resigned disappointment. "Really? It's a bet?"

Fanboy shrugged. "They bet on everything. I just hope I get to watch Payback collects his winnings."

This seemed to mollify Penny as she simply shook her head with a slight smile before catching sight of a customer attempting to flag her down. "I hope you're right," she said to Fanboy, patting the bartop in front of him before heading over to the other side of the bar.

Fanboy grinned to himself, taking a sip of his beer as his eyes drifted to the closed front doors.

They remained closed, for the most part.

Over the next few hours, the only time the front doors opened was to usher patrons back into the outside world, the already light Tuesday night crowd growing thinner and thinner as last call ticked closer. It was looking increasingly likely that Fanboy would be helping Penny close down the Hard Deck again tonight. A prospect which Penny did not seem ready to resign herself to.

"Do you have a picture?" she asked, stopping in front of Fanboy with her hands on her hips.

"A picture?" he repeated back, brow furrowing in confusion.

"Of the girl," Penny clarified. "I can give you a call if she comes in."

Fanboy raised his eyebrows at the bartender, a grin forming on his face. "Trying to get rid of me?"

Penny offered a half-smile as she leaned down on her elbows. "You're too young to be spending your nights sitting here, waiting on some girl you hardly know, who may not even show up," she said, a little too kindly. "Go downtown. Find someone who actually wants to give you her number. I'm sure there are plenty of girls out there looking for someone just like you."

There were.

Over the past few days, he'd waved off more than a few girls and their offers of drinks or feigned interest in his work as a WSO. His dismissals had sparked criticism and jabs from the other pilots and almost indignation from Ripley.

"Top Gun is made for flings," his front-seater scolded. "It's thirteen weeks to get your dick wet before heading back to the carrier and your right hand. Stop wasting it."

The others had agreed with Ripley, Beaker chiming in his support by adding, "Dude, you have got to start seeing what's in front of you."

But if Fanboy only focused on what was and not what could be, his frontseater would probably be dead instead of here at Top Gun, leading the charge in making Fanboy's life hell.

He didn't say that though. Instead, Payback had pointed out how odd it was that Ripley was so focused on Fanboy getting laid instead of finding someone himself.

Fanboy had a feeling that saying the same thing to Penny would get him banned sooner rather than later. Instead, he offered her a shrug. "There are, but I want to see about this one first."

Her half-smile bloomed into a full one even as she shook her head at him. "You're a good one, Fanboy."

"Th-" The word died on his lips as the all-too familiar guitar line picked up, raising a chorus of accompanying groans.

"Jesus Christ," Penny swore, pushing herself away from the bar and towards the bell, giving the rope five sharp tugs. The grumbling amongst the patrons shifted, changing into cheers.

Fanboy spun in his seat to see who had come back to harass him, and his heart jumped in his chest.

Caro.

He couldn't believe he'd missed her entrance. She stood out like a beacon with her bright red top and jeans compared to the working uniforms of the men who slowly made their way to where she stood.

Fanboy turned to Penny, finding the bartender stood with her arms crossed and an amused look on her face. "That's her, isn't it?" she asked.

He nodded.

Penny smirked. "If I were you, I'd hurry over then."

"She didn't know..." he started to appeal, but she stopped him with a shake of her head, her smirk widening.

"Rules are rules. And I believe you promised you'd help throw the next person overboard."

Fanboy hung his head, but he couldn't stop his own smile from his face. She was here. She came. Before Friday. "Close me out?" He asked, looking back up at Penny.

She nodded, turning to the POS system as Fanboy left his seat and his beer, making his way over to Caro. She seemed to have taken notice of the officers hovering around her, her face growing increasingly apprehensive.

"I got this one," Fanboy said as he arrived at the jukebox.

The attention turned from Caro to him, but he couldn't find it in him to care. Instead, his eyes were locked with Caro's, and he watched as her shoulders lowered half an inch at the sight of him.

"Mickey," she breathed.

"You came," he said.

"I came," she nodded.

The other patrons around seemed to catch on to the shift in atmosphere, nodding at him before moving back to their seats. Caro watched them leave, confusion tugging her lips into a frown.

"What was that about?"

He gestured towards the jukebox. "There may or may not be a ban on that song."

Her eyes narrowed immediately as she turned to face him. "Since Friday?"

He nodded. "I'll explain outside."

"Outside?" Caro repeated, disbelieving. "Why?"

His grin turned sheepish. In all of the scenarios he considered, kicking Caro out of the Hard Deck hadn't even crossed his mind. And he'd entertained one course of action that involved driving down to a Vegas chapel. "You're being thrown overboard."

"I'm what?" Caro blanched.

This was not going to go over well.

"Going overboard," he said. "Penny's kicking you out."

"Because I played a banned song?" Caro asked, looking around the room. From behind the bar, Penny offered a wave goodbye and a sympathetic smile.

Caro paused and despite her impassive face, he could see the thoughts racing through her head. He'd be lucky if she didn't just get in her car and leave.

"I promise, I'll explain," he pressed. "And it's going to give you some excellent material to make fun of me with."

"It better," Caro said, shaking her head as she started walking to the door.

"Rules are rules," Penny called out, and Fanboy stopped Caro with a light hand on her arm.

"What, has the Navy banned walking too?" Caro asked, sounding completely exasperated.

He grimaced. "Part of going overboard is that you have to be thrown overboard."

"You're kidding," she said flatly.

He shook his head.

Caro stared at him blankly, time stretching on as she waited for him to break under her stare. When he didn't, she sighed, stepping towards him.

"Don't drop me," she ordered, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. He scooped her up easily, reveling in the small gasp that escaped her.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he assured her, looking down into Caro's face.

She broke eye contact first, readjusting her hands clasped around his neck, and a small thrill shot through Fanboy at the reaction. He started out of the Hard Deck, passing by a smiling Penny on his way towards the front door.

It was difficult to keep his mind focused on figuring out how he could explain this to her in a way that didn't send her racing for her car. Instead, his mind kept slipping to how soft she was and how perfectly she fit in his arms. He had to focus on keeping his hands in the right places and not how she smelled like vanilla or how if he looked down at the right angle he could probably see–

Boot camp.

Punching out of a plane.

Watching Spock—

"Mickey!" Caro exclaimed, holding out a hand to push open the door he had almost run them into. He muttered an apology as she kept it open with the tips of her fingers so it didn't swing back in his face.

He stopped just outside of the door, leaning down to deposit her on her feet.

Caro found her footing again with a hand on his shoulder for support. "So," she started, turning to face him and folding her arms across her chest. "What did you do to get that song banned in four days?"

"You might be impressed to know that it only took three days of excessive playing for the song to get banned," Fanboy answered. "I wasn't here on Saturday."

"Oh," Caro said, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "I'm very impressed."

"Thought you might be," Fanboy grinned, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Caro shook her head, something like a smile ghosting across her lips. "Did you think if you played it enough I'd just appear like Beetlejuice?"

"Didn't you?" he asked. Caro opened and shut her mouth again before he decided to save her. "No, uh, my friends played it a lot to mess with me for waiting here all night. Every night."

Caro looked surprised. "Every night?" She repeated.

He nodded, offering another shrug. "Didn't want to miss you."

"That's…" she trailed off, and his stomach tightened, hoping for her to end the sentence with "romantic" or "clever" or even "cheating." Instead, she decided on "Pretty desperate." But her eyes crinkled at the edges, and rather than it coming out as an accusation, there was a fondness to her voice.

Fanboy tipped his head in her direction as an acceptance of the charge. "According to my friends, it's incredibly desperate."

This was what earned him a laugh from Caro, the sound bubbling out of her and causing a warm feeling to blossom in his chest.

"It worked, though," he asserted. "I mean, if it wasn't the Beetlejuice thing."

Caro shook her head at him, the smile still remaining on her face. "Well, it's good to know you're not the type of guy to be hanging out at a bar on a Tuesday night an hour from close."

Fanboy whistled at her, shaking his head. "That's pretty judgmental coming from the girl who just got thrown out of a bar on a Tuesday night an hour from close."

Caro's mouth hung open for a second before she pushed at his chest. "That was entirely your fault."

Fanboy laughed, holding a hand over the part of his chest that she'd shoved. "If you'd just come on Sunday we'd both be inside, and you'd be having your drink."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head at him. "Well, since I can't get my drink, I think I might as well go home."

"Or," he started, taking a step towards her, a part of him relaxing when she didn't step backwards to reassert the space. "We could go somewhere else to get a drink."

She shook her head. "I'm pretty sure this is a sign I should stay out of bars tonight. When I get in my car, I'm going home."

"Then don't get in your car."

It came out faster than he intended, slipping from his lips easily and without much thought. All he knew was that he couldn't let her slip through his fingers.

Caro raised her eyebrow and opened her mouth, probably to remind him that she wasn't about to get into the car with a strange man desperate enough that he spent the last three nights waiting alone at a bar on the off chance she'd show up and give him her number. Before she could tell him any of this, he spoke again. "Take a walk on the beach with me."

She raised her eyebrows. "That wasn't the deal."

"No," he agreed. "But it's nice out, and you're already here."

Her eyes moved from his face to the beach. "You're not going to get me kicked off the beach are you?"

He grinned and shook his head. "No."

She nodded twice, thoughtfully. "Alright," she agreed. "A short walk."

"Do I get to decide what counts as short?"

"No," she snorted.

"Will you at least hold my hand?" Fanboy asked, extending an open palm to her, ready for her to entwine her fingers with his.

"We're not holding hands," she said, a smile quirking her lips. She gave his hand a small high-five as she brushed past him, starting towards the path to the beach.

Fanboy stared after her, frozen in place for a moment as he watched her go, a blend of cool moonlight and warm patio lights illuminating her figure against the darkness. She seemed to sense his eyes on her, or maybe just that he wasn't following, because she paused and looked over her shoulder.

"Change your mind?" She asked, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

The question spurred him into action, and he started after her, pulling at his boots' laces as he went and then hopping as he tugged off his shoes and socks, desperate to be by her side as quickly as possible. She waited for him, watching the spectacle but saying nothing, even when he rejoined her.

The pair walked down to the water's edge in companionable silence, the night air cool on their skin. The beach was largely empty, only a few couples dotting the sand here and there. Fanboy was careful not to pay too close attention to what they were doing, instead keeping his eyes on the girl beside him. The girl he wasn't sure would come despite what he said to the rest of the Top Gun candidates and Penny.

"I'm glad you came," Mickey said, his voice coming out softer than he was entirely proud of. She didn't seem to mind, offering him a gentle smile and shrug, her dark hair falling off her shoulders and down her back.

"We shook on it."

He could have kissed her then.

He could picture it so clearly in his head, reaching out to tug on her hand so she turned back into him, only so he could tilt her head back and press his lips to hers. They would move together in the same gentle rhythm of the waves washing over the shore, and it would be perfect.

He could have kissed her, and he would have, if he wasn't dead certain that if he did he'd probably lose her. And she'd probably slap the shit out of him before she went.

She seemed to notice the awe on his face and misinterpret it as something else. "I'm a bit offended you think I'm the kind of person who doesn't follow through with her agreements."

"No," Fanboy said, shaking his head quickly, breaking eye contact with her to look back ahead. "I just thought you were the kind of person who doesn't talk to naval aviators."

She hesitated for the briefest of seconds before dismissing the remark with a shrug. "I'm not. I just really didn't think you'd be waiting here every night. What did you even do?"

He shrugged. "My friends were here part of the time. The rest I mostly spent talking to Penny."

"The bartender," Caro remembered, and he nodded. "About what?"

"Yours and mine's deal, what it's like for her working at the bar, Star Trek," he said, shrugging.

"Star Trek?" Caro repeated with a laugh.

He nodded. "I've been a fan since I was little. It's why I wanted to fly," he explained. "And join the Navy."

"I didn't think Star Trek was about the Navy," Caro said, eyes focused down the beach.

"It's not," he shook his head. "The characters are part of Starfleet which is kind of like the UN's peacekeeping forces meets space Navy but for exploration and diplomacy."

"Two things that militaries have historically handled extremely well," Caro snarked.

"That's the thing," Fanboy pressed. "The show shows what could be. It teaches us why we need to value diversity and—stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?" Caro asked, before pressing her lips tightly back together.

"Like you're trying not to laugh at me," he said, bumping her shoulder with his.

"I just didn't think you'd be such a nerd," Caro defended, bumping his shoulder back.

"You say nerd. I say fan," Fanboy protested. He couldn't help but notice that the distance between them had closed some, the space small enough for him to reach out a finger and hook it with hers. He resisted the temptation.

"Anyway, it's how I got my callsign: Fanboy."

Caro burst out laughing, and Fanboy raised his eyebrows at her. "What?!" he asked in mock defense, a smile taking over his face.

"I can't decide if Fanboy or Mickey is worse."

He laughed then, and Caro grinned back at him.

"Alright then, tell me something I can make fun of you for," he charged.

She shook her head at him and shrugged. "Unfortunately for you, I don't really have anything you can make fun of me for."

"Nothing," he said, disbelieving.

"Nope," she answered, popping the p.

"Are you a good dancer?"

She looked up at him with a smile. "I'm a really good dancer."

"Do you have a boring job?"

"I don't have a job," she shrugged. "I just graduated USD and my cert program doesn't start until September."

"Your cert program?" he repeated, and she nodded.

"I'm going to school to become a chiropractor."

"So you're a future doctor who's a really good dancer and also extremely beautiful."

"Yeah," she nodded, beaming up at him.

The urge to kiss her rose up in him again, but he pushed it back down, instead reaching out to loosely tangle his fingers with hers before pulling his hand back to his side.

"Well, what made you want to be a chiropractor?

"Have you ever seen the TV show Bones?"

"You're really funny."

Caro shrugged. "I know."

The two continued along the beach for a moment more in silence before Caro spoke again. "I just think the spine's really interesting–how it coordinates so much of what happens in the body. I just think it's underrated. Like people know it's important, but so few people actually care for it until suddenly they have back problems or get in a car accident."

He nodded, waiting for her to continue.

Instead, she offered him a sheepish smile "I totally just have you something to make fun of me with, didn't I?"

"No," he shook his head. "It's a good point."

"Really?" Caro raised an eyebrow. "Because I think I just said that the spine was underrated."

He cracked a smile and shrugged. "Maybe I just think you're right."

The conversation wound from there, Fanboy sharing some of his other interests much to Caro's delight and teasing. Caro continued to amaze him, with her wit and insight and stories of musical festivals and time as a yoga instructor.

It almost felt like no time had passed by the time he finally looked at his phone and realized he had to wake up in five hours.

"So," Fanboy started, prompting a smile from Caro. He wouldn't be surprised if she already knew the question he was about to ask. "This rule about not dating naval aviators…how firm is it?"

"Pretty firm," Caro affirmed, nodding her head.

"Bad experience?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I just live too close to base for there to be any mystique. I've seen this story play out too many times."

"You've seen our story play out?" He asked, brows raised in amusement. "You should have mentioned you were psychic."

Caro stared at him, unimpressed, but he pressed on. "How does it go?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes with a shrug. "You go through Top Gun and split your scraps of free time between me and your friends, but somehow I still end up too attached. After your program's up, you go back to wherever it was you're from or maybe off on some assignment, and I'm left behind. If we're really stupid, we kid ourselves that we can do long distance, but that crashes and burns within a couple of months and ends with at least one person getting hurt."

She went silent after that, her face somber as the moment stretched out before she broke free of her thoughts and shrugged again. "The only way it works is casual and short and that's not for me."

"Definitely not," he agreed.

She shot him a quizzical look. "I can't tell if you're making fun of me or trying to agree with whatever I say so I break the rule."

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. "No, I just meant--you don't seem like the type to love 'em and leave 'em, and I can't see anyone spending five minutes with you and thinking they could shake you off as just a one night stand."

Whatever stormcloud had hovered over Caro while sharing the reasoning behind her rule seemed to dissipate, and instead she seemed amused by his analysis. "What about you?" Caro asked.

"After one night? I think it'd take at least a month to get you out of my system," Fanboy nodded. "Maybe two, depending on how good it was."

She laughed then, and he grinned, thankful for the sound.

"No, I meant, can you do casual and short? One night stands?"

He shrugged. "Not usually."

"Ohhh," Caro said, taking a step back to make a show of looking him up and down. "So you're the 'I don't usually do things like this' guy?" She laughed as she accused him, and he couldn't help but laugh too, shaking his head and looking down at his feet.

"You are!" she exclaimed, coming closer once more to walk beside him.

"In my defense, it's true!" he defended.

"Mhmm," Caro hummed skeptically, bumping her shoulder against his. "Of course it is, Fanboy."

"It is," he insisted. "I'd much rather date you than just go back to your place."

He meant it, and he hoped that she could see it in his face. As much as he would enjoy a night in her bed, making her forget how ridiculous she found his names as she cried them out, it wouldn't be the same if he didn't get to wake up with her in his arms.

Caro flushed, looking off to the side and away from him, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "Alright, well, you've still got your question and your guess for my number."

"So I have a chance?" Fanboy asked, tapping at the back of her hand with a finger.

"At getting my number," Caro responded, moving her hand away and offering him a coy look instead.

He bit his lip and nodded. "Ok. Fair enough."

The pair stopped at the bottom of the path up to the Hard Deck's parking lot, Fanboy narrowing his eyes in mock-assessment as he looked over Caro. He had thought about this moment too over the past few days, contemplating what question he would ask to confirm his guess. It had only taken a few hours and seven scratched out options in the margins of his notepad.

"Do you relate to the lyrics?"

She didn't answer right away. Instead, she stood in thought, and he wondered if the lyrics were running through her head right now in the same way that they filled his. He wondered if she was matching the same snippets of verses to herself that he had when pairing them up with memories and the facts she revealed about herself on their walk.

Finally a small smile turned up the corner of her mouth.

"Yeah," she said, and then nodded to herself. "I do."

Fanboy nodded too, waiting a beat and fighting the smile rising to the surface.

"You have a guess?" Caro asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I have the answer," he corrected and her eyebrows shot up as she ooohed at him playfully. "It's 'She Way Out' from The 1975."

Her jaw dropped.

But instead of the surprise or amusement that he had hoped for—or the throwing of herself into his arms that he had dreamed of—apprehension crossed her features.

"How did you—how did you know?"

All of the quips he's come up with about his strategy or cleverness or own psychic ability flew from him in the wake of her unease. Instead, he softened and admitted the truth: "I asked your friends after you left on Friday."

"They told you?!" she burst, indignantly.

"Sort of," he said, tilting his head back and forth. "One of them was going to, but then the other convinced her not to. She said I should at least put in some of the work."

"Sami," Caro breathed. He couldn't remember the girl's name, but Caro seemed so sure, he nodded.

"She gave me the band after I beat her in darts. And bought a couple of rounds."

Caro barked out a laugh at this.

"I looked them up, saw they only had one album and listened to it a few times. It's pretty good."

"It's incredible," Caro corrected. She continued to stare at him before shaking her head. "I can't believe you just listened to it and guessed."

"Well, I had the answers to my questions," Fanboy said. "But that one reminded me the most of you."

Caro started to say something, but he cut her off half-singing, "She said it's not about your body / It's just social implications are brought upon by this party that we're sitting in."

She blinked several times before finally quipping, "And here I was thinking you were about to call me intelligent or compliment my style." As she said this, she fished into her pocket, pulling out a crumpled napkin with purple writing on it and passing it to him.

She Way Out - The 1975

619 - 92 - 113

He looked up and grinned at her.

"I'm still not going to date you," she said, turning around and heading up to the gravel parking lot, Fanboy lightly jogging to catch up with her.

"Of course not."

"But since my friends are off starting their new lives and you're stuck here for a bit, maybe we can hang out."

"Sounds good," he nodded, walking with her over to her car. She pulled open the door, but before she could sit down, he leaned on top of the frame. "What are you doing Friday? Wanna hang out?"

"Text me," she said, offering a grin. "And we'll see."

Next Chapter: Ch. 4 - I Ain't the Same

#fanboy Garcia x OC #Mickey Garcia x OC #fanboy x OC #mickey fanboy garcia x oc #fanboy Garcia #Mickey Garcia #Mickey fanboy Garcia #mickey fanboy garcia fic #fanboy Garcia fic #Mickey Garcia fic #Top gun Maverick OC #TGM OC #Top gun Maverick fic #TGM fic #oc: carolina alvarez #ship: Fanro #series: tailspin #motion sickness universe #mickey “fanboy” garcia

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astaroth1357 · 3 years

Note

I don’t know if this’ll make the cut, but brothers with an MC wearing their (the brothers) clothes, and I’m talking full ensemble not just a random jacket or accessory (you can delete if you’re not comfortable of course)

So when left with the question of whether this was a full on clothing theft or a cosplay of some kind, I'm going with theft because that's just funnier to me. Just a little MC marching around in Beel's tent of an outfit… Hilarious. 🤭

MC Steals the Brothers’ Outfits

Lucifer

It started out like any other morning, Lucifer woke up early in bed - as he always does - but when he rolled onto his side to stir the MC, he found their side of the bed empty…

Normally, he’d have thrown up the alarm in an instant, but his mind was still groggy as he tried to recall what happened the night before… He could have sworn the MC slept over… unless…

MC: “Good morning, love.”

Their voice was enough to get him sitting up again and he uh… well he was not prepared for what he saw. The MC was sitting with their legs crossed at his desk, attempting to imitate his “I’m-in-Complete-Control-Here” energy as much as they possibly could, but with an added detail…

They were wearing his clothes. His favorite suit to be specific which was tailored to his much bigger frame, resulting in a frankly ridiculously ill-fitting look on their smaller human body...

MC: *picks up a poisoned apple off the desk, continuing their very best Lucifer-impression* “You should get up, love. We have an early meeting today and we can’t keep Lord Diavolo waiting.”

The MC appeared to polish the apple with his sleeve for a moment before taking a bite, looking pleased with themselves before their eyes widened in complete horror. It only took a split second for them to spit the unchewed hunk of apple into a nearby waste basket and toss the apple away in panic.

MC: “Ah FUCK!! I forgot I can’t eat these!!! SHIT!!”

Their panic only grew as Lucifer could no longer hold in his laughter, the booming volume of which is enough to wake up all his brothers throughout the House.

MC: “Lucifer, don’t just sit there laughing!! Bring me some water or something!!! LUCIFER!!!”

Mammon

Look, Mammon always gets up late so not being able to find, like, any of his normal clothes was a serious problem! He’d already dug through half his closest and still couldn’t find anything!!

He had a photoshoot that he had to get to in less than hour and he still needed to take a shower, get dressed, get his stuff together, then bolt halfway across town before-

MC: *literally kicks open his door Kuzco-style* “Yo, yo, yo!! What’s up, Mammon??”

First off, the sudden loud bang of his door hitting the wall nearly scared him out of his skin, but before he could even yell at the MC for their weird entrance his brain had to process what they were wearing….

Good news! He found his missing clothes, the MC had thrown them on while he was sleeping - sunglasses and all - and now stood before him with a toothy grin on their face.

MC: “What's the problem, Mams? Lucifer got your tongu-EEEK!”

Apparently, they weren't expecting Mammon to literally lunge at them and capture them in a tight hug, practically lifting them off their feet with a laugh.

Mammon: “What'cha think your doin', MC?? I'm gonna need those back ya know?”

MC: *laughs loud and bright, throwing their arms around his neck* “I know, I know... But I wanted to surprise you!” *stops laughing suddenly and blinks* “Huh…”

Mammon watched the MC experimentally lift his glasses off their nose then put them back down, repeating the action several times before snickering.

Mammon: *frowns* “What's so funny?”

MC: “Nothing really but… Mammon, do you wear these just to make everything look like gold?”

Mammon actually had to pause before responding, pulling the MC closer with a devilish grin.

Mammon: “Nah… I ‘cause got all the gold I need right here~”

MC: *chuckles and nuzzles his cheek* “Nice save...”

Mammon: *his cheeks flush and he frowns* “I dunno what your talkin’ about... But could ya go put on a t-shirt or somethin’? They’re paying me big for this shoot and I really gotta go!”

Leviathan

Another convention, another cosplay far too complex to ever hope to peel out of… Though Levi would never regret wearing his five piece Lord of Shadow cosplay, it’s a heavy thing and certainly not something he can change out of in a bathroom stall…

When he finally got back to the House, he wasn’t looking to do anything but drag his tired body back to his room and change into some more manageable clothes… but… well…

When Levi opened his door, he saw the MC sitting alone at his computer desk playing a game by themselves. That was all well and good but… WHY IN DIAVOLO’S BLACK HELL ARE THEY WEARING HIS CLOTHES???

When they heard the door, the MC whipped their head back and they both stared at each other in an awkward silence… His clothes didn’t even fit them right!-or maybe they did?? His mind was panicking because they had the collar of his shirt covering their mouth and it looked so moe it was actually ridiculous!

Levi: ……….

MC: ………….

MC: …. “I can explain.”

Levi: ……. “Y-yea?”

MC: “I was having trouble on this one level and you wouldn’t pick up the phone… so I thought ‘What would Levi do?’... and it escalated…”

Levi: “You think??”

Levi felt like he could die right there, but he wasn’t entirely sure if it was from embarrassment or happiness… On the one hand, the MC was literally trying to be him in order to get better at video games - which was flatteringly adorable… And on the other, the MC is pretty much cosplaying as him, right in front of him… and looked so damn cute doing it too…

MC: “Is this weird…? This is weird. I’m sorry, I’ll go change-”

Levi: NO-agh! *he throws a hand over his own mouth, surprised by how loud he just shouted* … “U-uh… no it’s fine…”

MC: “Okay...?”

MC: “But could you put your phone down? I think you’ve been taking pictures for the past two minutes…”

Levi looked down at his hand and sure enough he unconsciously pulled out his phone in camera mode and has been spamming the “Capture” button long enough to have his thumb cramping...

Levi: “Oh.” *stops for a moment, then seems to second guess himself*

Levi: “Uh… just one more?”

Satan

When you share a house with Mammon, you grow accustomed to not being able to find things from time to time, but an entire outfit??

When he woke up one morning to find that he couldn't find any of his normal clothes, he blamed Mammon right off the bat…

I guess in hindsight, what would Mammon want with his jacket? But anger doesn't always jump to the most rational conclusion, you know?

After searching for "long enough," Satan stormed out of his bedroom on a warpath. He didn't stop his march until he was banging on Mammon’s door with a closed fist!

Satan: “Mammon!! What did you do with my clothes you useless, money-grubbing asshole!?”

When he didn’t get a reply, likely because Mammon was hiding in his closet or something, he was about to kick the door in when he felt a tap on his shoulder...

When he turned his head, much to his surprise, he found his missing clothes!... They were on the MC - right down to the single sleeve - and the MC met his eyes with a mischievous grin…

They had a book in their hands he recalled seeing once at the library: "101 Ways to Prank Your Partner," open like they'd been reading down the hallway.

MC: … Page 47.

They winked at him before bolting back down the hallway in a fit of giggles and oooh, it was on now.

Satan spent the morning chasing the MC through the House, both laughing and dashing around in reckless abandon. He really needed his clothes back and he wouldn’t mind an extra hour or two with the MC when he got them… 😏

Asmodeus

Asmo isn’t exactly a morning person… Though he forces himself awake so he can perform his wake-up routine, by the time he comes to the table it’s a hit-or-miss on how irritable he’s going to be...

Of course, his favorite outfit suddenly disappearing from his massive closet did not help his mood in the slightest!

Who would take his clothes?? Well, that’s not even a question - surely plenty of his devoted, adoring stans would kill to even have his scarf, so maybe the better question was, “How??” Lucifer keeps all the doors and windows magically sealed at night! (He would know, having been locked out on numerous occasions)

Asmo was tearing through his closet, wracking his brain for any place he might have left his beloved outfit, before he heard someone clear their throat by his bedroom door.

What greeted him was a lovely look at the MC wearing the missing clothing in question, even with all the grace and style he would himself!

Asmo: *jaw-drops* “MC???”

MC: *smirks at his delight and winks at him* “Looking for something?”

They strutted into the room with the confidence of a mock fashion model and took a silly vogue pose in front of the closet, barely holding in a fit of laughter from their actions.

MC: “… Or just at me?”

Asmo, of course, snatched them right up in his arms with a delighted squeal.

Asmo: “Oh. My. Diavolo!! MC, you look just gorgeous!!!- Because you look like me, of course.” 🤭

MC: *laughs and cups his cheeks to pull him closer* “Who wouldn't want to be you, Asmo?”

Asmo: “So true… But you’re already perfect, my love~” 😘

And he went on to prove that to them all morning long...

Beelzebub

Beel didn't even get the chance to notice his clothes were missing. He had a tournament the night before and was sleeping even harder than Belphie that morning...

What woke him up was the smell of food: scrambled shadowhawk eggs, hellboar bacon, pancakes with nightshade syrup….

Beel's stomach had him sitting up long before his eyes ever opened, drawn in by his nose alone.

MC: “Beeeeel. Wake up!”

Beel's eyes dragged open at their request and what he found had his mouth watering... The MC had brought him a dining cart with a complete breakfast spread, brimming with portions only Beel could ever finish, but for once he wasn’t looking at the food.

The MC, for whatever reason, had decided to put on his clothes… And keep in mind that Beel's built like an ox compared to almost anybody. They were absolutely swimming under all that fabric (thank the Devil for his suspenders…)

MC: “Congratulations!!!”

They throw their arms up excitedly, making the unzipped jacket balloon out like a parachute behind them… It's a remarkably cute image.

Beel: *blinks* “Oh.” *he gets a little pink, still very confused* “What did I do exactly…?”

MC: “You won the championship last night, remember? Or did you forget already??”

The MC takes a step to the side and begins pointing at the plates on the cart.

MC: “I thought we'd celebrate with some breakfast! I brought you eggs, bacon, pancakes, toast, cereal-”

As they continued their list, Beel's hand naturally reached out towards the cart eagerly, before something finally clicked in his head. WHY were they wearing his clothes??

Beel: “Wait. MC, why are you wearing-...?”

MC *holds their hand up* “Hold on!”

MC: “-oatmeal, muffins, banana bread, annnd…” *they get onto the bed and plop down onto his lap with a grin*

MC: “Me! Congratulations, Beel!!”

They lean up to peck his cheek while his arms automatically wind around their waist. The combination of their scents already bringing out a different sort of hunger in him…

Let’s say if this is his reward, he'll never lose a game again. 😏

Belphegor

Belphie was in the middle of his afterschool nap in the library. The day was exhausting, so he didn’t even bother changing uniforms… The couches there were comfortable and the space was quiet, really nothing should have woken him up...

But somehow, for whatever reason, something did. A tug… Something was chasing away his dreams by tugging on the cow pillow in his arms.

MC: “Beeelllppphie….”

The tugging did not cease and he half growled in response, still keeping his eyes firmly closed.

Belphie: “What now...?”

MC: “I need this…” *they tug on the corner of the pillow a little harder* “Can you let go please…?”

What kind of question is that?? No one takes away his favorite pillow!

Belphie: *hugs the pillow tighter* “Go away, I'm trying to nap…”

MC: “Noooo please…! I need it for something right now…!!”

They started really pulling on his pillow now and he only held on tighter in annoyance. Since they wouldn’t leave him alone, he finally opened his eyes.

Belphie: “MC! Why are… you..?”

His voice trailed off as he finally saw the MC standing there in his usual outfit. His cardigan was so long over their arms that they had to grasp his pillow through its sleeves...

While his drowsy mind tried to catch up, the MC snatched the pillow from his grasp with one swift yank.

MC: *grins* “Mine now!”

They turned to bolt out of the library, but Belphie snatched them by the waist and dragged them back to the couch with him.

Belphie: “Fine, but then I get a new pillow.” 😏

The MC yelped as he flopped on top of them, pulling them close like a body pillow and resting his head into the crook of their neck to enjoy the soothing smell of their scent mixed with his.

MC: “W-wait Belphie…!” *tries to wiggle out from under his surprisingly heavy deadweight* “I was just playing around…! Please don't fall asleep on me!!”

Belphie: *yawns and settles in, already drifting off* “Too late… G'night, MC…”

MC: “Belphie!!!” 😫

They could complain all they liked, he wasn’t going to let them go for a few hours. Cute or not, MC, nobody takes his pillow!

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #obey me requests

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iliveiloveiwrite · 3 years

Text

I find myself travelling back to you // Simon Basset

Request: Could you possibly write a Simon Basset fic where maybe the reader is like a childhood friend and he bumps into them and they talk and catch up with maybe some romance or something - anon

A/N: My first Simon fic! I am a little uncertain of this as I am not sure whether I have Simon’s character down yet. I hope you all like! Thank you for requesting, I hope I have done it justice.

Pairing: Simon Basset x Fem!Reader

Warnings: childhood friends, pining, mutual pining, fluff, some angst, she/her pronouns, female reader.

Word count: 3.8k

There was not a cloud in the sky as you made your way through Mayfair after having turned down a carriage. Instead, you chose to walk away the morning, happy to feel the warmth of the sun through the layers of your dress.

The streets had started out as quiet; a few souls here and there, but they soon grew busier and busier as routines were started. Dodging bodies here and there, you found it hard to be annoyed at the crowds – the weather too perfect for your mood to be sullied.

A flash of deep red amongst the crowd has your eyes and body on alert; the sound of a deep voice has your ears pricking. “Simon?” You call out, eyebrows furrowing as you spy a familiar head of hair making their way through the crowds.

“(Y/N)?” The man in question answers, eyes wide as he takes in your form.

“It’s been so long,” You whisper, staring into his brown eyes. “I suppose I should call you ‘Your Grace’ now. I was sorry to hear of the passing of your father,” You comment softly, not overly sorry for the death of the man who had mistreated his son so poorly but offering your condolences as a form of social etiquette.

Nodding his head, Simon smiles at you. “Thank you,” He gestures to the elderly lady on his arm, “I am sure you remember Lady Danbury.”

You smile widely at the elderly lady as she grins back at you. “Of course I do,” You laugh, “We meet at least once a week to have tea.”

If possible, Simon’s eyes grow wider to the point where Lady Danbury snorts. “Really now, Simon. Did you expect us ladies to go our separate ways when you left the country?”

“Of course not,” Simon drawls, amused by the elder. “I just didn’t realise you had a close relationship.”

“Well we do. That reminds me,” Lady Danbury pipes up, “I will not be able to make our tea appointment this week, dear (Y/N). My grandson, Gareth, is visiting.”

“Of course, Lady Danbury. We can always rearrange to the following week.”

“Nonsense,” She declares, slamming her cane onto the ground, “Simon will meet with you.”

Casting your gaze to the tall gentleman, it is not hard to miss to the surprise in his eyes. Shaking your head, you state, “I am sure the Duke has more pressing issues than tea with an old friend.”

Lady Danbury opens her mouth to protest your point but is beaten by the Duke. “I have nothing so pressing that cannot be rearranged. I shall meet you tomorrow, I assume Lady Danbury knows the spot.”

With a nod of your head, Simon smiles. He reaches out, grabbing your gloved hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. “Until tomorrow then,” He promises, stepping away from you with Lady Danbury in tow.

“Until tomorrow,” You whisper, watching the strong figure of your childhood friend walk away from you.

Glancing up at the still cloudless sky, you wonder how it is possible that the world keeps spinning when your own has changed so much. Simon left the country years ago, and even then, contact with the man was few and far between. He had left for school and seemingly left you behind. The very fact that he was happy to have tea with you sent shockwaves through your body; not a word for so many years and then this out of the blue.

Now glaring at the sky, you wonder whether there wasn’t a larger game afoot. One that had you reuniting with the childhood love that had left you a bereft teenager; it had you hoping you would not be left a heartbroken adult.

------

The pleasant weather was to continue, you thought to yourself as you sat down in the drawing room. Despite the calmness of the room; the sweet sound birdsong outside of your window, your stomach would not calm. Instead, it was threatening to make a mockery of your breakfast. A missive had arrived late yesterday evening from Lady Danbury explaining that Simon would indeed be calling on you for the promised tea.

Smoothing out your pale blue skirts, you wish desperately that you had brought something to keep you occupied as you wait for his imminent arrival. You curse the fact that you left your latest cross-stitch upstairs in your room, having worked on it late into the night. You could have used it to the pass the time to keep your mind busy.

“The Duke of Hastings,” The butler announces, startling you slightly, stepping aside for Simon to stride into the room.

Simon smiles widely as he spots you standing by the table; he rushes over to you, reaching for your hand, placing a lingering kiss to the back of it before straightening. “(Y/N),” He greets, breathless as if he had rushed all the way over here.

“Simon,” You answer, smiling just as widely.

Following his lead, you take a seat at the table, waiting for the tea service to be brought up.

“How is Lady Danbury?” You question, trying to fill the time for the service to arrive.

Simon laughs. “It seems she is on the warpath. Her grandson, Gareth, arrived this morning still out of sorts from the previous night.”

“No!” You gasp, “He’s barely of age!”

“That is what dear Lady Danbury was reminding poor Gareth as she swung her cane at him. I thought I better leave before her attention and her cane turned to me.”

“A good decision to have made.”

“Definitely,” Simon agrees, “As I was leaving, Gareth was promising his grandmother not to touch another drop of alcohol again though I doubt that promise will stick.”

“Poor Gareth,” You lament, thinking of the times you had been on receiving end of a lecture from Lady Danbury. “She does love him so though.”

“She does,” Simon states, “I remember his birth. It feels so long ago.”

You hum in agreement; wondering how quick time had flown by. Gareth was to be part of the next generation of society; he was to bring it into its future, especially if his grandmother had anything to say about it.

“How long have you been home?” You ask, pouring the both of you some tea now that it had arrived.

“I travelled to Clyvedon to settle things there before journeying down to London. I’ve been back in England just short of a month.”

“Oh,” You murmur, trying your best not to feel hurt that he hadn’t actively sought you out. After all, it had been years since you had last spoken. No correspondence had been exchanged throughout the duration of his travels; Lady Danbury had been the one to update you on where Simon was in the world. He hadn’t written you a single letter despite the long friendship that you still held dear. Instead, it had been an utter coincidence, a meeting in the streets that had proved to you he was still alive and breathing.

“I wanted to come see you,” Simon states, feeling bad about the broken sound that had left your mouth just now. He wasn’t one to talk so openly about his feelings, but he found himself needing to explain to you that he hadn’t stopped thinking of you since he stepped foot on English soil.

“Did you?” You question, sounding very much as if you did not believe a word leaving his mouth. By the unimpressed expression on your face, Simon knew you did not believe him.

“I did, but I got so busy. There were estates to manage, ledgers to balance and announcements to be made. By the time I landed in London, I was so thoroughly exhausted that I simply wandered to Lady Danbury’s home and fell asleep on her chaise-lounge. She wasn’t impressed.”

You snort before realising the impropriety, “I can imagine.”

Simon laughs entertained by the thought of Lady Danbury’s face when she found him snoring away on her chair. “As punishment, she made me accompany her on a walk… where we ran into you.”

“What a punishment,” You drawl.

Simon rolls his eyes at your tone. “I like to think of it as a happy coincidence.”

“Then I shall look at it in the same manner.”

There was something different about the man sitting across from you. Was it how he held his spoon? How he stirred his tea? Had the years abroad moulded him into a new person, one you could barely recognise?

Simon held himself entirely different to how he would when he was younger. His posture, perfect. His stance, brimming with confidence. It takes you aback somewhat as you take in the changes the years away at school and abroad have placed on his body.

Would your friendship still stand after so long apart? Is Simon simply placating Lady Danbury by having him meet you for tea? He talks such pretty words; can form sentences that leaves your mind in a spin, but this is the same man that had left the country without so much as a goodbye in your direction.

Reaching for your tea, you distract yourself from such intrusive thoughts. The tea clears your mind; letting you form a blank slate in your mind. “Enough talk of the past, no matter how recent,” You declare, “You left so long ago and came back a new person. It seems I need to get to know the new one.”

Simon smiles at you from his place across the table. “The same could be said for you too.”

You smile though it doesn’t reach your eyes. You don’t mention how you had spent the last few years turning down every marriage proposal offered to you due to your heart belonging to another even in its broken state. “Time is a marvellous thing,” You offer instead, grabbing a small cake from the stand.

“Indeed,” Simon murmurs, eyes following the cake from the plate to your mouth. Despite the time that had passed, his feelings had not changed. They had grown stronger instead. By now, Simon truly understood the meaning of absence making the heart grow fonder. All through his travels, he had cursed himself for not asking you to join him. Through every country, principality and dominion, Simon wondered how it would be for you to be there with him, experiencing the wonders of it all.

“Where was your favourite place to travel?” You ask, leaning forward slightly, “I’ve never travelled further than France.”

Simon nods, remembering your trip abroad with the same pang of sadness he felt back then. He knew logically that you were sat across from him, yet the longing in his body did nothing to help repress the urge to reach out for your hand across the table – to touch you so he would know that you were there, and this wasn’t a figment of his imagination.

“I think my favourite place to visit was Greece. I stayed on the mainland for a while before eventually making my way around the islands. Each island had its own charms, but there was one that had me questioning whether I could live there for the rest of my life. It was so calm, so quiet. Not even the thoughts in my head could distract me from its serenity.”

“Do you miss it?”

“The island?”

“The travelling.”

Simon sighs, staring out of the window as he thinks of over his answer. Eventually, he says, “I miss the sights and the people. I miss the smells and the food. However, I do not miss the time zones. There were moments where I didn’t know what time it was, let alone what day it was.”

“It sounds as if you had a magical time,” You sigh, trying your best not to think of Simon in the desperate heat of the Mediterranean.

“It had its moments,” Simon admits, thinking of the hours he had spent in markets, trying local delicacies and drinking traditionally made coffee. He had adored every second of his travels; he hadn’t minded the odd illness that came along with a new environment when there was so much to learn and so much to experience.

“Will you be travelling again soon?”

“It depends,” Simon answers.

“On?”

“On whether I find anything to keep me here.”

Silence falls over you both as you take in his words, trying to find the meaning of them. Taking a sip of your tea, you wonder whether your friendship with the Duke would be enough to keep him grounded at home for longer than a few weeks at a time. Your heart skips a beat at thought that you might not be enough; your feelings for the Duke had never surprised you. They had not surprised Lady Danbury when you showed up on her doorstep in floods of tears after Simon had left for the continent; she had simply welcomed you into her home with words of comfort and reassurances.

“Will you be attending Lady Danbury’s ball later this week?” You ask, needing to take your mind off that terrible evening.

Simon chuckles, placing his teacup on its saucer. “I shall be in attendance. I find it hard to turn down Lady Danbury. Will you be there?”

You nod, thinking of the dress you had made special. “I will. I’m quite excited if I’m to be honest.”

“Why is that?”

You shrug, “The theme, the music, the company. Lady Danbury never fails with her balls.”

“She does not,” Simon agrees, remembering the grandiosity of such events before he left to travel.

“So I shall see you there?” You ask, your voice hopeful as if daring to wonder whether Simon would attend before no doubt leaving the country once more.

“You shall. Would you save me a dance perhaps?” Simon asks, his usual mischief alight in his eyes.

You smile widely, “Always.”

--------

The rest of the week is spent in anticipation; desperate for the hours to quicken so you could walk through the home of Lady Danbury to find Simon already waiting for you. A hopeless dream, but a dream, nonetheless.

The Duke of Hastings remains on your mind for the rest of the week. One chance meeting and one organised tea and it seems that the man had made his home in your mind and brought to life the feelings you were certain were dormant.

With those feelings in mind, you prepare for Lady Danbury’s ball knowing full well you were about to spend the evening in the presence of Simon, but also watching the mothers of London’s available fawn over him as if he was a prize to be won. It was enough to make your blood boil.

Ridding yourself of such anger, you enter the home of Lady Danbury.

Lady Danbury never spared any expense when it came her to time to host the event of the season. She knew that it would be reported on, that it would be spoken about. She also knew that there was a chance that many matches could be made that night; so no expense could be spared in the battle for love matches among the ton.

The sight of the ballroom takes your breath away as you enter. Lady Danbury had chosen the theme of the moon, stars and sun – asking her guests to dress in colours relating to either. Your navy blue skirts swish together the further you walk into the room, distracted by the moon and star decorations hanging from the high vaulted ceilings.

You’re so enraptured by the scenery that you do not hear the footsteps approaching or the whispers of the women beside you. It isn’t until you hear him call your name that you turn your gaze from the silver decorations.

“Simon,” You greet with a smile, “How have you been?”

“Very well,” He replies, “And yourself?”

“I’m fine, thank you for asking.”

“You look wonderful,” Simon compliments; eyes raking up and down your body.

Your skin heats at his rapt attention; flashes of heat soaring through you as your mind begins to think of all sorts of scenarios where you could keep his eyes on you for much longer. “Thank you,” You answer, voice breathy, “You look very handsome too.”

“Would you do me the honour of dancing with me?” Simon asks, voice quiet in the loud room.

Nodding your head, you take his outstretched hand and allow him to lead you onto the dancefloor where many other couples are gathering.

Simon’s hand is soft on the small of your back; soft but insistent as it brings you closer to his own body. Wrapped up entirely in him, you find it hard to concentrate on the steps of the dance, easily being led around the dancefloor by the man who had captured your heart before you had even known the meaning of the word.

A large smile spreads over his face as he spins you out and brings you back. A surprised laugh leaves your lips as Simon spins you once more; the delight settling deep within your bones, melding to become a memory that would always be with you. Simon’s own laughter soons join yours and before long, neither of you are paying much attention and custom – the both of you having far too much fun in each other’s arms to be aware of the looks and glances being sent your way.

As the music fades into silence, Simon’s grip on you loosens reluctantly. He doesn’t want to let go of you; doesn’t know when the next time he can hold you this close will be. If he could, he would steal you away right now, but etiquette and his title demands he be a gentleman.

With a strained smile, Simon bows at you once before turning away without a word. So deep in his thoughts, he doesn’t see you escape to the gardens before it is too late.

------

The gardens at Lady Danbury’s home had always been spectacular, but in the night, they were even more magnificent. Despite the shadows of night, you were not scared as you walked down the paths, fingers absently brushing over the flowers of delicately blooming flora.

Rather, your mind was occupied by the one man who had returned into your life after such a sizeable absence. Simon had danced with you tonight, and every aspect felt so perfect. The way his hand covered yours; the way his palm felt pressed against the small of your back. Bringing your hand to your mouth, you hide the smile on your face as you think of the way he had laughed with you as he spun you across the floor. He had looked so young; so carefree, as if he hadn’t the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“I wondered where you had wandered off to,” A voice sounds from behind you, startling you.

“Simon!” You gasp, clutching your chest, “You scared me!”

He chuckles, holding his hands up in surrender as he steps closer to you. “That was not my intention,” He promises, his smile wide.

“What was your intention then?” You ask, an eyebrow raised in challenge.

“I wanted to ask you a question should you allow it.”

“We are alone,” You remind him, “We should move inside.”

“Please,” Simon pleads, “It won’t take long.”

You pause your steps. The cool night air settles around you as you wait for Simon to ask his question.

“Why did you never marry?” Simon demands; his eyes blazing with the need to know. “I know you had proposals; Lady Danbury even told me so.”

“There was never anyone good enough,” You confess, fisting your hands in the skirts of your dress to keep yourself from reaching out for him. “I tried. I really tried, but I always found myself thinking of you or wondering about you. Even though you never wrote, I still fell in love with you.”

Simon inhales sharply; not expecting your confession. You hadn’t expected to be so honest, but your heart was in control of your mouth; your mind taking a backseat on this one. Your heart had yearned after this man since you had learned the very definition of the word ‘love’.

“Why did you never write?” You ask, finally verbalising the question that had plagued your mind since the moment he had left.

He remains silent, so you repeat your question with a firmer voice. “Why did you never write, Simon?”

“If I had written to you, I would have come home.”

“Would that have been so bad?”

“I needed to get away, I had to leave. To do that, I had to cut strings with you, or I never would have become the man I am today. I never would have become worthy of you.”

“It is for me to decide whether you are worthy of me, Simon Basset. I have found you worthy of my love since you were ten years old and getting caught hiding a fish in the footmen’s bed if you must know.”

“For that long?” He asks; his voice a mere hoarse gasp as he battles with this new information.

“For that long,” You affirm.

“I always found myself travelling back to you,” Simon admits, “I would be in the furthest corner of the world and my mind would question why you were never by my side. On my last trip, I found myself packing my belongings with you on my mind before I had even made the decision to return home. My father was part of it, I’ll admit. But you… you were the whole reason why I returned to London.”

“What does this mean?” You ask, confused and emotional over the night’s confessions.

“It means I no longer want to travel the world if you are not by my side. It means I want to court you and follow the traditions of society. I have two loves in my life: travel and you.”

“You love me?”

He nods, “I have since I was a teenager.”

“I love you too,” You respond honestly, seeing no reason to lie in a moment like this.

“So,” Simon sighs as your words settle over him like a balm over an open wound, “Shall we do this properly? Courting and the like.”

“I think I would. I think we could start right now,” You whisper, stepping closer to the man who you felt certain was the love of your life.

“Right now?”

You nod you head, smiling widely as you reach for the lapels of his jacket. “I think we could start this very moment with a kiss. What do you think?”

Simon glances from side to side, checking for witnesses, “Only if you promise not to kiss another.”

“I don’t think that would be an issue,” You admit happily, “Kiss me, Simon.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

*******

Bridgerton Taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore @dreaming-about-fanfictions @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @janelongxox @aspiringsloth20 @wallwriterstuff @magicalxdaydream @darkestbeforethedawn16 @gryffindors-weasley

#simon basset x reader #simon basset #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #simon x reader #bridgerton imagines #simon basset fanfiction #simon basset imagines #duke hastings x reader

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vs-redemption · 3 years

Note

I though of another thing lmao. I play a lot of video games too lol

But Dabi x Healer!Reader

(I was thinking of mercy from ow so reader has the ability to heal and damage boost her allies and revive them from the dead. - I would say to nerf that for the story it would depend on how long and how they died) - 🐱❤️

From Cindy: 🐱anon! I love you and miss you!! I’m sorry it took so long to get to this! I’ve been a busy bee recently and have had some writers block but I’m feeling very refreshed now! I had fun writing about our favorite burnt villain boy, and I hope you like how this turned out! ❤️ ❤️

Partners (Dabi x GN!Reader)

Dabi was not ashamed to admit that his only reason for recruiting you into the league of villains was to use you for your quirk. It seemed like your powers had almost been designed specifically to support his goals and make up for his weaknesses. His intense blue flames caused severe damage to his body, but your healing touch could fully recover him in an instant. And anything in his path that could somehow withstand the heat of his flames would be burnt to ash instantly with a simple boost from your quirk. You were the perfect tool, and he had fully planned on capitalizing on that.

“I trust you to find people to support our cause,” Shigaraki had told him in the beginning, “but don’t you think this person is just going to be a liability in a fight?”

It was a concern he and Dabi had shared and was the biggest drawback to allowing you to join the team. You couldn’t defend yourself and would need to rely on the other villains to keep you safe whenever things got dangerous. If there was anything Dabi hated more than anything, it was pretending to care about other people. It was bad enough he had to stomach Shigaraki and the others, but at least he could trust them to hold their own in a battle. In exchange for your incredible abilities, you were going to be a constant thorn in his side. However, the pros outweighed the cons and he ultimately ended up agreeing to let you join.

At first, he thought he might’ve made a big mistake. You got along a little too well with the others, and ideally he wanted you to prioritize him over everyone else. Unfortunately, he was awful at faking interest and carrying conversations about anything that wasn’t related to himself, so building any sort of connection with you felt basically impossible. After some thought, he decided to keep his distance as much as possible unless interaction was absolutely necessary. As long as you remembered why he’d recruited you in the first place, and used your quirk the way he’d intended, he’d be satisfied.

Dabi was very familiar with rage. It was the emotion that had kept him constant company since he was a small child, and the emotion that fueled and motivated him whenever things got too painful or difficult. However, as familiar as he was with rage, he’d never learned how to control it when something triggered an outburst. So, when you refused to give his flames a boost during a particularly intense showdown with the heroes, he’d gone completely ballistic. Even without your powers, the intensity of his quirk has been magnified causing his flames to go wild. The anger had consumed him so completely that not even a direct order from Shigaraki had been able to stop him from unleashing the waves and waves of blue fire. The heat was so overbearing that both the heroes and villains had been forced to retreat.

Back at the hideout, you did your best to keep Shigaraki calm while you tended to the wounds incurred during the fight, including some nasty burns on Twice’s arms from when he’d tried to approach Dabi and reason with him. The fire wielder in question had not returned to the base with the others, choosing to continue on the warpath until someone managed to stop him or he wore himself out. He was surprised when it was you who came back out a few hours later to retrieve him from the dark alley way he’d hidden himself away in. Despite his exhaustion and the excruciating pain all over his entire body, he went right back on the defensive as soon as he saw your face.

“You must have a death wish!” His says through a grimace. A ball of fire appears in his hand threatening, but you could see the steam coming off of his skin from how much he’d overused his quirk already.

“From where I’m standing, I’d say it’s you with the death wish,” you frown. “How much longer do you think your body can hold out if you continue like this?”

“That’s none of your business!” Dabi snaps and takes a shaking step forward. “I only allowed you to join our cause so that you could support us in fights.”

“And I will lend you my support when it is beneficial to the cause,” you fold your arms and fix him with a hard glare. “The league needs you. But look at how your raw power affects your body on its own. If I boosted your quirk, you’d be a pile of ash and bones in an instant.”

“That’s not your call to make,” Dabi growls before his flame sputters out and he stumbles forward. You put your arms out instinctively to catch him, but the heat coming from his skin is painful to the touch. You help him to the ground as gently as you can and carefully start to heal his wounds. Thankfully he doesn’t protest.

“It is my call to make if it affects me,” you argue as you hover your hands over his skin. “My quirk has limits just like anybody else’s. Do you really expect me to help you destroy yourself knowing it’s going to be my responsibility to fix you again afterwards?”

Dabi hoped that was a hypothetical question. What he expected was for you to do whatever he asked, whether it put physical strain on you or not. He did understand your thought process though. His quirk was both a blessing and a curse, and the level of his power was closely tied to the intensity of his emotions. It was definitely possible that a boost to his flames could push him a little too far.

“You know,” you plop down next to him on the dirty ground once you finish doing what you can for his burns, tired from exerting yourself more than usual that day. “Maybe instead of testing the limits of your mortality, you could just try relying on your allies instead.” You glance over at him to see a scowl take over his features, and when he finally turns to meet your gaze you simply smile. “Even if you only put your trust in one single person, you might find that accomplishing your goals becomes far easier. I’m sure you’re not the only one in our group with ulterior motives, so working with someone rather than against could be mutually beneficial.”

Trust was not something Dabi had much experience with. He wasn’t sure he could trust another person, and it probably wasn’t safe for other people to trust him either. Still though, an under the table partnership might not be a bad idea, and was part of his original plan for you anyway. He wasn’t a fan of compromises, and you didn’t seem like the type to be easily bullied into compliance, but having someone working with him specifically rather than indirectly through Shigaraki might prove useful. And if things didn’t work out, he could always ditch you later. Or perhaps you were even more perfectly matched with him than he originally thought. In which case, it might be possible for him to learn how to do that pesky ‘trust’ thing. Only time would tell.

#🐱 anon #Dabi x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #Dabi #bnha dabi #bnha #mha #Cindy's Writing

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babbushka · 4 years

Text

Act Normal

Flip Zimmerman x Reader

2.8k; Content warnings: Mentions of baby zimmerman, NSFW (exhibitionism, public sex acts/semi-public sex acts, under the desk blow-jobs, sex at work, office sex, masturbation/fingering)

Available on AO3!

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

One o’clock, your favorite time of the day. Your son coos happily against your hip and snuggles into your neck, his little hands focused on the fascinating task of touching your earrings. Your heels click softly on the polished wood flooring of the CSPD, and you smile to everyone you see as you make your way through the lobby, brand new butterfly gold Pyrex tucked against your free hip carrying treats for your favorite detective unit.

Just a few more feet, a few more hellos, and your husband will be back where he belongs – in your arms.

“Hello Mrs. Heidi, is he in the new office?” You stop by the secretary in the main bullpen, and greet the elderly woman as you open up the casserole dish for her.

Inside are as many shortbread cookies as you could safely cram, all decorated in royal icing of reds and oranges, yellows and gold, designs done with a steady hand and very fine icing tips to make them appear autumnal and delicious. Mrs. Heidi, a woman who you know happens to have a penchant for shortbread, happily takes a couple and sneaks them onto a napkin with a wink, pinching the baby’s cheek to which he giggles brightly about.

“Do you even have to ask?” She motions for you to lean in close, raising an eyebrow conspiratorially, “He’ll be pleased to see you both, he’s in a right mood today.”

What else was new, you thought to yourself with a sigh and a fond shake of your head. Mrs. Heidi seems to read your mind, and she lets out a little amused laugh and pats your shoulder from across her desk.

“Hopefully this will cheer him up.” You say brightly reclaiming the cookies, knowing you have far more up your sleeve for your husband today.

You immediately grow hot, when you think of just what you’ve got planned for him -- if Mrs. Heidi can read your mind, you hope that she isn’t doing so now.

You leave the kind secretary to her treats and her typewriter, and are glad to run into a friendly face, who, by all accounts, looks far more glad to see you.

“Oh thank god.” Ron looks like he’s been put through the ringer, and you simply smile at him apologetically. Ron was too nice of a friend to Flip, he was always exceedingly tolerant and listened to your husband rant and rave and bitch about everything under the sun. Even nice friends like him could only handle so much though, and it seems like Ron was getting to the end of his patience.

“What’s gotten him worked up this time?” You give him a greeting kiss on the cheek and open up the pyrex so he can grab a handful of cookies to stress eat his heart out, walking and talking your way through the bullpen to stand outside the small office door.

“One of the cops misread their rights, so all the evidence we managed to obtain from the might be inadmissible as evidence at trial when this thing goes to court. We almost had to let the guy we’ve been hunting for three months walk.” Ron sighs and your eyebrows shoot up.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, who was it?” Immediately you begin searching the room, trying to look around for the poor sonofabitch who must have been absolutely throttled by your handsome detective.

“Richard -- but not here anymore, Flip really reamed into him and told him to go home for the rest of the day.” Ron scratches the back of his neck, takes another cookie for good measure, “He’s on the warpath.”

Time to work your magic then, you decide with as much of a casual air as possible. You shift your little wiggle worm off your hip and into Ron’s waiting arms, and suddenly your friend’s bad mood has vanished.

“These are for the rest of the guys, could you put them in the breakroom for me?” You ask Ron, who happily nods. “Be nice for Uncle Ron okay ziskayt?” You smooch the baby’s dimpled cheek and he giggles loudly, and Ron gives you a bright smile before taking him over to his desk to go say hi to Uncle Jimmy.

Turning to face the door of the little office, your heart can’t help but warm at the black letters applied on the frosted glass of the door.

Lieutenant Zimmerman

A great big grin spreads across your face as you rap your knuckles gently just below his name, and you roll your eyes when he answers with a rather harsh, “What?”

“Aw and here I thought you’d be happy to see me.” When you open the door, it takes all of two seconds for the angry expression on his face to turn to one of being stunned.

“Ketsl!” Flip practically bolts out of his big leather chair, his legs almost flying up comically with the force of how he pushes himself up and over to you. He scoops you up tight and begins kissing all over your face at once, his goatee tickling your cheek chin neck chest as he apologizes, “I’m sorry honey, I had no idea it was already one, come in, c’mere, let me get a look at you.”

“Waitwaitwait! Let me close the door first.” You can’t help but laugh, because the door to his office is still open, and what you want to do with him today will require it being closed.

However…you make sure to leave it unlocked. Once the little latch clicks into place and you’re sure the door won’t swing open of its own accord, you turn back to your husband and are already undoing the wrap tie of your blouse.

“Alright cowboy, go on.” You smirk at him when the fabric of your blouse falls to the side and your ribcage expands with the deep breath you take, your tits on full display.

Flip’s crowding you against the door, groaning low in his throat as his hands cup under your breasts and push them together so that he can nuzzle his face into the cleavage there.

“Ugh, fuck, I missed you.” He kisses the soft skin of your chest all over, grumbling and mumbling you’re your flesh, “Today’s been absolute shit.”

“I’ve heard, is there anything I can…do to help?” You manage to get one of your hands under his chin and tilt his face up up up to yours, your lids heavy and your lips licked wet, kissing his eyelids as they flutter shut, “Anything at all, to relieve you of some of this tension?”

He recognizes it, that tone of your voice. That tone of yours that makes him weak in the knees, that makes him turn into nothing but a puddle of desire for you. You get whatever you want when you talk to him like that – and he knows exactly what it’s going to be this time.

At least, he thinks he does.

He kisses you slowly, against the door. The kind of kiss that has his tongue pressing hot and wet against yours, the kind of kiss that makes him hard in his jeans for you. He’s so hard, and you grin against his smile, against the rasp of his goatee, because he has no idea what he’s in for when he growls,

“Watch it ketsl.”

“Mmm, or what? You’ll bend me over this desk right here where everyone could see?” You whisper against his jaw as you begin to kiss down down down his face, sucking and moaning softly against his throat. “Oh, but that’s right. You like that, don’t you, you like being watched.”

“You’re playin’ a dangerous game sweetheart.” There’s a fist in your hair then, and you grin up at him when he pulls your head back ever so slightly, searches your gaze. Are you just teasing him? Or do you mean it?

“A game sounds like just what you need to get you out of this mood.” You moan guiding his free hand, the one that isn’t in your hair, to grasp and squeeze at your nipple, telling him to, “Go sit down. Let me make you feel good.”

Flip looks good, sitting at that desk of his. He’s got a real fancy office chair, brown leather that can recline a little ways back. Just enough, in fact, that he can lean lean lean back as his legs spread, those knees of his bumping just underneath the wood of the desk. They spread just wide enough for you to settle yourself between them.

Having the office is such a luxury that you can’t imagine not taking advantage of the enclosed space when you visit every day. He’s had it for a week, and you’ve already come on every surface, broken the place in to the best of your ability. But this…this was something else altogether different.

You undo the button closure of Flip’s jeans, and with an expert hand you pull his cock out. It’s flushed at the head, a dark delicious red where he’s aching for you, the veins thick and practically throbbing under your tongue as you lick a stripe up the shaft. That hand in your hair returns, and a long moan shudders through Flip’s chest as he slouches in the chair to relax into your touch.

“Mmm, shit ketsl.” He watches you with eyes that are practically glazed over, jaw dropped at the way you rub the head of his cock through your lips. “Touch yourself?”

You’ve sucked Flip’s dick at the station too many times to count, in back store rooms and broom closets, bathrooms and the empty breakroom, and of course quite a few times on the interrogation table -- but this, this was something you knew he’s always wanted to try, the thrill of being caught. The thrill of someone walking into his office and knowing what you’re up to.

Knowing that you’re under his desk, with your tits out, his cock in your mouth, your free hand stuffed in your panties. Your fingers rub and tease at your folds, and you moan around his length, moan and take him deeper as your fingers push into your pussy.

He can feel it, that thrill now, you know he can; his thighs are twitching, trembling, his tongue darting out to lick and lick and lick at his lower lip. He keeps looking up at the door, his heart thudding, pounding in his ears as his cock throbs in your mouth as you suck him off, take as much of him as you can down your throat.

His cock is velvety and hot and you drool around him, because you can’t help but drool, he’s so big and your mouth gets forced open so wide – you’re lucky his office is wood floors and not carpeting, easy clean up. Especially with the way your cunt is so slick, dripping all over your fingers and soaking through your panties, that wouldn’t do to have absorbing into his carpet.

“Fuck – (Y/N) someone’s coming.” Suddenly, Flip tenses, and your heart hammers in your chest as the two of you make eye contact.

He looks wild in the best way, and when you pull off of him and gasp for air, his dick oozes precome onto your lips and chin.

“Better act normal then, because the door’s unlocked and I’m not stopping.” You grin devilishly, and lick all of that precome up, swallow it down.

“Flip, can I come in?” The voice of Mark, one of the guys down in homicide, sounds from just beyond the door.

Flip looks at you, and you look back at Flip, and you suck so hard that he has to brace himself against the edge of his desk as he makes the decision that yes, yes you’re going to do this.

“What do you need?” Flip clears his throat loudly and with the question, allows Mark to come into the office.

You’re hyper-aware of everything all at once, the thud of his footsteps as he comes into the room, the noise from the bullpen just outside the office door, the heaviness of your own breathing, the air conditioning and the chatter and and and – everything reminding you that you’re in public, that you’re at Flip’s work, that you’re under his desk.

The only reason you can get away with this at all, you think with a smirk as you nearly deepthroat your husband right there, is that you’re completely concealed by the desk. And, as long as Mark doesn’t come any closer, Flip’s big cock down your throat is concealed too.

That big cock, twitching and pulsing, hot precome salty tangy perfect on your tongue as you fuck yourself on your fingers, your tits glistening and wet from drool that’s slipping sliding out of your mouth.

“Hey wasn’t your wife visiting?” Mark asks real nonchalantly, and you almost choke. “I could’ve sworn I saw her in the lobby earlier.”

“She uhhhh,” Flip realizes a second or two later that Mark is talking to him, and he blinks and clears his throat again as he twitches and tries his best to remain calm even when you’ve got your hand wrapped around his length and are stroking him off while you suck on the head of his dick, “She had to go to the bathroom. What do you need?”

“Chief needs some signatures on this paperwork, he asked me to bring it over. Do you think you take a minute to look at it?” Mark is blissfully unaware of you under the table, and Flip does he absolute fucking damnedest not to look at you – because if he looks at you he will blow his load right in front of this guy, and then everything will be fucked.

He’s so hard from that thought that he accidentally twitches so hard that he rams his knee up underneath the desk and shakes everything on top of it. You pull off his cock and cover your mouth so you don’t gasp from the sudden movement, giving yourself away.

“Sure sure, just leave it on the side table there,” Flip doesn’t know how he sounds entirely too cool for a man about to come so hard he might cry, but he is, and he does, and Mark is nodding and already walking away from the desk, back towards the door. “I’ll get it back to him after lunch.”

“Thanks Flip.” He says with a friendly smile and a nod.

“Yup.” Flip wants to come so badly, wants to come down your throat so badly and then bend you over this desk and fuck you raw until you’re the one crying.

“Oh and tell the missus I says hi.” Mark is all too cheerful and Flip musters all his strength to not snap at him.

“Sure thing – close the door, please.” Flip replies through grit teeth, and finally, finally, the door is closed and Flip is growling at you, releasing a big breath he’d been holding.

He winds his fist in your hair again and gags you on his cock with how tightly he presses your face to his crotch, making your throat stretch and bulge around him. You rock back on your fingers fast fast fast until you’re coming, your eyes fluttering shut and jaw going slack. Your drool darkens his jeans as you moan and choke around him, and that leather chair of his creaks beautifully as you bob your head up and down shallowly to mimic the way he loves to thrust and fuck your mouth.

“Ohh fuck honey-bunny, you and that tongue…” He thunks his head back against the chair and comes hard hard hard, the salty tangy sticky taste of come hitting the back of your throat as he shakes and shudders around you with a, “Fuck.”

You just breathe through your nose and take everything he gives you, before eventually pulling off him and stroking his cock slowly, carefully, to milk out any last droplets of come that you kiss away from your palm.

He looks absolutely wrecked, your husband does, his eyes rolled back into his skull as he gulps down deep breaths. He’s sweating, which you think is charming, because you’re the one who did all the work. But it’s work you love doing, because he’s already smiling at you hazy dreamy so in love, his hand coming to cup your cheek as he leans over to kiss the taste of himself off your lips.

“Liked that?” Your voice is raspy from being used so raw, and that makes Flip come a little bit more in your hand with a soft groan. He knows that the second he tries to stand up, he’ll collapse, his legs made of jell-o.

“You’re gonna be the death of me honey, you know that?” He bites the inside of his cheek when you tuck him back into his jeans and button him up sweetly, let him bury his face in your cleavage once more before you tie up your wrap blouse, “The death of me.”

“At least you’ll die a happy man.” You chuckle, knowing that at the very least, no one can suspect what goes on behind the frosted glass.

#flip zimmerman #flip zimmerman x reader #flip zimmerman/reader #flip zimmerman x you #flip zimmerman/you #blackkklansman #adam driver character #flip zimmerman smut #kinktober 2020 #my writing #flip/reader #flip/you

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anthonyjlockwood · 3 years

Note

rebuke and 24 for the touching prompt!!

Thank you for the prompt anon!! here it is on ao3! 💜

rebuke + 24 ( “whispering in their ear, lips touching the skin” )

Being with Bobby and Reggie is one of the easiest things in the world.

Bobby likes to tell Luke that he and Reggie bring something unique into his life. He makes it a point to say so-- he always says they bring something so special, and so, so stupid.

Luke takes that as a compliment, really. There’s no better way to let someone know you love them-- to make sure they know that their life would be dull without you-- than to keep things unique and interesting.

Sometimes, he and Reggie like to play this game, one that they secretly like to call “Let’s See Who Can Annoy Bobby The Most”.

They have to do it carefully, subtly, or else Bobby would put a stop to it. And there’s just something about taking turns with Reggie, asking Bobby one stupid, nonsensical, distracting question after another, that just makes his insides feel all warm and fluttery.

Sometimes one of them-- usually Reggie-- just has to say something. There’s no planning involved, no game prep… no brainstorming of the dumb questions that might really get under Bobby’s skin. It’s always something unprovoked, but their goal is usually to make Bobby wish he could just go to sleep for a few days and not have to speak to them for the foreseeable future.

That’s when they bounce back, together, and rally around Bobby to show him why, exactly, he’s put up with them for so long.

(There’s usually a lot of kissing involved in that part.)

Reggie’s really good at coming up with those random topics that will push Bobby’s buttons the most. Most of the time, it’s a question that Bobby won’t know how to answer. Something like…

“Do you think if birds had teeth, they’d have reasons to smile?”

“Alright Reggie, that’s it,” Bobby snaps.

Luke and Reggie exchange a brief grin in victory before Reggie regains the composure to look properly chastised.

“What?” he asks innocently, eyelashes fluttering like a startled butterfly.

“I can’t deal with you two anymore!”

Bobby lets out a slow breath through his nostrils, like a dragon at bedtime who’s had a rough day.

“Let’s play a game. Whichever one of you can shut up the longest gets all the money I have in my wallet.”

But… they are playing a game. A game Luke is very much enjoying. And although the whole “winning money” aspect of Bobby’s game is tempting, the concept of no longer being able to verbally annoy Bobby is enough to have Luke flinching back in displeased alarm. “Bobby--”

“Here, look!” Bobby pulls his wallet out of his pocket and slaps it on the table, letting it flop open. Luke can see a few singles peeking out from inside the pocket. “I have... “ Bobby pauses, flipping through the bills and dumping the change out from a smaller, zippered pocket on the outside.

“I have four dollars and… eighty-three cents,” Bobby deduces. “Whoever can stay quiet the longest gets it. I will literally pay you.”

“But it’s a good question!” Reggie argues. “Birds seem like they’re really happy, singing all the time. I think they’d want to smile, if they could. Don’t you?”

“I don’t... really care,” Bobby says. “And I don’t know why you do!”

“Because--”

But Bobby doesn’t want to hear it. “Time starts now.”

Reggie wilts like a dehydrated hydrangea, but Bobby doesn’t keep his eyes on the bassist to see the hurt expression blossom on his face.

He looks over at Luke instead, who made it a point not to speak during the whole bird debacle-- the key to the Annoy Bobby game is to do it discreetly, one at a time, so that when Bobby thinks he can go to one of them for refuge, he discovers there’s none to be found.

Luke bites his lip, bouncing so fast he’s practically vibrating.

Bobby doesn’t even look away from him to roll his eyes. “If you really can’t not say something, write it down. I just don’t want to hear you speak! Those privileges have been revoked.”

Luke’s mildly offended; he wasn’t the one to ask the stupid question about birds-- his was going to be about armadillos, actually-- so he doesn’t see why he has to be subjected to the whole “vow of silence” thing. It’s not fair.

With a determined glare, Luke reaches over and grabs his notebook and a pen. He scribbles down something quickly and whips the page around to face Bobby.

I didn’t even do anything!!!

“I don’t care,” Bobby says again. “Reggie’s ruined it for both of you. Like I said, speaking privileges revoked.”

Luke puts on an impressive pout that, on another day, might have persuaded Bobby into being a little bit more lenient.

But today wasn’t a normal day-- Bobby has a headache, and he always gets grumpy when he gets headaches. He always says that the pounding in his head is only slightly less painful than “whatever bullshit” Luke and Reggie put him through.

Normally, Luke would be unbothered. He knows that he and Reggie give Bobby a run for his money sometimes… but that’s all part of the fun. The fun that Bobby shouldn’t get a break from just because he’s not feeling well-- pro athletes play games all the time when they’re sick.

And Luke knows that he and Reggie never really offend Bobby, anyway. He can grumble and groan all he wants; but at the end of the day, Luke knows the other boy would be miserable without him and Reggie.

He doesn’t really want to play Bobby’s game, but… now four dollars and eighty-three cents is on the line. Reggie will probably cave first, anyway; then the two of them can reform their alliance. Maybe they’d even split Luke’s winnings for burgers or something.

Luke keeps pouting at him, and eventually Bobby melts a little under his gaze. “I’m… sorry. I just need a few minutes of quiet, okay? I want to see if I can take a nap or something.”

Luke pulls the notebook back and scribbles something else.

Why am I being punished for Reggie’s dumbassery, anyway? TOTALLY UNFAIR.

“You’re being punished because I know you were about to say some stupid shit like…” Bobby clears his throat and puts on his best Luke voice. “‘Reggie’s got a point, you know.’ And I just really don’t want to deal with that right now. I think I want to try to take a nap or at least rest a bit-- so please, please, just be quiet. I don’t care what you do-- just… don’t make any noise. Okay?”

Luke slumps deeper into the couch and crosses his arms, like the petulant child he is.

Oh well.

It’s time to commence Operation Annoy Bobby: Silent Edition.

The thing is, Luke knows that Bobby would be nothing without him and Reggie.

They’ve been friends for as long as Luke can remember. And since they started dating eight months ago, not much has changed. They’re still best friends-- friends who can goof off around each other, tell dumb jokes, play music… except now, they also kiss. A lot.

He’s been getting comfortable being with Bobby and Reggie in a new way, sharing a deeper bond than just the best-friendship and family-like one they had before.

The best part of the kissing is that no matter what Luke does-- no matter how much he makes fun of Bobby for being the “mom friend,” no matter how much food he steals off the other boy’s plate… no matter how agitated Bobby is with him, the problem can always be solved by pressing his lips against Bobby’s.

Because as much as Bobby wants to say he’s “the only one looking out for Luke’s and Reggie’s well-beings”... he’s pretty easily distracted.

Luke scoffs to himself-- quietly, because Bobby’s still on the warpath and wants Luke to be silent. Okay.

He can make Bobby forget all about the headache and Reggie’s dumb question about birds. Bobby needs it, really; he needs the distraction. Luke would be doing him a favor.

Only… how can he distract Bobby when anything that comes out of his mouth will make Bobby angry?

He straightens himself up on the couch and risks a sideways glance at Bobby. His boyfriend is sitting on the couch to his left, leaning back against the cushions, hands covering his face.

“Psst,” Luke tries.

Bobby doesn’t acknowledge him.

“Pssssssst,” Luke reaches out and pokes Bobby’s bicep delicately.

“You’re on thin fucking ice, Luke,” Bobby grumbles, not taking his hands away from his face.

Oh, so that’s how this is going to be?

Luke looks to Reggie, appalled, and his other boyfriend looks just as disgruntled that Bobby was really serious about not dealing with them. He pulls out his phone and taps a few keys, then Luke’s own phone buzzes in his pocket.

Do you think we should just leave him alone?

Nah, Luke replies. I’ve got this. He’ll stop ignoring us in no time!

Quietly, he places his phone down on the end table. He catches Reggie’s eye again, and nods towards the door.

Carefully, so he doesn’t wake Bobby up if he is sleeping-- he’s not opposed, he just needs to have a solid plan first-- Luke untangles himself out of Bobby’s lap and steps quietly out of the room, Reggie following on his heels.

“What’re we gonna do? Bobby looks like he’s not feeling well… but I want to talk,” Reggie complains. “It’s so… scarily quiet in there. Can’t we just grab him some painkillers and a glass of water or something so he’ll feel better?”

“He’ll be fine,” Luke assures him. “We’ll be his painkillers. This is what we’re gonna do.”

Reggie perks up in interest; he’s always down to join in on one of Luke’s plans, as poorly thought out as some may be. Luke grins mischievously.

“So, Bobby doesn’t want us to talk, right?”

Reggie nods.

“So what we’ve gotta do is, make him want to talk to us.”

“How’re we gonna do that?” Reggie worries. “If we say anything, neither one of us will win the money! Unless… you wanna call a truce? Give up the bet, because the real enemy is Bobby ignoring us?”

“Nah, we’re still getting the money,” Luke promises. “We’ll even split it. $2.41 each?”

“Did you just do that math in your head?!”

“Yes,” Luke waves him off impatiently. “This is important, Reginald. We need to know exactly what’s at stake!”

“So you wanna risk Bobby’s wrath? For $2.41?”

“Bobby’s gotta learn that we’re worth much more than $2.41,” Luke says solemnly. “We’re going to make him wish he never told us to be quiet in the first place.”

“Okay…” Reggie’s face relaxes slightly, and Luke’s grin widens.

“Follow my lead.”

He leads Reggie back into the room and collapses on the sofa, shuffling himself right up against Bobby’s side. Bobby opens one eye and peers down at him, unimpressed.

“Luke. I’m trying to rest.”

Like a housecat, Luke rearranges himself precariously around Bobby’s slumped figure until he’s on his lap. He leans forward to whisper in Bobby’s ear, but Bobby pushes him away gently.

“You’re not supposed to be talking, remember?” Bobby grumbles. “Do you want Reggie to win the $4.83?”

Luke pokes him again, so that Bobby will back at him, and mouths, “I’m not talking!”

“Can’t I just take a nap in peace?” Bobby complains.

Luke curls his body around Bobby’s and leans forward, really close, until his lips are just brushing the sensitive skin of Bobby’s earlobe.

Bobby shudders at the proximity, and Luke smirks, victorious. He leans even closer and whispers, “I don’t want Reggie to win the money, but I wanted to tell you… you look really hot.” He takes a deep breath and adjusts himself more comfortably on Bobby’s lap.

“Reggie doesn’t have to know I’m cheating a little, does he?” Luke continues, feeling Bobby squirm underneath him. “You don’t need sleep anyway, Bobby.”

“You’re so fucking annoying, Luke. Come here.”

Suddenly Luke feels himself being pulled forward-- then Bobby’s lips are on his with no warning, rough and unforgiving.

A kaleidoscope of color bursts beneath Luke’s clenched eyelids. He can see movement happening around him, he can feel Bobby’s hands running through his hair, but all that is lost in the sound of his own heartbeat, pounding in his ears.

His and Bobby’s kisses are always like this-- passionate and loud and rough, so that they can get it all out of their systems before turning to Reggie.

Reggie likes things slower; Bobby and Luke were built for speed. Luke can hear Reggie’s breathing, too; shaky and uneven as he, presumably, watches Luke and Bobby go at it from across the living room.

Bobby goes to pull away-- he’s coming up for air, or going to get Reggie, or maybe he’s just finally tired of Luke’s distracting bullshit and actually wants to take a nap… How that could possibly happen now, Luke doesn’t know.

But regardless, Bobby goes to pull away, and Luke’s not having it. He pulls him back by the collar of his shirt and deepens the kiss, feeling the soft fabric of his t-shirt under his hands, his fingers getting caught up in Bobby’s chain necklace.

Bobby’s exhale is hot and humid against Luke’s face. He can taste the coffee Bobby had to drink earlier in the day-- the caffeine that was surely powering him through his headache, giving him the energy to kiss Luke back as hungrily as he is.

“You’re the fucking worst,” Bobby’s voice is muffled against Luke’s mouth, and Luke swallows up the complaint in another kiss.

Time gets lost; Luke doesn’t know how long he and Bobby spend engaged in a battle of the faces,but eventually Bobby pulls away and runs a hand down his face.

“I think you lost the bet,” he pants, brushing the hair back from his face and looking at Luke with wide eyes. “The $4.83 is Reggie’s. You talked.”

“Oh, please!” Luke scoffs. “I didn’t hear you complaining thirty seconds ago.”

Bobby rolls his eyes. Luke grabs the back of his neck and pulls his face close once again, so he can whisper in his ear one more time.

“In fact, thirty seconds ago you seemed very interested in what I had to say. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think you missed hearing me talk.”

“I think you’re talking way too much right now.”

Luke leans forward; his mouth turns up in a flirtatious smirk. “Looks like you’re just gonna have to shut me up again.”

This kiss starts off slower. Bobby presses his mouth against Luke’s once again, but this time he lingers there, inhaling Luke’s scent and relishing the feeling of Luke’s soft lips against his. Luke lets out a sigh of contentment and deepens the kiss, arms snaking their way around Bobby’s neck and pulling him closer.

They’re interrupted by someone loudly clearing his throat. Luke pulls away from Bobby and looks up at Reggie, who’s standing in the doorway. He stares at them curiously, his gaze alternating between Luke and Bobby.

“Guys… what’s going-- oh, shit! The bet!”

Reggie clamps his hand over his mouth. His deer-in-the-headlights eyes flick back over to Bobby and settle there, waiting for the verdict that’s going to cost him the $4.83.

“Fuck the bet,” Bobby grunts. “Get over here.”

Once Reggie’s close enough to the couch, Bobby reels him in like a lake trout and presses their lips together. Reggie swallows him up, and Luke watches their mouths battle with each other for a moment, transfixed. He’s still trying to get his breathing back to normal; his face tingles with a burning sensation and he can feel the sticky dampness of sweat on his brow.

Bobby’s lips trace a path down Reggie’s neck; he closes his eyes in contentment and the sight of it sends the blood pumping through Luke’s veins once again. He reaches out to brush Reggie’s hair back.

Reggie startles at the sensation of Luke’s hand brushing his face. He swings his arms around Luke’s neck and Luke feels himself being pulled into the warmth of Reggie’s space. Then the bassist’s lips are on his.

The air’s knocked right out of his lungs. Reggie’s kisses are different from Bobby’s. They’re softer and more subtle, but warmer all the same, and the sensation of being loved overtakes Luke’s mind and heart and has him returning the kiss with a gentle vengeance.

Luke doesn’t know how much time passes as they sit there, exploring each other’s bodies with hands and lips, and he doesn’t know when the static in his ears starts to alleviate. But eventually, they work themselves out of the moment and just lay there, tangled up on the couch. No one speaking, just enjoying being in each other’s presence. Finally, as is his way, Reggie breaks the silence first. He looks up at Bobby with wide, innocent eyes.

“Since I’m the one that caught you and Luke making out, does that mean I technically won the bet?”

“I told you,” Bobby grunts. “Fuck the bet.” “What’s that, Bobby?” Luke smirks. “Did you not enjoy not having to listen to us talk for a while?”

Bobby opens his mouth, probably about to tell Luke once again how annoying he thinks he is-- Luke’s used to it; that doesn’t mean he thinks Bobby means it, though. He’s just proven that he wouldn’t last one day without Luke. But Reggie beats him to it.

“Hey, hey, I think Luke lost!”

“You have no proof of that!” Luke argues.

“Um, the way I walked in on you guys performing CPR on each other begs to differ!”

“Okay, okay, enough,” Bobby placates, like they’re two children arguing over the swirly slide on a playground. “I think we can come to some sort of compromise.”

“Oh yeah?” Luke shoots back. “What sort of compromise is that?”

“You guys can split the $4.83…” Bobby pauses for dramatic effect, looking between Luke and Reggie with an arrogant smirk on his face-- one Luke immediately distrusts, but one that sends a jolt of anticipation deep into the pit of his stomach regardless. “And next time I think you’re talking too much, I’ll just have to shut you up myself. Deal?”

And as much as Luke hates the quiet… he’s not opposed to Bobby being the one to shut him up.

Maybe they can work something out.

#julie and the phantoms #julie & the phantoms #jatp #jatp fanfic #jatp fanfiction #rebuke #luke patterson #bobby shaw #bobby wilson #reggie peters #REBUKE MY BELOVED #my writing

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wu-sisyphus-gang · 3 years

Text

Motion Sickness Chapter 64

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"You owe me big," I said to Bisque. We were watching Wenge and Jasper sprint back and forth across a small courtyard behind the bar.

"I hear you, I hear you," Bisque said. "We were sort of roped into more than we could chew."

"Between the strikes and whatever those leaders want?" I asked.

"People started looking at us like we were supposed to have answers. That's how the old White Fang got started around here. Just as union leaders and such. Now that they've been discredited and with our network people were looking at us to pick up the slack."

"So you got dragged into this, you're being strong armed into doing this operation before y'all are ready."

"By those old miner leaders. Dyne and Barret. Dyne's been around for a long ass time. Barret's newer but they're both close. Barret is backing Dyne. Which means we need to play ball too."

"Which is why you owe me. Big time. I want information. As soon as you have it. I have a list of names I'll want you to keep an ear to the ground about and if you want me to kill Taurus it'll cost you extra," I informed him. Never let it be said I was purely altruistic. I saw my edge over him and I was taking it.

He slapped a hand over his face. "No, no. Don't kill him. At least not yet if you can help it. And I'll take your list of names."

"That's just the start. I don't want Lien. I'll want any other information that you can give me when and if I ask for it. A blank check." I leaned against the wall of the bar beside Neo with my arms crossed.

"Fine. Fair enough." He rubbed his forehead hard. "We do owe you. Thanks Cloud."

"And you'll want to upgrade the fucking squirt gun you've got."

"What's wrong with my pistol?" He asked.

"It's a fucking .22."

"Hey now. It's a .30."

"Still. Those sometimes don't stop regular people. You'll want something with more kick to it. I can pick up something better from Aurum. Lasers, higher caliber, or even something magnetic accelerated so it still has as much kinetic energy as a .44 or .45. Hell, you should probably talk .50 cal if you want to stop anybody with aura and training."

"So I should go big or go home?" He asked.

"More like go big or die, bro," I said. "I knew this fifteen year old who used a .50 caliber sniper rifle. If you're really attached to something small I could get you a submachine gun."

"I'll think about it," he said.

"Think fast," I shot back.

We watched Jasper and Wenge pant and sprint in their suicides for a hard moment.

"You going to -" I was interrupted by the jingle of bells as the bar's door opened.

I was going to ask if he was going to join Jasper and Wenge who were working hard. Avalanche all had aura but having aura didn't make you good, I'd been living proof of that. Even having a semblance didn't make you good. Only training or else real combat could help with that.

I peaked around the corner and through a screen door. It was Robyn Hill in the bar. I recognized her face from the posters of her all over both towns. She had pale hair (not as snow white as Weiss's) and purple eyes, not quite as vibrant as Yangs, but she was still beautiful. Aura-hunter-beautiful.

"Bar's closed," Bisque told her. I heard through the back door entrance and window.

"Oh don't be like that. I just want to talk about the General's project."

"Not this time. You shot us down, remember. Or your agent did, Fiona was it," Bisque returned. He didn't look amused.

"I have some Lien I could offer you." Robyn said and she leaned against the counter. Her face on one palm. "Sorry we weren't about the destruction of Schnee property. But look where that got you."

"The value of money is plummeting for me recently," Bisque said dryly.

I snorted. Money only talked so loudly to hunters like Neo and I. I was willing to bet she had more millions stashed away than the ones we took from Don Corneo. But that wasn't how you kept Neo entertained. Well, drugs and alcohol helped but what she really wanted was somebody to fuck with. Even if that somebody was only me and it had to do with a night I'd gotten black-out drunk on. She was milking that for all it was worth.

"How much will that information cost me?" Hill asked. "What can I do to make you call off these strikes? Come on, work with me here. I'm listening now."

"A few hundred thousand. And we're not in charge of the strikes."

She winced at the price but sighed in a way that didn't make it seem undoable. "I'll see about getting you your money. And that's not the way I hear it. These are your strikes now."

"They're not. You're looking for Dyne or Barret."

"Dyne is unreconcilable. He's on the warpath. He wants the strikes to never end just so long as Schnee suffers. He's unreachable. And Barret is angry. He'll stay that way for the foreseeable future. You're not, work with me here," she said again. "What will it cost? I'm willing to make all kinds of campaign promises. I'll keep them too. I'm a woman of my word. You want dust lung laws? I want them too. Why don't we start negotiating there? The strikes have to end somewhere."

"We want increased safety standards. And we want an increase in minimum wage. Wages haven't kept up with inflation so the current wage is unlivable."

"Done. Please. I can't get elected under this kind of unrest. Just join my voting block, getting your people to join my block will solve both of our problems."

"I'm not sure I can do that. There's more on the way."

"What else is on the way?"

"I can't talk to you about it but we have another operation."

"Another? Like the one that kicked off these protests? Put it off." She sounded desperate. "Cancel it."

"Can't do that. Some old guard in the White Fang are insisting upon it and in the miners guild, too. They're putting pressure on me and Avalanche." Bisque crossed his arms and replied coldly.

"Who?" She demanded. "I'll convince them otherwise."

"You can't. It's Dyne and Adam Taurus."

"Taurus? And Dyne, both? You have to do this?"

"Or else I'm afraid that Avalanche will lose control over the strikes completely."

"So? Let it happen. You can't tell me you meant for things to go this far. Fiona said it was mostly symbolic."

"We'd never be a player in the unions ever again if we stood by the wayside now. We have to be willing to act as much or more than anyone and everyone else."

"Damn it. When's the operation? Will you tell me that at least?" She pleaded.

"Tomorrow night. The others want to put a fire under Jacques Schnee and prevent him from getting comfortable. They want to force him to act and capitulate to the strikes. We had this operation in mind before and one thing led to another once the others found out about it."

"I'll get your money wired to you. Tell me about the General's project with Amity." She leaned forward towards him. She was anxious to hear about it.

I watched her stick out a hand. Bisque took it. A dull lilac hue took over both their hands all the way up to the elbow. I could feel the low hum of aura from where I watched through the screen window. She was doing something .

"The General is turning the colosseum into a satellite. Getting communication back up and running between the kingdoms. It's his current number one priority."

She withdrew. "That's it? That's why he's diverting supplies from Mantle? At least as far as you know, I suppose."

"The intel is good. We had people who worked on the project come to us," Bisque said. "Cetra who were or are involved in the construction joined our union network. They reported it to us."

"That's… that's good news I suppose. But the rest you have got to find a way to settle down the protests and get them to vote for me. I'm willing to grant all your concessions once I become a council member. None of them are unreasonable or outside of my policies," Hill negotiated. She really wanted a bunch of politically active people on her side come election day. I could get that. Voter efficacy was low all too often, even back in Vale.

"I'll talk to people and spread the word. I only promise to try."

"And another thing, Fiona mentioned two other people. She mentioned Cloud Strife. What's his angle in all this? I know he's been involved in the drug game and a prison break," Hill wondered.

"He was after the same information you were. Fiona should have been able to tell you that," Bisque answered. "Now, if that's actually everything, you can wire the money over and get out of my bar. We're closed. No service at the moment. We've got a happy hour at seven. You could come back then."

"Well thank you anyways. And don't worry about your money. I'll leave, then."

He came out to me again through the screen door in the back of the bar.

"You shook her hand," I introduced. "Why?"

"She's got a lie detection semblance. It's touch based, Striker ranged," he informed me.

I raised an eyebrow. A politician that valued truth in their very soul. Not her heart or mind but in the core of her very being. You didn't find that on every street corner.

Well she had my vote. Not that I could vote. None of my identities were Atlas or Mantle citizens so I was pretty much in the same class as a felon. Not that I wasn't also a felon.

"You sure you should have told her so much about the operation. She could interfere," I told him. "If she does that's on you."

"I didn't tell her that much. And if she does interfere it might be for the best. I don't really want this op to happen. Maybe she'll be able to stop the operation, Avalanche won't have to back down, and nobody will get hurt."

"Yeah well I don't want to go to prison. Something to keep in mind. The law isn't exactly on our side," I muttered. "For all that we're standing here plotting this in broad daylight."

"Oh I wasn't aware. I'll try to keep that in mind." His tone was as dry as ice.

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I scoped out the ship I would be sinking with Neo. Or 'Mint' as she was in her disguise. She snuck aboard easily enough and took a photo of a map of the ship with her scroll. She sent it to me and I examined it closely.

I needed to figure out where we would set the charges so that the explosion would just sink the vessel and not destroy the harbor in a dust driven detonation.

The place had cameras for security and a handful of human and faunus guards. But for the most part the ship was ruled and watched over by robots. Robots I'd have no problem taking apart. It was the people I needed to lure out somehow so that they didn't die when the ship went down or similar.

There were lifeboats onboard but I didn't need any more blood on my hands. I was powerful enough that I suppose I could take steps to avoid death now. I didn't need to go all out against a group of aura-lacking sentries anymore.

I could bop them without killing them now. And I knew Neo was in a similar ballpark. She just usually didn't care.

I studied the map in detail. Neo turned visible again as she paced away from the large grey vessel. It had soft blue mooring lights and a big Schnee Dust Company logo on the side.

I could see men and women and machines up on the deck at their posts. They all had smooth looking assault rifles and shotguns. The kind of heavy weaponry the SDC needed to keep their high valued assets safe. I was sure they were on decent high alert now, too. I'd scraped with some of them at the mine so they knew that wasn't just an accident.

She came up behind me on my bike and wrapped her arms around me. I turned around to spot her small smirk. She was still teasing me. At least she was still doing what I told her to do in a general sense.

She pulled herself snuggly against me and pressed her face into my back. I could feel it against my skin after a layer of clothes over armor. Maybe it was just her aura I was feeling against me like the flare of a cold burning candle.

I could feel her mischievous mood. She had no one to target but me at the moment.

"Don't be a brat, Neo." She shuffled softly against me in what I realized was mute laughter.

I revved my engine and pulled away from the ship.

"I'm thinking about setting off an explosion as a distraction. To lure the people off the ship. The last thing we want is to have to kill people and stain our unblemished records."

The wind whistled through my face as I pulled the bike into traffic.

"Maybe I'll set you loose on the guards. Harass them with illusions that get them off the ship. Would that make you happy or would you rather blow something up."

She shrugged against me unhelpfully.

"Well then we will probably do a little of column A and a little of column B. How many people can you teleport at once with you, Neo."

She tapped my chest three times. That meant I could get four of us on board. More if I flew. Just five of us to cause enough of a ruckus that we drew the living guards' attention but not so much noise that we brought the entire facility down on our heads. There was a balance to play. A particular key to strike.

I needed to draw only so much attention and it had to be the kind of attention that grabbed living beings and left the machines to mostly do their work.

I recalled the robots. They were humanoid things for the most part. They were built fast and could be destroyed just as easily by hunters like us. Their weapons would only cause a problem if I gave their targeting computers time to really line up a shot and if I gave them a chance to shoot as a group.

Not allowing them to use their strength of numbers was a good call. Don't sit still enough that they got a good solution for me. It was a good start but I needed more.

There could be more menacing machines on board. Giant spider or scorpion bots or larger humanoid mechs like the Atlesian Paladins we had fought back at Beacon's fall.

I wasn't sure how much trouble those kinds of machines were going to give me given how much stronger I had become. Plus I was loaded with dust crystals and I knew how to use them.

I needed to start a fire. Something like that would draw the human crew to the lifeboats and off the ship but would leave the machines behind.

I could also use Neo's power to get a few of us on board and get the party started.

I pulled up on a gondola for vehicles and pulled out my scroll and started looking over the ships schematics. I say schematics but there was a small 'you are here' sign on it indicating it was really a map set up somewhere inside.

I wanted to set the charges near the front of the ship away from the cargo hold where all the dust was sitting around and waiting to explode.

That should stop a chain reaction of explosions depending on how big the explosives we used were. I had better make those myself.

I was already thinking through the designs I knew to cause a hole just large enough to rupture the exterior hull of the boat. Just enough to rock the ship and not blow up the entire harbor.

I swung by Aurum's club on a gondola for vehicles and picked up a .50 caliber pistol for Bisque who still hadn't made up his mind. So I made it up for him. I put the heavy boxes of ammunition behind me on the bike with the spare magazines for the weapon.

It was a good thing he and the others had yet to be in a real huntsman-class fight or they would have lost pretty badly.

The only thing to do from here was build the bombs and I could do that easily enough at my apartment. So that was my next stop.

I wired together several dust crystals, enough that I thought it would be able to blow a hole in the ship's exterior if it was set against it but not so much that it would spread through the rest of the boat's interior. I made two because I thought one was probably enough to do it so I might as well go all in.

Then I set them up to be able to blow from a remote source. In this case just my scroll. It was actually pretty easy. Not as easy as throwing them really hard but just about using two small arduinos, one a piece.

The only thing left to do was share the plan with Avalanche, the miners, and Taurus and hope that went off without a hitch before the plan even started.

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-WG

#rwby #ff7 #ffvii #cloud strife #biggs #wedge #jessie rasberry #jaune arc #neo #neapolitan #whiterose #white rose #whiteknight #white knight #lancaster #war of the roses #ruby rose x jaune arc x weiss schnee #cloud!jaune arc #sephiroth!jaune arc

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yehet-me-up · 5 years

Text

Conquest

Pairing: frat boy!Changkyun/I.M x reader

Rating: M for language/sexy times

Genre: College!AU, smut

Word Count: 3,785

Summary: You’re used getting what you want, who you want. You take pleasure in each conquest, but tonight you may have met your match.

Monsta X Kinks series part six: Spanking 🖐🏻🍑

The first time you see him, you have only one thought - you hate hate hate the smug look on his face. You can practically feel the arrogance radiating off him from across the party and you want to do anything you can to wipe it off him.

He hasn’t even noticed you yet, but the way he carries himself is a gauntlet thrown at your feet in challenge. He carries himself like he’s God’s gift to the women of MXU. As if the fact that he’s in the hottest fraternity on campus means he can eye the women coming through the door like they are prized cuts of meat, ripe for tasting.

He might think he can have everything he wants, but he hasn’t met you yet.

‘Dibs on that one,’ you say with a smirk, elbowing your friend Renee.

‘Which one? There’s so many to choose from,’ she says with wide eyes.

‘The cocky one in the corner.’ You lift your chin to point to where the man is holding court in the corner over a keg.

‘Are you kidding me? Him?’ she gasps and straightens the hemline of her dress. ‘Changkyun is like… a ladykiller.’

You snort. ‘Please. I’ll have him begging for it by hmmm -’ You look at your watch. ‘By midnight.’

She rolls her eyes at you, always amused by the thrill you get from the chase.

That’s the secret, to hunt them while making them think they’re the ones hunting you. It’s all about playing them right, to make yourself the quarry they’ve been longing for, you think savagely as you find your group of friends in the corner.

‘We’ve got a live one on our hands tonight ladies,’ Renee announces to Shireen and Lindsey with amusement.

Lindsey laughs out loud and pretends to look around the party with her hand on her brow. ‘Ooooh who’s tonight’s victim?’

Renee motions subtly to Changkyun in the corner and Lindsey whistles.

‘Going straight for the alpha tonight, eh?’ Lindsey says and bumps you with her hip.

‘You know me Linds,’ you say with honey in your voice. ‘I always go for the jugular.’

They don’t realize you’re the predator, not the prey, until they wake up and realize you’re gone. Get what you want from them and then get out before you can get hurt. That’s the trick.

Your friends watch you with a combination of encouragement and concern. They’ve long ago stopped trying to get you to have, you know, a real relationship again and turned instead to encouraging you to be safe on this warpath you’re hell-bent on cutting through the men of MXU.

‘Anyone care for a drink?’ you ask the group. Renee raises her hand and you nod, heading off for the keg.

As you make your way through the crowd, you study him. His laugh is easy, congenial. The picture perfect All-American college stud. You’d bet your car on him being a Business major or something to do with sports. He’s got the look down, you’ll give him that. Light brown hair artfully tousled across his forehead. Dark wash jeans and a white button down, Timbs. Classy, approachable, yet undeniably lust-inducing.

Which character will it be tonight? you muse. Student athlete looking for a different kind of workout? Poetry major looking for a connection? Maybe a sweet freshman at her first kegger? Fumble with the pump so he has to step in and help; eyes wide and voice pitched higher. Grab his biceps and coo. Pretend you’re not experienced to inflate his ego?

Nah. Not tonight, you think with a shake of your head. Something raw and needy is flowing in your veins and you need more of a challenge. Tonight you decide to be yourself, just with the volume turned up.

When you approach the keg you finally make eye contact with him. For a moment the clean image he presents fades away and you get a glimpse of the animal within. He admires your calves, the cleavage on display in the dress you wear.

You meet his look with a snarky raise of your brow and resolutely ignore him. Instead, you expertly get yourself a cup of what is undoubtedly cheap beer, ensuring that you bend your back to show off your ass. Behind your back you can hear male voices discussing and you smile to yourself while you fill another cup.

It’s like shooting fish in a barrel, truly.

Without giving him a second glance, you walk back through the crowd. You’d be willing to wager that not many girls leave him in the dust. Good, you think. You can only imagine the slew of broken hearts he’s left across this campus.

The beer is indeed gross, but by the time you finish the cup you’re laughing at Shireen’s story of her idiotic professor you’ve already acclimated to the taste. With a last sip you finish the cup and frown at it. It’s too soon to make another pass through the kitchen. He needs time to want you first, you think.

‘Can I offer you another?’ comes a deep voice from next to you.

The man in question is standing there, holding out a blue cup to you with his brow raised in question. Renee giggles behind you and you sigh. If he’s already coming over to you, he must be an easier catch than you thought. Oh well, it was fun while it lasted.

‘Thanks,’ you say, eyeing the cup. ‘But I don’t drink anything I didn’t pour myself.’

You smile up at him and he laughs. He’s not offended by the insinuation and you give him a point for that. There’s interest in his irises when he meets your gaze. Interest and something else you can’t name.

With a dramatic bow he motions toward the kitchen. ‘Might I accompany you to refill your own cup then?’

For a long moment you consider him before finally nodding. ‘Alright then. Lead the way, handsome.’

He drops a hand to your waist, ghosting over your lower back as he guides you through the crowd.

‘Handsome, huh?’ The sound is low against your ear and you shiver despite the heat in the room.

When you turn to sass him he’s closer than you expected. Close enough to see the flecks of gold in his eyes. Close enough to smell his cologne, something woodsy and spicy and definitely not Axe Body Spray.

‘You know you’re handsome. Don’t act like you’re not used to flattery,’ you say while leaning in to let your lips tease the shell of his ear.

He laughs and watches as you fill your own cup. ‘Something tells me you don’t offer flattery often, unless there’s something you want. So I’ll take the compliment either way.’

When you stand he’s leaning back against the counter drinking the cup he’d offered you. He holds your gaze and licks his lips.

You lean against the window ledge behind you. ‘So you weren’t trying to drug me. Do you think that makes you a prince or something?’ you say harshly before taking a large swallow.

This upsets him; brows pulling together, mouth thinning to a line. ‘I might not be the nicest guy in the world, but I stand for none of that here.’ He waits until you meet his eyes again. ‘I take nothing that isn’t given freely to me.’

You lift your shoulder and let it fall. ‘Good. It still doesn’t mean you’ll ever get anything from me, but thanks for playing.’

His expression melts into something more seductive. ‘What makes you think I want anything from you?’

Oh, he’s good. ‘Do you regularly offer beverages to women you’ve never met before?’

‘Maybe. It’s a free country. I believe wholeheartedly in hydrating everyone who comes into my house.’

‘I can fend for myself just fine,’ you challenge.

‘I’ll bet you can do lots of things just fine by yourself,’ he says with a wink. ‘But aren’t some things better with… help?’

The moment stretches out while you two size each other up. Fine, he is hot. You’ll give him that. You wouldn’t sleep with just anyone.

His chest looks broad and strong beneath his shit. The veins on his hands, cording up his forearms, make you imagine what they’d feel like holding you against a wall while he fucks you. His lips are full and red and you wonder what sounds he’d make when you pull the lower one between your teeth.

The familiar heat blooms low in your body, the itch you can never quite seem to scratch. You wonder just how empty and unfulfilled he’ll leave you when this is over. If you’ll take enough from him to make this worth the effort.

‘What’s your major?’ he asks casually.

You frown. ‘Don’t pretend like you care.’

He opens his arms wide, not letting you off the hook. ‘I’m just trying to get to know you here. Or do you normally have sex with men without knowing their name?’

The question is a knife to the chest, re-opening the wound you worry will never heal. The hurt animal inside you wants to roar at him.

In two steps you’re toe to toe with him. ‘Maybe. Maybe that’s what I like. Rough, impersonal sex. And lots of it.’

He holds your gaze, seems to stare down into your soul as he breathes deeply at your closeness. A question runs through his eyes and after a moment he gives voice to it. ‘Why me?’

‘Huh?’ he startles you and you step back into a person filling their cup at the keg.

With his free hand he reaches for your elbow, steadying you. ‘You know what I mean. I saw you notice me when you came in. Why’d you pick me?’

You deflect easily. ‘Why’d you pick me? You were the one that came over.’

He gives you a lopsided grin and you wonder again what his mouth would taste like. ‘I figure it would be one of two things. Either we’d hit it off…’

‘Or?’ you push him, mostly to distract yourself.

This was supposed to be a game. He was supposed to undress you literally, not expose your secrets.

‘Or the hate-sex would be great.’ He licks along his lower lip, eyes fixated on the line of your neck. ‘Whichever way it goes, I’d get to spend the night with you.’

The hopefulness in his voice slips underneath your defenses and makes your heart flip. You hate the feeling and how vulnerable it makes you. The armor you’ve taken to wearing around your heart slides into place with a comforting weight.

‘Sorry, I’m closed for the night.’

You turn to leave but he reaches a gentle hand for your shoulder. ‘If you don’t want to sleep with me, we could always discuss this week’s reading.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Masculinities: contestation, circulation, and transformation? Tuesdays and Thursdays with Professor Khan?’

He says it with a smile that you recognize so well you want to scream.

The smile you give to men who assume you can’t play pool or fix your own tire or school them at comic book trivia. The smile of satisfaction you let cover you with pride when you’ve called someone on their shitty assumptions. And now it’s your turn to feel chastised.

‘You’re in my women’s studies class?’ you say, shocked.

‘I am indeed. I’m planning on getting an MBA in sports management. I want to have a thorough understanding of the male psyche and its impact on the feminine. I want to represent men’s and women’s teams equally.’

‘How have I not noticed you?’

His cheeks turn pink. ‘Well, I normally wear my glasses and a beanie to fit in.’ He shrugs. ‘This isn’t what you normally wear, either though, is it?’

You look down at the low-cut, thigh-grazing black dress and razor-sharp stilettos you wear and laugh. ‘No. It’s not. My friend Renee calls it my ‘on the prowl’ outfit.’

He whistles. ‘That’s definitely a name for it. I like it. I also like what you normally wear. I have to say I’m flattered you picked me as your target for the night.’

The reality of him is so separate from the fantasy you’d constructed you want to cackle. A few minutes ago you wanted to throw your drink in his face before launching yourself into his arms and sticking your tongue into his mouth.

Now you have no idea what you’re dealing with and it makes you feel raw and exposed and needy.

‘I don’t think we should sleep together tonight,’ you say so quietly you’re not sure he hears you.

He nods. ‘That’s fine with me. I’m just happy you’re talking to me. I’ve been trying to get your attention all semester,’ he says and runs a hand through his hair in embarrassment.

‘I’m sorry if I ignored you, I’ve-’ you start, thinking of how different things were in December compared to now. How different you were. ‘My boyfriend cheated on me over break and I’ve kind of been… throwing myself into forgetting him.’

There’s a warmth in his eyes that eases something cold and tight and aching inside you. ‘He’s an absolute idiot. If I had someone as intelligent and engaging and hot as you I’d never let you go.’

‘Maybe we should sleep together, then,’ you laugh bitterly. ‘Then you can get sick of me, too.’

He leans closer and you feel his breath against the sensitive skin of your shoulder exposed by your dress. ‘I highly doubt that.’

When he pulls back you almost toss your cup and grab him. But you cling to your sanity and breathe instead, torn between running out the door and taking a chance on him.

Something in you tells you to trust your instincts, that you chose him the moment you walked in for a reason; saw beneath his facade as quickly and easily as he did yours, even if you didn’t realize it at the time.

‘Prove it,’ you say, like a prayer. A plea for him to know you in all the ways you’ve been denied in the past.

Like a runner at the starting gun he seems to jump into motion. He takes your cup and his and tosses them in the enormous recycle bin. The reassuring warmth and firmness of his hand encloses yours and he leads you through the party to the wide staircase.

You hold on to him and follow him up two flights and down a hallway, the noise of the party fading away with every step. His room is easily three times the size of your dorm room.

He kicks off his shoes and notices your surprise. ‘Being the president has its perks,’ he laughs. ‘Privacy is definitely one of them.’

With your back you close the door, watching him and crossing your arms. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ you ask.

He reaches for the edge of his shirt and tugs it over his head, tossing it to the floor. With heat and need in his eyes he walks towards you. The movement highlights the cut of his torso, the defined lines of his chest and abs that you suddenly want to drag your teeth along.

‘I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life,’ he says, reaching both hands out and resting them against the door behind your head. ‘Are you sure you want me, this?’

The past few months sex has been about taking. With your ex you gave him everything, all that you had to give. Over the last few weeks you took without apology. You came first, literally and figuratively. Screamed and moaned with pleasure and didn’t care who heard or what they thought of you.

But with him you know you’re going to give him something in return. Tonight he’s asking more of you and you wonder if you’re ready to go there again.

You reach out a hand and run it along his jaw, trailing it down his chest, his stomach. Your fingers dance along the line of his pants and savor the sharp inhale of breath he takes.

He doesn’t let you hide; holds your focus and watches you intently. Soft as a breeze he leans forward and presses a light kiss on your forehead, asking you to trust him. It undoes you, the need within you rushing forward to meet him. You kick off your heels and stand on your toes to press your lips to his.

The motion pulls his body against yours and you wish you could rip off your dress to feel his skin against yours. Suddenly, you’re unable to get enough of him.

He responds eagerly, bringing a hand to cup your head while he works his lips against yours with a groan. The other arm bands along your back, anchoring him to you as you taste him.

‘More,’ you moan against his open mouth. ‘Now.’

‘Thank god,’ he says in return.

He bends, not breaking the seal of the kiss. The rough heat of his palms trace the backs of your knees, your thighs, before settling on your ass possessively. In one fluid motion he pulls you into his arms, guiding your legs around his waist.

You tug at his hair, pulling his lip between your teeth. Just as you hoped, he growls against you, hands kneading the flesh of your ass and pulling you against his arousal.

Tonight, you want to see what happens when you let him take charge, anxious to see how he’ll guide you both to completion. What he’ll mould you into with his hands and lips and cock; if you’ll like the person you become underneath him or on top of him.

‘I need to get my hands on you,’ he laughs against your mouth, his voice full of need.

He looks around and walks you back to his couch, sitting down so you straddle him. Freed of their job of holding you up, his hands seem greedy to know the feel of all of you. You watch as he strokes along your thighs, breathing hard in sync with him.

To help him you grab the edges of the dress and tug it over your head. Your hair lands along your shoulders, teasing the bare skin.

The way he savors the newly exposed skin makes you swallow. Before you can even breathe he grasps your hips firmly and pulls you flush against him, dropping his lips to the rise of your breasts over your bra eagerly. His mouth on the delicate flesh makes you whine and grip his shoulders to hold yourself.

He doesn’t rush and you like him the better for it. Instead, he takes his time, pulling down the fabric of your bra and licking first one nipple and then the other.

It could be minutes or it could be hours that you spend with his tongue on your chest, you lose track of time. Your hands bury themselves in his hair and your hips grind against his erection of their own volition.

When he’s inside you, it won’t be like before. You know this and try to prepare yourself.

He unclasps your bra and cups your breasts with his wide hands and you try to prepare yourself for how it will feel to come around him.

You lift yourself so he can slide off his jeans and underwear and you try to prepare yourself for how he will look when he buries himself inside you.

He reaches for a condom in the side-table and you stand, holding his gaze. Sliding your underwear off, you aren’t prepared for how it feels to stand before him, truly naked down to your heart and soul. Asking him to see you and want you.

‘Beautiful,’ is all he can say when you settle yourself on his lap once more, reaching for his face with both hands.

‘Perfect,’ is all he can say when you take him inside you, so deep you both groan at the perfection of it.

‘Mine,’ is what he says, holding you tight enough to bruise, when you clench around him and gasp.

You ride him with vigor, matching the rhythm of his thrusts into you. It feels so good and right you can’t keep your eyes open, clinging to him and drowning in him.

He grasps your hips, pulling you against him and angling you so he hits a spot deep within you.

‘Fuck,’ you whine, tugging him up to your lips by his hair.

The build of your orgasm inside you is a tidal wave you can’t control. He licks your mouth and you swallow his groans. He’s just as lost and close as you are.

Was this what you were waiting for? you wonder as the sounds of your sex drowns out all else. Someone to see you and match you?

The slap of his hand against your ass shocks you, biting and sharp at first and making you gasp. He pulls back to watch you, kneading the flesh, not slowing his thrusts.

‘Too much?’ he pants, searching for signs you want him to stop.

The sting fades to pleasure and you clench around him. ‘No, God. Please don’t stop.’

He smiles, wide and wolf-like. This time he spanks the other cheek, drawing a groan from your throat. His mouth finds your neck and sucks, the sensation sending pleasure down your spine to your core.

‘Please.’ It’s all you can say as you take him deep inside you, matching each of his thrusts.

You preen, becoming a wild and unruly creature as his hands make the skin of your ass so sensitive you want to scream. His grip tightens as he slams into you, uneven and desperate, and you know he’s just as close as you are.

‘Come with me,’ he groans against you.

The need to orgasm is so strong you can’t even manage words, just a noise of assent. You drop your hand to where your bodies meet, finding your clit. In seconds you explode around him with a strangled scream.

You collapse into his arms, panting. He holds you to him, his arms heavy and strong against your sweat-slicked back. After a beat, you pull back to watch him with confusion, wondering at how different this night ended than it began.

And it’s not even ten o’clock, you notice his clock with amusement.

‘Want to go again?’ he laughs, dropping a gentle kiss to your lips.

‘You’re not sick of me?’ you answer, watching him with wonder.

‘God, no,’ he says, voice absent of all joking, brushing your hair behind your ears. ‘I’ll never get enough of you.’

#DRABBLEPALOOZA #changkyun x reader #i.m x reader #i.m smut #changkyun smut #monsta x smut #monsta x x reader #monsta x fanfic #monsta x au

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angelofthequeers · 4 years

Text

Hold Me By Both Hands: Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I don’t own ML.

Chapter 16 | Chapter 18 | AO3 link

“Die already!” Alya growls, furiously mashing the buttons on her controller.

“No can do, babe!” Nino mashes just as hard, trying desperately to keep up with his girlfriend. But she’s on the warpath and is out for blood, so there’s absolutely no chance of him getting any ground on her, and he’s soon utterly crushed by Alya, who whoops and punches the air.

“I never knew that Alya was so ruthless at Ultimate Mecha Strike III,” Adrien comments, his voice slightly warped by the phone speakers. Marinette just laughs.

“Why do you think I never play against her?” she says, turning her phone so that she can see Adrien’s face while still letting him see the gameplay. “She’s terrifying.”

“And I can never beat Marinette!” Alya snarls, already loading a rematch with Nino, who looks like he’d rather be akumatised thrice over than go up against her again.

“That’s because she’s super talented!” Adrien says. Marinette beams at the compliment, idly marvelling at how she can smile now at something said by Adrien that would’ve turned her into a hot, gooey mess only weeks ago. And it’s not like he doesn’t still make her insides shiver, but the more she focuses on being friendly without the looming pressure of asking him out, the softer those shivers become. Part of her misses the hot intensity of her feelings for him, but really, would she be interacting with him in this way if she was still a disaster around him? She’s become better friends with him over the past few weeks than she had in all the months of crushing so hard on him that she could barely talk to him. Hell, she’s even stroking his hair consistently now.

Who knows? Maybe those feelings will bear fruit someday. But as it is, Tikki had been totally right; she’s far closer to Adrien as friends than when she’d been stressing over asking him out. And if something does happen between the, at least she’s got a solid foundation of friendship to build on.

“I wish you could have come,” she sighs. “It’s not really a sleepover if you’re not actually sleeping over.”

“Father was pretty firm,” Adrien says, his smile fading. “And I didn’t want to push it. There’s a line between teenage rebellion and being outright disrespectful.”

“It’s probably wise to pick your battles,” Marinette agrees. “But still. Now Nino has to sleep on the floor alone because Mum and Dad are on the whole “no boys and girls together!” thing.” She makes a face and Adrien laughs.

“Can’t we talk about this?” Nino pleads. Alya just gives the most terrifying laugh that Marinette’s ever heard and proceeds to crush Nino, who drops his remote and throws his hands up.

“I think that’s the end of that,” Marinette says, her lips twitching at how Alya immediately loses her scary competitiveness and tries to cajole Nino into hugging her when he’s looking at her as though she’s an akuma. “Maybe we should do something that you can actually do with us.”

“I don’t mind watching,” Adrien says. “I mean, I wish I was there, but this is better than just sitting in silence.” He smiles at Marinette. “And at least I get to talk to you.”

Marinette grins back, wondering why his face suddenly morphs into a look of horror.

“Uh – and Alya and Nino – when they’re not playing their game – not that it’s not nice talking to you –”

A voice in the background on Adrien’s end halts his rambling in its tracks. He grimaces and drops his phone on his pillow, giving Marinette a wonderful view of his high bedroom ceiling as his footsteps cross over to his door.

“Adrien, your father has requested that you practice your current piece –”

“But I’ve already done my piano practice today!”

“Yes, but your father is dissatisfied with your progress. He feels that you should practice the piece a little more until you reach his standards.”

“Seriously? He won’t let me go to my friend’s sleepover and now he’s not even letting me be there by phone?”

“If it was up to me, I would be perfectly happy for you to continue talking to your friends. But it’s not up to me.”

Marinette desperately wants to jump in and say something but doing so will only make things worse for Adrien. Plus, he probably doesn’t even realise that he’s got an audience of not just Marinette but also Nino and Alya, whose bickering has ceased so that they can listen in too.

“You know what? No.”

“Adrien –”

“All I ever do is practice my piano and fencing and Chinese and model for him! And he can’t even let me hang out with my friends for one night!”

“Adrien, this is so unlike you –”

“What, like going to school was unlike me?”

“Those were exceptional circumstances –”

“Leave me alone.”

“But –”

“I don’t care what Father says! Tell him that it was all me and you tried your best. Just…leave me alone for the rest of the night.”

“Adrien –”

“Leave me alone!”

There’s silence for a few moments. Marinette bites her lip and exchanges a glance with Alya and Nino, who look just as worried as she does.

“I’ll tell your father that you’re coming down with something and feel too unwell,” Nathalie finally says.

“Thank you, Nathalie!”

“But be warned, he will expect more effort in the next few nights to make up for this.”

“I don’t care. Really. Just…thank you.”

There’s the sound of the door closing, followed by footsteps that gradually grow louder. Marinette has a brief bout of motion sickness when the phone is picked up, making the screen blur and move wildly until it refocuses on Adrien’s miserable face.

“You okay, dude?” Nino says. Adrien smiles, but it’s a weak effort.

“Sorry you guys had to hear that. Guess I didn’t hang up like I thought.”

“What Nino said,” Marinette says when she notices how pale Adrien is. “Are you okay?”

“Honestly? I think I’m about two seconds from a panic attack. I can’t remember the last time I’ve put my foot down like that.”

“Well, are you sure you can’t make it over here?” Alya says, while Marinette’s stomach lurches. “You shouldn’t have to be stuck there with a borderline panic attack just ‘cause your dad’s on a power trip.”

“I wish I could. But there’s no way out without my father seeing except through my window, and I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t survive the jump.”

Marinette briefly entertains the idea of turning into Ladybug and rescuing Adrien, but she has to force herself to think clearly. There’s no way she could explain how Ladybug found out about this so fast, not to mention that there’s no way she could explain her extended absence to Alya and Nino. Hell, she already pushes that enough during akuma attacks, and at least those are a convenient excuse. Her powerlessness right now makes her clench her fists. What good is she as Ladybug if she can’t help those who need it?

“Anyway,” Adrien says, pasting a grin on his face, “I’ll be fine so long as I can talk to you guys.”

“Do you at least know how to focus on your breathing?” Marinette says. “Five seconds in, hold for three, out for seven. Do it now, while we’re here.”

Adrien immediately obeys, sucking in a deep breath while Marinette counts to five, holding it, then releasing it while she counts to seven. After a minute or so, Adrien closes his eyes and sags.

“Thanks, Mari,” he mumbles. Marinette smiles at him.

“Any time!”

“I think I’ll be okay now if I keep my mind off it. What should we do next?”

“Anything but truth or dare,” Nino shudders. “Marinette and Alya get ruthless when they gang up on you.”

Marinette and Alya laugh together. The mood’s slowly starting to creep back to where it was before, but Marinette still can’t help but wish that there was more she could do for her friend than leaving him in his prison-like house and only having him over via phone call.

The next day, Adrien’s not at school, although Marinette’s not totally worried because he’d texted her beforehand to say that he’s being made to stay home due to Nathalie’s excuse of him coming down with something. Still, though, she can’t help but worry a little and that, mixed with her feelings of powerlessness, leaves her distracted all day. Especially since he’d also said that his phone was probably being taken for the day while he had lessons at home, so he hasn’t messaged her since his initial text and is therefore most likely unreachable.

“Marinette.” Ms Bustier’s voice snaps Marinette out of her haze. Marinette jumps and meets Ms Bustier’s eyes guiltily. “Please pay attention to the lesson.”

“Sorry!” Marinette says. Ms Bustier’s face softens.

“Are you feeling unwell? Do you need to be excused from class?”

“I…actually, now that you mention it, I do feel a bit sick.” It’s not like Marinette’s lying; her stomach really is rolling, and she hasn’t been able to concentrate all morning. Ms Bustier just can’t possibly know that it’s from anxiety over her friend rather than an actual illness.

“Alya, could you take Marinette to the nurse?” Ms Bustier says. “Marinette, if you still feel unwell after having a rest then please go home.”

“I’ll take her, Ms Bustier,” Chloé declares. The class goes dead silent. Ms Bustier is the first to recover.

“Thank you, Chloé, that’s very nice of you,” she says.

“I know,” Chloé says rather smugly. “I’m being super nice now. Come on, Dupain-Cheng.”

Although Marinette doesn’t trust Chloé at all, she can’t really say no when she’s the one showing Chloé how to be nice. So, rather than kick up a fuss, she swallows her words, packs up her things, and follows Chloé out of the classroom.

“What’s the deal, Chloé?” Marinette says when they’re walking down the corridor, Chloé strutting ahead of her. “If it was anyone other than me…”

“Because you’ve been a mess all day and Adrikins isn’t in class,” Chloé says. “I put it together. Something happened to him and you know what, and since he’s not answering my texts…”

“He probably doesn’t have his phone,” Marinette says. She explains what had happened the previous night, all the while wondering why she’s confiding in Chloé like they’re friends or something, and Chloé doesn’t look anywhere near happy by the end of her explanation.

“Cute,” Chloé drawls. “You’ve worried yourself sick over your friend. At least it’s not something super serious like I thought.”

“Nothing super serious? How can you say that?”

“Because his father’s like this all the time. It’s not like I’m happy, but at least I know it’s not something like having a broken leg or me needing to destroy whoever hurt him or something.”

Marinette totally doesn’t buy that. “Rubbish! After you let Adrien take the fall for what you did twice, pretending like you care is a total new low for you, Chloé. You don’t care about him at all, do you, you just see him as some trophy –”

Chloé’s hand shoots out to grab Marinette’s wrist and yank her down the next corridor and into the girl’s bathroom. “Don’t you even dare go there, Dupain-Cheng,” Chloé hisses, squeezing Marinette’s wrist as the door slams shut behind them. “I’m trying to be nice so that my best friend will talk to me again, so don’t you even think of implying that he’s just a shiny thing to me. I just…didn’t realise how special he was until he stopped talking to me for good. I didn’t realise that I was treating him like shit as well as all you peasants since, you know, that’s my default.”

An awkward silence falls over them. Chloé clears her throat and lets go of Marinette, then deliberately wipes her hand on her jacket. Marinette stares at Chloé with a tilted head.

“Are you really in love with him?” she says. Chloé just sniffs and looks away. “You can tell me, Chloé. I’m the last person who’d go telling everyone your private information.”

“You hate me, Dupain-Cheng,” Chloé snaps. “I hate you. Forgive me if I don’t believe that.”

“I don’t hate you,” Marinette says. “Not since you asked me for help. I’ve actually been…impressed at how you’re really trying to be nice. I don’t like you, but I don’t hate you. And even if I did hate you, I wouldn’t go spreading around anything that you tell me in private.”

Chloé stares at her for a long moment, then sighs. “You’re, like, the one person I can actually believe wouldn’t do that to me,” she mutters. “Stupid, goodie-two-shoes Marinette Dupain-Cheng. No, I’m not in love with Adrien, okay? He’s like my brother. But I don’t want anyone else to get near him.”

“Why? If you’re really that close, you can’t possibly believe that he’d abandon you for someone else, right?”

“He did!” Chloé clenches her fists and stomps her foot. “He left me for – for you! And that Ladyblogger and weird DJ!”

“Only because you were being mean and he knew that he had the power to push you to become a nicer person,” Marinette counters.

“Exactly! Now I’m stuck turning myself into some fake, nice, smiley person that I’m not just to get my friend back!”

Marinette’s face softens as she regards Chloé, who snarls and looks away, crossing her arms. “Then don’t do it for Adrien,” Marinette says. “That’s what I’ve been telling you. Find a reason why you want to be nice.”

“I don’t have a reason! Don’t you get it? Why should I want to be nice when I can get everything I want anyway?”

“You didn’t end up being class president. You’re always getting kidnapped by akumas with a vendetta. No one apart from Sabrina and Adrien likes you, and Sabrina’s more of a servant than a friend. Those are three good reasons.”

“Whatever, miss perfect know-it-all. Come on, we’re supposed to be at the nurse’s office.”

As Chloé storms for the door, Marinette scrambles for one last line of reasoning as to why Chloé should keep being nice. Finally, as Chloé’s pushing the door open, Marinette blurts out, “What about Ladybug?”

Chloé freezes. “What about her?”

“You’re her number one fan, right? Well…why not do it so you can be the kind of person Ladybug would love to have as her number one fan?”

“Are you implying that she doesn’t see me or want me as her number one fan?” Chloé arches an eyebrow as she turns, letting the door slam shut again. Marinette gulps. Now she has to be careful with how she navigates this, or she’ll end up either outing herself or offending Chloé into hating Ladybug again.

“I never said that,” Marinette says slowly. “Look, if you truly can’t do it for yourself, do it to become a person that Ladybug would be proud of. I know I try every day to strive to be the kind of person that Ladybug would approve of. And once you’re in the habit of being nice, who knows? Maybe you’ll find that you really do enjoy having people like you and want to do nice things for you because they like you and not because they fear you.”

“Hmph.” Chloé crosses her arms. “Well, she did totally praise me for being nice and helpful at my party. Whatever. Come on, Dupain-Cheng. You’re supposed to be sick.”

“You could start being nicer by calling me by my first name,” Marinette says as she follows Chloé out of the bathroom. Chloé snorts.

“Over my dead body, Dupain-Cheng.”

#miraculous ladybug #ml fic #aotq fic #aotq: hold me #marinette dupain-cheng #adrien agreste #alya cesaire #nino lahiffe #chloe bourgeois #oop is chloe actually trying #slowly but surely #also gabriel sucks

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stressy-enby · 4 years

Text

Let’s go, boys.

Clothes

Dating Denki Kaminari was exhausting.

Sometimes, you felt like you had less of a boyfriend, and more of an eight year old. Despite this, you loved him.

Somehow.

Dating Denki was often a test of patience. How much are you willing to put up with today? Again, you loved him to death, and you could put up with a LOT, but sometimes you just needed some peace and quiet.

Or in this case, you needed to be able to enter your dorm without fear of tripping some kind of trap.

You and Denki has been at war with each other for the past week. It started with him putting shaving cream in your favorite shoes when you weren’t looking as you were about to go out on a date.

Big mistake. He declared war so you happily returned fire.

The next evening, Denki was in for a rude awakening when he found his pillowcase filled with ice (thank you, Todoroki) when he turned in for the night.

It spiraled downward from there, almost everyday there was some sort of prank. You both often employed the assistance of Mina and Sero for your pranks, which they were more than happy to help with. The only problem was since they helped both you and Denki, they knew what all the upcoming pranks where going to be, but as much as either of you interrogated, Mina and Sero stayed hushed about the other’s plans.

It wa exhilarating. Planning pranks, executing them, seeing each other’s reactions, then laughing it off before promising revenge.

It was all fun and games until Denki stapled all your clothes together.

You had no idea how he did it, but somehow, when you walked into your room the evening after your nightly run, you found your entire wardrobe in one large pile on the floor. Every shirt, every jacket, and every single scarf and any other garment you owned was on the ground. The only survivors of the attack where your undergarments (thank god), and your school uniform clothes.

You knew it was Denki. Who else would do this? While you were relived the prank was so harmless, you still groaned thinking about how annoying it would be to put everything back in it’s proper place.

“It’s slightly concerning how tame this is,” you muttered to yourself. It seemed highly doubtful that the boy who had put olive oil in your shampoo bottle would settle for just making a mess for you. It was as you picked up a pair of shorts that you realized that he hadn’t.

As you lifted the pants, a sweater came with it. Then a sock. Then a shirt. You frowned in confusion as you yanked your chain of clothes out further.

“What in the...” you held the clothes up to your face to inspect them closer. Connecting your beanie to a pajama shirt where two thin silver bars, the size of pins. You tried to pry it out with your fingers to no avail.

“No fucking way.” Your eyes widened. You unraveled the entire pile of clothes, almost everything you owned, to find it all connected. All stapled together.

“He fucking- what the fuck!”

Denki has been toeing the line for a while now, but he had just leapt across it.

You stormed out of your room, slamming the door shut behind you. You thought you had known anger, but you had been sorely mistaken.

On the way to go murder your boyfriend, you passed Sero and Mina. One look at your face and the pair burt out laughing.

“You helped him, didn’t you?” You demanded.

Still shaking with laughter, Sero nodded. “Yup, we even got Kirishima and Bakugo in on it!”

“You got Bakugo to help you out?!”

What a twist. They must have bribed him or challenged him or something. Either that or this was payback for making fun of him at lunch today. You suspected the latter. Bakugo didn’t forget mockery.

You pushed past your chortling friends, continuing on your warpath. It lead you right to Denki’s door, which you flung open without knocking.

Denki was sitting in his bed, phone in hand. He jumped when the door slammed open, but his lips split into a wicked grin when he saw you.

Fuming, you silently moved closer to him, arms crossed, steam practically coming out of your ears. Denki shrank back a little at your expression.

“On a scale of one to ten, how bad do you want to kill me right now?” He asked, his grin morphing into a weak, nervous smile.

“I’m hovering somewhere in the high thirties.”

Denki let out a high pitched laugh. He hesitantly patted the spot on the bed next to him. “Uh, how ‘bought you sit down? You’re making me nervous.”

“I’ll stand, thank you.” You replied coldly. “Now listen closely: you and anyone else who helped you are going to help me unstable all my clothes, and then help me put them away. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” Denki laughed nervously again.

You sighed heavily, unconsciously plopping down on the bed. “How the hell did you even manage that?”

“Yesterday Sero, Ashido and I went out and bought a bunch of staples. We got a few people to donate their staplers to our cause, and Ashido, Sero, Kirishima, and evening Bakugo helped me out with the stapling.” Denki grinned, leaning back on the bed.

“How long did it take you guys?” You asked. “You stapled almost all of my clothes!”

“Eh, about an hour or two.” He estimated. “And you can thank Kirishima for leaving your school uniforms alone, he said it would probably take a while to undo all the staples, and he didn’t think it’d be very manly to leave you with nothing to wear to class tomorrow if we hadn’t undone it all by then.”

“And my underwear?” You raised an eyebrow.

Denki’s cheeks went pink, and he averted his eyes. “Uh...I thought about it, but I decided it wasn’t worth my life, plus I didn’t want to sink that low.”

You chuckled, lying back with him. “Yeah, I definitely would’ve killed you then.”

Denki grabbed your hand, and gently rubbed his thumb along your knuckles. “I guess we should pick all your clothes apart?”

“Yes, please!”

“I’ll text the guys.”

After sending a few messages, asking your friends to meet you in your room, he turned to you.“Can we call a truce?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You staple all my clothes together and now you want a truce?”

“Look, I’m just afraid you’re gonna set my homework on fire or something!”

“Ah, so your afraid of how I’ll retaliate?”

“Yes! Very!”

You laughed, squeezing his hand. “We’ll see.”

. . . . . . . .

“Oh come on!”

Two days later, when Denki went to change his clothes after you had attacked him outside with water guns, he found his drawers empty. He quickly threw open his closet door, only to find nothing in there, either. The only things that had survived the disappearing act were his uniform clothes and his underwear.

Groaning loudly, Denki stood out on his balcony, and yelled down at you, “Babe, come on, weren’t the water guns enough?”

You grinned up at him with the most obnoxious shit-eating grin he had ever seen on you. “Hardly!”

“Where are my clothes?”

“I have no idea!” You shrugged, smirking evilly.

“(Y/N)....”

“I’m serious!” You laughed. “I took all your clothes and split them between Kirishima, Mina, and Sero and told them to hide them. I have no idea what they did with them.”

“(Y/N)!” Denki yelled in despair. He let his head fall onto the railing.

You laughed, only feeling slightly sorry. “I love you!”

“Love you too,” Denki muttered, dragging his feet back inside. He took another look at his empty dresser, and sighed explosively. “You know,” he said to himself. “I probably-no, I definitely deserve this.”

#mha #fanfiction #bnha #denki kaminari #kaminari #kaminari x reader #denki kaminari x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #karma’s a bitch #huh Kaminari

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kagehinataboke · 5 years

Note

omg prompt 12 with Bakugou being the one who ends up hitting todoroki with his shoe

with pleasure dear!! i’m happily drowning in all this todobaku uwu

tdbk: [12] you kick a ball and your shoe flies off, hitting them in the back of the head.

soccer au? soccer au

“Take the shot! You can make it!”

“Block him!”

Bakugou kicks the soccer ball and it sails over Monoma’s head, rocketing straight into the goal like there’s a magnetic force pulling it there. His team goes wild collectively, their cheers overwhelming the groans of the opposition.

The only one who isn’t upset is Monoma, who storms across the field on a warpath. “Bakugou Katsuki, you damn hack!”

Kirishima rushes to step between them. “No fighting, guys! Come on: that was a fair point.”

“But the ref has been making bad calls all game.” Monoma glares pointedly across the field before shoving Kirishima aside to jab a finger into Bakugou’s chest. “One more, score be damned. Whoever makes this goal is the winner.”

“Fine. Delay your loss all you want.” Bakugou pushes past him. “I’ll make as many goals as it takes.” Maybe he’s only smirking to piss Monoma off—and it works like a charm. He clicks his tongue and goes to join his team, eyes blazing.

“Did you really have to provoke him like that?” Kaminari grumbles, taking off his goalie gloves to wipe sweat from his forehead.

“Yeah.” Bakugou taps his cleats against the goal, shaking off the mounds of dirt. “When they get angry, they get sloppy. I’m just playing the game.”

“You’re in a bad mood, though,” Shinsou points out after handing Kaminari a water bottle. “Is it because of the refs?”

“They’re definitely shitty. I like to win off skill alone, not off bad calls by blind dumbfucks.”

“Well they’re swapping them this round, so make it count.” Shinsou jogs back to the center of the field, wiping dirt from his hands. They’re all covered in it after playing for so long. It’s taken hours just to secure a 1-point lead.

“I’ll get it past Awase,” Kirishima says as they take the field. “It’ll be your job to score the last. Monoma will mark you.”

“Don’t worry about me. Take care of their sweeper.” Bakugou claps him on the shoulder before taking his position. There’s the distant rumble of thunder on the horizon, promising a rainstorm. It matches the heavy hammering of his heart: This game decides who goes to the championships, and no way is he losing to that bastard Monoma.

The whistle is blown, and Bakugou lunges into action, leering the adrenaline fuel him. This is the only point that matters—the point that will secure their team’s future.

“Pass it, Sero!”

The ball spirals through the mud, and Kirishima shares a look with Bakugou. Its time to strike, his face is saying. Call for the ball, and it’s yours.

Bakugou nods silently. The ball is in his grasp in a second, so fast that the other team lets out surprised curses. The only thing standing between him and the goal now is a scowling Monoma.

“Scared to make the shot?” he taunts, eyes flicking from Bakugou’s face to the ball. “Aren’t good enough without blind refs, huh?”

“Ha. Careful, or your voice might start shaking,” Bakugou replies, tapping the ball back and forth with his heels. “You already knew the outcome of this game, juts like everyone else here.”

The insult is enough to finally drive Monoma over the edge. He sprints at him with an enraged yell. Bakugou kicks the ball high, rushing past him and leaping skyward. His left foot slips, but the other manages to make solid contact: The ball spins toward the highest corner of the net, just out of the goalie’s reach.

Bakugou’s shoe goes with it. He nearly face-plants trying to avoid sticking his foot in the mud, tracking the cleat with his eyes in favor of watching the ball sail into the goal. Among the overwhelming cheers of his teammates, he watches it fly into the stands.

To his great horror, it smacks a spectator straight in the head. The boy stumbles, falling to his knees on the bleacher steps. It’s impossible to hear over the deafening cheers, but he probably yells something along the lines of, What the fuck? as he picks up the runaway shoe.

“Shit,” Bakugou mutters under his breath. He starts to cut a path across the field, but his teammates have surrounded him in a mass of joyous hollering.

“Bro, did you see your cleat go freakin’ flying?” Kirishima snorts—the only one to notice his predicament. “That was awesome, and you should’ve seen the look on Monoma’s face when you—“

“My shoe, Kirishima,” Bakugou interrupts, cutting his eyes over to the stands pointedly. “I need to get it.”

“Oh, right.” He lends Bakugou an arm, shooing the others away. “Shoeless Captain coming through! Go get some water, you guys.”

Kirishima helps him past their chattering teammates and toward the bleachers, where the celebration is in full force. They have to battle past several congratulatory spectators just to get to the first row of seats. Bakugou searches for a flash of red and white hair among the crowd: the only glimpse he got of the unfortunate stranger.

The fact that they won the game somehow isn’t sinking it yet, and it won’t until he has his cleat back. It’s stupid, but it feels like that’s the sign of victory: his old, muddy sneaker that made contact with the winning ball… And he probably needs to make sure that guy is okay, of course.

“Hey, is this yours?” Speak of the devil: someone is leaning over the metal railing above, holding Bakugou’s shoe in his left hand and rubbing the back of his head with the other.

“Kirishima, I’m good on my own now,” Bakugou mutters quietly, barely able to string the sentence together. What he really means is: Get the hell away so I can collect my shoe from this fucking gorgeous stranger.

And holy shit is he gorgeous. His hair is like cherry and vanilla and his face is all soft and he’s got long eyelashes and—and the list is way too long to name off.

“Eh? Oh, uh, yeah. Okay.” Kirishima gets the hint and disappears back onto the field, where he’s quickly swallowed up by the wave of celebration.

“So.” The hot stranger leans over farther, but he still doesn’t give back the cleat. “Are you going to apologize for hitting me?”

“I wasn’t aiming for you. Obviously I wouldn’t do that,” Bakugou feels the need to clarify. “But sorry.”

Shit, he’s a mess. He just brought his team to the championships, yet all the bravado from the field is gone. When locking eyes with a walking sex god that he’s just hit with his fucking shoe, Bakugou suddenly loses all higher brain function. He must be staring, but god, how could he not stare?

“Crappy apology, but I suppose I’ll have to take it.” The stranger’s eyes move from Bakugou’s face to the cleat and back. “Ah… it’s you. You just won the game, didn’t you? Does that mean I’ve been blessed with luck by this shoe?”

Bakugou can’t stop himself from smirking, finally regaining enough sense to say, “Yeah, maybe so. Or it could be that I’m the lucky one—to be meeting you, that is.”

He can’t stop talking, but at least his flirting game is on-point—just like that last goal.

God, everything is spiraling so incredibly far out of control. Bakugou just wanted his shoe back, but if this guy will keep looking at him and talking and blushing, well… he can hold it for as long as he fucking wants to.

#socCER AU #👏🏻#blessss #todobaku #bakutodo #tdbk #answered asks #meet cutes #my writing #bnha #long post #lonnnggg

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alindakb · 4 years

Text

Letters to my Parents - Sunday 24 October 1993 - by Alinda

Sunday 24 October 1993

Dear mom and dad,

So, this month it was me who ended up on the hospital wing. Hermione joked it looks like Draco and I are trying to set a record or something. I thought it was funny, Draco doesn’t really agree. I think he had a big freight when I fell off my broom. He yelled at me to don’t do anything that stupid again. And when he was done, Marcus came to yell at me some more for making us lose our first match of the season. He went on and on about that he was a fool to believe anything Terence would say. He stormed off to go and write to Terence about what a disaster our first match was. Adrian and Miles seemed happy to see that Marcus and Terence are communication this much. They say they used to be friends when they were younger and that it maybe will temper Marcus a little if they would start hanging out again.

Marcus really wants to win the Quidditch cup this year, since it will be his last chance to win it. It doesn’t count that he had won it already a couple of times in his younger years. He wasn’t captain back then, just a player. He’s really uptight about it. Blaming it all on bad luck, and stupid cancellation of tournaments because of some crazy snake. When he said that, Draco murmured in my ear that it was a bit more than a crazy snake. We both remember the massive Basilisk in the Chamber that had almost cost us both our lives. Of course, that made Marcus tell us off again for being a tacky couple and that we should leave all the lovely dovely stuff out of the team and focus on scoring points and catching snitches. That just made Adrian and Miles laugh, joking that Marcus wanted the impossible to happen. And we do keep the PDA down in public and during Quidditch practice, really. We both know that Derrick and Bole aren’t really a fan of the gays and we do have to play together with them. They are good beaters, well up to a good match against Fred and George of the Gryffindor team. So, Draco and I are good boys during practice and try to focus as much as possible on Quidditch and not on each other.

But back to me ending up in the hospital wing. It happened during our first Quidditch match against Hufflepuff. It was a dreadful day, with heavy rain and strong winds. Marcus was all worried about Hufflepuff’s new Seeker, Cedric Diggory. He’s a handsome guy, tall, strong and silent. I know a lot of girls like to look at him, and Draco and I would both be lying if we say we don’t appreciate the view.

On the day of the match, I was very nervous and woke up very early. I stayed in bed with Draco’s arms around me and tried to relax. I think I didn’t do a good job because I woke up Draco. We kissed for a long time until I felt a little better. We went down to breakfast and I just tried to eat some porridge, while Draco started to make us both toast. The rest of the team joined us not much later. Everyone was kind of nervous, which made me feel a little better.

At the Quidditch pitch the wind was so bad we all staggered sideways as we walked out onto the team, except for Derrick and Bole. They are so big, it was like the wind was no match for them. And only five minutes into the game I was already soaked to my skin and half frozen on my broom. I could hardly see my teammates, let alone the Snitch. The commentary wasn’t to be heard over the winds. My glazes kept getting clouded by the rain and I was glad when we had a short time-out. We were fifty points ahead. Draco complained that his hair was getting too long, that it was sticking to his face and getting in his eyes all the time. He used a small band to tie it at the back, but it kept slipping out. We’ll have to look into a way to keep it out of the way for the next match. I’m sure Daphne will be able to help with that.

For my glasses, Miles knew a nice trick. He used Impervius on them so they would repel water. And then we were off again. It was still cold and wet, but at least I could see more. Lighting started to strike around us, and I was desperate to find the Snitch and be able to go back to the castle and crawl into a warm bed together with Draco. And then I saw it, the Grim. It was sitting at the topmost row of the stands. It freaked me out a little and I almost slipped off my broom. When I looked back up the dog was gone and I had to race towards the snitch, that was hovering in the space between me and Diggory. I zoomed towards the snitch and then the entire stadium went silent. I was like I was suddenly deaf. And then a cold swept over me, inside me. When I looked down there were at least a hundred Dementors beneath me. And then I heard the screaming again. It was a woman, pleading: ‘Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry! Take me, kill me instead.’

The next thing I know is waking up here in the hospital wing, Draco next to me, his trembling hand in mine. Marcus, Adrian en Miles from the team were also there, just like Hermione, Blaise, Greg and Daphne. I fainted again and had fallen to the ground. If the headmaster hadn’t slowed down my fall I might have died. Draco won’t leave my side at the moment. Even Madam Pomfrey has given up on trying to make him leave. He slept here with me last night. He had another nightmare about me dying. He’s really shaken up. I haven’t told him that I also saw the Grim, I think it would only upset him more.

And on top off all that, we also lost the game. Diggory had caught the snitch just after I fell. He hadn’t realised what happened and tried to call it off. He even suggested a rematch, but everyone agrees that they won fair and square. It’s why Marcus is a bit upset with me right now, and apparently with Terence.

Hermione said that Headmaster Dumbledore was really angry, furious even that the Dementors had come onto the grounds. He had slowed my fall and then magicked me onto a stretcher and walked me up to the school. Draco had run after him, just like Hermione, Blaise, Greg and Daphne. Greg said they were afraid they had to comfort Draco because they thought I was dead. His voice trailed off a little and I just squeezed Draco’s hand to comfort him.

I’m fine by the way. Madam Pomfrey said I’ll be allowed to leave before dinner tonight. I didn’t break anything or got hurt, I just fainted. The only reason I had to stay overnight is that Madam Pomfrey is worried about me since this is the second time I passed out because of the Dementors.

And today I found out that my broom is dead. Marcus came by this morning to check if I was okay, and to make sure we were both well enough to start training again on Tuesday. He went on and on about who has to lose and win games and with what kind of scores so we could still win the cup. And then he asked me if I would be able to buy a new broom. Both I and Draco looked at him confused. I hadn’t thought about my broom at all. But it seems the wind had blown it into the Whomping Willow and now it’s just a dozen bits of splintered wood and twigs. It’s like losing a very good friend. I loved flying on my Nimbus 2001.

But on more fun subjects, Defence Against the Dark Arts is quickly turning into my favourite subject. Professor Lupin is a very good teacher. We’ve studied Red Caps (little goblin-like creatures that lurk wherever there has been bloodshed) and Kappas (creepy water-dwellers that look like scaly monkeys) so far. Draco is a little bit shy in the class ever since the Bogart incident, but none of the Gryffindors says a word about it. I think Ron and Neville told them not to, I haven’t really asked them. We don’t see them that much lately, only in class. Ron and Hermione are not getting along anymore. I asked Hermione, and she just said that Ron is a stupid moron. Draco thinks she still loves him and that she wants him to take the first step, but Ron is clueless, so he doesn’t get that Hermione wants to be his girlfriend again. And their pets seem to be on a warpath too. Seamus said that a couple of weeks ago Crookshanks had jumped Scrabbers again. And when Brown got the news that her pet died, it even made Ron and Hermione fight a little until Professor McGonagall opened the door to her classroom and we could go in.

Professor Snape has been in a foul mood, we think it’s because of Neville his Bogart taking Snape’s shape and then getting dressed in Neville’s grandmother's clothes. The story has been circling the castle all month. And whenever anyone in his vicinity says Professor Lupin’s name Snape his eyes flash menacingly at them. I feel sorry for the Gryffindors in his class. Professor Snape is ducking them points all the time. I’m glad I have Draco helping me with my potions and all, otherwise, I’m sure he would be yelling at me all the time too. Neville is really having a hard time.

Hagrid has lost all his confidence when it comes to teaching. After the incident with Buckbeak, we’ve only learnt about Flobberworms. And let me tell you, those are the most boring creatures in existence. It’s really sad to see, and Nott and Crabbe like to point out all the time how crappy Hagrid is at teaching. Draco almost got into a fight with them last week. If Blaise and I hadn’t pulled him back to the castle I’m sure he would have been suspended to play Quidditch and that would make our loss even worse since Draco had scored all of the points we got that game.

Draco and I had a fight. About a week ago, a notice went up to announce the first Hogsmeade weekend for this coming Halloween. Draco wants to stay in the castle with me, and I told him not to be stupid and go with our friends and enjoy the day away. He thinks it won’t be any fun without me. And to be honest, I would like him to stay behind with me. I hate Halloween. I’m sure you understand why. But I don’t want to take away this experience from Draco. He deserves to have fun with Blaise, Greg, Daphne and Hermione. We didn’t agree on anything, just yelled at each other and then both sat on different sides of the common room until it was time for bed. For a little while, I was afraid Draco won’t come to sleep in my bed, but after a couple of minutes, he came anyway. He said he was sorry and that he loves me. I told him I was sorry too.

I know Draco isn’t feeling all that great. The Bogart thing freaked him out, he hates that everyone now knows what his biggest fear is. Also, it turns out that his father has filed a complaint against Hagrid with the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. All because of the silly accident during his lesson. Draco is fine, he was released from the hospital wing after only an hour and his arm is fine. You can’t even see where Buckbeak hit him. I told Miss Davis this, said that I was worried about him. But she just wants to talk about me, and how I’m dealing with lessons and stuff. I’m not sure why I still need to go there, I’m good. I’m happy and I don’t want to hurt myself anymore. Okay, I’m a bit sad that I lost my very first Quidditch match, but I’m fine. I really am and it would be so much more productive when I can use my free period to do some homework. It will make more free time I can spend with Draco on a sofa or bed, snuggling him. It’s something we do a lot when were alone. It’s the best past time in the world. I think I’ll go and snuggle a little just now.

Love you both,

Harry James Potter.

#letters to my parents #drarry #Harry Potter #Draco Malfoy #harry in slytherin #quidditch #dementors #AlindasStories

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purpleshellsforyou · 5 years

Text

The Room

Daddy Jefferson

Part 5 of 7

Original writer (@yrs-forevr) version here!

TW: Period-typical Sexism (ish)

AN: My dumb ass forgot I already wrote this.

Time: Hamiltime

Word Count: 1777

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5- you're here!| 6 | E

Thomas Jefferson x Reader

Letters from Alexander Hamilton had been coming in every day now, insisting that Thomas consider supporting his debt plan. He wasn’t exactly thrilled to see the multitude of papers arriving at his office but it was Hamilton, so he had come to expect it. Jefferson didn’t reply often, but that never stopped Alexander from continuing on the warpath of spreading his argumentative opinions.

The best part of Thomas’s week was when Asher ran into his office every Thursday to tell him that lunch was ready. Today the two-year-old practically bounded into the room, his face lighting up at the sight of his somewhat-adoptive father. The paperwork had never been filled out to make him a legal guardian, but he fathered him as if he had.

Asher was wearing a little blue coat that almost ran to his ankles. The color of the fabric was barely lighter than his blue-gray eyes. He was always so happy around this time of day. Y/N, Asher, and Thomas always visited the graveyard on Thursdays with a picnic lunch. Of course, the young boy didn’t really understand death yet, but he knew who his father was and why he could never come and visit. All he really recognized was that he got to spend some time eating outside with his family.

“Daddy, come on! Mamma says that it’s time to go!”

“I’ll be right there, Ash.”

“Okay! Momma helped me write a letter to Papa today! She said that if we leave it in front of the rock door, then he could read it.”

He had a goofy grin on his face that could only stay with innocence. It took everything in Jefferson not to jump up from the desk and lift Ash up in the air, playing and giggling as they went to go to lunch. Growing up in a big family, Thomas never felt alone amongst his siblings. He wanted Asher to feel the same sense of family, an assurance that he would never be alone. The Jefferson siblings, specifically his brother, visited on occasion, but never stayed long. None of them approved of his choice to live with an unmarried woman and her son. None of their critiques were worse than those in his own head.

He’s not even your son, really. You wouldn’t be a good father anyway. Think of all the women you used. If it didn’t happen then, it wasn’t meant to happen. Give it up, you’ll never be a good father, let alone a good husband.

He shook off his thoughts, faking a smile as he playfully shooed the boy from the room, promising to be down in a minute. He turned his attention to the last page he told himself he would finish before the picnic. The ink in his quill felt thinner than it was before the welcome interruption. His older brother’s words echoed in his mind:

Don’t fool yourself. You’ve grown up strong. Get power, and the happiness will follow. Men don’t love, Thomas. They take.

“I will discuss it with Madison, but I cannot make you any promises, Alexander. As amusing as it is to see you beg before me like a lost dog, I cannot set aside my values, nor can I speak for James.”

“This debt plan must be passed, Jefferson. This country needs it passed.”

“You always want everything to go through. Sorry, Washington isn’t going out of his way to make sure you get everything you want.”

Thomas stepped back through the front doorway, making a move like he was about to shut the door on Hamilton. He was truly feeling desperate to come and ask Thomas Jefferson for help. It wasn’t a question of ‘if’, but one of ‘how far are you willing to go?’.

“Wait.”

“What?” the democratic-republican snapped.

“What if you got something out of it?”

Thomas sneered back at the man: “I’m not the one that needs something out of it.”

“We can negotiate something. Something that can help the Southern states.”

“The South doesn’t need your hel-

“Please.”

Jefferson paused, thinking about what he and Y/N had been teaching Asher the previous night. Although you may not agree with everyone, listening and being polite can be the most important part to changing their mind. Breathing in through his clenched teeth, Thomas seethed:

“Come over Sunday night at 5 pm. We can talk then.”

Hamilton smirked and nodded before he turned back to his carriage. Jefferson rolled his eyes and slowly let out a full breath, finally closing the door. This wasn’t going to be fun. Now he had to go see Madison and, more importantly, he hated bringing work home. His house was, with the exception of his office, somewhere that he didn’t have to be a politician.

Sunday dragged along as a fury of angry conversation wracked the halls of the Jefferson residence. James had agreed to join Thomas for dinner, but he knew something was wrong when he was the only one to show up at the front door. When Thomas ushered him inside and explained the situation, there was nothing stopping the bickering.

It was unusual for Thomas to request that Y/N not speak with him, but it was painfully clear that he didn’t want to prevent her or Asher from joining him in the first place. It was all too likely that whatever was to be exchanged was not going to be appropriate for Asher to hear in the first place. It was decided that they would all go out together the next day to make up for the evening and, with any stroke of luck, celebrate.

Y/N had taken her less than enthusiastic son upstairs, promising mac and cheese to encourage him to come upstairs. He bounded up alongside her, but not before turning around to wave at Thomas as he turned the corner.

Place cards had been set around an old oak table and courses for the meeting had been determined- all standard for political gatherings. However unconventional it may be, Jefferson tried to set things in a good light by separating his home life from the shared political discourse.

James was still grumbling his disdain for the meeting as Alexander arrive. As the three politicians made their way to the dining room, they attempted to discreetly size one another up. The air, an intoxicating mixture of parchment and cheese, hung heavily over them lazily. The first course has been set out on the table for their arrival. Every movement from the men was strategic, a test of where the power in the room was held. As the dining room doors thumped closed behind them, the atmosphere only grew more stiflingly uncomfortable.

It was an hour later when a side door into the room creaked open. The pitter patter of small feet entered, unaware of what they had just interrupted. The politicians paused their conversation, looking up from the documents they were assessing to see the two-year-old hop up onto a chair and reach for the bowl of mac n’ cheese.

Jefferson was the first to break the silence.

“Asher, what are you doing down here? Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

The boy looked up, some cheese sauce stuck around his mouth.

“Mama fell asweep.”

“She fell asleep?”

“Mmh Hmm. She was reading the book you made again, but she stopped and went to sweep. I know because she’s breathing loud again.”

Hamilton glanced to Madison, wondering what his take on this was. If he expected a reaction from James, he didn’t get much of one. All he really looked like was a man trying to hold in a cough.

“Alright, little soldier. Let’s get you to bed. You need to have lots of dreams so you have energy for all the fun we’re going to have tomorrow with your mom.”

Asher’s eyes lit up with excitement and happily took Thomas’s hand to lead him upstairs.

Alexander looked like someone had slapped him in the face. James turned his focus to Hamilton, seemingly unaffected by Asher’s appearance.

“For your debt plan to have the slightest hope of passing-”

“I didn’t know he could act so fatherly.”

Unsure of what to say, Madison pulled out his handkerchief and quietly coughed a few times. He had seen Thomas with Asher several times, taking him to see his office or meet new people when Y/N needed a little time to herself. Alexander still appeared to be tripping on his tongue, clearly thinking out what he wanted to say next. He opened his mouth several times before deciding to say;

“I thought Jefferson was more of a… um… catch-and-release type guy.”

“He was.”

“He isn’t now?”

James smiled cryptically before he answered “If I would have once called him a player in the game of lust, I would now say that he has traded his spades for hearts.”

“I never considered Jefferson one to fall for love.”

Hamilton looked perplexed and somewhat calmer, but Madison was clearly displeased with his comment. There was no mistaking the subtle venom in his voice as he quipped “Many would say the same of you, Alexander. Greed and lust leave a man far more vulnerable than love ever could. Although he may not be the man you thought you knew, he is a better father than you imagined him to be. All he is doing is trying to be there for a boy without a father, a position he has filled wholeheartedly.”

For the first time since the beginning of the meeting, the dining room was completely silent.

When Thomas found Y/N sitting on the rocking chair, he couldn’t help but grin at the small gray blanket that had been placed somewhat haphazardly over her legs and part of her abdomen. The person that tried to put it over her had clearly not been tall enough to reach, despite being on his tiptoes.

When Asher tugged at his hand questioningly, he focused his attention on getting him to go to sleep. Jefferson made sure to brush the little boy’s teeth- he had eaten again after all -and put his favorite stuffed animal in the bed with him. As Asher finally fell asleep, Thomas went back over to Y/N.

She was sleeping so peacefully. It was rare that she got to sleep early, so Thomas took great care not to disturb her as he lifted her up into his arms and carried her across the hall. Y/N was in her nightclothes already, and he just slipped her into her own bed and closed the door behind him as he left, choosing not to acknowledge the warm feeling in his chest as he did so.

#thomas jefferson #thomas jefferson x reader #hamilton #hamilton: an american musical #daddy jefferson

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nancywheelxr · 5 years

Note

Can u make part 3 of ur zari x Charlie fic?

Hey there, Anon! Sorry, this took so long, but I finally finished this! I hope you like it!

Charlie is on a warpath.

She is going to kill Constantine and his stupid theories. She is going to break his neck and it will be the most satisfying thing she’s ever done. Who the hell does he think he is to go around telling people Charlie is wooing anyone? Any sort of wooing on her part is none of the other legends’ business.

So yeah, murdering Constantine is the only way.

“You bastard,” she hisses, because a murder should never start with a shriek from the killer. Stealth is of the essence. “You absolute arsehole! You told Ray?”

“You sound a little stressed there, love,” the soon-to-be-dead comments, looking completely unbothered on his armchair. Charlie doesn’t know when the library became their official drinking room, but the perpetually half-full bottle of Scotch is still there, in someone’s hands, every time she passes by. “New York was not as nice as they made it out to be?”

“No, no, no,” Charlie steps inside, closing the doors behind her, “don’t you start with that crap. Ray told me you’ve been gossiping around the ship like two little girls.”

The bottle clinks when John sets it heavily on the table. “He’s not very good at keeping secrets, is he?”

“I’m going to kill you,” Charlie states matter-of-factly, diving for his throat, but because Constantine has been drinking harder liquors for longer than he’s been aware of the paranormal, he’s got no problem ducking out of the way, trenchcoat and all.

“Before you do that,” he says, circling the table, putting it between them, and picking up the bottle. He takes a swing from it, grimacing as he swallows, then gestures towards the door with it, “I think you’ve got yourself a visitor.”

Against her better judgment, it’s reflex to whip her head around and look where he’s pointing and–

Well shit.

“Am I interrupting something?” Zari asks with an amused smile on her face and a fond look on her eyes. She steps aside to let Constantine through, eyebrows raised as he hastily exits the room.

He stops a few feet away, raising the bottle in salute, “Not at all, pet. I’ll let you two ladies talk, then, be on my way. Cheers!” And scurries away with the alcohol.

“I’d ask what that was all about,” Zari says, snorting, “but I’m sure he gives everyone at least ten reasons to punch him in the face before breakfast every day.”

“You’re not wrong,” Charlie knocks back Constantine’s forgotten glass, thankful as it burns down her throat. She’d like for a lot more than a glass, but beggars can’t be choosers and a little alcohol is better than stone cold sober; placebo effect is all she’s asking for at this point. “But what brings you here? One of those ten reasons?”

Zari doesn’t sit down, choosing to stay standing near the door, and her hands twitch everytime the clock ticks another second or so. “No, I was looking for you, actually.”

“Oh. Here I am, then,” she gives her a sharp grin, bowing down with a flourish, “what can I do for you, love?”

“It’s more like what you already did,” Zari takes one step closer, stops. The amulet on her necklace glints in the light, catching the fluorescent white and reflecting off red. It suits her in a way no other jewel ever could, Charlie thinks. “I had an interesting chat with Ray this morning. About a mysterious game that appeared on my room a few days ago.”

“Oh, bollocks,” Charlie kicks one of the armchairs because even she knows she can’t kick Ray’s stupid face. And it gives her an excuse not to look directly at Zari; it’s not rejection if she never hears the words or sees the pity in her eyes, right? “He really can’t keep his bloody mouth shut.”

“Yeah, secrets are really not his thing,” she laughs, but it’s a quick, muted thing, sinking on the space between them, heavy and crackling with electricity. Charlie feels it tingling on the tip of her fingers, itching to reach for– something, everything. Zari. “Thank you, by the way. For the video game. And the dishes. And listening to my drunk stories. And convincing Mick not to leave beer bottles in the hallways.”

The Waverider is anchored on the timestream, away from any gravitational pull, but Charlie still feels as if the whole world is spinning and she’s holding on for dear life not to be thrown off into space. “It was cheap enough when I bought it. And probably stolen,” she shrugs, leaning back against the table. It helps ground her, remind her this is real, this is happening. God knows Hell played enough tricks to make her wary. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, alright? Just a sorry I got you turned into a cat gift.”

“Charlie,” Zari says her name and she makes it sounds real. She makes it sound like this body, this skin, this life can be Charlie’s; it sounds as if you were to strip Charlie down to whatever passes as her soul, this is what you’d find. It makes her feel real. “What are you so afraid of? Every time, you keep playing it down. I thought you were done running?”

“What? What do you want me to say, Zee?” Charlie snaps, feeling stretched thin over her bones, and lashing out when her back hits the wall is a muscle memory impossible to unlearn. “That you’ve been driving me crazy? That I can’t get you out of my head? That I’ve done the stupidest thing I could’ve ever done and fallen in love with you? Is that what you want to hear?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly it,” Zari doesn’t give her time to process anything, crossing the few feet between them in a flash of a second, and pressing their lips together. She kisses Charlie and Charlie can’t be dreaming right now, because her dreams never feel this good.

Charlie’s living proof you don’t always only live once, no, she’s lived through dozens of lives all over the globe. Even so, if they’re really right when they say home is where your heart is, then Charlie would have to say Zari is the closest thing to it she’ll ever get.

#look an ask #charlie #zari tomaz #zarlie #charlie x zari #lot #legends of tomorrow #finally it's the final part!#heaven is a place on earth with you

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purpleshellsaremyfavorite · 5 years

Text

The Room

Daddy Jefferson

Part 5 of 7

Jay (@yrs-forevr) x Thomas Jefferson

Reader insert version here!!

TW: Period-typical Sexism (ish)

Time: Hamiltime

Word Count: 1777

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5- you're here!| 6 | E

Asher was wearing a little blue coat that almost ran to his ankles. The color of the fabric was barely lighter than his blue-gray eyes. He was always so happy around this time of day. Jay, Asher, and Thomas always visited the graveyard on Thursdays with a picnic lunch. Of course, the young boy didn’t really understand death yet, but he knew who his father was and why he could never come and visit. All he really recognized was that he got to spend some time eating outside with his family.

“Daddy, come on! Mamma says that it’s time to go!”

“I’ll be right there, Ash.”

“Okay! Momma helped me write a letter to Papa today! She said that if we leave it in front of the rock door, then he could read it.”

Don’t fool yourself. You’ve grown up strong. Get power, and the happiness will follow. Men don’t love, Thomas. They take.

“This debt plan must be passed, Jefferson. This country needs it passed.”

“You always want everything to go through. Sorry, Washington isn’t going out of his way to make sure you get everything you want.”

“Wait.”

“What?” the democratic-republican snapped.

“What if you got something out of it?”

Thomas sneered back at the man: “I’m not the one that needs something out of it.”

“We can negotiate something. Something that can help the Southern states.”

“The South doesn’t need your hel-

“Please.”

Jefferson paused, thinking about what he and Jay had been teaching Asher the previous night. Although you may not agree with everyone, listening and being polite can be the most important part to changing their mind. Breathing in through his clenched teeth, Thomas seethed:

“Come over Sunday night at 5 pm. We can talk then.”

It was unusual for Thomas to request that Jay not speak with him, but it was painfully clear that he didn’t want to prevent her or Asher from joining him in the first place. It was all too likely that whatever was to be exchanged was not going to be appropriate for Asher to hear in the first place. It was decided that they would all go out together the next day to make up for the evening and, with any stroke of luck, celebrate.

Jay had taken her less than enthusiastic son upstairs, promising mac and cheese to encourage him to come upstairs. He bounded up alongside her, but not before turning around to wave at Thomas as he turned the corner.

Jefferson was the first to break the silence.

“Asher, what are you doing down here? Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

The boy looked up, some cheese sauce stuck around his mouth.

“Mama fell asweep.”

“She fell asleep?”

“Mmh Hmm. She was reading the book you made again, but she stopped and went to sweep. I know because she’s breathing loud again.”

Hamilton glanced to Madison, wondering what his take on this was. If he expected a reaction from James, he didn’t get much of one. All he really looked like was a man trying to hold in a cough.

“Alright, little soldier. Let’s get you to bed. You need to have lots of dreams so you have energy for all the fun we’re going to have tomorrow with your mom.”

Asher’s eyes lit up with excitement and happily took Thomas’s hand to lead him upstairs.

Alexander looked like someone had slapped him in the face. James turned his focus to Hamilton, seemingly unaffected by Asher’s appearance.

“For your debt plan to have the slightest hope of passing-”

“I didn’t know he could act so fatherly.”

Unsure of what to say, Madison pulled out his handkerchief and quietly coughed a few times. He had seen Thomas with Asher several times, taking him to see his office or meet new people when Jay needed a little time to herself. Alexander still appeared to be tripping on his tongue, clearly thinking out what he wanted to say next. He opened his mouth several times before deciding to say;

“I thought Jefferson was more of a… um… catch-and-release type guy.”

“He was.”

“He isn’t now?”

James smiled cryptically before he answered, “If I would have once called him a player in the game of lust, I would now say that he has traded his spades for hearts.”

“I never considered Jefferson one to fall for love.”

For the first time since the beginning of the meeting, the dining room was completely silent.

When Thomas found Jay sitting on the rocking chair, he couldn’t help but grin at the small gray blanket that had been placed somewhat haphazardly over her legs and part of her abdomen. The person that tried to put it over her had clearly not been tall enough to reach, despite being on his tiptoes.

She was sleeping so peacefully. It was rare that she got to sleep early, so Thomas took great care not to disturb her as he lifted her up into his arms and carried her across the hall. Jay was in her nightclothes already, and he just slipped her into her own bed and closed the door behind him as he left, choosing not to acknowledge the warm feeling in his chest as he did so.

#Jay x Thomas Jefferson #daddy jefferson

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