#i’ve been awake so long that my mom’s first alarm to get up for work just went off. someone just put me down so i can get some rest.

[flippedorbit]

:{

#Rasp Rambles #i’ve been trying to sleep for several hours now but i’ve had the fucking Tom Cardy Human Centipede song stuck in my head the entire time #and now my right knee has decided its time to amp up the pain i randomly feel at the absolute worst times #sure do love random pain in my fucking legs. you fuckers have no reason to hurt!!! god. #that reminds me of sunday when i went costume shopping with my mom and sister and then grocery shopping after and my leg decided it #fucking hated me and i had to try not to use it much and also not limp. random bursts of increasingly worse pains in my legs ranging from #my hips my ankles sure is fun (sarcasm). #i’ve been awake so long that my mom’s first alarm to get up for work just went off. someone just put me down so i can get some rest. #i have to get up in almost two hours i am going to be very bitchy today

[allinestarr]

Competitive Part 6

Alec Lightwood x Fem reader

You watched in horror as Valentine held the mortal cup triumphantly in the air while your friends dead bodies surrounded you. A sharp pain from behind had you fall to your knees and when you looked up, Maziken was smirking down at you. Your vision blurred and you struggled to stay conscious as he kneeled down and whispered into your ear, “ I told you I had plans. To bad you won’t be around to see them through.”. You jolted yourself awake and as you tried to get up, you couldn't move. In a panic you looked around just to see you’re in an unfamiliar room but you weren't alone. The figure of a man sitting across the room alarmed you but the smell of cedar and leather confirmed who it was, Alec.

Alec POV- 4 hours ago

She walked past me and her eyes lingered for a couple seconds and it’s like I’ve seen a ghost. Those eyes… I’ve seen them before. But it can’t be...Y/n?. I have to find out. I noticed Izzy’s reaction and knew she felt the same. As soon as she left and we stepped outside I looked at Izzy with the same question in mind.

“ Did you see it?”

Clary and Jace didn’t understand but Izzy did and nodded.

“ What are you guys talking about?” Jace asked.

“ That woman.. there’s something familiar about her.”

Jace and Clary were still confused.

“ You’re right. She’s hiding something. When she shook my hand I felt a weird spark crawl up my arm. I think we should find her and get some answers cause I can’t help the feeling that she knows something about Y/n. This is the first real lead we’ve had in a long time and I’m not letting it slip. Let’s go before we lose sight of her.”

Everyone agreed and we began tracking her down. We lost track of her for a little bit, but caught up when she was about to cross past an alleyway. Izzy ran up to her first and pushed her into the ally.

“I won’t ask again. Who are you!?.”

Before she could answer the strangest thing happened. Her skin glowed and her appearance shifted from this women we’ve never seen, to Y/n. My heart beat so fast and a feeling of relief passed through me. I never realized how her presence affected me and how I’ve actually…missed her. Truth be told, since she’s been gone nothing has been the same. Everything seems more quieter and dull…No!, I can’t do this right now!. Just as she was about to collapse I ran to her side and held her up against me.

“Y/n?” I whispered.

She was unconscious but still held a strong pulse. Now comes the hard part, what do we do?. I looked over to Izzy as she was wiping away tears from her face. Clearing her throat she said,

“ We need to take her to Magnus. He’s the only one who will know what to do.”

A phone call later we were rushing over to Magnus’s place. He said the only way to purge the elixirs from your system is to give a concentrated dose of an antidote he would prepare. The worst part was it would be painful, perhaps even worse then when he searched through your memories. The thought of you in pain made me uneasy, but i knew it was a necessary.

When we finally arrived at Magnus’s he directed me to set you down onto the bed while he secured your arms and legs to the frame. When he double checked you were secure he turned toward us and said,

“ No mater how much she screams, do not intervene.”

As he finished his sentence he brought the syringe to your neck and emptied its contents. We watched in anticipation, but nothing happened.

“ Why didn’t it work?.” Izzy asked.

“ I’m not sure. I followed the recipe just as it was written. I’ll have to console with a fellow warlock friend of mine. Stay here but don’t remove the restraints. We still don’t know how she’ll react once she’s awake. I’ll be back in an little bit.”

Magnus portaled off while Jace and Clary headed back to the institute to not raise any suspicion. Ever since the institute has been attacked and Jace and Clary have been going off unsanctioned to look for her mom, the Clave sent over an envoy to oversee everything. There just waiting for a slip up to take control and that can’t happen. If it does, I don’t know if I can protect my family anymore. Izzy was pretty tired so I told her I’ll keep watch till Magnus comes, so she went off into the living room to take a nap. As I stared at Y/n, I couldn’t help but wonder what she's been up to all this time and why she left in the first place. Suddenly her face scrunched in discomfort and I heard a strangled whine as she jolted up in a panic and looked around until her eyes landed on me.

“ Alec..?.”

Present

You stared at each other for a few seconds as he hesitantly got up and walked up to you keeping a few feet of distance. He looked the same as when you last saw him but there was something different about him.

“ Um… why am I tied down?..”

“ We had to make sure you weren’t going to hurt any of us. Last time we saw you, you did promise to kill us if we got in your way.”

“ Oh… right. Well... you don’t have to worry, Im not going to hurt any of you. Would you please take these off me?.”

“ How do I know your telling the truth?. We know what those elixirs did to you but we don’t know if it’s permanent. Magnus injected you with the antidote but there was no reaction.”

“ First of all, I don’t appreciate being injected with whatever snake juice Magnus concocted while I was unconscious and secondly, I stopped taking those elixirs months ago. So, again, please take these off of me.”

Alec hesitated but agreed and removed the restraints. When he was done I decided to lay a little longer and try to reel myself back in after the nightmare I just had. Alec broke the silence and said,

“ Why?. Why would you leave and not say anything?. Do you know what you put me… I mean us through?. We looked everywhere and this whole time you cloaked yourself."

“ I did what I had to do. I was in deep on Valentines trail. I had to leave, they were catching on to me. I couldn’t let you all be used as collateral against me. I wouldn’t forgive myself if anything happened to any of you. My friend cloaked me so none of you could find me but she still knew where I was in case anything happened. I caught wind of Valentine causing havoc in the institute so I came back.”

Alec tilted your chin up to look at him and held onto your face and your heart skipped a beat as you were frozen in place.

“ You should have told us. This wasn’t your burden to bare alone. We’re a team. I can’t say I accept what you did, but there’s more pressing matters at hand right now. Just…. promise you won’t do it again.”

Unable to speak, you nodded your head. He was still holding onto your face but when Izzy cleared her throat he quickly let go. He excused himself and Izzy took his place next to you. Instead of saying anything she just hugged you.

“ I can’t believe it’s really you. I’ve missed you so much. I’ve felt so lost without you. Please don’t ever leave again!.”

“ I won’t I promise. So I assume you heard everything Alec and I said?.”

“ Yea. I also didn’t miss how you were practically frozen while he held your face. Is there something I should know?” Izzy teased.

I smacked her arm playfully and we laughed. God I missed these moments so much. Magnus walked into the room covered in mud holding up a vial but upon seeing you up looking perfectly fine he shook his head in disbelief.

“ Well I guess I tracked through mountains and ruined my favorite pair of ferragamos for nothing. I’ll be sending you my dry cleaning bill.”

You and Izzy laughed as he walked away saying he was going to take a bath. Eventually Izzy and you left the room to go back to the institute with Alec. Jace and Clary greeted you and while you filled them in, you noticed Alec had walked off at some point. Before you could ask them where he went, he was walking toward you. The closer he got you realized he wasn’t alone. A woman walked up to you and held out her hand as she introduced herself.

“ Hi, I’m Lydia Branwell. The Clave sent me to oversee the institute. I’ve heard a lot about you. We have much to talk about but it’s late, It’s best you rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She was charming, that you couldn't deny. But the atmosphere changed once she and Alec walked away so you knew something was up.

" Um, what's going on?."

" Well... she's not just the envoy... She and Alec are engaged."

A sudden tightness washed over your chest and a wave of panic followed. Why were you feeling this way if you and Alec are just friends?. Its not like you ever thought of Alec in that way, but his sudden change toward you had you questioning if there was something there. Either way, you couldn't change the past, only accept the present.

" Well, I hope the best for them. I have to call my friend and let her know I'm back at the institute. Ill see you all in the morning."

You hugged everyone and bid them goodnight. After calling Sookie to catch her up you decided a bath was well needed. When the tub was finally full and warm to your liking, you got in and laid down instantly relaxing. You managed to doze off at some point but was awakened by footsteps in your room. Immediately you were on high alert. You wrapped yourself in a towel and grabbed your knife that was on the sink. Quietly you cracked the door to the bathroom and peeked out. There was someone siting at the edge of your bed.

"Its me."

You instantly knew who it was.

" Alec?. What are you doing here?."

Taglist: @babygirl2022​ @zealouspursecowboydeputy​ @melaniepeep​ @destielshipper88​ @abbiesxox​ @mrs-billyrussooo​

Competitive Masterlist

#the shadowhuter chronicles #shadowhunters #fanfic #alec lightwood x reader #alec lightwood #magnus bane #izzy lightwood #jace herondale #clary fray #clary fairchild #clary frey

[lucyandthepen]

(give me that) can't sleep love | cyj

you’ve been managing yeonjun flawlessly for a few good years now, but there are just some things you can’t keep under control. the obvious solution? a blind date that skews towards the unexpected.

pairing: solo idol!yeonjun x reader rating: T genre: romance warnings: none! like the narrative has a swear word like idk once? word count: 3.5k 

author’s notes: yeah it’s not actually valentine’s day but we write for a completely new fandom because we simply have no restraint !! just kidding, i’ve actually been hoping to extend my writing for other groups, but i haven’t yet because i’m extremely slow and a bit fickle. this is my first time writing for anything txt, but i hope to do so a bit more in the future! 

if you like it, please consider reblogging to help spread the word!

Maybe your mom was right. Maybe the entertainment industry just isn’t for you.

She’d actively warned you against dedicating your time to, well, anything involving the glitz and glam, but you just hadn’t listened. There had been good opportunities, great experiences you’d never get anywhere else. For the most part, your choices had helped that expectation become that reality; you’d met people not just anyone got to meet, and you’d definitely had a substantial amount of unique encounters.

Still, you were aware that the only reason you’d ever gotten the chance to taste a little bit of the high life was because you had Yeonjun on your side. Choi Yeonjun — the rising star of the idol world, with a better career trajectory than the guy who owned Apple, it seemed. His job was the access pass to everything you enjoyed. Unfortunately, your ticket to all the good things was also the key to your prolonged misery.

As his manager, you have a ton of roles to play — logistics coordinator, scheduler, alarm clock, wardrobe checker, and, on one unfortunate incident, last-minute make-up artist when the original girl had been a no-show. You were supposed to be busy at every turn, but Yeonjun on the job was something of a well-oiled machine, learning how to feed himself while you were on the phone and follow the line-up to the letter as long as he was awake enough to do it. It’s possible you could blame him for all the downtime you got that had led to the bulk of the problem.

Actually, you aren’t sure when it started or even how. Maybe it had happened somewhere in the middle of all his showcases and shows, sandwiched between the constant fever of communication and movement. Maybe it had come up in those hectic car rides where you’d spent a ton of time reminding him of what to do and what to expect. Or maybe it had grown with every time you had to wake him up in one of many lonely hotel rooms, with his head half-buried in the pillow to muffle the sleepy groans he’d use to respond to your soft voice.

Whenever it was, all you could be sure of was that you liked him. A lot. Maybe even with the time you’d come to know him, after all these years, a part of you was ready to say you loved him.

But that was the biggest barrier in the job, wasn’t it? Managers are supposed to stop their idols from dating, not want to do it with them. For the most part, you’ve been successful in holding yourself back from doing something stupid, which is technically the bare minimum for you. These days, though, you aren’t sure what it is; maybe you’re just on edge from all the work in this year’s promotional stint, and that kind of contributes to a weakened mentality, or some kind of wack explanation like that, but you find yourself more often losing your train of thought when you’re with him. Even without detailing the specifics to your friends and co-workers, they’ve noticed something was bothering you. They’d urged you to relieve yourself of your duties a little, maybe hire a co-manager to do all the menial stuff, but you know that’s not really the issue. Only one person — Sunyoung, Yeonjun’s wardrobe stylist — had managed to hit the nail on the head semi-accurately.  

“Look, I get it,” she’d said one evening, after she’d shooed Yeonjun out of the dressing room so he could strap on his in-ear piece and prepare for the stage. You were supposed to be running around like a headless chicken, making sure everything was in check, but you were just slumped on the couch in the dressing room playing some dumb shark game your nephew had downloaded onto your phone. “You’re tired. You’re lonely. You can’t even go out for a cup of coffee without worrying about Yeonjun. But he’s fine. You can relax a little.”

“I’m totally relaxed,” you’d mumbled, watching your shark devour a poor surfer on your screen. “I’m fine.”

“Then you should get out more. Leave all of this behind and meet new people. Go on a date. Listen,” she’d covered your phone with her palm, and you heard the telltale music of your game coming to a bitter end. “Do something fun. Go on a date, seriously. I can set you up. It doesn’t even have to be anything serious, ____________! Just do something not work-related for once next week, and get this toxicity or whatever out of your system.”

You didn’t have the heart to say no or the courage to admit that nothing really would happen if that date wasn’t with Yeonjun, considering how far gone you were, so you’d just agreed.

Sunyoung had set you up for a Valentine’s Day date. Ironically, while the point was supposedly to get your mind off of Yeonjun on that day, he had a scheduled fan sign in Sinchon that you couldn’t miss out on. You had to pack an extra set of nicer clothes and a make-up bag that Yeonjun had eyed questioningly but silently as you’d entered the van.

“So how long is this fan sign?” He’d asked instead, immediately turning his attention to his phone the moment the van had started moving.

“Until six.”

“Then I don’t have another schedule, right?”

“No.” You don’t really ask why he’s curious; Yeonjun enjoys his personal time, as any celebrity does. “You’re free after. The van can take you home, or wherever else you need to be.”

He’d hummed appreciatively, fixated on his phone, and the rest of the ride is consumed in silence until you’d arrive at the venue.  

Yeonjun is whisked immediately into hair and make-up, and Sunyoung emerges from his dressing tent a few moments after he disappears inside, portable clothes steamer in hand. “Hey; did you get my text?”

You shake your head; you’d spent the car ride irresponsibly ignoring your phone, opting to gnaw on one of your nails instead.  

“I sent you the details of a reservation slot in this nice Italian place near Dongdaemun. Just drop my name and they’ll lead you to the table.”

“Look, I don’t really know if I want to do this,” you mumble sheepishly. “Blind dating isn’t my speed.”  

“Just go. It’ll be fine. If you don’t like him, you don’t like him. Just give it a shot. If all else fails, just enjoy the pasta,” she’d said with finality, bopping the nozzle of the steamer on your shoulder as she walks away.  

Yeonjun is out of the dressing room in twenty minutes, and even then, you’re not sure why it takes that long. You’ve consistently held the belief that Yeonjun doesn’t need make-up to look good, and you can hardly tell when he has it on, anyway. Still, it’s nice to see his stylist pushing his hair up into a neat, tiny quiff, and he’s changed from his standard white tee and jeans to something that resembles a casual suit. You guessed they did it for Valentine’s Day — emulating the coveted boyfriend look, and all that.  

“How do I look?” He asks you, right before you lead him onstage. His eyes follow your hand as you fix the front of his jacket quickly.  

“Great,” you reply. “As usual.”

“So until six, right?” His mouth is lifting into a grin that you can’t really understand.  

“Until six,” you confirm, now a little curious. “You got somewhere to be?”  

“Not sure,” he looks down at you enigmatically. “It’s my off time, so we’ll see what happens.”  

“Don’t do anything stupid,” you warn him, even though there’s no heat in your words. You know he’s not dumb enough to gallivant around doing things that will get him on Dispatch’s radar.  

He just laughs, giving you a small wink before he hops onstage, taking two steps at a time. The voices around you are drowned out by the screams that ensue once his fans see him.  

From then on, it’s just the same pattern for the next two hours — you, standing on one corner of the stage beside a guy from security, watching hundreds of girls in a line titter and scream and fall to their knees in front of the table where Yeonjun is seated at. They’ve all got albums in their hands, offering them to him reverently for a signature, and he takes them all good-naturedly, scrawling his name and some short, practically unreadable message somewhere around it while chatting with them about food he likes and what movies he’s into these days.  

Since it’s Valentine’s Day, a ton of girls come with romantic gifts — flowers, chocolates, goodies baskets. One girl even brings a large teddy bear, plopping it down in front of him unceremoniously and scaring Yeonjun into accidentally miswriting his signature. You and the rest of his management team aren’t really strict about prohibiting gifts, but Yeonjun refuses all of them — nicely, of course, but to the disappointment of many fans. Every time he says no, he glances at you, like he’s worried you’re going to tell him off if he says yes. You’d wondered once before if he was just trying to pin the blame on you, but you know he’s not cruel like that. Today doesn’t make a difference; he rejects people with apologetic looks as he gives their albums back, and you can see their dejection as they trod off the stage. The teddy bear girl had left the toy by the stairs in her disappointment.  

Yeonjun starts his closing ment at a quarter to six, and you tap the security guy next to you to remind him to bring him straight backstage after he’s finished before dashing off and ducking into the dressing room to change. You hear deafening cheers coupled with Yeonjun’s cute little goodbye! that signal the end of the fan sign, and you’ve just finished combing your hair back when Yeonjun walks in, idly patting his hair to see if everything is still in place.

“You look nice,” he observes casually, shrugging off his jacket. You try to avoid looking at him, even if his shoulders are so impossibly broad that you can’t really ever keep them out of your peripheral vision. “Do you have plans?”  

“As a matter of fact, I do,” you admit, unsure as to why you feel so guilty for saying so. You’re not dating, you have to remind yourself. And you’re allowed to go out after work.

“Meeting someone special?”  

“I’m not sure. Could be. I don’t know who I’m meeting, if I’m being honest.”  

His expression is unreadable; his fingers are twirling his marker in quick, hypnotizing circles.  

“Well, have fun,” he finally says, moving to hang his jacket on the back of a chair. “You should take the subway or something. Rush hour, and all that.”  

“Thanks for the tip.” His words sound pretty dismissive, but you’re not sure why you don’t just leave right away. Maybe you’re expecting him to say something, although it’s really more about what you wish he would rather than what he reasonably would, and he just continues to stare quietly, still toying with the Sharpie. “If you… need anything, just call. You know?”  

“I know,” he replies simply. “But I won’t bother you on a date. That’s just plain rude.”

“I’ll still answer. You know you’re more important than a blind date.”  

“Am I?” He looks amused. “Sounds like you take this job too seriously. Don’t worry about me. I’ll probably just go home after all. There’s a wildlife documentary I’m dying to catch.”  

You’re pretty sure you hadn’t meant the job, but you don’t correct him considering how that would out you. “Okay. See you bright and early tomorrow. Remember you’ve got a radio interview at nine, so can you please not stop by Starbucks before you go home? Please?”  

“Sure, sure,” he waves you and your nagging off, and you bolt out of the door, feeling kind of stupid and a little flushed.  

You take Yeonjun’s advice and get on the subway, except the first two trains Dongdaemun-bound are full to the brim and you have to squeeze yourself into the car of the third train by elbowing a couple of annoying teenage boys. The other problem you run into is that the train station exits are a fair way away from your destination, and you aren’t used to running in heels. You clip-clop your way down the sidewalk and hit every red light for the pedestrian crossings, much to your ire. At one point, you stop in the middle of the crossing and consider just storming back to the opposite end of the road and going home, but the subway station is too far away for that choice to make sense at that point anyway.  

By the time you get to the restaurant, you’re about fifteen minutes late and have to sit on the chairs for walk-in customers to give your feet a break. The guy at the front of the house has the decency to wait for you to catch your breath and even quietly point out that a lock of hair is stuck to your lip gloss before he asks if you have a reservation.  

You nervously pick at your dress and comb the ends of your hair as you follow him. You notice someone is already seated at the table, back to you and looking over the menu. You think about all the things that you want to say — sorry for being late, have you been waiting long?, I totally understand if you want to just leave — but there’s a weird nagging in the back of your mind that grows as you approach the table.  

Maybe Sunyoung had known you had a type, so to speak —lean, sharp, nicely dressed. Technically, that wasn’t such a difficult set of characteristics to find, but the fact that they were all rolled up into one package seated at your table, so similar to the guy you’ve pinned as ideal, was just kind of spooky. Even the fact that your blind date was laughing to himself at God knows what, alongside the fact that the way his angular shoulders moved up and down comically the way his would, isjust weird.

That, or…  

All thoughts of apologizing fly out the window once you reach the table. All you can do is stare, your ears ringing and your fingers clutching your wallet tightly. Your mind has completely disconnected from reality, and the first thing that tumbles out of your mouth is loud and a little crude.  

“Literally, what the hell?”  

All the guy at your table can do is laugh harder, clearly because he’s Lee Freaking Yeonjun, and he’s finding this situation sidesplittingly hilarious.  

“Yeonjun,” you hiss, your hand flying up and curling into a fist in an attempt to restrain yourself from grabbing him by the collar. “What are you doing here?”  

It takes him another half-minute to sober down, and he’s still chuckling a little as he answers. “Waiting for my date, obviously.”  

“Explain,” you demand, pointedly ignoring the looks couples from another table are giving you.

“Okay, but you have to sit down first,” he motions to the seat across from him. You pull it back and plop down onto it, gaze unwavering. He pauses, kind of dramatically, before continuing. “So there’s a set course meal, but I know you don’t like shellfish, so I thought—”

“I don’t want an explanation of the menu!” You shut your eyes, trying to block out the scene for a second. This can’t be happening. It makes no sense. “I want to know — wait, is this a prank?” 

“What? No, of course not.”  

“How are you here?”  

“I took the van here,” he says, once again elusive. “I actually thought you’d get here before me, but then I realized you probably had to walk a long way. Sorry.” He has the decency to look sheepish at this point.

“Why are you here?”

“I’m on a date?” He shakes his head. “What’s not clicking, ____________?”

“Don’t sass me. Please. Do me that one courtesy, if nothing else.” He watches you down your water in one go, still looking politely amused. “Did Sunyoung put you up to this?”  

“Actually, I asked her to rope you in.”

“Because?”  

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” He looks incredulous. “Because I like you. I thought that was kind of obvious from the get-go.”

Nothing is making sense to you. Your head is starting to hurt a little, maybe from the situation, maybe from the cold water you’d drunk too fast. “How was it obvious?” You thought you had been kind of obvious, which was why you had attempted to stay distant and pretty aloof for the past few months.  

“I listen to everything you say.”

“You have to,” you point out wearily. “That’s literally supposed to be our professional relationship.”  

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t have done it so well and so frequently if it were anyone else who were my manager,” he tries to reason, then continues when you look unconvinced. “And the gifts. I don’t take them.”  

“So?”  

“So, I don’t have a reason to not take them, technically. I just don’t because I don’t want you to think I’m accepting other people’s affections.”  

“That makes no sense. They’re your fans, so that has nothing to do with personal affections. You’re terrible at this.”  

“Okay, fine — but so are you!” His voice transitions into something a little accusing. “It’s not like you’ve been good at showing me you like me either.”  

He pauses, and for the first time in your life, you see something cross his face — uncertainty, maybe, or anxiety.  

“You do like me, don’t you?”  

The fire of indignant anger fueled by your initial shock dies down, and you’re left feeling a little embarrassed now. The entire walk here, you’d been torturing yourself with the fantasy that you could be somewhere else with Yeonjun on a date, but now that he’s seated across you in the flesh, you have no clue what to do or how to react properly. You toy with your napkin, but you feel his eyes burning into you.  

“Fine. I do, but,” you raise your voice a little at the conjunction; he doesn’t even take you seriously, choosing to look relieved instead. “But I’m not supposed to, Yeonjun. This is bad.”  

“Why? We’re at an old people restaurant. No one’s going to recognize us.”  

“Because I’m not supposed to go on dates with the idol I’m managing.”

“Be honest,” his bottom lip juts out. “Is that all you think of me?”  

Your lips thin out into a tight line; it’s easy to say no if you’re cheeky like him, but you’re pretty sure it’s easier to fire a manager for dating off-bounds than it is to cut off an idol’s career for the same reason.  

“Can’t we be, you know,” he points between the two of you. “Just us? Not manager and idol. Just you and me. Just for tonight. And we can see how it goes.”  

You hate that you cave so easily. You hate that you know you do because you like him so much. Your hand comes up to your face, trying to rub the ache away from your temples. A small, triumphant grin is growing on Yeonjun, like he already knows what you’re going to say. It occurs to you that after all this time you’ve come to know him well, he may have reached the same level of familiarity with you as well.

“Fine,” you mumble, and he doesn’t even contain his joy, pumping his fist into the air embarrassingly. “Fine. Just for tonight.”  

“Just for tonight,” he agrees. “Then we can see how it goes.”  

When you finally decide to meet his eye, you can’t help but laugh softly. He’s looking a little smug, and you want to smack him, or maybe just kiss him a little, but you just nudge his foot under the table. It doesn’t do anything to faze that little shit-eating expression on his face.  

“Don’t think this gets you off of waking up early,” you warn, but you never do get to threaten him effectively with just how soft your words are. “I’m still hauling you out of bed at seven.”

“As long as it’s you,” he grins. “And no one else.”  

“Shut up,” you try to bite back your smile, ducking your head instead to look at the menu when you feel it growing anyway. “Order your food.”  

You know he’s not looking at the menu even as you pretend to peruse it. Still, he falls quiet, eerily so, and you think he’s just staring until you feel something soft land on top of your hand.

Your eyes lift again to his face, and he’s still smiling, albeit a little more serenely, without that joking expression he’s practically trademarked. His hand squeezes yours tightly, and even when he loosens his hold, his palm never leaves yours.  

“You really do look beautiful tonight,” he says softly. “Happy Valentine’s Day, _______________.”  

#yeonjun x reader #yeonjun x you #yeonjun imagines #yeonjun scenarios #yeonjun drabbles #yeonjun fanfic #yeonjun scenario #yeonjun drabble #yeonjun imagine #txt x reader #txt x you #txt scenarios #txt imagines #txt drabbles

[rebelwrites]

From This Moment || Part Eight

Jax Teller x Reader

Summary: Neither Y/N or Jax wanted to go back to reality, enjoying the life in the bubble they had created. Life was simple right now but something always got in the way of their happiness.

Warnings: none

AN; three parts in one day 😍 damn you unlocked this one fast

From This Moment Masterlist

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Today was your first day back at work, the moment your alarm started blaring from the bedside table you groaned into your pillow, you really didn’t want to go back to reality. You wanted to stay in bed with Jax all day. But you knew that wouldn’t happen.

“Come on, sleepy,” Jax hummed, pressing a gentle kiss on the back of your head. “You need to wake up.”

“Don’t want to,” you groaned, snuggling down into the bed even more. “Call in sick for me please.”

“That isn’t going to happen, Darlin’,” Jax laughed as he slowly started to peel the duvet back. “You have two weeks worth of work to catch up on and god knows how long on the phone with HR to get your name changed. I’ve made you a coffee but you have to get your lazy ass out of bed. And let's be honest your day is going to be a lot better than mine.”

There it was, your crash back to reality. You were no longer on vacation, you were back in the real world where shit had been turned upside down. Letting a sigh escape your lips, you rolled over onto your back, looking up at Jax. “It won’t be that bad, will it?” you asked as you played with his fingers.

“I have no idea, if I am being honest.” He sighed, “But I can’t bail on the club because I nearly killed Clay. Now come on, out of bed, so I can enjoy a morning smoke and a coffee with my wife before the chaos of the day starts.”

Smiling at him, you slowly nodded before pushing him off the bed so you could get out. You didn’t bother putting your pajamas on, you just grabbed Jax’s shirt that he wore yesterday, pulling it over your head, hearing him whistle lowly.

“Now this is something that will never get old.” He grinned, letting his hands grope your ass.

Shaking your head at him, you grabbed your phone and headed downstairs. The house was quiet, it was something you were used to even though Jax practically lived here whilst the divorce was going through. But ninety percent of the time he was passed out on the sofa or on the spare bed so he was never awake when you were getting ready for work. You knew that the mornings wouldn’t be so quiet now Jax was here, but you couldn’t wait to slip into a routine before work.

At least you could get a sense of calmness before the chaos of the days began. Looking around the kitchen you couldn’t see any mugs of coffee, spinning around you raised your brow at Jax.

“It's outside, I thought we could try and keep up the morning routine we had whilst at the cabin.” He smiled, placing his hands on your hips as he guided you outside. “I know once the weather changes this won’t work but I want to hang onto it as long as possible.”

“Well, aren’t you cute?” You giggled as you flopping in the corner of your outdoor sofa.

“I do try.” He hummed, wrapping his arms around you, as you lit your smoke, automatically leaning back into him letting his musky scent wash over you.

You really didn’t want to bring the mood down, but you had things playing on your mind. “Are you going to speak to Tara?” you asked, taking a sip of your coffee.

“I was going to leave it a few days if I am being honest, just like with Mom,” Jax said softly as he ran his fingers along your bare thigh, leaving a trail of fire in his path. “I think it is the best thing to just let everyone calm down. After you stormed out things with Mom got even more heated.”

“Yeah,” you sighed, “I heard you shouting. Just promise me I’m not going to get a call whilst I am at work asking to come patch you up or even to bail you out.”

“I promise baby,” he chuckled, kissing the top of your head. “I can be civil, for the sake of the club.”

A comfortable silence fell over the pair of you as you listened to the sound of the birds in the trees at the end of the garden. At least in the safety of your own home you could create a tranquil bubble, somewhere that the chaos from the outside world couldn’t reach, there was no screaming or shouting. Just a home filled with love.

“Do you think I will be a good father?” Jax asked softly, resting his chin on the top of your head.

“I know you will be the best daddy,” you smiled, tangling your fingers with his, brushing your thumb over his skin. “And this kid is going to be lucky to have Jackson Teller as their father.”

“I’m sorry my first child isn’t with you Babygirl.”

“Jax, we have spoken about this already, it is okay,” you whispered, “It isn’t the end of the world, we both knew we weren’t each other’s first anything and I am okay with that. Like you said back in Vegas, everything we have been through has shaped us to the people we are today and ultimately lead us to this very moment. Everything happens for a reason and things will fall back into place eventually. As long as we are by each other’s side then I know we can get through any storm that comes our way.”

The morning had sped by, work was keeping you busy as you caught up from having two weeks off. But it only kept you busy for so long, now you were up to date your head was spinning, replaying the last twenty four hours. You were still trying to get your head around Tara being pregnant, even though your gut feeling was that the baby wasn’t Jax’s and she was just trying to stir shit up.

Your heart was hurting, at the thought of her carrying Jax’s child, you knew how much he wanted to be a daddy, it was something you guys spoke about numerous times over the years. Now it was happening you couldn’t help but feel jealous, even though you and Jax had only been together for a very short amount of time you felt like you had no right to be getting this upset about the situation, but here you were, sitting at your desk, picking at your lunch with silent tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Y/N, sweetheart,” Doreene said softly, placing her hand on your shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

Looking up at her, you flashed her a watery smile, whilst nodding your head. Even though you knew she wasn’t going to accept it. Hearing her sigh made you toss your fork down on the desk, “Come on sweetie, let’s talk in my office.” She said, squeezing your shoulder.

You didn’t have the fight left in you to argue, pushing your chair back you stood up, following her through the office. Everyone’s eyes were on you, making you feel so embarrassed that you couldn’t keep your emotions in check.

“So, what’s going on?” Doreene asked, passing you a tissue to dry your tears.

Taking a deep breath as you sat down, you looked up at the ceiling hoping that it would stop the tears. Running your finger over your rings you started to explain everything from the beginning, starting from the week in Vegas, the marriage and finally the bombshell that was dropped the previous night.

“I just don’t know what to do,” you sobbed, pinching the bridge of your nose. The embarrassment you were currently feeling was eating you alive.

“Okay, here is what is going to happen,” she whispered, taking your hand in hers. “You are going to log off for the day, go home, maybe go for a drive to calm yourself down. And then you are going to go home and speak to Jackson, you need to tell him what you are feeling sweetheart. It is no good for either of you if you bottle this up and don’t communicate with each other.”

You couldn’t speak, you knew if you did you would start crying again. So you nodded at her, weakly smiling at her as you left her office to collect your belongings.

She was right, how could you expect to get through this without communicating with your husband. Everything needed laying out on the table, and it needed doing today otherwise it would continue to eat you alive.

Taking her advice you were going to go for a drive before you headed home. You needed to calm down before you spoke to Jax and the only way you knew how was by breaking a few speed limits, seeing how far you could push the Audi on the roads. It has always been the best way for you to clear your head.

Once you gathered all your things, you shut your computer down and practically ran out of work, not wanting to encounter any small talk from your co-workers. They didn’t need to get involved. The moment you stepped out of the building you placed a cigarette between your lips as you made your way over to your car.

Leaning against the front wing, you looked up at the sky. Hoping that you would gain some sort of guidance from the people you had lost over the years.

“What am I meant to do here JT? You were always both mine and Jax’s guiding light,” you whispered, letting a weak laugh escape your lips at the fact you were speaking to the sky. It wasn’t like you were going to get a sign or anything.

Sighing as you tossed the end of your cigarette on the floor, crushing it into the ground with your heel before climbing into your car. Resting your head against the steering wheel you screamed into the air, blinking back the tears that were threatening to fall once again.

You just hoped that you and Jax could make it through this storm. The cloud of pain that was Charming had a death grip on you and you didn’t know how long this would last or if it would ever loosen it’s hold.

As you turned the corner onto your street, you saw Tara’s car parked on the driveway, in your spot. Anger was bubbling up inside of you, for multiple reasons. The first being the fact you would have to park the Audi on the road, something you absolutely hated doing. The second was about her being at your house, why the fuck was she here?

Screaming over the radio, you parked the car at the curb side, resting your head on the steering wheel needing a moment to compose yourself before you walked into the house. You didn’t want world war three starting in your living room. You were debating on whether you should go in or sit in the car until she had left. But the only downside to that was you didn’t know how long she would be and you needed to be the bigger person. Taking a deep breath, as you unclipped your seatbelt before swinging the door open and climbing out.

The only sound was your heels on the stone floor and your heavy breathing as you walked closer to the front door. As soon as you were close enough you wrapped your fingers around the handle, taking a breath before pushing the door open. This was your home and you had every right to be here.

The sound of your heels against the hardwood floor kept you grounded, hooking your bag over the banister, you softly ran your fingers over the leather of Jax’s Kutte that was hanging on its hook on the wall. You knew you were stalling but you needed a moment.

“Jax, you home?” You called out as you made your way into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of beer out of the fridge. You needed something to settle your nerves, normally you would have reached for the vodka or whiskey but decided against that with it only being one thirty in the afternoon.

“Yeah,” he shouted back, confusion dripping from his words as he appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, leaning against . “Everything okay Darlin’?” He asked softly as he watched you down the beer. “Did something happen at work?” He was getting concerned now, he only needed to look at you to know you had been crying. Even though he knew you had tried to hide it by trying to fix your make up in the car.

“Yeah everything’s,” you paused, taking a breath, tossing the empty bottle in the bin. “Everything is fine.” You nodded, smiling at him, you knew that he wouldn’t settle until you spoke to him but he also dropped asking because he knew why you were being short with him.

He didn’t say anything as he pushed himself off the door frame, taking a couple of large strides across the kitchen, his arms wrapping around your body pulling you close to him. Nuzzling your face into his chest you let the smell of his aftershave wash over you, providing the one thing you needed to soothe you for a short while. “We will talk later okay,” he whispered, kissing the top of your head. “Now, do you want to stay in here or come into the living room?”

“What does she want?”

“Just telling me about the appointments, dates I need to remember and stuff.”

Taking a breath you shook your head against his chest. You couldn’t be in the room whilst she talked about that with Jax. It wasn’t anything to do with you and knew Jax would relay the information to you anyway. Stepping back from his hold, you squeezed his hand before speaking. “No, you go ahead. I’m gonna make a start on some of this washing. It isn’t my place, this is between you and her.”

Jax knew why you were staying in here, and it hurt. Yes Tara was carrying his child but you would still be a huge part of this kid's life. So it was your place to be in the room but he respected your decision understanding how hard this must have been for you.

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#from this moment #jax teller #jax teller x reader #jax teller imagine #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy x reader #sons of anarchy imagine

[can-youimagine]

Work In Progress Chapter Eight

Summary: After leaving the BAU, you promised you would never go back. But then, you meet your replacement. Your genius, caring, loving replacement, and you can't stop yourself from being pulled back into that world.

Chapter TW: Discussion of Spencer's mom, swearing See Series Masterlist for full series TW.

Word Count: 1391

A/N: Bit of a series announcement. I have so much more of this story written, and it is killing me that I can’t share everything with you yet, so I’ve updated my schedule to post every Sunday and Wednesday!!

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

You swing open the door to his apartment with more bags than necessary. “What do you want to make first?”

He thinks for a moment. “Can we make meatloaf? My mom used to make it all the time, and I’ve been missing her.”

“Of course. Do you want to take the lead?”

He doesn’t answer verbally. He gets to work gathering the ingredients and heating the oven. Luckily, you manage to find a loaf pan in a cupboard. It seems like his mom got him a set of cookware before he moved in.

You can tell Spencer is a bit uneasy about touching the raw beef, so you do. As you’re kneading, you try to make a simple conversation. “Where’s your mom now?”

“Bennington Sanitarium,” he answers. “I write to her every day, though. I told her about you.”

You smile, turning your focus to the meat. “That’s sweet. Where’s Bennington?”

“Vegas.”

“You a gambler?”

He smirks. “I may have been banned from a few casinos.”

“Spencer!” you exclaim, shaking your head. “What’re you doing with the FBI? You could be making bank.”

“I like it here.”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“Where’re you from?”

“Nashville,” you answer, “went to Vandy, worked my ass off, and, while not as impressive as you, managed to get two degrees. Elementary ed and criminal psych. Can you hand me the pan?”

“Still a little bitter with Vanderbilt,” he confesses.

“Why’s that?”

He sets the timer, while you move to the sink. “Didn’t reach out to me.”

“Oh, and you had what Yale looking to recruit you?” you joke.

“Yes, actually. It was my backup.”

Dishes clatter in the sink. “I’m sorry, Yale was your backup? What the hell?”

He laughs at you, taking the clean dishes from you. “I wanted CalTech. I got in.”

“Doesn’t surprise me one bit.” You dry your hands before turning back to him. “I’m sure you’ll have a case soon, but this should take you through the week.”

“Thank you so much. Not sure what I would do without you.”

You shrug. “Probably whatever you were doing last week.”

“(Y/N).”

“Sorry. Seriously though, I’m glad to help you, or just spend time with you.”

“Maybe we could do something normal and coupley then.” He places the loaf pan back in its cupboard. “I mean if you want to be a couple. I don’t want to make the executive decision.”

“I would love to be a couple.”

“Should we watch a movie or something?”

“As long as one of us can hear the timer, I’d love to.”

Without looking at the timer, he manages to give you the exact time left.

“Okay, so I guess you’ve got the timer,” you say, sitting on the couch. “What’re we watching?”

He sits at the other end of the couch. “Doctor Who?”

“Sure, but I have to warn you, I’ve never actually seen an episode.”

He looks at you in mock outrage. “We’ll have to fix that.”

You scoot closer to him. “I suppose we will.”

“I know I’m not the best at social cues, so I’m just going to ask. Do you want to sit with me?”

You finally move so that you are next to him. “Yeah. I do.”

He smiles, leaning into you. “Good.”

At some point, you start to feel yourself fall asleep. He’s so comfortable, and he smells good, and he’s running his fingers through your hair. Just when you feel yourself on the edge of sleep, the alarm goes off. You startle awake, causing Spencer to chuckle.

“Good nap?”

“Never got to sleep.”

He frowns, getting up. “Let me get the meatloaf out. I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t take too long.” You lean against the arm of the couch.

He kisses your forehead. “I’ll be right back.” He stays true to his word, coming back almost as quickly as he left. “Missed you,” you mumble, curling back into his chest.

“You could see me the whole time.”

“I know, but you’re comfy.”

You must have embarrassed him. He doesn’t respond, just tangles his hand back in your hair. You never want to fall asleep any other way.

To be fair, Spencer also never wants you to fall asleep any other way. The moment you fell asleep was one of the most blissful moments in his life. Cooking with you, showing you his favorite show, falling asleep in each other’s arms. It was all too perfect.

Still, there is something nagging at him. “Are you awake?”

He breathes a sigh of relief when you don’t answer.

“I wanted to tell you something. I really don’t like keeping things from you. I tried and lasted all of twelve hours.” He twists your hair between his fingers. “Thank you for not asking about my mom. It’s hard for me to talk about, and I already shared all of this with the team. It’s a lot to talk about twice, y’know.” You shift in your sleep, curling further into his chest. It almost feels like an answer. “She’s a schizophrenic. I had her committed there when I was eighteen. It was by far the worst day of my life. But, it’s what was right for her, and I know she knows that now, but then, it hurt. A lot.

“At least when I was there, I could see her often, but now… Now it’s hard, so I write the letters. I know it’s not quite the same, but it keeps us in touch. I write to her every day. I was scared to tell her about you. I just wanted to make sure that you felt the same way I do. Besides, it’s early. She gets a little too invested in things like this. I remember when I was younger, I had a crush on this girl in my class. She was significantly older than me, so there was no way this was ever going to happen, but still, she did everything in her power to make sure it could.” He laughs. She never outright told Spencer that, but every day before school she would make sure he looked nice and would always tell him how wonderful he was and how much people love him.

“Anyways, once I started writing about you, I couldn’t stop. She hasn’t got the letter yet, but when she does, I know she’ll love you. And, she won’t stop telling me to bring you out one day. I’d love to do that, actually. Whenever you’re up for it, I’d love for you to meet, and I could show you around the city, maybe even get you kicked out of a few casinos.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head before turning his attention back to the show.

When you wake up, Spencer is quoting the lines under his breath. It doesn’t seem like he’s moved at all. He must be watching you closely because as soon as your breathing shifts, he says, “Now, did you have a nice nap?”

You yawn. “Yes. Thank you.”

He wants to tell you everything again, make sure you heard it, but his phone cuts him off. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath before answering the phone. “I’ll be right there.” He turns his attention back to you. “We’ve got a case.”

Sadly, you push yourself off the couch, both of you feeling entirely too cold now. “I’ll get out of your hair, then. Be safe.”

“You, too.”

You laugh. “Fifth graders can be wiley.”

“I’m sure.”

You make no move to leave. “Spencer, can I-sorry.”

“Can you what?”

He looks at you with such intensity that it’s impossible to lie. “Can I kiss you?”

“Always,” he answers, closing the gap between you.

The kiss is short and sweet and everything you ever could have hoped for. His lips are soft and make you feel like you’re on a cloud. It takes everything in your being not to whine when he pulls away. His cheeks are tinted pink, and his eyes are still shut when he pulls away.

“I should go,” he whispers.

You nod. “Yeah. Be sure to freeze the meatloaf before you leave.”

Coming back to reality, he smiles. “I will. See you soon.”

You drag yourself to the door. If you don’t leave now, you’re not sure you ever will. “See you soon.”

#spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine

[quicksilverrwrites]

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: peter maximoff x reader 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: you can’t sleep and neither can peter, but at least you both know exactly how to comfort one another. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2.4k 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+, fluff, peter and reader are early to mid twenties, british reader 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: y/n is known by the mutant name “scribe” and is charles xavier’s niece.

It’s eleven-thirty, and you can’t sleep.

Your thoughts shift to your lessons in the morning; to how tired you’re going to be; to that iced coffee you’d had while getting your assignment done after class; about how that drink was definitely a bad idea considering how you’re lying awake now. It had tasted good then, and it had given you the energy you needed to fire out five thousand words in the span of a few hours… but now you regret it.

Sighing, you roll over. Your eyes glaze over the objects on the nightstand beside your bed. Your alarm clock, rectangular in size and wooden in material, glares at you. Eleven thirty six. Eleven thirty seven. The time seems to spiral, and you realise that you might as well do something with yourself if you’re awake.

You eye the books stacked on top of the alarm clock; you’d been reading one before and it had bored you half to death, so you can’t bring yourself to pick up any again. What else? What else?

Your gaze settles upon the picture frame on the dresser next to your nightstand, and you let out a sigh as you settle upon the silver-haired speedster within it. You’re next to him, a mere blur since he’d sneakily taken the camera from your hand and taken a picture with an expression that radiates cheekiness, but you’d liked the picture enough to keep it.

You’ve got a few more picture frames scattered around your room—photos of you with Scott, Jean, Jubilee and Kurt. Even some of Charles. You might not be close, but he is your uncle, after all. He’s still family.

And yet it’s Peter you keep your eyes on. It’s Peter's mischievous aura which calls to you across the room.

What would he be doing right now? He’s probably playing video games or practicing on one of his guitars. You’d been surprised to see him play well; you’d been surprised to see that he actually had the attention span it takes to successfully learn an instrument. You would know: your mother used to nag you about practicing the piano to perfection. Practice makes perfect, she’d always said, and yet she’d always left out how much energy it took to practice in the first place.

Is it too late to reach out to him? The two of you have a specific way of speaking to one another across distances by now, although even the thought of doing such a thing due to the time seems rude. Your mother had always told you that it was your duty to be polite, and your father had by example. You think you picked it up from him rather than her, but—

Don’t think of him right now. Don’t think of what happened. Don’t.

As if in an effort to push the memory of that night from your head, you move. You pull the drawer attached to your nightstand open to reveal a mess of junk inside, but what you need—and what you spy—is a pen and paper. You pull it from the drawer and slam the nightstand drawer shut quietly, and after, you get to work writing:

Are you up? Can I come over?

Your fingers buzz with azure energy as you feel your mutation working in your favour. A tiny portal of blue opens before you, one you could make larger if you wished but one which you keep small for now. It’s no larger than a letterbox would be, and the faint sound of music from the other side tells you that Peter is very much awake.

You slip the note through the portal, and then you leave it open as you wait.

When you receive no response for a solid fifteen seconds but can hear movement on the other side, you wonder if this was a mistake after all. It’s too late, you scold yourself, mentally preparing for rejection. Oh, god, this is going to be awkward. What if he—

An empty Twinkie box falls at your feet.

You blink at it, momentarily confused, and then you pick it up. You glance about the dessert’s display as you begin to turn the box over in your hands. Nothing on the front, but on the back—

Scrawled in pink glitter pen—probably his sister’s—, the box reads on the back: Yeah. Come through.

You grin lazily as you set the box down on your bed and extend the portal with your fingers like you’re prying open a heavy door. The orange light from Peter’s basement slips through and becomes one with the light of your dorm, which is yellow and warm with your room’s wooden accented walls and flooring. And as you slip through the portal and your bare feet touch the soft tartan carpet of his room, you let the portal shut with a soft shum behind you—

But Peter Maximoff does not look his best. In fact, he looks downright miserable.

His eyes are red as if he’s been crying, his hair is messy—messier than usual, at least—and he’s wearing a band tee and some tartan pajama bottoms that look intended for comfort rather than style. You were about to say hey, but you stop in your tracks. You tilt your head as you look at him.

Peter is still. It’s strange, especially since he’s usually so eccentric. He blurts out, “What?”

You frown, momentarily stuck for what to say. “Nothing,” you respond, but it doesn’t seem right.

Peter stares at you. You stare at him. You’re both quite similar, so it strikes you then that you both know that you’re each not telling each other something.

“You okay?” You ask, suspicion clear in your tone.

Peter shrugs nonchalantly. It’s a rigid movement. “Yeah,” he says, far too confidently to be true. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You narrow your eyes on him. His tone of voice has all but solidified your suspicions. “Okay, first of all,” you say, crossing the small space of the room between you and the sofa, “you use a very distinctive tone when you lie.” You settle down on the sofa as you cross your legs under you. “Second, your eyes are really red. Have you been—?”

“No.”

Crying, you were about to ask, but he cut you off. You narrow your eyes again.

Peter sighs and averts his gaze, running a hand through his hair. “Tonight’s just… not a good night.”

You press your lips together as sympathy wells in your eyes. “Why not?”

“Can’t sleep.”

“That makes two of us."

Peter inhales deeply, and before you know it, he’s sitting on the sofa next to you. You’re used to how fast he moves by now. Something warms your heart in the way he sits with his body angled towards you. Like he’s opening himself up to you.

“Wanna stay here tonight?” He asks.

You glance at the other end of the sofa and then back to him. You’re reminded of how he took the sofa to sleep on that night after you guys got caught in the rain. “Here?”

Peter’s brows rise. “Is my basement not fancy enough for you?”

You know he’s joking even despite the lack of humour in his tone, and you let out a small huff of laughter as you flash him a lazy smile. You sit back on the sofa, reaching out your hand to intertwine it with his. Things between you are still blooming after your first date, but you both feel comfortable enough to do this. Peter’s fingers wrap around yours as he starts drawing patterns on the back of your hand with his free one.

“I just mean,” you murmur, just loud enough to be heard over the backdrop of quiet music, “won’t your mom mind?”

“She didn’t mind when you stayed over last time.”

Your lips quirk upwards in gentle amusement. “That time you slept on the couch. This time I was thinking, I mean, if you want to, then maybe—”

“Oh,” Peter murmurs. His head lifts upwards in a sort of understanding motion. “Yeah, I mean… ah, I can deal with whatever safe sex talk she wants to give me in the morning.”

Your cheeks flush red. “I didn’t mean that. I just meant maybe we could…” Oh, god, embarrassment— “cuddle.”

Peter grins. “Cuddle, huh?” He pauses, until— “Okay,” he murmurs, reaching an arm around the back of the couch to wrap around you. “I guess I could be down for cuddling.”

You snicker softly as you lean into his touch, your head resting against his shoulder. “Do you want to tell me why you looked so upset when I arrived?”

Peter tenses. “It wasn’t because of you, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“Mm,” you murmur, “I think I’m confident enough in our relationship to know that your reaction when seeing me is generally excitement rather than the dread that accompanies sad under eyes and red markings around them.”

He pauses for a few seconds before he lets out a long breath of defeat. “That obvious, huh?”

“Mm,” you murmur, looking up at him. “A little.”

His lips twist to the side as he lowers his gaze. “I was thinking about my dad.”

It’s your turn to pause now, looking up at him in a way you didn’t before. You assess every detail of his body again: the way his shoulders slump, the way his head hangs low, the way his hair falls in the way of his view and his eyes are heavy with something you haven’t seen in him before. He’s usually so full of life.

Is this what he’s hiding deep down?

“Tell me about it,” you say softly.

Peter grimaces. “It’s a long story, and the stupid thing is it’s mostly my fault.”

Frowning, you sit up and face him. “I don’t believe that.”

Peter lets out a humourless laugh that might be bitter if he showed a hint of anger, but he doesn’t. “It’s true. The only time I’ve ever been too slow and it’s in finding the most…”

He trails off, pulling his arm away from around you so that they both now rest in his lap. He continues, “It’s a mess.”

“Start from the beginning."

So he explains, if not vaguely: about trying to find his father, about finding a house empty and police arriving on the scene. Peter had fled at the sight of them, and—

“His name’s Magneto,” he admits. “Erik Lehnsherr. You’ve probably… seen him on TV or something."

Suddenly, it all adds up. You weren’t at school to see what happened with Apocalypse, but you’ve heard about it from your friend group. Peter doesn’t talk about it very much, and now you know why; had he been part of that whole adventure because of his father? He hadn’t been involved with Xavier’s School before, that much you know.

You suck in a breath. Okay, Y/N, push the fact that his dad’s a known terrorist aside— “Does he know?”

Peter shakes his head. “Nah. I had the chance to tell him and I didn’t. I screwed it up. And now I’m right back where I was before all of it, because I have no clue where he is and no way of telling him the truth. I couldn’t even do it for Wanda.”

“Hey,” you murmur, your fingers moving to cup his cheeks. “Fight or flight, right? It’s normal. To see him right in front of you—to have to muster up the courage to tell him? Knowing what a change that would be for you? Peter, that’s normal.”

Peter’s eyes well with softness as he listens to you, gazes upon you, and you think you’ve never seen him look so vulnerable as he lowers his head to your shoulder. He takes in a shaky breath; wraps his arms around you; pulls you into his lap—

“Thanks,” he murmurs into your shirt. It’s not his shirt this time; you’re wearing a pyjama set that consists of blue silk shorts and a top. “Not sure I believe you, but thanks, Y/N.”

“Is there anything I can do to make you believe me?”

Peter takes a deep breath. “Aside from mind control? Not sure.”

You press your lips together and begin to stroke his hair. “To be honest,” you murmur, “I’m not sure I’d believe you if you tried to tell me something similar about my father, either.”

Peter lets out a choked laugh. “Maybe that’s why we work together.”

Your lips curve upwards, still stroking his hair. His face is still buried in your shoulder. “Maybe,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his head.

Peter shifts so that he’s leaning against the back of the sofa and you’re in his lap again. You turn so that you’re straddling his waist, but your fingers find his jaw to cup the skin there. Your thumb brushes soothingly against his skin.

“You mean a lot to me,” Peter murmurs, staring up at you. It’s almost as if the music in the room has stopped; it’s almost as if the two of you are the only souls left in existence. His brows are slightly raised and there is awe in his voice as he says, “I don’t really believe you’re real half the time.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Definitely real, Peter. Definitely here.”

“Yeah,” he says, his tone riddled with amusement, “and here of all places. You could be anywhere. You’re like, perfect and—”

“Ssh,” you murmur, pressing a finger to his lips. “I don’t want to be anywhere but here with you.”

Peter tilts his head up towards you, a silent request for consent, and you kiss him in answer.

He wraps his arms around your waist as he deepens the kiss, your tongue slipping out to meet his own. He makes a low, guttural noise between pleasure and content at the feeling of it, and your free hand clutches at his shirt as your other hand remains at his jaw.

You spend the rest of the evening like that, whether it's on the sofa or in his bed, but in those moments together there’s nothing carnal about it. Your touches are soft and comforting rather than lustful and yearning, and as much as you’ve thought about him that way before, you know that now’s not the time.

Tonight, you both need this. Tonight, your sole purpose is to be there for one another.

“And for the record,” Peter murmurs between kisses, his words random and uncalculated, “I think your tragic backstory’s way worse than mine.”

#peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff imagine #xmen imagine #peter maximoff fluff #peter maximoff fanfiction #peter maximoff fanfic #peter maximoff x y/n #xmen x reader #quicksilver x reader #quicksilver fanfiction #quicksilver fanfic #xmen fanfic

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

The Long Con Part Seven

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part Pairing: Marcus Pike x Reader Rating: T Notes: I hope y’all had a good week! 💕 Warnings: Oh hey look, more fluff! With a pinch of self-doubt! SO Sorry about that. Summary: You'd told Marcus at the start of this to treat it like an undercover assignment, and maybe he really was going the distance— treating this like an operation, putting himself into the mindset first thing in the morning.

Jill had been up with the sun, preparing food for the barbecue that afternoon. You’d made it a point to set your alarm to get up early and offer your help. But it had taken you a little while to get out of bed.

You and Marcus had been sleeping in bed together for the past three nights. You had been a little nervous at the beginning, sure - you hadn’t shared a bed with anyone for a while. But Marcus was the perfect gentleman when he was awake. The day you'd made the favor bags, you'd awoken to Marcus’ body had been curled around yours. His hand was resting lightly atop your hip, a touch that had been easy for you to draw yourself out from under. But this morning… This morning, you’d woken up cuddled up against Marcus. You were curled up against his side, your arm stretched across his middle. When you’d glanced up, you’d found Marcus just coming up from sleep, himself. Rather than moving away, you’d found yourself frozen, like he’d suddenly spot you if you moved. Marcus had just glanced down at you, murmured a soft, "Good morning,", and smiled sleepily, asking if you’d slept well as his hand had smoothed over your arm.  You’d relaxed a little, nodded, and rested your chin on Marcus’ chest. His sleepy smile had widened, his fingers trailing aimlessly over the back of your hand as the two of you had chatted about the last couple of days. You’d already shut off your alarm, knew that you should get up, and help Jill - that was why you’d set the alarm in the first place. But you were so comfortable, and Marcus seemed more than happy to let lay there and soak up some of his warmth. You did finally manage to pull yourself out of his arms, shower and dress. You’d settled on the edge of the bed to pull on your socks and house slippers. Marcus had cuddled up to you, still sleep-ruffled as he toyed with a loose strong on your shirt and chatted with you. It was another ten minutes before you’d managed to get yourself downstairs. -- Marcus' easy touches and your murmured conversations weighed heavily on your mind all morning. You'd told Marcus at the start of this to treat it like an undercover assignment, and maybe he really was going the distance— treating this like an operation, putting himself into the mindset first thing in the morning. And if he was— well, you couldn't fault him for it. It had been your advice, after all.

When Marcus had made it into the kitchen, finally, he found you at the counter with Jill and Marnie. After you’d offered your services, you’d been given your pick of the spare aprons and put to work chopping potatoes for the potato salad. Marcus crowded up behind you, resting his hands on your hips and his forehead on your shoulder as he’d waited for the coffee to brew (between yourself and Marnie, you’d wiped out the previous pot before he could make it downstairs). “You excited for later?” He asked softly as he shifted to rest his chin where his forehead had been. “Mhm,” You hummed softly, eyes set on your work, fingers working steadily at your task, “Are you?” “Sure,” He conceded, “Be nice to see some old friends...Family…” You glanced at Marcus, holding a chopped piece of cooked potato up to his lips. He hummed, sucking it from between your fingertips. Your skin prickled with heat as his lips brushed against the pad of your finger. “Thanks,” He mumbled around the tiny morsel before he’d turned his head, nuzzling into your neck. You’d felt the looks that Jill and Marnie were giving you, heard one of them murmur, “Adorable”. Marcus’ hands squeezed lightly at your hips, like a silent, ‘They’re buying it’. You tipped your head to the side, lightly resting your head against his for a few seconds before straightening up again. They were buying it. And if you weren’t careful, you were going to start buying it, too. 

--

It was times like this that you could tell Marcus was glad that you’d made it a point to practice your story as much as you had. Maybe he was starting to treat it like the two of you were undercover, but there was still that half-second panicked squeezing of your hand before he answered a question about your ‘relationship’. The two of you had gotten pretty good at this, though, and by the time the barbecue was in full swing, you were casually draped over one another, finishing the other’s sentences, leaning into endearments like, ‘honey’ and ‘sweetheart’ and, once, from you, ‘darling’. And maybe you should’ve felt a little bad, if only for the way some of Marcus’ family was cooing over the two of you, teasing him for being so lovestruck, but with Marcus, it was just so goddamn...easy. Everything felt so easy. When he tucked you under his arm, you felt like you fit perfectly into his side; you didn’t worry about the fact that you knew so few people. You didn’t stress yourself out about remembering names because, after the wedding, you were probably never going to see them again. “You doin’ okay?” You asked lightly, rubbing Marcus’ back gently as one of the members of his old band stepped away from you to get some food. “Yeah,” He nodded, “I uh… I think I’m alright. Are you?” “You haven’t cut off the circulation in my hand yet, so, yeah,” You teased, “I’m good.” Marcus chuckled, leaning in and brushing a kiss to your temple before he turned, looking around. You felt him go tense, and you frowned. “What is it?” “Uh… Spotted someone.” “Ex-wife?” “No. The...The woman Marnie was going to set me up with.” “Ah,” You glanced around Marcus, spotting the woman coming toward you. She was just a bit shorter than you, with bright red hair curled expertly around a diamond shaped face. Her eyes were slate grey— and focused in on the two of you.  “She’s hot,” You muttered. “Not that it’s a contest, but you’re hotter.” “Really taking this lie for a ride, huh?” Marcus’ brow furrowed, frowning down at you. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, you heard, “Marcus! I thought you might be around here somewhere.” And her voice was so shrill. You gave Marcus a teasing look before he turned to face her. “Couldn’t miss my sister’s wedding,” He gave an awkward little laugh, the likes of which you’d never heard. It looked like the woman wanted to step in for a hug, but her eyes darted to you before she could get too close. You gave her a bright smile as awkward silence persisted between the two of them. “Oh-- Sorry,” Marcus laughed as he introduced you, “Sweetheart, this is Kimberly. She used to live right down the block, and we went to Quantico together.” “Aw, neat, so you’re in law enforcement too, huh?” You smiled, draping your arm around Marcus’ middle once you’d let go of Kimberly’s hand. Her eyes darted to your arm, then up to Marcus’ face. You glanced between the two of them before straightening up. “You know what? Why don’t I let the two of you catch up,” You looked up at Marcus, “I will go see if your mom needs any help-- You need a drink or anything?” “N-No,” Marcus shook his head a little bit, but you could see the slight panic in his eyes. “Okay!” You could see the smile on Kimberly’s smile - a presumption that she’d managed to scare you off. So you turned, cupping Marcus’ neck and drawing him down for a kiss. You could feel him smiling against your lips, and you ran your thumb along his jaw as you sucked his lower lip between yours. You grinned at the sound of a soft, awed moan that left him, feeling his hand curl in the fabric of your dress before you leaned away. Marcus looked a little dazed, his grasp on you showing no sign of loosening, even as you reached up to lightly smear away some of your lipstick that had transferred onto his lips.   “Not quite your shade, babe,” You teased, winking at him. You lowered your hand, patting his chest lightly and turning back to an infuriated Kimberly and offering her a bright smile. “You two have fun!” -- Jill didn’t need any help, so you grabbed a beer for yourself and stepped over to a quiet corner of the porch and taken your phone out. You set the beer on the wide porch rail as you opened an email to answer. “That has to be the shortest conversation I’ve ever had with her,” You heard behind you. You smiled, finishing the email you were typing before glancing back at Marcus. “So? How’d it go?” You asked, turning to face Marcus and leaning back against the porch railing. “Well,” Marcus said thoughtfully, placing his hand on either side of you as he crowded up against you, “We made about two minutes of incredibly awkward small talk, she asked if I’d known you long and then left to get some potato salad.” “Damn,” You sighed, shaking your head a little bit, “I am...Good.” “You might actually be the best,” Marcus conceded. You smiled as he smoothed a hand over your side. “And that was… Some kiss,” He added softly. You smiled, licking your lips.  “Yeah, you seemed to like it. I mean, it was vindicating, what with my being so out of practice.” “If that’s you out of practice, I can’t imagine how proficient you are when you’re in top form.” You smiled a bit, drawing your lower lip between your teeth. Your stomach fluttered as Marcus’ eyes lowered to your mouth. He raised his hand, cupping your cheek and using his thumb to pull your lip from between your teeth. Your stomach fluttered as you felt Marcus' leg slide between yours, your chests brushing together. You’d noticed that, unlike other aspects of the lie, Marcus’ smiles and touches and kisses felt different. When Marcus leaned in for a kiss, there was no squeezing of your hand, no half-second of hesitation, no panic. When Marcus kissed you, it always felt so damnably real. He slipped his lips across yours before sucking your lower lip between his, as you had to him before. You sighed softly, raising your arm and looping it around Marcus’ neck and sliding your hand over the nape. You smiled as Marcus pressed you against the porch railing, arm curling around your upper back. You kept your eyes closed as the kiss broke. Marcus didn’t stray, just brushed another kiss against your lips, then another before he rested his forehead against yours. “Any better?” You teased softly. “Better and better,” He murmured, “Every time.” You lowered your head, lightly butting your head against Marcus’ jaw as sheepishness twisted your lips into a smile. Tag list: @hufflepuffing-all-day-long ; @spideysimpossiblegirl ; @blueeyesatnight ; @elen-aranel ; @yespolkadotkitty ; @artsymaddie​ ; @phoenixhalliwell​ ; @lunaserenade​ ; @winniedaboo​  ; @empress-palpat1ne​ ; @randomness501​ ; @nutmeg-20​ ; @leonieb​ ; @the-feckless-wonder​ ; @lou-la-lou​ ; @captain-jebi​ ; @supernaturalgirl​ ; @naturenebula21​ ; @evelynseventyr​ ; @giselatropicana​ ; @heatherbel​ ; @marydjarin​ ; @annathewitch​ ; @absurdthirst​ ; @hnt-escape ; @writingletterstothefire​ ; @misswriter​ ; @bison-writes​ ; @xx-small-town-witch-xx​ ; @ajeff855​ ; @hellovanessax

#THAT GIF #it's about the hands #The Long Con #marcus pike imagine #Marcus Pike x Reader #Marcus Pike x You #Marcus Pike/Reader #Marcus Pike/You #Marcus Pike fic

[eartht137]

DEAREST HEART- Letter One

Okay, For The Better has got me at a standstill. Every time I go to write the next chapter, I get a very "bad" idea and I have to write it in to meld with what I have in mind, but as my birthday is approaching in 2 days and Halloween is quickly approaching, I have developed a very new and delicious idea. I thought up this story in the shower. Hear me out, okay? The blinds that cover the window in my bathroom fell, and I mean fell from the wall, so I had to take a shower in the dark with a candle. Well it gets pretty muggy in my bathroom, as there's not a lot of room, so I opened the window to get some air, well with the wind blowing and the leaves rustling I kinda got that weird feeling that someone was watching me (which I highly doubt). In this story the character/you are a new wife and mom and you've been unmotivated to do normal chores and upkeep due to de pression and anxiety. I kinda wanted to touch on some real topics that I felt may resonate as I've noticed there is a lot of depression and anxieties that have been major high and I just wanted to send a small message that you are seen, you are heard, you are worthy, you are loved. Even if it is in your own world, I'd rather have my own world that I can escape to and have things go my way than keep taking on the pressure of things we deal with everyday. Also this is another Dark Clark Kent. I know, I know, the idea of the man just does something to me. So with that curvies, I present to you Dearest Heart. Okay rant over for the day. Please proceed..........oh yeah MMMMMMmwwwwwwaaahhhhhhh

Dark Clark Kent x Plus Size Reader

Warnings: Non Con, somnophilia, masturbation, stalking, mentions of impregnation. Maybe other things too. MINORS DNI!!!

You were getting up and ready for work, since starting your new job, you'd found yourself a bit out of balance. Being a new wife and mom, trying to adjust, you'd found yourself falling in and out of a reel of depression and anxiety. You very rarely had the energy or drive to clean and sometimes your depression got you to a point where you didn't really want to keep up your hygiene. Finally, you'd gotten the burst of life you needed and decided to make use of it while you had the drive. You started keeping up your hygiene as you used to and cleaned your house day by day. You started cherishing more moments with your husband and son. You had noticed the more you took effort within the day, it helped you feel a bit better everyday. One day, you stepped outside to get a breath of fresh air and sunlight. As you were getting ready to head back inside, you saw a letter place neatly on the bars of you security door with small rose. You tilted you head in confusion and looked around. You took the letter, seeing that it had "Dearest Heart' written beautifully across the front. You walked inside while admiring the vintage parchment envelope.

"Baby?" Your husband asked curiously, making you look up and smile as he and your son watched you.

"Well I think the mailman left someone else's mail-again." You sighed tossing the letter down on the table by your door. You went over and spent the remainder of you free time with your husband and son before heading into your office and logging on for work.

On your first break, you rushed out of your office hoping to spend time with your loved ones. You giggled as you watched your husband and son sleep with their mouths wide open on your couch. You were about to step into the bathroom when you got the nagging urge to go back and look at the letter again. You stared at it from across the room a moment before finally giving in to curiosity and grabbing it. You studied it for a moment before your husband adjusting on the couch startled you. You quietly went to the bathroom and examined the letter. Looking at your phone, you realized you didn't have much time, and would just open it to see what it looked like inside. A very hopeful side of you prayed that in your head that it was filled with cash that some good saint just felt in their heart to give, but you knew that was a slim chance. When you opened the letter, you almost gasped, almost like a child feeling as if you if you'd just done something forbidden. The alarm on you phone vibrated and you jumped, the letter dropped from you hands. You laughed a bit at yourself, picked up the letter, tucked it away and went back to work.

One your lunch break, after making something to eat for yourself and your hungry boys, you found yourself practically lured back to the bathroom to find the letter you'd tucked away for later. You opened it and pulled out a very beautifully written letter, but the first line damn near made your heart stop. You read it over and over trying to make sure you weren't seeing things, but there it was in black in, your name. You took a deep breath and continued reading the letter.

My Dearest Y/n,

I promised myself I wouldn't try to interfere in your life, but my heart won't let my stand idly by. I know this is abrupt as you've never seen me in your life, at least you don't remember meeting me, its been so long ago; but I can't keep quiet about this anymore as my love for you has yet to subside. I know it sounds unbelievable, but I swore I'd never lie to you and I am a man of my word. You might be a little worried as to how I know you, where you live-but you'd be shocked at how much I know about you and it'd scare you to know how long I've watched over you. Little love, I've been a bit disappointed in you. You allowed yourself to get to far down and instead of talking it out, you've been bottling everything in. We both know how that ends. You can talk to me if you need to, but I was really disappointed in how you allowed things to get. You weren't getting out of bed, you weren't keeping your hygiene up, and you weren't keeping the house up; on top of that, you haven't been utilizing any of your self-care tools. You didn't leave the house for a month and you cried every night by yourself because you're too stubborn to get out of your own head for two seconds and let the people who love you in. You were also finding a new lie every week to call into to work, that was disappointing darling because you don't have to lie, just tell them you need a day for your health, you don't owe them anymore explanation than that, but I don't want you to lie again. Do you remember those 2 weeks your backside was sore and stinging and you couldn't figure out why? I'm so sorry dear heart but I had to light a fire in you some way, and I just can't allow you to behave in such a way. I also can't stand to see the woman I love not take care of herself. On another note, I do want to tell you how proud of you I have been with how much you love and care for our son. He's growing so big isn't he? Oh darling, I know you think he's your husbands, but I guarantee he is my flesh and blood, why do you think he stares at me so long when he sees my photo pass your screen. His blood is my blood, he knows who he is. I have decided dear heart, to be a bit more active in your life as I have come to realize that my standing by protecting in the shadows is not enough. It will be awhile my love, but one day we will be together. You, Me and our son. I love you both so much, I promise you we will be a family as we should one day. For now I will continue to watch from the distance and protect you when you need me. I will also be there to talk whenever you just want to talk out loud. Before I end this letter, I want to also tell you how proud I am that you've started writing. I love the stories you've been writing about me and I promise to fulfill every one of you desires as soon as the time is right. Only this time, you'll be able to enjoy it as much as I have. I will be writing again, you don't have to reply, but it would be nice. Keep up the good work sweetheart, I love you.

With All My Heart and Soul,

Kal-El

Your heart pounded in your ears, you forgot to breath and tears filled your eyes. You kept trying to convince yourself it was a prank, but the more you tried to deny it, the more you knew it was real. You sat thinking to yourself, when you'd written a story about him, you didn't know anyone named Kal-El. You immediately started walking around your house making sure every window and door was locked. You wanted to tell your husband, but once again the gut feeling told you not to, and you'd realized that your gut was really on point and that just made things scarier.

You finished you lunch break and the rest of that day unable to concentrate on anything. That night while you took a shower, you kept looking through the blinds to see if you'd see someone. On one had you wanted to see if there was someone really there and on the other you felt you'd probably shit yourself if you really saw someone. After a moment or two, you'd finally convinced yourself it was a sick prank and someone in the neighborhood was being an idiot. You laughed a bit and finished up, ready to finally get the sleep you'd been begging for all day. As you laid in bed, every noise made you jump. Every time something or someone would move, you'd go from the precipice of sleep to fully awake. You had been feeling watched for the longest time and you'd just blamed it on being crazy, but now with the letter confirming your nightmare, you really had no idea what to do. Your mind ran and ran until it finally shut itself down and you drifted off to a very peaceful sleep despite everything going on around you.

He sat in the corner of your dark room watching you breath calmly. He wanted so badly to go over and rock you to sleep as he watched you struggle to fall asleep, but he couldn't present himself to you just yet, not until everything was perfect the way we wanted it before he showed himself.

He sat there watching you from the other side of the room knowing that soon you'd throw the covers off of your plush body exposing your luscious curves that he loved feeling in his large hands. His hand stroked himself as he thought back to the first night he took you. You were sleeping so good, you didn't hardly move. His released his hard thick cock from their restraints and pumped himself as he watched your breasts rise and fall with your breathing. He thought back to the first time he tasted your nipples, how hard they got when he kissed and nipped them. How wet you got for him and how he once made you cum from playing with them only. He then thought about how delicious you were. His fist moving faster and rougher down his shaft. He remembered how tight you were when he first fucked you. How hot and juicy you were as he pumped deep into your soft pussy filling you with every inch of him. He wanted to ruin you, and he wished you could see the happiness he felt when you couldn't cum one night from yours or your husbands touches. His hand pumped faster as he remembered fucking you so good one night your orgasm woke you as you came, as disappointed as he was that he couldn't feel you cum around him, he was still proud to have your body so responsive for him. That sent him over the edge and he came hard wanting so badly to empty inside of you. He wanted to see you round with his baby again, but he wanted to allow you the time to fully heal. He used one of your husbands shirts to wipe himself clean, and he gave you a soft peck on the lips, smiling when you turned away.

"I love you so much. I promise things will be right soon. Sleep well dearest heart." He whispered before leaving. He couldn't wait until you found his next letter.

#dark clark kent #plus size reader #dark superman #henry cavill #stalking

[mandoinevarro]

heyy so i heard you were taking suggestions???

i cant stop thinking about this modern au where din is a detective and reader is either another detective or a witness or something and they end up working a case together? maybe set in christmas for an extra creepy vibe? smut or not ill leave that to you, but youre one of my favorite writers and id love to read your take on this :)

hey anon, you heard right! i'm sorry that it took me a bit long to write this but i liked your idea and i wanted to get it right, so here it is. i changed a few things, but hopefully you'll still enjoy it.

Din Djarin x f!reader

Rating: uhhhhhhhhhh T? M? i'll probably write more about this AU and if i'm being honest it'll most likely evolve into E—either way no minors

Warnings: well no smut so far but i have 0 self control so who knows what the future holds… anyway: crime, c*ps, mentions of blood, mentions of murder, missing people, mentions of drugs, and very unethical journalism :D

a/n: I realize that Horatio Mythrol is the dumbest name in the world but let's see you come up with a better one

Words: 4.8k

       TWELVE DRUMMERS DRUMMING

The early December drizzle fell like frozen needles on your cheeks. It dragged the lampposts’ light like smudged watercolor, creating a fuzzy orange halo around them, the only pigment outside of the black and grey spectrum. That and the yellow tape.

The sirens are off. Red and blue rotating lights are no longer necessary to alarm neighbors of possible dangers. This quiet suburban neighborhood in the outskirts of Nevarro has learnt to recognize the screeching tires of squad cars, the panicked murmuring of half-asleep officers and detectives.

Too cheesy. True-crime-podcast level of cheesy. Not that the Nevarro Bee was the pinnacle of investigative journalism and crime reporting, but the last thing you needed was to look like an amateur in your first assignment.

You hadn’t had time to give yourself a pep talk before the call came. It had jolted you awake, your screeching ringtone cutting through your slumber like oil in water, a rough voice that took you a couple of seconds to recognize: “Horatio Mythrol. 352 Cypress Street.” A pause. “You were right.” The line went dead.

Your stomach swirled with dread and sick excitement. With pride. Your hunch had been right.

The next call had been less ominous.

“I dunno, kid,” your editor slurred. You could hear the clicking of his typewriter, a leftover from his time as a stringer in the 80s. 2:50 a.m. and the old worker bee was still at the office. “You’re a rookie. This isn’t rookie work.”

“Come on, Fett, I got the tip.” All that time reporting on Little League games and interviewing the kaki-wearing winners of the Best Lawn Award had finally paid off. This was your one-way golden ticket out of covering county fairs—you’d rather stick your fingers below carnival bumper cars than writing another piece on the latest hot dog eating competition. “Fennec’s out covering that embezzlement thing in Corellia, who’re you gonna send? Calican?”

You heard him huff in time with a key jamming.

“Be serious.”

“I am.” You were already half dressed, stumbling from cold bedsheets to a colder bedroom with a leg half up your jeans. “I got the tip straight from the police department. From my source. I can do this.”

He typed to the rhythm of his ruminating. “You sure you wanna jump on the crime beat, kid? Cops can be assholes.”

“Can’t be worse than soccer moms.”

“Might be dangerous.”

“I’ve got pepper spray.”

It hadn’t been raining when you left your apartment. The jacket you’d worn for the cold, but you’d foregone the rain boots. You inevitably felt out of place in your stupid soaked sneakers, as you watched from a block away the warm, protective gear that cops and crime scene techs were clad in. A boulder settled deep in your stomach when you imagined yourself walking across the street with shaky hands and a notepad filled with more doodles than quotes—Baby’s First Crime Scene. The uniforms on scene would raise their snouts and smell it off you like brand-new plastic: a rookie, some amateur, a kid among the pros.

No. No, you could definitely handle this. You got the tip. For the time being, you were the first and only journalist on scene—even the nightcrawlers seemed to have missed this one—and this was your story. Christ, you could do this. Fett only asked for ten inches of copy and one quote from law enforcement. Piece of cake.

Your sneakers squeaked across the shining asphalt as you crossed the street, fingers trembling in your pockets from the cold and the anxiety. Nobody seemed to care much about your presence on the sidewalk. Officers circled around you, spoke codes into their radios, helped techs unload equipment. You were early. The chief of police wasn’t here yet, and neither were the detectives. Your source had been the first on scene—thanks to you, of course—so he’d kept his word, which you’d only half-expected.

A heavy-limbed officer ducks behind yellow tape with a black light in his arms. A crime scene technician in a white boiler suit carries a jug of luminol inside the luxurious 70s bungalow at the end of Cypress Street. Despite the fully-equipped van, the squad cars that keep rolling in by the second and the top-notch technology at the disposition of Nevarro PD, every uniform on scene carries the haunted look in their eyes of someone who’s been in this position one too many times. They know that luminol will not flare up white and neon inside this bungalow. They know that the only prints they’ll pick up will belong to the owner of the house, Horatio Mythrol, the man who is currently missing.

You walked until the yellow tape grazed your waist. Cops bumped into you, murmuring apologies or curses. Word was starting to get out, but not fast enough. The police station was a twenty-minute drive away from the crime scene. The uniforms that were already here had either been patrolling the area or running red lights. Or, of course, they’d already known what houses they needed to stake out—which was the case of your source. A man you couldn’t find anywhere among the hive of buzzing cops.

Shit. You needed that quote.

Flipping out your legal pad and asking random, grumpy cops for on-the-record quotes, pretty please, didn’t seem like the most sensitive plan of action.

This is the fourth disappearance in less than two months. The Nevarran upper-class neighborhood that has been rocked by what some call a crime wave (nobody really calls it that—most women in the line at the grocery shop insist it’s a serial killer) already shows signs of the fear settling into its inhabitants. Tall fences have been built, CCTV cameras blink red at passersby, some front doors have ditched Christmas crowns and mistletoe for triple locks. And yet, Nevarro PD insists the cases are not related. The public isn’t so sure. (The public, aka, you.) Last week during a press conference (that you hadn’t been allowed to attend) Chief—

“You, with the sneakers,” someone barked behind you.

It made you jump. It made your ears and neck warm because goddamnit you had to wear those fucking sneakers. Mostly, it made you want to trade places with Horatio Mythrol when you turned to find an officer in full uniform scowling at you, and you said the single stupidest thing you could: “Me?”

“Yeah, you.” The cop’s arms were crossed, highlighting the nametag on her left side that read Reeves and the badge on her right side that said Captain. “You live here?”

“Um, no.”

“You see anything?”

“No, I’m…” You knew it was a mistake before you said it. “I’m press.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Really? What, you want a quote?” Captain Reeves stepped towards you, you stepped back until your waist bended the yellow tape. Somehow, you didn’t think saying yes and pulling out your pen and legal pad would do you any good. “Well, here’s your quote, Press: The last thing we need in an active crime scene is a glorified web sleuth getting in our way and distracting officers. We have this under control.” She paused for a second to let it sink in. It did. “Beat it.”

And beat it you did.

Sort of.

You wore your best wimp face and scurried away like a scared little mouse running away from the Big Bad Wolf, an act you knew cops soaked up as their daily shot of god complex. You were only half-acting. Reeves’ coal eyes burned into you all the way to the end of the street, where tall cypresses prevented passersby from plunging into the river below. It was only after you spotted her telltale cop smirk and she turned around, that you took cover behind the cypresses to trek back to the house with what you knew was a shit-eating grin.

If one believed town gossip—and you certainly did—Captain Koska Reeves had a reputation for bending civil rights as far back as she did suspects’ arms: guilty ‘til proven innocent, anything you say I’ll paraphrase to my liking, if you cannot afford you ain’t getting one. Anyone with a brain would’ve marched straight back home—that is, anyone who didn’t know that Miss Congeniality here didn’t have the upper hand for once. Fourth disappearance in less than two months and Nevarro PD had a whole bunch of nothing, not a single print or drop of blood or speck of semen to waive around as a white flag. You saw it during the press conferences, when they babbled about unreleased information and an abundance of physical evidence. Bullshit. Reeves’ eyes had sunk deep into their pockets under the weight of all that imaginary evidence, under the Chief’s pressure and the Mayor’s boot. They couldn’t afford to fuck up, so she was playing this one close to the chest—if you had to guess, you’d say she was only calling in the police officers she trusted the most—the ones who were only mildly dirty— which is why, when you reached the back of the bungalow, there wasn’t a single one in sight.

Back in the 70s Nevarro was a hot hippie hub, believe it or not. This was before the real estate whales and big developers from Corellia moved in and ran anybody with sandals and bloodshot eyes out of town before they could say “fascist.” But Horatio Mythrol seemed to hold on to the summer of love, judging by the dream catcher hanging by the porch and the bright green conversation pit in the middle of his living room that you caught a glimpse of when you snuck to the bungalow’s backyard.

One thing about these authentic midcentury modern houses: the fences are never tall.

Still, not an easy climb. With the rain-slicked fence and the sneakers that you were definitely burning after this, you slipped and fell like a sack of potatoes into the backyard, crashing butt-first into a charming little allotment of what smelled like weed. Jesus Christ.

Moron Journalist Arrested for B&E, Tampering with Evidence

So when you rolled off onto the mushy lawn and peered at the property damage you’d caused, you thought you were imagining it. A flash of silver blinking at you from between the spiky marijuana leaves, it could only be an hallucination caused by your fall—but when you reached a hand inside the orchard and closed your fist around the glint, it materialized. Cold, ragged and metallic: a key.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

The scratchy voice fell on your shoulders like a piano in a cartoon. You jumped a couple of feet into the air and scrambled on your hands and knees, limbs shaking like industrial drills, searching in the dark for the source of the commanding voice that could only belong to a battle-worn detective or a serial killer or God. Either way, you were fucked.

A dark shadow stood above you, ominous like a closing shot of The Twilight Zone. You were dizzy from the fall and the adrenaline, blinking against the darkness to try and gauge the outlines. Tall male, broad shoulders, hands stuffed inside the pockets of a trench coat. Face darkened by the leaves of a sycamore above him. If the cold-induced mist coming out of his mouth had been cigarette smoke, he would’ve been a picture-perfect noir detective, the cover of a pulp paperback.

Mystery Man slowly removed a hand from his trench coat’s pocket. Your heart picked up its galloping, you thought you smelled blood. Your eyes were stuck on the pocket, racing with possibilities: handcuffs, a gun, Horatio Mythrol’s severed hand. No, just—a hand. His own hand. Extended towards you, palm up, like he was approaching a scared dog who needed to sniff his fingers before trusting the well-meaning stranger. It took you a moment to realize he was offering to help you up.

Probably not a serial killer, then. You lifted your right fist an inch, before you remembered the cold weight of the key, and extend your left hand instead. He grabbed you by the elbow and hurled you to your feet until your nose was a fist’s length away from his chest. He smelled like soap and rain and baby powder. You hoped he wasn’t some pervert.

“What are you doing here?” The voice was familiar. Not acquaintance-familiar, not like a neighbor or a friend. Backdrop-familiar. As if you’d heard it before in a crowded mall.

“I just…” Warning signs with Captain Reeves’ face flashed in your head. You stuffed your hands into your jacket, feigning a little shiver, dropping the key into your pocket. “I saw the squad cars and the tape.” Not a lie, a petulant little voice supplied inside you, as if you weren’t already on thin ice, I did see them.

“You live in the neighborhood?”

You knew you were walking the tight rope of what constituted honest-to-god, Pulitzer-worthy reporting. Below, the murky swamp waters of unethical journalism bubbled and invited you to fall over.

“I’m not far off.” Ten minutes wasn’t far.

“Right.” The voice gave nothing away, steady as a monitor flatlining. You couldn’t tell if he believed you.

“Are you…” Careful treading here. “Are you a detective on the case?”

You still couldn’t see his eyes, but you felt them on yours. On your shoulders, your arms, your entire face, unlike him, you didn’t have a sycamore to shield you from the moonlight. “Something like that.”

That was your cue to be a good little journo and reveal that you were press and hope you weren’t kicked out for the second time. But you had already ignored an officer’s orders, breached into private property, stepped into a crime scene. Most importantly, this man was law enforcement, and you still needed that quote. Dipping your toes in that murky water couldn’t do that much harm.

“Did…did something happen to Horatio?” You called this act Scared Neighbor. You even managed a little stutter and a shiver.

“That’s what we’re trying to find out, ma’am.” You caught a glimpse of his chin when a sliver of moonlight trickled through the sycamore leaves. Patchy stubble, strong jaw.

Trying to find out. Just like you thought, another crime scene where they would get jack shit. A couple of months weren’t nearly enough to declare that a case had gone cold—not even lukewarm—and yet your source was positive that this one would never be solved. The way he’d vaguely described it, the other houses looked like your run-of-the-mill suburban burglary: upturned mattresses, open drawers, slashed cushions. But a burglary didn’t explain the missing home-owners.

It didn’t help that nearly all cops in the department were busy protecting their sponsors. Good old Nevarro PD was a delightful bottomless pit of filth—they wouldn’t give anyone a parking ticket without triple-checking that they didn’t work for someone they worked for. Looking up at the shadow in front of you, you wondered who filled his pockets.

If the detective’s grasp on your arm hadn’t tightened, you would’ve thought he’d turned to stone. Whatever. He was welcome to think he was comforting Suburban Damsel in Distress as long as he gave you the information you were fishing for.

“Oh, I hope he’s okay,” you murmured in your best Snow White voice. “I…I heard about the other cases and… You don’t think it’s connected to those, do you?”

For a second, you saw the glint of his teeth. A tiny grin or a brief snarl. “Why were you awake?”

The commotion in the front porch was getting louder, more squad cars’ tires were screeching on the asphalt, your brain was going ninety an hour. “What?”

“You said you saw the squad cars. Not hear them.” His voice sounded amused—not in a friendly way, not inviting you in on the joke. You figured he was more used to playing Bad Cop. “They didn’t wake you up. So why were you already awake, looking out the street at three a.m. if—”

Someone flicked a switch inside the bungalow, and the sliding doors came to life, flooding the backyard in bright yellow light. The hand on your elbow pulled hard, guiding you to take cover behind the sycamore and dropping to the wet grass, bellies to the ground, guerrilla style. Uniforms and boiler suits poured into the mint green living room splashed with bright orange cushions and psychedelic carpets on the walls that could only be described as “groovy.” A Ouija board in the middle of the conversation pit. Had the spirits had the chance to warn Horatio of his untimely disappearance?

The detective’s breathing was hot on your ear and strangely comforting. His shoulder against yours, his heart racing as fast as yours, both of you staring holes at the sliding doors, trying to catch some irregularity, something they’d missed on the last crime scene, anything that would make this case make sense.

You were close enough to the sliding doors to count the hairs on the officers’ heads; and they were close enough to count yours, if any of them spared a glance at the backyard. You scooted closer to the sycamore’s trunk.

The place looked trashed enough for a burglary, all right. Stabbed cushions with their cottony insides spilling to the floor, open drawers with their contents scattered, an upturned table that seemed too short and sturdy to naturally tumble to the side. Your proto mattress was also disheveled enough to fit the style of the rest of the property. What you’d thought was a small personal allotment of cannabis for Horatio’s nostalgia nights turned out to be a plot that ran all the way past the sycamore, close enough to the fence that it wouldn’t be seen by outsiders.

“Huh.”

The detective’s shadow of a head turned to look at you. “What?”

You pointed a finger at the patch. “Didn’t take the weed.”

The patch where you’d fallen was the only part of the culture that looked disturbed; the rest of the plants were tall and perky, surprisingly green and purple for the winter, and most had already flowered. Any self-respecting burglar would’ve known that cash and drugs were the easiest goods to move—no middle man, and they change hands fast enough that in a few days they’d be untraceable.

The detective remained quiet for a long second, and you were starting to wonder if you’d have to explain what you meant when he whispered, “Maybe the burglar doesn’t smoke. Or wouldn’t know where to sell it.”

You managed a quiet snort. “In this town? Toddlers here can roll blunts.”

He was quiet for a longer moment, trying on your theory like a glove, flexing his knuckles to see if it fit. “You could be right.”

You barely had time soak up the pride when the commotion outside became tomb-quiet, snatched from the root. Seconds later, an officer marched into the living room: redhead, girl boss haircut, giving every tech and cop in the living room a foul look, as if they’d all fucked up already just by existing and were in for it. None of the cops met her eye.

“Chief Bonnie looks better on TV,” you whispered.

A sharp exhale, probably his version of a laugh. “If she ever hears you call her that she’ll plant coke in your car.” The woman took slow steps around the living room; everything she saw made her eyebrows furrow deeper. “Stick to ‘Chief Kryze.’”

You grinned. “What do family and friends call her?”

“‘Chief Bo.’”

You could’ve laughed, if Chief Kryze hadn’t turned to the sliding doors. You swallowed it down and tried to sink into the muddy earth. The chief of police opened the door, stepped into the grass, made a sour face at the allotment of weed where you’d landed. The detective had gone stone-still, his breathing imperceptible, and then it hit you—if he was a detective, why was he hiding?

Chief Kryze’s combat boots crushed the grass, her gaze made the air on the backyard collapse. She approached the sycamore, stared up at its branches or the moon or the heavens. You didn’t know if you should run from her or from the stranger beside you. With a hard sigh, she turned back to the bungalow, leaving you half-relieved and half-paralyzed with fear. You still needed to get away from this man, whoever the fuck he was.

You slowly tried to get on your feet but—of course, of fucking course—your sneaker squeaked like rubber ducks.

Chief Kryze’s head whirled back like whip, she snatched the flashlight from her hip and shone it right at your faces.

“Get up!” she barked, approaching you in long strides. You stood on noodle legs, ears buzzing, squinting at the light. “Get the fuck up and—!” Two long strides and she was almost chest-to-chest with the stranger. You were trying to block out the flashlight’s glare with a hand when her voice turned low and bitter, only a step above a growl and a badge above a punch: “Djarin.”

The flashlight clicked off. You blinked against the dark spots in your vision that it left behind, big enough to cover most of the chief of police’s face, but not dark enough to black out the fiery rage in her eyes.

“Good to see you, Bo.”

“I swear to God, Djarin,” Chief Kryze spat in a harsh whisper. “I swear to fucking God that if you have anything to do with this case, I’ll—”

“You think I kidnapped Horatio? What, for kicks?”

“I wouldn’t put it above you. Lots of people in this town wouldn’t.” He promptly shut up after that—it hit a nerve. And Chief Kryze knew it, judging by the long, triumphant gulp of December air she took and the lazy tilt of her head.

She strapped her flashlight back to her hip and said in her confident TV voice, “Frankly, I don’t give a rat’s ass if you did it or not. Actually, I’d love it if you had, that way I could slap a pair of handcuffs on you and throw you in gen pop, so don’t tempt me, Djarin. If I ever catch you at one of my crime scenes again, or at the station, or anywhere where I can fucking smell you, I’ll have a couple of uniforms stock your apartment full of hippie shit with Horatio’s fingerprints all over them, and sprinkle a bit of his hair there too, so I can be sure it sticks. I don’t have to tell you where that special someone you’ve got at home would be spending Christmas—I hear you’re well acquainted with that place, too.”

She closed her speech with a short exhale and a winning grin that, even in the dark, you could tell contained no joy—it was all teeth. Her eyes fell on you for the first time, looked you up and down, quirked an eyebrow. “You brought a date?”

“Came here all by herself.” Still his steady, low voice, rough like pavement; it tickled your spine. If not for the next thing he said, you would’ve liked the sensation: “She’s press. Nevarro Bee, right?”

The tickle became a sting, like an icicle lodged between your vertebrae.

You were gonna be sick. “I… I mean…”

“Unless you want your speech word for word on tomorrow’s front page, Kryze, I suggest we both forget about tonight. We both know Fett won’t think twice about printing it.”

Bonnie Katan-Kryze grabbed your wrist and yanked your paralyzed self towards the light spilling from the sliding doors. She gave you a look that matched the weather, a snarl pulling at her lip, her nostrils flaring. She was memorizing your face.

When you looked back at the sycamore, the man’s shadow was gone. Fuck him. Whoever that man was—pervert or detective or serial killer—, fuck him. He threw you like bait and scurried away to save his own ass.

“Unless you’re fucking brain dead,” Chief Kryze said slowly, as if she were, in fact, talking to an idiot, “I don’t think I have to tell you what will happen if you even think about printing anything you heard tonight.” Her fingernails dug into your wrist. “Because if you think that your little friend back there had it bad, you have no idea—”

The sliding doors opened a crack.

“Hey, Chief.” This time, you knew exactly whose voice that was.

“What?”

“Better take a look at this.”

Chief Kryze rolled her eyes and turned to the officer, ready to tell him to fuck off, when she let go of your wrist. The officer was holding the Ouija board. It was made of a dark wood that looked expensive, decorated with intricate arabesques, pentagrams, a siren. The letters were carved rather than drawn—and blood filled letters N to Z, numbers 1 to 0 and the “Goodbye” sign at the bottom.

Kryze dug a pair of latex gloves out of her pocket. Her hands were shaking when she put them on. “Mayfeld,” she said, as she carefully took the board from him. “Escort this woman off the crime scene. Frisk her for a note pad or a recorder. Take her name and address.”

Chief Kryze stepped into the living room looking ten years older; Officer Mayfeld stepped out looking like he was trying real hard not to give you a black eye. You followed him to the back of the yard, where you could see the river shining black. He opened a gate on the corner of the property and shoved you into the empty lot next to Horatio Mythrol’s house. You almost crashed face-first into an idle scissor lift. Fuck knows what they were building in there.

“So,” he says behind you, clasping his hands together, “did you hit your fucking head or something?”

Now that danger wasn’t imminent and the adrenaline had crashed, you wanted to sleep for three days. You were cold, tired and dirty with mud where that fucker had made you lay down on the ground. The last thing you were in the mood for was Mayfeld’s lecture. “Give me a break.”

“No, I’m serious. You need me to call you an ambulance, sweetheart? Because I don’t understand how anyone without brain injury would walk into a fucking crime scene—into Chief Kryze’s fucking crime scene—and get caught!” Under the moonlight, Migs Mayfeld looked paler than a ghost—a ghost about to get audited, pacing back and forth, rubbing a palm on his head. “You got any idea what you’re playing at? Huh? Why don’t you just print my face on the front page next time and call me a snitch?”

“Relax, nobody noticed I even knew you, let alone that you’re my source.”

“Source? I’m not your fucking source. I called you this once as—as a professional courtesy—”

“—because I did your fucking job for you. You would’ve never been first on scene to collect your Good Boy Badge if I hadn’t told you—”

“—I called you so you could write the story before any newspaper, not so you could come skipping with your goddamn notepad to play detective and network with the crowd. Who was that on the backyard, anyway? The guy Chief Kryze was talking to?”

He stopped pacing, breathing hard, but suddenly calm, his tone gentler. Piece of work, Mayfeld was. He could be booking you for murder and he’d still try to figure out a way to be buddies if it benefitted him.

You kicked a pebble. “Don’t know. Chief Kryze called him ‘Djarin.’”

Migs Mayfeld stared at you like you were Horatio Mythrol’s ghost making a peace sign. He didn’t blink for a full minute and then murmured, “Jesus H Christ.”

That got your heart racing again. “What?” You pictured Most Wanted lists, local prowlers, ex-cons. You’d been checking those lists since you started digging into this case, but you hadn’t been able to see the man’s face; you wouldn’t have recognized him either way. “Is he a suspect?” You thought of his hot breath on your ear, so close to each other.

Migs shook his head. “Christ, you really are new at this.” You gave him a blank stare until he exhaled the last of his patience. “Din Djarin? Private detective Din Djarin? Public-fucking-enemy number one to every cop in this town? Solved the Tusken Murders last year and made Chief Kryze look like a moron? Ring a bell?”

A chilly gust of wind came blowing from the south. Mayfeld trembled like a leaf, his teeth rattled like bones. He couldn’t stop shaking his head.

“If Din Djarin’s got his head in this case, it means we really are fucked,” he murmured, pacing again. “Happy fucking holidays to me.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

taglist: not sure?? who to tag??? i don't know any taglist etiquette + i know a lot of you were in for rmrb, so please don't hesitate to let me know if you wanto to be removed or if you only want to be tagged in Rule Maker, Rule Breaker stuff

@rosetophighlander​ @hellomothermoon @newyorksins​ @leo-moon @benedrylcumbersnatch @corrupt-fvcker @seratoninforyouseratoninforme @multifandomlife22 @justanotherblonde23 @abysshaven @equalstrashflavoredtrash @16boyfriends-and-me @ihaveashield @dinispunk @bananaagurl @mstgsmy @absurdthirst @cowboy-kylo @roxypeanut @heyitmelexie @readsalot73 @krazykatkay456 @elusive-danger-noodle @ofstardustandbone @nikkiparthena @lifeisapitch15 @teaofpeach @auty-ren @anewrule @hyp-oh-critical​ @pascaliprincess​ @geannad​ @coaaster​ @frietiemeloen​ @yourbucky084​ @brynnstudies​ @elfwoodfae​ @ms-fatally-yours @hansonveggieclub @artsymaddie @the-scandalorian @tilltheendwilliwrite @anewrule @hyp-oh-critical @pascaliprincess @f4llingfairy @shestillwrites1 @itsjustaphase8 @lackofhonor @geannad @sofithewitch @sfr99 @thatonedindjarinfan @yooforia @dar-manda-rjct @starsfordays @usualsworld @greeneyedblondie44 @the-importance-of-being-sasuke @promiscuoussatan @carbonite-cruncher @speideysimpossiblegirl @fangirl-316 @multifandom-superlover @sirianisrock @hdlynn @hellabaybee @lellowberry @thevoiceinyourheadx @dins-helmet @cowboy-kylo @coaaster @djarrex @ms-fatally-yours

#the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian modern au #modern!din #modern!din djarin #modern au #PI!din djarin #private investigator!din djarin #private investigator din #PI!din

[rafael-silva]

in the warmth of your embrace: a tarlos fic

TK goes home to Carlos after a hectic shift, and Carlos takes care of TK in the way the paramedic needs, which partly comes in the form of TK cuddling Carlos and running his fingers through the officer’s soft curls.

for good things happen bingo: tarlos + playing with the other’s hair

emotional hurt/comfort, softness, cuddles, kisses, soft boyfriends, tk and carlos are so in love

2.5k | rated T | on ao3

*****

TK stumbles through the door, dropping his keys into the nearby bowl and lowers his duffel bag to the floor. He toes off his shoes near the entrance, stifling a yawn as he makes his way into the kitchen.

It had been a long, hectic shift, especially for the paramedics. Call after call kept them out of the firehouse for hours, barely even giving them enough time to grab a quick bite in between the radio coming to life with a new call.

He downs half of the cold water he pours into a glass, relishing in the cool liquid running down his dry throat. He loved saving lives, had truly found himself in it, but after exhausting shifts as this one, his knees barely able to carry him anymore, he longed for the moment he gets home to the comfort of his bed, to crawl into the loving and warm arms of his boyfriend.

It was Carlos’s day off, and the officer had spent it running errands and then had lunch at his parents’. Days when both of them aren’t working were a little difficult for them, being apart for many hours. Plus, their schedules haven’t been lining up well lately, making the time apart even harder.

At least when they were both working, Carlos would drop TK off at the firehouse, giving him a chaste kiss and a smile, promising to see him at home. TK returns the smile, reciprocating the promise and with one more echoed between them of please stay safe, they part ways, the knowledge that there are chances of them seeing either other sooner than that on calls bubbling in their stomachs.

But on days when one of them is off work, they try to spend as much lazy time in bed before one of them has to get ready to leave, exchanging sleepy smiles and kisses, mumbled good mornings and stealing some more cuddles under the soft sun rays shinning in through the curtains.

Eventually, though, the love spell has to inevitably be broken when the snoozed alarm rings. With a heavy sigh, one of them gets up, the other watching him with half lidded eyes, still sleepy around the edges. With a series of kisses from the forehead down to the lips, a goodbye is said, both already longing for each other after the first moment of separation.

The excitement at seeing Carlos simmers under TK’s skin, overriding his exhaustion as he climbs the stairs to their bedroom. The house is quiet, and he momentarily thinks Carlos might have fallen asleep, but he soon spots the soft yellow glow originating from the room and knows the officer is most likely still awake.

His gut is proven right when he stops in the doorframe, his eyes landing on Carlos. Carlos is sitting up in their bed, back against the headboard, wearing sweats and one of his old police academy t-shirts. His knee is pulled up towards his chest, an open book resting on his thigh, one TK recognizes is always on Carlos’s nightstand.

But that’s not what really captures TK’s attention, it’s Carlos’s eyeglasses sitting on the bridge of his nose and his loose curls hanging over his forehead that catch the paramedic’s eyes and they linger there.

He leans against the doorframe, arms going to cross over his chest as he watches his boyfriend, a smile spreading on his face. And by the way his curls run wild and free, TK can tell Carlos had just gotten out of the shower.

Carlos is so immersed in the reading material, TK can tell by the slight crease in his eyebrows, but he immediately senses TK’s arrival and presence by the door. There’s always been a tug between them, an invisible string connecting them. They always gravitate towards each other, even in their sleep, their connection cosmic and powerful.

Carlos looks up from his book and a blinding smile takes over his face, reaching his glittering brown eyes.

“Hey, babe,” Carlos greets. “How long have you been standing there?”

“A minute or so,” TK replies as he steps into the bedroom, walking over to Carlos. “I love watching you read, you know that.”

“Mhm,” Carlos nods, a light blush painting his cheeks as he gently cups TK’s face and returns the kiss TK leans in for.

TK sighs happily, allowing himself to feel all of Carlos and to melt against him.

“Welcome home,” Carlos whispers into the small space between them when they separate.

“It’s good to be home,” TK whispers back, leaning into Carlos’s touch and goes in for another soft kiss, resting his hands against the mattress on either side of Carlos to balance himself.

“How was your day?” Carlos asks, watching TK move over to the closet to get changed out of his uniform.

“It was alright, hectic and super busy though,” TK replies as he tugs his shirt out of his pants and starts to unbutton it.

Carlos marks the page and closes the book, returning it to the nightstand. He then goes to remove his round eyeglasses but stops when TK speaks.

“Oh, no, that stays on,” TK smirks.

An eyebrow travels up Carlos’s forehead behind his glasses. “Oh?”

TK shrugs and bites down on his lower lip, his cheeks turning pink. “I like it, you should wear it more often.”

Carlos adjusts the transparent frame as he chuckles.

TK gets on the bed, a knee supporting his body as he leans over to plant a kiss to Carlos’s cheek. “It’s sexy,” he whispers. “And cute.”

“As long as it ticks both those boxes,” Carlos winks.

“Oh, it definitely does,” TK confirms with a wiggle of his eyebrows as he continues to change into something more comfortable. “And I see you’ve finally gotten around to continue it,” he gestures to the now closed book.

Carlos nods. “I had to reread a couple of chapters to get back on track but it’s good, and there was some free time after coming home from my parents’ to really get back into it.”

“Yeah, I would imagine you’d have to do that after months of not having time to read. And how was lunch?” TK asks, slipping an old NYFD t-shirt on and then sweats.

“It was lovely,” Carlos smiles. “Mom and dad really missed you there, though. Made me promise  to bring you over for another lunch as soon as possible.”

“I really wish I could have been there,” TK sighs, plugging his phone into the charger. “And here’s hoping our schedules line up better next week so we can do that.”

“Amen,” Carlos agrees. “Come here,” he lifts and opens his arm in TK’s direction. “You’re exhausted,” he adds, noticing his boyfriend is mere seconds away from toppling over.

TK nods, going to remove the duvet on his side and flicking it near the foot of the bed and gets in. The feeling of the soft mattress underneath his spent body is heavenly, but it’s nothing compared to the true comfort he feels as he rests in Carlos’s arm and tucks his face into the officer’s neck.

“I got you,” Carlos reassures, his arm going around TK’s shoulder and pulling him against him even more.

“You always do,” TK replies, brushing a kiss to the exposed skin of Carlos’s neck. “I missed you today.”

“I missed you, too, baby,” Carlos responds and presses a kiss to the top of TK’s head. “Texting will never be the same as seeing you on one of those calls.”

“Yeah,” TK agrees. “And we didn’t do much of that either thanks to the never-ending calls we got.”

“You saved lives, and I’m so proud of you, babe,” Carlos expresses, his voice coated with so much love and admiration for the younger man.

TK replies with another kiss to Carlos’s neck. “I never would have been able to make the change to paramedic without you. You guided me and supported me, your words gave me the final push I needed and your encouragement every day means more than words can express.”

“I’ve got your back, Ty, always,” Carlos vows.

“And I’ve got yours,” TK vows back.

“Is there anything you need?” Carlos asks, his hand moving up and down TK’s arms in the way he knows calms TK.

“Just this. Just you, ‘Los, you’re all I need,” TK replies with a smile.

“You’ve got me,” Carlos says and the kiss he gives TK this time is brushed against his temple.

TK nuzzles closer to Carlos, almost like he wants to disappear into his boyfriend and Carlos understands. On days like these, days that take a big toll on TK, TK is often in need of anchoring and grounding, and Carlos has learned over the months of their relationship that taking care of TK in the aftermath of said days takes on many forms. The officer has also gotten pretty good at knowing how to offer the comfort TK needs without TK having to ask for it.

He would have run a bath for TK and guided him to the bathroom when he returned home, knowing that the warm water and feeling Carlos’s touch would help TK, but after seeing just how tired TK was and how TK so eagerly gravitates towards him, Carlos knows exactly what TK needs.

TK needs to feel Carlos under his touch, to hold him close, to melt into him.

Knowing this in his heart, Carlos shifts, and TK lets out a disapproving noise at the movement.

“Trust me,” Carlos says, slightly pulling back from TK.

TK frowns as they separate, not yet catching up to what Carlos is doing. He realizes Carlos’s plan when the cop positions his body in front of TK’s, his back now to TK’s chest and TK wastes no time in wrapping his arms around Carlos and pulling him close. It’s almost an automatic response, TK needing to be close to his boyfriend.

TK, now holding Carlos, drops a kiss to the back of the officer’s head while running the pads of his fingers over Carlos’s clothed stomach.

Their breathing syncs, slow and steady as Carlos’s hand goes to cover TK’s and he intertwines their fingers together.

TK’s other hand then moves to Carlos’s head and he begins carding his fingers through the soft curls there, Carlos humming in approval as TK weaves through the strands.

TK smiles when Carlos leans into his touch, knowing how much Carlos loves this and how it relaxes him. More than once, Carlos had fallen asleep while TK ran his fingers through his hair as they cuddled in front of the television.

“I love your curls like this,” TK’s voice breaks the comfortable silence that had fallen over them.

He twirls a curl around his finger, watching it scrunch back into place when he lets it go.

“I appreciate your days off because you don’t gel up your hair,” TK continues.

“Oh, is that the only reason you appreciate my days off?” Carlos asks, and TK can pretty much hear the smirk in his voice.

TK chuckles, the vibrations reaching Carlos’s body through their connection, making him smile.

“Not the only reason,” TK replies. “Your cooking is another reason I highly appreciate your days off.”

It’s Carlos’s turn to chuckle, nodding.

“But it doesn’t compare to our mutual days off and all the free time we get…” TK trails off, his voice suggestive and low against Carlos’s ear.

“Mhm,” Carlos agrees in a heartbeat. “Can’t wait for more days off together.”

Carlos lifts their connected hands and brushes a kiss to TK’s knuckles, TK squeezing Carlos’s hand in response. The tension eases and seeps from TK’s body and peace falls upon the couple.

“Feeling better, baby?” Carlos asks.

“Yeah,” TK nods, further anchoring himself through holding Carlos.

Carlos smiles and leans back against TK some more, knowing it’s helping TK.

He doesn’t exactly know what had happened during TK’s shift, if he had a rough call or something of the sort, but Carlos doesn’t push, also knowing that TK might shut down if he isn’t ready to talk about it yet.

Over the course of their relationship, Carlos had learned to give TK some space, that that was the best way to get TK to open up. The months of their relationship have helped Carlos know the difference between TK’s silences, being able to differentiate between those moments when TK is spiraling and needs a hand, and the ones where he’s composing his thoughts and processing his emotions.

There’s subtle differences between those silences, in TK’s demeanor and even engraved in his expressions. And Carlos has learned to tell the difference.

It wasn’t easy at first, his instinct to help TK and to be there for him overriding what he knew was true. Time had proven fruitful, though, and TK started to open up to Carlos more easily and more frequently. Of course, Carlos knew it was also thanks to their developing relationship and the trust built between them, but he also knew not pushing TK to talk had something to do with it, too.

So as TK runs his fingers through Carlos’s hair, gently massaging his scalp as he goes, Carlos knows TK is collecting his thoughts, figuring out his feelings, before talking to Carlos about it.

TK’s process happens in one of two ways, either he goes on a full rant, letting everything sink in as he speaks, usually while pacing back and forth or in moments like these, quiet moments, where it all happens inside his head and it’s those moments he needs something or someone to hold on to.

And Carlos trusts that TK will come to him when he’s ready.

“Wanna sleep, babe?” Carlos whispers.

“In a bit,” TK replies. “Just wanna stay like this for a little longer.”

Carlos nods as TK’s arm tightens around him and he wiggles against TK’s chest, getting more comfortable.

Carlos can tell TK also needs some more time for his mind to calm, for the racing thoughts to quiet down and he’s willing to stay like this for as long as TK needs.

“Thank you for this, ‘Los,” TK whispers, fingers still combing through Carlos’s curls, grounding them both.

“Always, baby.”

Eventually, TK’s heart rate starts to decrease, Carlos feeling the tranquility against his back and he knows TK will soon fall asleep.

“Come on,” Carlos says as he begins to shift, realizing how tired TK is at the lack of response from the paramedic at the officer’s movement.

TK nods and lets Carlos maneuver him, but he pauses, looking at TK.

“Okay if I take them off now?” Carlos asks, his tone a little teasing as he takes hold of his glasses.

TK nods. “I’d hate for them to break. But keep them close,” he winks.

Carlos chuckles, taking off his glasses and folding the handles, gently placing them on the nightstand near his phone.

Carlos switches off the light and the soft moonlight glow immediately shines into their bedroom. They shuffle in bed for a few moments before settling down, Carlos now holding TK, the gesture offering wordless comfort.

Carlos drapes his arm over TK’s middle, pulling him closer into his chest and then brushes a soft kiss to the side of TK’s neck.

“Get some rest, baby, we’ll deal with everything tomorrow,” Carlos murmurs.

TK lets out a content sigh and in the safety of Carlos’s hold, engulfed in Carlos’s scent and everything that is Carlos, he drifts off.

And wrapped in Carlos’s arms, TK is truly home.

(Carlos wearing eyeglasses was inspired by the photo Rafa posted on his Instagram story a while back!)

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #tarlos #tarlos fic #userkimmy #userthai #reyesstrand #userjilly #tuserpaige #tuserjamie #userjillian #bellakitse #tuserems #tuserjenny #reyeslonestartag #djdangerlove #uservalentina #actuallysara #good things happen bingo #*fics #there's so much softness! #this was fun to write!

[coeurdastronaute]

HSAU: College Part 1

Previously on HSAU

Morning started the same, every day, rain or shine. Four thirty in the morning, the alarm beeped in the small attic room, and under one section of angled roof, where a pile of blankets slumbered, an arm would appear and slap around until the offending noise stopped. It was precise and methodical and never changed, six days a week.

Lexa ran her hands over her face after pushing off the blankets, but stayed in bed just a few seconds longer, orienting herself. Though it was still summer, the sky hadn’t brightened just yet, and the night was disinterested in ending anytime soon. When she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, she stretched and cracked her joints and yawned before grabbing an old shirt to throw over her sports bra and slipping on a pair of shorts. The fan in her window hummed along while the crickets outside groaned in the heat. Outside, the neighborhood she grew up in was quiet and still. A dog barked and calmed itself. No cars moved at all. Every picket fence and yard with signs and flags slumbered before dawn came, and Lexa was the first among the living. July was awake before the dawn as well. It shook off the night from its coat and stretched forward and backward before loping into the streets, covering every surface with a few inches of thick heat. Without the sun, the heat rose up straight from the ground itself, radiating out into the world. Lexa paused halfway through her run and tied her shoe as the light changed for no cars at all. As she stood she dried her forehead on her shoulder and started off again. Her run got insanely longer with the new summer route that took her out towards her uncle’s garage. For no reason at all. “Where’s Bear?” “I let him sleep in,” Lexa smiled before distracting herself with wiping the sweat from her face with her old shirt. “I ran here though, so that’s impressive.” “Yeah, I mean... no Bear though,” Clarke shrugged and hustled about the café, preparing for the opening. It took just a second, but somewhere between flipping the sign on the door and moving to make the second round of coffee, Lexa grabbed her girlfriend’s arm and tugged her back, kissing her like she had been waiting to do since she started her run. “Your mom still at that conference?” “Until Thursday.” “Want me to help you pack?” “Why don’t you let me actually pack and then come over to watch a movie or something,” Clarke chuckled and pushed at her girlfriend’s chest. “I am a great helper.” “No you’re not,” she smiled and ran her hand up Lexa’s neck, pushing her body closer as she found herself stuck between the counter and her quarterback. “I could barely walk after the last time you came over to help.” The words made her shiver, but Lexa grinned as she swallowed and ran her hands over Clarke’s hips. “But you were way more relaxed.” “I can’t wait until practice starts again. You need to work off all that energy somewhere else.” “How about another training session tonight?” The puppy dog eyes were in full effect, distracting her from everything else. The jingling of the bell at the door made them pull apart. Lexa smiled politely, clearing her throat as her girlfriend adjusted her apron. Just a few more days, and they would be gone, away from the safety of their little town. The entire summer had been spent avoiding thinking about it too much, had been spent disappearing to float down the river, to watch movies much too late in Lexa’s room until her mother would come home late from work and politely remind them of the hour, to drop Aden off at his science camp and disappear together to the mountains and spend the day hiking, which inevitably ended with lounging in the shade atop the hill. Lexa took her seat, at her table, and waited until Clarke finished with the first few customers of the morning. Miraculously, without even having to order, a water appeared, with a big bowl of oatmeal and fruit. Just like nearly a year ago, the quarterback sat there and studied plays as the morning rush came and went. Most of her time was spent watching the girl with blonde hair and cheeks that had that damn smile. For the life of her, Lexa couldn’t figure out how she was going to find the motivation to run when she moved to New Haven. XXXXXXXXX

The evening was growing long in the tooth, but neither party could be bothered to let it end without a fight. And even though a mother made her presence known from time to time, it didn’t deter the two sweethearts in the attic hideaway. Nothing really could, with the late-July heat settling on the roof, angry and annoyed. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen your room this clean ever before,” Clarke observed as she hunkered down on the bed while Lexa finished packing and straightening up. “It wasn’t ever dirty, it just feels… I don’t know. Less lived in.” 

“I wasn’t going to leave a mess for my mom.” 

“I know. I just don’t like any of it.” 

“You’ll be doing the same thing in like six weeks.” 

“Oh no. I’m definitely leaving a mess for my mom.” 

Lexa chuckled and zipped up another duffle bag before tossing it on the pile. She gave her room a finally glance and felt a twinge of sadness in the base of her heart, a tiny little tug on her body that felt like she was already gone. She fell into her bed beside her girlfriend and smiled when a hand pushed hair away from her face. 

“You’re going to go across the country tomorrow,” Clarke whispered. “And I will miss you. But you are going to do something spectacular.” 

The quarterback slid her hand around Clarke’s hip, her thumb touching the warm skin there. She liked the feeling of her, and she wanted to remember it. 

“I’ll miss you badly.” 

“Obviously. I’m incredibly missable.” 

Lexa smiled as Clarke held it there and kissed her eagerly, without holding anything back, to try to say what she couldn’t. Hands gripped on her hips and she pushed forward toward Lexa. Hands moved to her neck and she dug her hands into her girlfriend’s hair. 

“I’ll come see you when you move in,” Lexa promised. “Just a three hour train ride and I can be there.” 

“And you’ll work very hard earning that starting spot this summer. No distractions. And if you get a chance,” Clarke grinned and slide her hand up her girlfriend’s stomach. “To get in shape.” 

“You oogling me is really good motivation.” 

“I don’t oogle,” Clarke shook her head as lips moved to her neck. She felt Lexa settle atop her and closed her eyes, pulling her closer, always closer. “I appreciate.” 

“You’ll have a good summer, right? Not miss me too much.” 

“I’ll miss you plenty, but I’ll try.” 

“Will you, um,” Lexa pulled away slightly, her lips a little puffier, her eyes a little more dilated, her hands touching skin and aching for more. “Would you do me a favor?” 

“Your mom is still making dinner. We have like an hour before dinner. I plan on doing a few favors for you.” 

“No, no, not that,” she shook her head. “Well. Kind of that. But I just… I want you to have a good time this summer, and not think about me. But while you’re doing that, could you watch out for Aden? He gets… he gets quiet sometimes. And my mom. She works too hard. I don’t want to leave them.” 

Her eyes were a little glassy with the confession and Clarke pressed her hand to her chest and nodded with a smile before kissing her softly. 

“I’ll keep an eye on them.” 

“You have no idea how good that is to hear.” 

“I can imagine.”

“Any favors I can do for you?” Lexa ventured with a smile. 

“One or two.” 

XXXXXXXXXX

It wasn’t easy for the first week, but Clarke kept telling herself that if she could make it one week, then she could do it, without a doubt. As hard as it was, she clawed her way through the first seven days without Lexa almost intact and only cried a handful to a dozen times. 

They survived with FaceTime and texts and calls. She got to see a lot of Lexa’s new world with tons of pictures and a lot of eager explanations, and Clarke made sure to keep plans with friends, electing to fake it and hopefully find some moments of happiness. And she did, swimming with friends, parties by the river, working at the café. It was all doable when she didn’t take any time to think about it. 

And every night when she talked with her girlfriend on the phone, Clarke had something to tell her that she did that day to keep herself busy. And she got to hear about how crazy training was, and how awesome the team was, and how exciting being on her own seemed to be. Clarke could handle listening to Lexa talk for hours. 

But there was something she needed to do, and she waited until the first milestone of a week to muster up the courage to do it. 

“Clarke, honey, it is so good to see you,” Gabby opened the door and smiled, wiping her hands in the towel on her shoulder before hugging the girl at her door tightly. 

“It’s good to see you, too,” Clarke sighed, melting into the motherly embrace. 

“I hope you’re hungry. I made chicken.” 

“Is it cooked?” 

“Ha ha. Very funny,” she rolled her eyes, grinning as she ushered her guest inside. 

The house smelled warm and delicious, and somehow felt a little different without Lexa’s bag of gear by the door and her cleats clogging up the entryway. The noises were still the same, some music playing over the small radio on the kitchen counter and Aden’s music thumping overhead, but there wasn’t a happy girl about to lope down the steps at the sound of the door and kiss the guest, and everyone knew it. 

“How have you been? How’s summer so far?” Gabby asked as Clarke followed toward the kitchen. 

“Not too bad. Normal stuff. Working and preparing to leave.” 

“Ah, to be young and with the summer ahead,” she wistfully sighed before taking the chicken out of the oven. 

Her phone rang, and Clarke saw the familiar pep in her step to answer it after she looked at the clock, familiar with the schedule Lexa liked to keep. 

“Hey, kid. How are you?” she smiled at her phone as her daughter’s face popped on the screen. “Your timing is great. Look who just showed up for dinner.” 

Clarke waved at her girlfriend from the counter earning a huge smile. 

“Make sure the chicken is cooked,” Lexa offered.  

“Way ahead of you.” 

“How was practice today? You still sore in the shoulder?” 

“It was great. I got some time in on the first line and had a really good film session. I just got back from dinner with a bunch of the guys. It was Shawn’s birthday, so we went to get a bite at this awesome Chinese place I can’t wait to show you both.”

“And you’re back in the dorm by nine?” 

“A couple of the other guys went to grab drinks, but I’ve honestly never been more tired in my entire life, and we have a five call time tomorrow for conditioning.” 

“Okay, honey, well thanks for calling me. You should sleep.” 

“I will. Clarke, wake me up later so you can tell me all about dinner and your day?” 

“We’ll see,” she shrugged and smiled. 

“I’ll be half asleep but I’m extra cute when I’m half-asleep.” 

“It’s true,” Gabby nodded. “She’s impossible to tolerate when she’s awake.” 

“Very funny,” Lexa rolled her eyes. “I love you guys. Have a good dinner. I’m sorry I missed it.” 

“Get some sleep,” they both ordered. 

It was a good dinner. Clarke enjoyed her time with Lexa’s family as she always did, and she felt a little better that Lexa gave her something to do. Maybe it was a win-win all along, that Lexa got to make sure her family was watched, and Clarke would have something to do. She wasn’t sure she could give Lexa all the credit for the plan, just that she was glad it worked out that way. 

XXXXXXXXX

It had been a long two months. Clarke felt every second of it, she thought, despite how busy she was preparing to move across the country. There was still work, and there was still time with friends, still the summer shenanigans she’d come to love, still time with everyone else who was going their own ways as well. 

It took forever and it went on in a blink. But by the time she got off the plane and picked up her luggage, she realized she didn’t particularly miss home at all. As she stood on the curb and waited for an Uber, she wasn’t as daunted by the idea of change as she had expected, but rather eager to embrace it all. 

“Excuse me, ma’am, you’re going to have to move along--”

Dumbfounded, Clarke stared at her girlfriend, who seemed to have somehow gotten taller and prettier in their time apart, standing next to an old truck. Clad in a backward blue ball cap and a torn up workout shirt that looked as if it was still dirty from a morning practice. 

“What are you--?” Clarke began to ask before smiling too much and launching herself into her quarterback’s arms. 

It felt good, to feel Lexa’s arms around her waist, to smell the sun on her neck, to fit so snuggly there. Clarke squeezed with all of her might, kissing what she could smooshed there, with Lexa’s arms returning it, a laugh in her throat strangled from escaping. 

Somehow Clarke realized her legs wrapped around Lexa and she was essentially a koala, latched there. She didn’t care. She kissed her girlfriend, ignoring the honks of the cars and the swirling police that wanted to usher everyone along. She somehow became the person who missed another persons lips. It was infuriating. 

“How did you know?” 

“My mom told me about your flight,” Lexa shrugged. “I borrowed a truck from one of the guys on the line. They think you’re hot.” 

“Well, that’s… sweet, I guess.” 

“I couldn’t wait to see you. Even if it’s just for a little bit.”

“You’re getting soft on me, Woods.” 

“Yeah,” she grinned, squeezing again. “I don’t care. I knew no one would be here to take you to school.” 

“I was just going to uber or taxi.” 

“I’m going to be the person who takes you where you need to go, even if you don’t ask or expect it, and not in as creepy a way as that sounds--”

She was silenced with another kiss as Clarke struggled to hide her smile. 

[shinygoldstar]

Midnight Snack

DannyMay Day 11: Midnight

(Also DannyMay Shadow, Scars, Power, Nature, Seasons, Teeth can you find them all?)

Word Count: 2271 (not beta’d. experimental writing)

Warning: mentions of ghost cannibalism, nothing explicit

@floralflowerpower ​ – for that ghost cannibalism post

(it’s 1 am so i’m gonna sleep now. might post on AO3 later)

Edit: AO3 Added!

.

It was mid-October. The leaves are starting to turn yellow heralding the approaching autumn. Danny was happy because that meant the unusually hot weather is almost over. It wasn’t that he’s melting from the heat- quite the opposite, he’s probably the only person in Amity that isn’t sweltering under the sun with his cold core. But due to this exact same reason, his cooler body temperature also drew in water vapor which condenses on his skin, pooling into beads of water dripping down his shirt, making him appear extra sweaty. He can’t wait for the temperature to be cool enough to not change clothes every few hours. Good thing his clothes are purchased by the dozen; no one really noticed him wearing new sets of clothes throughout the day.

.

It was the contaminated fridge foods that disappeared first. No one missed them. At least until they can’t find the mutated turkeys for their annual Thanksgiving hunting event.

.

Danny yawned as he and his friends entered Fenton Works. Autumn is comfy. Just the right temperature where he can wear loose clothing and not be stared at for being underdressed for the weather. No ‘sweating’ either. His mouth closed with a click, a bit too fast on his new fangs. Danny winced. The fangs seemed to have grown longer overnight again. At this rate Danny won’t be able to pass them off as normal pointy canine teeth for much longer. It didn’t hurt but the itch is annoying. Danny took a detour to the fridge, grabbing an ice cube from the freezer and popped it into his mouth, absentmindedly chewing on the cubes to take the edge off the itch as they walked down to the basement lab. His parents are at a paranormal convention at a nearby city and won’t be back until tomorrow. Danny and his friends gladly took the opportunity to do their ‘Danny’s quarterly fitness test’.

Danny flipped on the light switch and walked to the center of the lab, transforming into his ghost form. “Okay I’m ready. What’s first on the list?”

Tucker dropped his bag and took out a piece of notebook paper, “Okay, first we gotta do the baseline measurements. Height, weight, temperature, and the ecto reading.” Sam dug through her sports bag, pulling out the measurement tape. She held it against Danny, eyes scanning the tape measurement numbers. “Still the same height.”

Tucker nodded, noting down the measurement in Danny’s health notebook. “Next, weight.” Danny stood over the scale. “Yup, still the same weight too.”  

.

Then it was the ecto-samples that Jack misplaced in the kitchen fridge. Jack warned everyone a few days later (everyone knows to avoid glowing food on normal basis so the delayed warning is mostly just courtesy), but no one could find where it went and assumed it grew legs to join the other tiny ecto-samples lurking as their equivalent of household pests. (No matter how often Maddie tried to patch up the mouse hole it keeps reappearing in the same shape but in a different part of the house as if the original mouse hole got transplanted from its original location)

.

“Lunch Lady’s right. You need to eat more. You’re still as skinny as ever.” Sam remarked as Danny took the thermometer out of his mouth. “76 F. The ghosts keep attacking me all day and night. You’d think my parents would notice when a ghost sneaks pass them while they work in the lab but I triggered all their ghost alarms just by being in the house so they deactivated the system when I’m around. They must’ve kept it turned off during the day too.”

“Tough luck dude. Ecto scan next.” Tucker passed the scanner to Sam while Danny stood still for her to scan. The machine beeped, “Wow 6.8, that’s quite a jump from last quarter’s 5.1”

“Maybe it was from all the ghost fighting I did over the summer?”

.

As the leaves began to fall from the branches, ghost attacks lessened in frequency. Not looking the gift horse in the mouth Danny happily enjoyed the lack of ghost attacks to focus more on his studies. If he did well enough, he might even get Bs for his efforts. He also managed to avoid getting detention for the entire week much to the relief of everyone involved.

.

Two days before Thanksgiving, the Fentons finally remembered their turkeys. But by then it was gone. In a rush, they quickly purchased a pre-made turkey instead. While Danny enjoyed the fact that they’re having a normal family dinner for once, he can’t help but feel like there’s something off about the chicken. As if it’s missing a particular tangy or zingy flavor that would’ve made it richer in flavor. ‘Must’ve been because it’s overcooked.’

.

"Honey? Have you seen the new ecto-samples I placed in the basement lab fridge?" “Again Jack? This is the third time this month. Have you checked the upstairs fridge?” “I-ah was pretty sure I placed them in the correct fridge this time. Must be some no-good thievin’ ghost.” “I’ll set up the ecto-anti-theft, that’ll get ‘em good! No ghost can escape Jack Fenton for long!”

.

*Intruder Alert* *Intruder Alert*

Red lights peppered with robotic voice and alarm noises lurched Maddie into full alert mode. She quickly took stock of her surroundings and tried to wake Jack up. But Jack had his earplugs on and continued to snore blissfully. A loud knock on the door caught her attention. “What’s going on mom?” Jazz’s voice floated through the door. Maddie quickly rose to open the bedroom door, swiftly pulled Jazz in and locked the door. “Jazz dear, try to wake your dad up. I’ll go check on the intruder.” Maddie strode quietly to the door then paused, “Have you checked on Danny?” Jazz bit her lips and looked away for a moment “-ah yeah! Danny’s snoring so loud he can’t hear the alarm.” Maddie twisted the doorknob but paused, hesitating. “He’s fine mom.” Jazz reassures her. “If Danny wakes up, he’ll come here first. I’ll let him know what’s going on.”

The alarm rang loudly in her ears as she walked down the stairs to the basement lab, its loud ringing noise effectively covering up the sound of her footsteps. Reaching the basement floor, Maddie quickly crept over to hide behind the shelf on her left, eyes scanning the lab for the intruder.

The glass jars clinked as a shadow moved about the fridge. A very familiar shadow. That didn’t glow. Maddie turned on the lab lights. “Danny?” she started, carefully walking over to face him, her eyes still scanning him to check if he’s really her Danny. The faint, barely noticeable scar on his eyebrow from his attempt to fly off the tree when he was five is there confirming his identity.

“What are you doing down here-?” Maddie noticed the glowing jar in his hand, “and what exactly are you doing?” Danny hazily stared at her; eyes half-lidded. Maddie snapped her fingers to get his attention. Danny didn’t blink. “He's still not awake, Danny come on wake up!”, she shook his shoulders. “Huh? Wuzzat?” Danny groggily woke up. He blinked in confusion.

Finally aware of his surroundings, Danny looked down at his right hand that still held the glowing sample. “Aah!” Danny yelped dropping the sample, then realizing he dropped the sample, tries to catch the jar, fumbling clumsily. Maddie would’ve laughed if it was anywhere else but in this situation. “Danny, do you remember what you were doing?”

“I was doing my homework and was craving for a good cheeseburger?”

---

“And the half-opened jar of ectoplasm?”

“Pickles?”

---

“Dude are you for real? That was priceless!” Tucker crowed with laughter. Sam leaned away from Tucker to avoid the meat spittle, “Urgh! Gross Tucker! Swallow it before you speak!”

Danny grumbled into his glass of milkshake, “’s not funny Tuck. you didn't see her face. She was about ready to scan me for signs of ecto-possession. Good thing my lie about craving cheeseburger and opening the wrong fridge worked. Otherwise I’d be in big trouble if she scanned me now with my latest ecto-reading. Anyways I'm banned from the lab now.” Danny bit into his burger.

“So what really happened there dude? Did you seriously sleepwalk into the basement lab?”

“I think so? I don’t really remember anything before Mom found me in the lab. Only that I was feeling a bit hungry.”

.

The ghosts stopped coming. Everyone in Amity held their breath when there were no ghost attacks for two weeks straight, then a month. Then two months, three. No ghosts. They let out their collective breath. It might be too soon to hope but for now they will enjoy their ghost-free, perfectly ordinary life. It feels a bit strange to not have ghost related interruptions as part of their daily routine but they didn’t miss the ghost-related reconstruction expenses. The local insurance company employees received a nice bonus for the ghost-free month.

.

By the time March rolled in, Danny is restless. “Guys, there's definitely something big going on.”, he waved his hands for emphasis. “The Fenton portal is still open yet no ghost came through? Not even Boxy since the North District warehouse thing last month. There’s definitely something big going on. I've been taking the ghost-free break for granted for a while now and it helped save my grades but this is too big to ignore.”

“Dude, maybe it’s because you’re much more powerful now? Your latest reading last week is 8.2. None of the ghosts we’ve met so far is above 6 except for Vlad and the Ghost King.” Tucker suggested.

“You might have a point there, Tucker. We haven’t seen any of the ghosts bothering Vlad so far and he’s definitely higher than 6.” Sam added.

Danny frowned, “Maybe you’re right but I just have this nagging feeling that that’s not quite it.”

.

Danny entered the Zone with little fanfare. The area around the Fenton portal looked normal enough, the usual rocks and clouds of debris are still floating around in their usual areas. Danny aimlessly passed through the nooks and crannies, ducking under the endless spiral staircase, not entirely sure of what to look for. The Zone felt a bit quiet today but Danny haven’t been to the Zone that frequently to be certain about it.

.

The Ghost Zone, while still filled with random bits of odds and ends felt empty somehow. It wasn't until he sighted Skulker that he realized he hasn't seen any of the tiny blog ghosts nor the occasional passerby ghosts through his trip.

.

Luckily or unluckily, Danny quickly spotted someone he knew in the distance. As if called, Skulker turned his head towards Danny, then veered sharply to the left and flew fast in Danny's opposite direction, a first for the self-proclaimed hunter to not hunt his favorite prey. ‘Something's not right and Skulker definitely knows something.’ Danny thought.

Danny quickly chased after him; Skulker could never beat Danny at speed chase even at his best, and he won't be winning today's unplanned race either. “Hey Skulker! What’s going on?” Danny yelled over the gap between them but Skulker gave no reply, diving down deep into the reddish forest ravines of the island below. Not to be deterred, Danny did a quick aerial flip, adjusting his flight angle to follow down Skulker’s path. Danny soon caught up to Skulker and launched him into a nearby rock with sticky ectoplasm to hold him still long enough to talk. Skulker ejected from his metal suit but Danny was faster and caught the real ghost before he can escape.

.

(Why is Skulker fleeing?)

.

"Hey Skulker, not hunting me for once?" Danny asked teasingly.

Skulker paled (Danny never knew ghosts can turn pale) and squirmed even more. Danny's smile dropped.

"What’s going on Skulker?" he asked worriedly. “None of the ghosts have appeared in the human world and the Zone looks empty somehow”

Skulker squirmed a bit more but realizing he’s stuck finally said, “Ghost Child, haven’t you ever wondered why the Infinite Realms is never overcrowded?”

Danny frowned, puzzled as to where this leads to. “How is this related to this situation?” Skulker stared at Danny stunned.

“What?” Danny asked, suddenly self-conscious, “-was there something I was supposed to know about?”

Skulker sighed, unconsciously loosening a bit of his tension, “You’re so young. So very young. We Ghosts don’t fade as fast as Newcomers arrive from your world. In the Realms, there's a natural system that keeps the population under control. An ecosystem. There's predator and there's prey. And then there's the Apex Predator. There's a reason why Dark was feared. It wasn't just for his harsh rule. It was because he was the Apex Predator.”

Danny struck at the odd wording, "’Was’? Was that because he got sealed?” Danny paused, “But wait- if he's sealed, he would still be the Apex predator. So how-? Wait. Did I?"

Skulker nodded, "Good you're catching on fast. By defeating Pariah Dark, you have proven to the Realms that you're the best candidate for the Apex Predator. And with the new status comes sets of conducts, one your body instincts know well. You've been culling down the uncontrolled excess from Pariah Dark's sleep quite fast. Your hunger would settle down soon of course once balance has been re-established in the Realms."

“But- How- Wait- What-?” Danny looked down at his hand “Hey Skulker--!” but his hand is bare.

.

Danny’s lips tasted oddly tangy, energized.  

.

.

.

-----

(Skulker might've slipped out of Danny's slack hand while Danny is in shock. Danny might've bit his lips hard enough to bleed. It's not that hard with his new fangs. But this is just speculation...)

#midnight snack au #danny phantom #dannymay2021 #DP ghost cannibalism #goldpost #Skulker BS'd on the spot and I took it as worldbuilding material #the added last part is the original ending #interpretation of the final ending is now up to you #😏😏😏

[squiggledrop]

Birthday Confessions - Spencer x Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Reader (gender neutral) and Spencer are both secretly in love with each other. Reader is going to be alone for their birthday, so Spencer comes up with a plan to surprise them.

Word Count: 4k

Pairings: Spencer Reid x Reader

Category: Fluff

Warnings: Kissing

Note: Written based on this request: “Spencer knows the reader doesn't have family near and celebrates it with her?” by @amofbebbanburg​. So sorry this literally took me forever.

The low rumble of the jet lulled you to sleep, your head falling to rest on Emily’s shoulder. Spencer sat across from you, his eyes fixated on the slight curve of your lips as your chest rose and fell with every breath you took, in tandem with the fluttering of his heart. The orange hue of his reading light dusted your cheeks, and the soft sounds you made resonated between his ears. He was so transfixed on your angelic, sleeping form, that he was unaware of the smirk plastered across Emily’s face as she watched him look at you. When he noticed her staring, he cleared his throat and abruptly returned his gaze back towards his book. Her light chuckle at his actions brought a harsh blush to his cheeks, only causing him to sink behind his book even further. 

“You know, you’re not being very subtle”, Emily teased, “(Y/n)’s going to catch on sooner or later”. Spencer felt his lungs constrict as panic coursed its way through his body.

“Wha-what do you mean?”, he confoundingly replied, having realized just how obvious he had been.

“Spencer”, she said with a knowing look, “We all know how you feel about (Y/n)-”

“Emily!”, he hissed. His eyes growing tenfold as he looked back at you to make sure you were still asleep. “They’re right there!”, he pleaded, turning his head to gesture towards your unconscious form.

“Relax”, she grinned. “They’re asleep, and trust me, (Y/n) can sleep through anything”, she said, rolling her eyes fondly. Spencer fought back a smile, trying to maintain his stoic composure, as he thought of how annoyed Emily would get on cases when your absurdly loud alarm would go off and not even wake you up. You would always joke that the point of your alarm wasn’t to wake yourself but to wake up Emily so that you could be woken up by the smiling face of your best friend. Emily would always glare at you in the mornings while on cases, and you would return the favor by laughing Oh hush, you love me, as the rest of the team shook their heads at your comical antics. 

Spencer bit his bottom lip as he thought about how he wouldn’t mind being woken up every morning to an air horn in his ear if it meant he got to wake up next to you. He would wake you up with gentle kisses across your face while holding you tightly to his chest. He would make sure to always have a huge smile on his face as he told you how much he loves you, just so you would start each day knowing how wonderful he thinks you are.

When the jet landed Emily gently shook her shoulder, causing you to groggily awake from your sleep. “Morning sleeping beauty”, she joked. You took in a deep breath, lifting your head and taking in your surroundings. It was dark, save for an amber halo peeking through Spencer’s deep curls. An inaudible gasp left your lips at the sight of him smiling down at you with his dark eyes that still managed to shine brighter than all the stars in the night sky. To quell the augmented flutter of your heart, you quickly turned away, hiding your flushed cheeks, before putting your head back down on Emily’s shoulder.

“Mmm, goodnight”, you sighed, closing your eyes as a smile crept its way to your lips.

“Nice try”, she laughed as she took her arm out from under you, placing a teasing pout across your face, “I’ve hit my sleeping (Y/n) quota for the week”. You reluctantly sat back up and were face to face with the man you had been hiding from. Your eyes met, and you lingered slightly too long looking at each other, completely unaware of Emily’s smirk.

“Right”, you cleared your throat, standing up. Spencer jolted his eyes back down to his book as he turned to place it in his satchel. You took this opportunity to make your way off the jet, not daring to look back at the man you were hopelessly in love with.

As you rode the elevator up to the sixth floor, you were hyper-aware of Spencer’s presence behind you. You kept sneaking glances at him, only to see he was looking at you each time you did. And each time you would both avert your eyes, just to look back a moment later.

After the team debriefed in the conference room, everyone went back to their respective desks to finish up some paperwork for the case before heading home. Luckily for you, this meant having to sit across from Spencer and using every fiber in your body to not look up at him. Spencer, however, couldn’t take his eyes off of you. He watched as you flipped through the files on your desk, and admired how you ran your fingers through your hair, a habit of yours when you were deep in thought. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when you began to chew on your lip, and he couldn’t get the idea of kissing your tender, plump lips out of his mind. You were killing him. He couldn’t focus on his work, and all he wanted was to hear your voice, he needed to.

“So, are you doing anything for your birthday this weekend?”, Spencer inquired. Your head shot up from your desk, your mind having gone blank at his question. He furrowed his eyebrows at you, while his musky brown eyes searched your face. Spencer’s face fell as he slowly turned back to the open file on his desk, figuring he said something to make you uncomfortable. Your eyes were fixated on him, as his words, that hung in the awkward silence, finally caught up to you.

“Uh, h-how did you know it was my birthday?”, you questioned, genuinely confused. You had been at the BAU for seven months, after having transferred from the San Francisco office, and you were sure your birthday, of all things, had never been the topic of conversation. It’s not that you hated your birthday, but seeing as your family lived on the other side of the country, you felt silly celebrating it beyond a text from your mom. Truth be told, you had almost forgotten it was coming up with how hectic everything has been at your new job. It was a lot different than your previous job in California, which mostly consisted of doing paperwork at your desk. But, you couldn’t be happier than where you were: doing your dream job with people that were slowly becoming your family. Emily quickly became your best friend, and your crush on the very man sitting across from you formed not long after. So, imagine your surprise when he looked at you, through dark circles that framed glazed over eyes, hazy from sleepless nights during long cases, and asked you if you had any plans for your birthday.

“Oh, um, well”, he looked away from you and scratched the back of his neck as his plump lips formed a slight smile, “i-it was in your file from when you joined, and you know, eidetic memory”. He shrugged his shoulders and smiled innocently at you before staring back down at his desk.

“Right, of course”, you forced a smile as his head shot back up and nodded. “Well”, your face brightened in an attempt to break the palpable awkwardness that had formed between you two, “probably just going to spend it watching David Tennant on my tv while curled up on the couch with some ice cream.”

“What? For your birthday? You aren’t going out to celebrate?”, he questioned, appearing genuinely concerned.

“Well, normally I would, but drinking at a bar alone doesn’t scream ‘Happy Birthday’, you know”, you chuckled.

“You should at least have cake, everyone should get to have cake on their birthday. Actually, birthday cakes date back to ancient Rome, where people would have cakes made out of flour, nuts, yeast, and honey. However, birthday cakes became popularized in the 15th century in Germany when bakeries began making one layered cakes for people to buy to celebrate birthdays”, he said as he raised his eyebrows while his lips formed a thin smile. You couldn’t help but look at him with complete adoration as he rambled. “But, um, you aren’t even doing anything with Emily or Garcia?”, he hesitantly questioned. Your lips pressed together as you shrugged your shoulders.

“Emily treated me to lunch earlier in the week because she has plans this weekend”, you reassured him and he nodded, “Plus, it’s the first year I won’t be with my parents and I just miss them so I don’t really feel like celebrating alone”, He gave you a sympathetic smile as you shrugged. “But, I promise I’ll at least get cake batter ice cream”, you smiled while winking, eliciting a laugh from him.

“Okay good”, he said, smiling back. His warm chuckles still reverberated throughout your chest, swirling around your heart. Once again you found yourself frozen, knowing you should turn away, but not finding an ounce of strength to do so as you both just gazed into each other’s eyes.

“Well uh, goodnight”, you said, forcing yourself to look down to grab your bag and head towards the elevator. Your stomach clenched as you kept your gaze ahead, not daring to look back at him. Spencer, however, couldn’t keep his eyes off of you as you left. His eyes caressed each of your curves as you walked further and further away from him. He bit his bottom lip, smiling to himself as he watched you leave. 

“Goodnight”, he murmured to an empty room with an obnoxious smile plastered on his face. 

You woke up the next morning, the sun glaring in through your blinds. You turned over in your white, crinkled sheets, shutting your eyes in an effort to avoid the intruding rays. The ding of your phone pierced the quiet room as you sighed and rolled back over to check your phone. You groaned as you squinted at the screen, the harsh light it emitted illuminating your face. 

From Derek: Hey sweet cheeks, sorry to bother you on our day off, but Hotch called a meeting. He said it’s urgent. 

Great, you thought, Happy Birthday to me. You forced yourself out of bed and wasted no time getting ready before heading over to the BAU. You grabbed a granola bar on your way out, rolling your eyes, dreading having to spend your birthday working instead of sleeping all day. 

When you walked into an empty bullpen, you were even more confused. You got out your phone, ready to text Morgan, but you got a text from Garcia.

From Penelope: Good morning and happy happy birthday my sweet sweet (Y/n). Everyone is in the conference room! :)

When you opened the door to the conference room, instead of seeing grotesque crime scene photos of victims, you found the whole team there, each sporting a very cliché party hat. You couldn’t help the smile that grew on your face as everyone shouted Happy Birthday! You made your rounds hugging and thanking everyone, however, you couldn’t help but notice that someone was missing. 

“Hey, Pen, where’s Spence?”, you asked as everyone else was distracted in conversations.

“Oh, he um, he had something to do today, so he couldn’t make it”, she said sympathetically, noticing that the smile you were trying to force was gradually falling.

“Oh okay”, you said, looking around trying to appear happy. 

“But um”, she said, turning to Derek, who raised his eyebrows and shook his head before stepping out of the room, “he gave us very special instructions on what to do”, she reassured. Your heart fluttered at her words, knowing that Spencer did this for you. Just as you were about to ask her what he said, the lights turned off. Derek came in holding a cake adorned with candles as everyone sang “Happy Birthday”. When he held the cake in front of you, you read what it said: Outside those doors, we might see anything. We could find new worlds, terrifying monsters, impossible things. And if you come with me… nothing will ever be the same again! Happy Birthday (Y/n)! You felt a tear slip down your cheek as you blew out the candles. The tenth doctor was drawn on the cake and you couldn’t stop rereading the quote of his that was written on top. You smiled back up at your team and thanked them for such an amazing birthday.

Despite the love and appreciation you felt from the rest of the team, you couldn’t help but spend the rest of the party overthinking, hiding it behind a façade. You didn’t want to read too much into the quote, but Spencer, who could probably, no definitely, recite every line from Doctor Who, had chosen this one for your birthday cake. You desperately wanted it to mean something, but if he hadn’t even shown up to your party, clearly you weren’t that important to him. When everyone had finished eating, you thanked them again and gave your hugs goodbye. You drove home and blasted your music, loudly singing along, in hopes of drowning out the thoughts of Spencer that swarmed your head.

When you reached your door, there was nothing you wanted more than to put on your sweats and sink into your couch. You slid your key into the deadbolt and pushed open the door. Expecting to walk into your desolate apartment, tears were brought to your eyes at what you found when you walked in. The lights were off and the windows had trash bags taped over them to prevent any sun from breaking the barrier and entering your apartment. You looked all around and were met with string lights adorning your ceiling as if there were a thousand glass stars littering your apartment. A projector sat on the floor near the entryway, projecting galaxies that were currently orbiting around the room. The twinkling lights drew your gaze onto the figure standing in the middle of the dimly lit room. You couldn’t make out his face, but you could tell who it was by the way his dark curls were illuminated by the intertwining auburn and cream-colored swirls of Jupiter that spun around him. 

“Spence…”, you whispered, his name slipping out as you felt yourself being pulled towards him. You had missed him so much today, and at the sight of him, you couldn’t contain the relief that washed over you. You placed your hands on his arms, the soft fabric of his pinstriped suit felt so right under your light grasp. You looked down at his converse, laughing as you realized he was dressed as the tenth Doctor. Looking up at him and meeting his gaze, you suddenly realized how close you two were and that you were practically holding him in your arms. “This is amazing”, you chocked out as you quickly pulled away, wiping the tear that rolled down your cheek as you sheepishly smiled. 

“That’s Doctor to you”, he teased, matching your smile tenfold. 

“Sorry”, you laughed, “this is amazing, Doctor.” You looked around your apartment again, still stunned at how captivating it was. “Um, how did you do all this?”, you asked amazed.

“W-well, you mentioned you were going to spend your birthday watching David Tennant on your television, and I figured having the Doctor in person would be an even better way to spend your birthday… And then I figured what kind of Doctor would I be if I didn’t show you outer space”. You opened your mouth but were swiftly cut off by him, “And, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to celebrate with everyone, but, I had to get you out of here and I thought you would enjoy spending some time with the team. Oh!”, he abruptly interjected, “did you um, get your cake?”, he timidly asked with a sheepish smile.

“Yes, I-I did. It was delicious by the way”, he nodded, “I missed you, but thank you for the party”, you said, just above a whisper, “but um, this, is amazing. I-It’s beautiful, Spence”, you smiled, admiring all the twinkling lights and planets that orbited the two of you, “really. Thank you”, you said, finally looking into his eyes that bore into you. 

“You are beautiful”, he said, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. You were speechless. Your mouth opened a few times as you struggled to find a response. “I just thought you should know”, he added after your prolonged silence. 

“The quote, on the cake. Did you um…”, you broke the silence between you two looking up at him expectantly.

“Yeah um”, he scratched the back of his neck as he smiled to the ground, “I uh, that line always makes me think of you”, your eyes widened at his words, “At work, we come across the most ‘terrifying monsters’, but, when I’m with you, I feel safe and when I look at you, I’m reminded that there are still amazing, beautiful things in the world, because, I-I think”, he cleared his throat, trying to hold back tears, “Because you are beautiful and amazing, and I am so lucky to have you in my life”. You were stunned. Your heart was beating so fast you feared he could hear it. Your silence, however, scared Spencer, because he didn’t want to lose you just because he had decided to spill his heart to you after breaking into your apartment. “I thought we could watch Doctor Who together”, he paused, still looking for any hint of a reaction from you, “but if not, I can just go. I didn’t mean to barge in like this and-”, he was cut off as you flung yourself into him. Your arms wrapped around his neck as he latched onto you, breathing a sigh of relief.

“No! Um, that, that sounds amazing”, you whispered into his neck. “I’d love nothing more than to be th-the Doctor’s companion”, you said, smiling against his soft skin.

“Good”, he laughed, “that’s, that’s very good”. You lifted your head off his shoulder, just enough to look into his eyes. Your smile slowly dropped as you moved in closer to his mouth, lightly brushing your lips against his. His eyes fluttered shut as you spoke against his mouth.

“But, as much as I love the Doctor, I would much rather be with my favorite doctor,” you smiled against his lips as you looked up, searching his eyes. 

“I think that can be arranged”, Spencer mumbled against your lips, opening his eyes as your noses brushed up against each other. You looked into his velvet eyes and swore you could see the entire universe in them as they reflected the warm glow of every star hanging above your head. You moved in closer, finally connecting your lips. Warmth rose within you, radiating out through your chest as his lips moved against yours. His arms moved up and down your back, mapping every curve of your body as if he were drawing constellations onto your flushed skin. Your fingertips ran across his supple skin as you cupped his cheek, deepening the kiss. His tongue grazed your bottom lip and you gladly opened your mouth, granting him more access. With every breath you took, you inhaled him in even deeper, getting high off the notes of cinnamon and coffee that flooded your senses. He pulled you impossibly closer, pushing you flush against his chest, and the moan you elicited only intensified his grip. Your thighs clenched and your knees felt week as he began to kiss along your jaw. The warmth of his mouth trailing its way down your neck, caused your eyes to roll to the back of your head. “So beautiful”, he murmured against your sensitive skin, saying it to himself more than anything else. Each kiss caused a string of electricity to shoot throughout your system, as you ran your fingers through his deep curls, tugging lightly. His kisses gradually became less intense, and your breathing began to even out. He gave a final peck to your neck and then to your cheek and finally your lips, before leaning back to look you in the eyes. “Happy Birthday”, he said smiling at you, while his eyes gleamed with adoration.

“Thank you”, you replied, your brain still fuzzy from the kiss you two just shared, “for, um, everything.”

“Of course”, he smiled, still holding your gaze, “So um, do you want to watch Doctor Who…”.

“Yeah, yes”, you nodded, finally getting some grip back on reality. You walked over to the couch, Spencer’s hand still laced in yours. You sat down first and Spencer sat next to you, still grasping onto your hand as if you would disappear if he let go. You grabbed the remote from the coffee table and leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder as you both relaxed into the couch. As you were getting Doctor Who set up on the tv, Spencer took your hand into both of his and ran his fingers over your knuckles.

“I know I’m no David Tennant”, he said, causing you to turn and look up him, “but um, I-I just wanted to be clear that I, I like you, a lot”. 

“I like you too Spence”, you smiled, “a lot”, you teased. “And, Dr. Spencer Reid is way better than any other Doctor in my book”, you kissed him on the cheek, causing him to blush.

“Really?”, he asked, biting his lip.

“Really”, you reassured him.

“Even Matt Smith?”, he joked.

“Oooh I don’t know about that”, you said coyly, raising your eyebrows. Despite your joking manner, Spencer’s face still fell.

“Oh. Sorry. Yeah, he’s um-”, he rambled, looking down at his shoes.

“Spence”, you stopped him and put your hand on his shoulder, causing him to look up at you, “I was just joking”, you said earnestly, making sure he understood. You searched his eyes as he slowly nodded. “When I said I like you, I meant I really like you, and only you, okay?”, he nodded again but remained silent, “I’ve kind of had a crush on you since my second day at the BAU”, you said smiling as a blush found its way to your cheeks, “and there is no one I would rather be with than you”. Spencer couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Your angelic voice echoed in his head as he pulled you towards his chest, enveloping you in a hug.

“You are the only person I want to be with too”, he said, pulling back so he could see your beautiful face. “And I’ve liked you since your first day at the BAU”, he smiled, crinkling his eyes. You let out a breathy laugh as you gave him a quick peck before snuggling back into him on the couch.

“Always have to one-up me, don’t you doctor”, you teased, and this time he laughed as he pulled you in closer to him, running his fingers along the side of your hip. As the episode began, you turned up to him again and pondered, “Speaking of one-upping, you took me to outer space on our first date, so I am very excited to see what you plan to do for our second”. You both giggled as he kissed the top of your head. 

Finally feeling confident after your many reassurances, Spencer quipped back, “Someone’s eager, and who said anything about a date?”, he smiled, “this is just a birthday present”. You feigned being hurt by his words as you laughed.

“Dr. Spencer Reid”, you shook your head, “I told you, I’m your companion”, you smirked, causing him to laugh, “you are stuck with me”.

“Good”, he said, peppering your face with kisses as you giggled, “Because I am never letting you go”. He looked into your eyes as the Doctor Who theme song played in the background and you both smiled like idiots. You turned your attention back to the tv and held onto each other for the rest of the night. You fell asleep in each other’s arms as the stars twinkled above your heads and you spun in orbit with the planets that danced throughout the apartment.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #Spencer Reid fic #spencer x y/n #Criminal Minds #derek morgan #emily prentiss #penelopy garcia #Agent Prentiss #Agent Morgan #Agent Hotchner #birthday #spencer reid x y/n #dr reid #reid x reader #spencer x reader #criminal minds #reid x you

[bevvydraws]

Kwami Exchange Students

This might be a mini-fic, I’m not sure yet, but for now just consider anything I post for this AU connected one-shots.

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

Marinette knew that the world was full of more odd and mysterious things than she had previously thought. She was a highschool super hero going after a butterfly themed maniac who wore a wrestler’s mask with a suit, after all. But somehow, despite the craziness she constantly experienced in her life, she still managed to get caught off guard.

Because one day, after weeks of Tikki making sad comments about wanting to experience life as a “modern human” (accompanied with longingly watching dancing videos), Marinette woke up to find Tikki missing. But more alarming than that, was that now there was a teenage girl curiously inspecting everything in her room. Thinking it may be an akuma, she looked around frantically for her tiny spotted friend in hopes of defeating it without waking her parents. She tried not to make any loud noises as she shuffled around in her bed.

It didn’t work, however, and the intruder turned to look at her with wide eyes that were somehow familiar, “Oh, Marinette! You’re awake!” The voice was even more familiar, soft and gentle while slightly squeaky.

“Wh-who are you?” Marinette tried to ask calmly, although the stutter betrayed her.

The girl gasped, her hands quickly flying to cover her mouth, “Oh gosh that’s right!! You’ve never seen me like this before.”

Marinette did a once-over of the girl. Her hair was long and bright red, with black roots. She was wearing a long white dress that looked more like a sheet and no shoes. Her eyes, somehow even wider, were bright blue, and held a wisdom that wasn’t normal for someone who looked so young. Then again, nothing was normal about this teenager who radiated energy and power even while looking like she had just been caught in the cookie jar. Wait... cookie jar?

“Tikki!?” Marinette asked, “Is that you?!”

Tikki nodded quickly, “Yes!! I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to startle you!”

“But you— You’re so small but now— huh?!” Marinette couldn’t find the words to express her confusion as to how the little creature that could fit in her purse was now the same height she was.

“Well, you see...” Tikki fidgeted with her fingers, “It’s been a while since I’ve walked among humans, and I thought it would help better understanding modern society if I could experience first hand...” She looked to the side, then her eyes widened as if coming to a conclusion and looked back at Marinette, “...that way I could help track down Hawkmoth easier. Mmhm, yep!”

Marinette didn’t bother questioning Tikki’s logic, since she had more pressing questions on her mind. “How are you able to turn human?”

“I’m a god, Marinette,” Tikki said matter-of-factly, “I existed far before ladybugs were even a concept. I can take many forms, just like the other kwamis.”

“So why stay so little?”

Tikki smiled, although it seemed sad, “Easier to help, easier to hide, and it’s an easier form to hold. Especially since our energy is so heavily changed to the miraculous stones now.”

“Oh...” Marinette whispered. “But wait how are you gonna blend in?”

“The same way you and Chat Noir have all this time,” Tikki grins, “Hiding in plain sight!”

“It’s one thing hiding you as a kwami from my parents, but I can’t hide a whole human!”

“You won’t have to, silly.” Tikki smiles, “I have it all under control. We kwami are very good at convincing others that typically abnormal things are something completely normal. It’s how so few know of our existence.” 

“Okay…” Marinette said, unsure, “But it doesn’t matter how convincing you are, no one is going to think walking around in a bedsheet is normal.” 

Tikki blushed, looking down at her dress, “It’s not a bedsheet, Marinette. It’s a dress. It’s just something simple so I don’t stand out.” 

“You’re going to stand out if you go anywhere like that.”

“Well you’re the fashion designer,” Tikki huffs, cheek still blazing red in embarrassment, “What should I wear?” 

Marinette grinned wickedly and dashed to her closet. 

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

An hour later, Marinette stepped back to admire her work. She was very glad that she had been working on some clothing she had kept under wraps from everyone, it would be a little too suspicious if Tikki showed up in some of her very-Marinette clothing. Tikki was now fitted with a white tank-top, the words “Lucky” embroidered across it, and light-washed blue shorts. Her hair was tied up to the side and decorated with a black ribbon. Because Marinette didn’t have time to teach her how to tie shoes with fingers, she was wearing simple black flats. 

“Oh, Tikki, you look so cute!” Marinette fawned as the cherry-red-head tugged at her clothes self consciously. 

“I feel so… exposed,” she frowned, looking at herself in the mirror. 

“Tikki,” Marinette said, deadpanned, “you don’t normally wear clothes at all.” 

“You know what I mean,” Tikki huffed, “I’m less comfortable in this form… and it’s so cold.” 

Marinette smiled sympathetically and went to her closet, pulling out an old generic black sweater, “Here, maybe this will help.” 

Tikki slipped it on, and a smile stretched across her face, “This is perfect! Thank you so much, Marinette!” 

“I’m just thankful that we’re similar sizes,” Marinette laughed, “otherwise this would have been a lot harder. Now, how are we going to explain you to my parents?” 

Tikki grinned, “I’ll take care of that! Just be down in the bakery in a few minutes.” She playfully winked at Marinette before snapping, shrinking in a flash of light before revealing a little ladybug. Marinette shook her head, convinced she had seen everything at this point, and opened the window and watched as Tikki zipped out of the window. 

Marinette quickly finished getting ready, grabbing her book bag before running downstairs to the bakery. 

Sabine and Tom barely had time to give their daughter a warm greeting before their bakery door swung open and Tikki shyly stepped in, looking very lost. 

“Good morning!” Tom greeted heartily, “What can we get for you?” 

“Good morning,” Tikki responded, a kind but shy smile on her face, “I’m looking for a Mme. Sabine Cheng and M. Tom Dupain.” 

“That would be us,” Sabine smiles, “What can we help you with?” 

“Um, I’m the exchange student from the program through Francoise Dupont,” she says, producing a flyer Marinette had never seen before as well as some paperwork out of her back pocket. 

Tom and Sabine shared a confused look before Sabine read over the paperwork and flyer.

“I’m sorry…” Sabine says, reading the paperwork to find Tikki’s name, “Mlle. Tikki, but we never signed up for a program like that.” 

With acting skills Marinette had no clue Tikki possessed, tears began welling up in Tikki’s eyes, “Oh, I see… today has been quite trying,” she dabbed at her eyes lightly with her sweater sleeve, “first, my luggage went missing, and now there’s been a mixup with the paperwork. I have no idea what to do..” 

Marinette stepped forward quickly, wrapping an arm around Tikki’s shoulder. “Mom, Dad, I have plenty of room upstairs. The paperwork all checks out, right? Maybe you signed up on accident or don’t remember, but we can’t turn her away.” 

Marinette and Tikki both gave Sabine and Tom their best kicked puppy looks. 

And that was how Tikki became a temporary member of the Dupain-Cheng household. 

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

Convincing the school apparently wasn’t necessary, as Tikki had already handled all of that the night before without Marinette’s knowledge. A few forged emails and “Kwami magic”--as Tikki worded it--and all Tikki had to do was stop by the principal's office to get her necessary books and materials. Marinette wasn’t sure whether she was thankful or concerned that everyone was so easily influenced and convinced by Tikki, but decided not to think about it too much. 

“Oh, I should mention…” Tikki said softly to Marinette as they walked to class, “I’m not the only new student.” 

“What do you mean…?” Marinette had a bad feeling in her gut at the guilty expression on Tikki’s face. 

“Well, I talked about my idea with Plagg,” Tikki said softly, “And he ‘didn’t want me to have all the fun’.” Tikki made air quotes, rolling her eyes. 

“But Plagg needs to stay with Chat Noir,” Marinette hissed. 

“That’s the thing…” Tikki said, wincing slightly as she walked into the classroom with Marinette. 

Marinette wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t seeing a guy she’d never seen before bickering silently with Adrien Agreste. 

The bickering stopped when both caught sight of Marinette and Tikki. 

The new guy, with wild black hair and even wilder green eyes, lit up and a catty grin spread across his face, “Sugar cube!” he said excitedly, zipping away from Adrien at inhuman speed to drape an arm around Tikki’s shoulders, “Didja miss me? It’s been far too long.” 

Tikki grimaced, “It hasn’t been that long, Plagg,” she said, “We were on the plane together just this morning.” The undertone of scolding in her voice made it clear that who Marinette was seeing was, in fact, Chat Noir’s kwami. 

Marinette looked back at Adrien, who was looking at her with wide eyes. Well, more specifically, he was looking at her earrings. Marinette’s eyes went to the ring he was wearing, before looking back up at him. 

Oh.

#bevvywrites #bevvy writes #my writing #mywriting #oneshot #one shot #miraculous ladybug oneshot #miraculous ladybug one shot #miraculous ladybug fic #miraculous ladybug fanfic #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug au #my au #kwami exchange students #human tikki #human plagg

[qitwrites]

growing pains 

Fandom: Boku no hero academia 

There’s an absolutely atrocious, disgustingly gooey feeling curling around Bakugou’s chest.

He wonders if Recovery girl has any medicine for feels.

OR

5 times the Bakusquad tells Bakugou they love him + the one time he says it back

(AO3)

Ashido is many things. Book smart isn’t one of them.

No really, she’s got so much going for her with her dancing, her strength, her versatile quirk, her perky attitude and even her distinctive appearance, but she’s not one for the books. She doesn’t like them, and they clearly don’t like her back.

Her grades thoroughly reflect this hate-hate relationship.

Ashido tries though, she really does- even if it’s just cramming a few days before the exams, she tries to study. Yao-momo had even gone out of her way to help, but it just doesn’t do the trick. She knows she needs to get her act together and figure this out because she can’t be a hero with a failing grade, and the anxiety and fear starts taking its toll, leaving her restless and upset.

So, when Bakugou sees the pink-haired, pink-skinned pain-in-the ass sulking in the common room, he’s horrified by the words that leave his mouth-

‘Want my help?’

Ashido doesn’t even glance at him at first, choosing to stare at the wall forlornly. She slowly looks up to catch his eye, looks around, realizes that they’re all alone, snaps her eyes back to his and her jaw drops.

‘Me?’ She points a finger at herself. ‘You’ll tutor me?’

‘What did I just say dumbass?’

‘I just- BAKUBRO, THANK YOU!’

‘Shut the fuck up and get your shit. We’ve got our work cut out for us. And raccoon eyes?’

Ashido turns to look at him, eyes bright and shiny.

‘Tell anyone about this and I’ll kick your ass.’

Ashido beams. ‘It’ll be our little secret!’

To her credit, he sees her try. She’s distracted and constantly jumping up and down, too jittery to be in one place, but she also pushes herself to focus, to really absorb the material. Bakugou’s rough with her, the way he is with Kirishima, but he’s generous with the praise too, or as generous as he’s capable of being. It makes him feel all kinds of gross, disgustingly soft and gooey things when Ashido’s eyes go warm with pride when he pays her the smallest compliment.

They work hard for the two weeks leading up to the exams. Kirishima joins them for every session in addition to the stuff he does with Bakugou separately, and between the three of them, they manage to cover most of the syllabus quite thoroughly.

The day before the exam, Bakugou sees the nerves rolling off Ashido.

‘Oye!’

She flinches and turns to look at him, throwing him a sheepish smile. ‘Yes, Blasty?’

He bristles at the nickname but recognizes that there’s no malice, no intention to mock, nothing really- just a nickname meant for a friend. She isn’t provoking him- she’s just nervous and falling back on old, comfortable habits.

He grunts, ‘You nervous?’

Ashido chuckles. ‘Course I am! Don’t wanna let you down, you know?’

Bakugou smacks her lightly on the head with a roll of practice sheets.

‘Who do you think tutored you? Don’t underestimate our sessions. Get in there and fucking obliterate those stupid tests.’

Ashido’s smile grows more confident, and she gives him a huge thumbs up, bumps hips with Kirishima and jogs over to her seat. The bell rings, and the exams begin.

The tests are not bad. Bakugou notes that a good majority of the papers contain material that he’s covered with the two properly, and works his way through the problems, the equations, the literature, all of it. In the very back of his mind, in a place he barely refuses to acknowledge, he hopes that they’re doing ok.

A week after their final exams, Bakugou is walking back from the training centre when he sees a ball of pink approaching him at an alarming speed.

‘BAKUBRO!’ Mina hollers, arms raised over her head as she outright sprints at him.

Bakugou furrows his brow, chest expanding as he gets ready to yell at her when she interrupts him-

‘I passed EVERYTHING!’ Her smile is humungous, wide and warm and genuine to its core. ‘AND I ACTUALLY DID WELL!’

Bakugou doesn’t even realize he’s smiling back, that feral, triumphant grin he has when he beats someone during training or takes down a villain. He’s proud of himself, and he realizes, with a surprising amount of acceptance, that he’s proud of her too. Really damn proud.

He’s a bit slow to realize that she hasn’t stopped barreling towards him though.

‘RACCOON EYES, DON’T YOU DA-‘

Ashido collides right into him, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Bakugou curses the entire way, but Ashido out-laughs him, her body shaking with joy.

‘Thank you!’ She beams down at him, pulling him into a warm hug. ‘You have no idea what this means to me.’

Bakugou wants to push her off, wants to stand up, spew out some curses and stomp away, back to his room.

But he’s also proud. He’s also happy for her. He’s also glad she did ok. That she worked hard and was determined to make him proud and that she isn’t going to get held back or expelled or something.

So, he blames it on the summer heat when he not only doesn’t push her off but rests a hand on her shoulder, gives her a quick pat, counts to 10 and THEN shoves her away.

Ashido pulls off easily enough, still laughing. She bounces back to her feet, dusts off her track pants and offers him her hand. The blonde looks at it, huffs, and takes it with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

Ashido yanks him to his feet with a strong, firm grip and her eyes go soft and warm and radiant.

‘Thanks again, Bakugou.’

‘Tch, whatever. Fuck off.’

Ashido giggles. Her phone suddenly starts ringing and she pulls it out of her pant pocket.

‘Oh, it’s my parents, I gotta take this!’ She starts walking back to the dorms. ‘Let’s go out this weekend, get some food at the mall. My treat!’

‘I don’t want to fucking do-‘

‘Bye babe. Love you!’ And with that, she’s gone, her laugh echoing around the courtyard.

There’s an absolutely atrocious, disgustingly gooey feeling curling around Bakugou’s chest.

He wonders if Recovery girl has any medicine for feels.

---

Bakugou knows for a fact that Sero is 90% memes and 10% tape.

He has no scientific evidence to back up this claim of course, but he’s definitely right.  

The thing about Sero is that the longer you spend time around him, the more you can appreciate his stupid sense of humour, his great taste in mangas, and his ability to make the people around him smile.

Bakugou hates him completely, or so he tells himself. There’s no scientific evidence to prove on the contrary either, thank god.

So, with his shitty sense of humour and his easy-going nature, it’s natural to find Sero with a smile on his face. Not the kind of sunshine happiness that Kirishima has, but more of a mellow, easy joy. His body language exudes a relaxed vibe, immediately making the people around him lower their guard, and he shares a love for healthy food with Bakugou, earning him the blonde’s begrudging respect.

Bakugou finds the tape hero sitting at the kitchen island on a Tuesday night. It’s past Bakguou’s bedtime, but he’s hungry enough to warrant a midnight snack, though he’s not expecting any company. Turns out, neither is Sero.

‘Oh, hey.’

Immediately, Bakugou’s shackles are up. Because Sero isn’t smiling. He isn’t teasing him, there’s no humorous lilt in his voice, no mischievous glint in his eyes, nothing. He’s hollow almost, his skin pale and his eyes sunken in. Even his breathing seems off, too fast and too shallow all at once.

‘What are you doing up?’ Bakugou asks, quirking a brow.

‘Could ask you the same.’

Sero is barely looking at him. He has his phone in a vice-grip, and he looks like he’s going to throw up.

‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’

Sero jolts at that, eyes darting all across the room, and he can’t seem to look at Bakugou. Can’t seem to sit still or calm down. Bakugou can taste his anxiety, and it’s making the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He feels protectiveness - strong and vicious and ridiculously overpowering - all the way in his toes.

‘Nothing, ha, I’m fine.’

‘Tapeface, I’m not fucking blind. If you don’t want to fucking talk about it, fine. Just don’t lie to my face.’

Sero finally looks at him, and he looks lost and scared and helpless. Bakugou’s never seen him like this, and the protectiveness surges.

‘I- I didn’t expect anyone to be awake. I’m not sure, you know, how to talk about it. I don’t even know what to do.’

Bakugou grunts to show him he’s listening before turning around and slowly pulling things out of the fridge. He remembers Sero’s love for fruits and soy and all things healthy and decides to make some Mapo Tofu. Not because Sero will like it or anything, the blonde just really likes Mapo Tofu, ok?

Bakugou begins the task of pulling pots and pans out of the cabinets and gets to prepping the ingredients. He keeps himself busy and fills the space with the comforting sounds and smells of food because he is an expert at being unable to talk about his feelings. To articulate his thoughts sans anger and rage and panic. And he finds that it's easier, even if only a little, to talk when the focus isn’t just on you. When there’s stuff going on, when there are other focal points. It’s less scary.

‘My mom is getting surgery.’

Bakugou pauses in his movements. He stays still long enough to indicate to Sero that he’s listening but goes back to work so the focus is still on the food, so Sero will continue to speak. His voice is uncharacteristically soft and so pained, and something in Bakugou churns horribly. He works more softly, so he can hear everything.

‘She’s had medical issues all my life, so it’s nothing unexpected. She gets surgery pretty often, but it’s never any less scary.’

Bakugou can’t even imagine what that’s like, to have a parent regularly undergo medical treatment and surgical procedures.

‘It’s the first one since I got to the dorms. I’ve never been this far away, and I can’t-‘ Sero’s voice chokes. He breathes deeply and continues ‘-I can’t calm down. I begged them to let me come home but they refused, said I need to see this UA thing through, do my own thing, all that.’

Bakugou continues to cook. The kitchen smells warm and spicy, and the sound of sizzling spices saturates the space between them, and he thinks he can sense Sero calm down a little.

‘I get it. I do. They're right and logically, I can accept that. I just. Fuck, this is horrible.’

Bakugou doesn’t offer any words of comfort or advice because what does he know? He has no idea what Sero is going through, and anything he says might sound insincere or plain insensitive. So instead, he cooks. He cooks the meat, mixes in the spices, and tastes the broth. He works fast and efficient, his movements practised. When it’s done, he plates up two bowls, and sets one in front of Sero, taking the seat next to him. Sero’s at the head of the table, so Bakugou ends up on his right.

Sero stares at the bowl and then looks up at Bakugou.

‘Mom makes me Mapo Tofu when I’m upset,’ he grumbles by way of an explanation. The blonde proceeds to douse his serving in extra chilli oil and peppercorns because he made the overall dish at a much more tolerable spice level. NOT for Sero or anything, just because. You know. For the fuck of it.

Sero stares at the bowl of food silently before picking up the spoon.

‘I haven’t told the rest because I couldn’t find a way to talk about it.’

Before Bakugou can figure out a way to respond to that, Sero continues, ‘I’m glad you know, is not so bad to have someone to talk to. Or at, I guess.’

Sero digs in, and after the first bite, his eyes light up.

‘Holy fuck,’ he breathes, ‘this is so good.’

Bakugou smirks, digging into his own bowl and humming in agreement. It’s probably the best Tofu he’s made so far.

‘Shit man,’ Sero says in between big bites, ‘I freaking love this. And you. But mostly this. But also, you. Like 65-35? Maybe 60-40.’

The blonde snorts and Sero’s grin gets wider. They eat in relative silence, with the occasional comment from Sero and the sounds of them kicking each other playfully under the table. When they’re done, Bakugou rinses the bowls in the sink and joins Sero on the couch in front of the TV. It’s gotten ridiculously late, but he doesn’t want to leave him alone.

Sero rubs the back of his neck. ‘I uh, I don’t want to go to my room right now.’

Bakugou leans over the couch, grabs two throw blankets from a bin nearby and flings the yellow one at Sero.

‘Play that cool documentary on speedcubing,’ he barks out, tucking himself under his own red blanket. Sero gives him a wide-eyed look before navigating to the right piece on Netflix. He gets comfortable under the throw, and they fall asleep to the sound of people solving Rubix cubes at inhumane speeds.

Shoji finds them like that in the morning and gently shakes them awake. Sero’s phone has a message from his parents, telling him everything’s alright, and that’s the only reason Bakugou forgives him for gathering the blonde in a big, warm hug before the sun is even up.

He crawls into his own bed 5 minutes later, and his heart feels lighter than ever.

Maybe an antacid will help with all of these stupid, horrid feels.

---

Bakugou doesn’t like people.

As a general rule of thumb, he dislikes them almost instantly. People are loud. They’re invasive, annoying, clingy, and they never smell good.

People are also cruel and selfish and use you as they please.

Bakugou doesn’t like people; until he comes to UA.

Because the people in UA are loud, invasive, annoying, clingy, and never smell great either.

But they’re kind. They’re smart, driven, capable, funny. They work hard, they play hard, and they’re mostly selfless. They don’t flock to him simply because he’s got a great quirk or something. Truth be told, they’re all pretty formidable themselves. Grossly underdeveloped and years away from being at his level, but Bakugou knows that with time, all of his classmates will reach insane heights. They wouldn’t be in UA otherwise.

So Bakugou tries. Mostly because his stupid squad won’t leave him alone, but he tries.

When people hang out in the common rooms, he’s downstairs with them. If there’s a stupid Christmas party, or it's someone’s birthday, or the class wants to go out shopping or to play in the pool, Bakugou tags along with them more often than not.

There is a compromise though. With a social battery as small and easily drained as his, it isn’t uncommon for the class to find Bakugou chilling in a corner with his headphones in, simply taking in the vibe rather than actively participating. There’s no bad blood over this though- they kinda get it. Not everyone is as friendly or as vibrant as Kirishima or Kaminari. They’re honestly just glad he’s there at all, so they do their best to make sure he’s included while letting him set his own pace.

Bakugou’s in one of his recharging phases when he spots Jirou.

The earphone jack hero is wandering around, looking a little worse for wear. There are people from both 1A and 1B milling around, talking and laughing in the common areas, and the energy in the room is almost stifling. The blonde doesn’t miss the way Jirou covers her ears at one point.

From what he can tell, Jirou is an ambivert. She enjoys the company of others often, but she’s also perfectly fine being on her own, with a book and some music to keep her company. Right now, she seems exhausted, her own social battery running dangerously low.

Bakugou catches her eye. She gives him a small wave and he sticks his tongue out at her, pulling the skin under his eye down on one side. It’s petty and dumb, but he sees her huff a laugh and slowly meander towards him. Bakugou goes back to closing his eyes and tipping his head back, enjoying the familiar texture of the common room couch and the sound of the music in his ears drowning out everything else.

He feels the couch dip next to him, close but not too close. Jirou doesn’t touch him, doesn’t bother him, doesn’t shake or poke or otherwise engage him. She just sits there, stock-still.

When his eyes slip open again, Bakugou sees that she’s got her hands in her lap and she’s mimicking his posture, comfortably seated on the couch with her head tipped back. Her signature headphones are nowhere in sight though, and her eyes are open and red.

Distantly, Bakugou wonders if she’s forgotten them. That would suck ass- he’d be lost without his own pair. And Jirou’s relationship with music is on a level no one else can fathom- it’s literally part of her DNA, her quirk, her identity.

Bakugou isn’t sure what compels him to do it- maybe it’s because they both like bugging the hell out of Kaminari. Maybe it’s because Jirou is no-nonsense when it comes to hero work, which he can respect. Maybe it’s because, beneath all the teasing and smart-ass comments, Jirou has often looked out for him, advocating for the need for personal space when the idiot brigade drains him.

Whatever the reason, Bakugou finds himself pulling out his right earbud and holding it out for her, a silent invitation.

It takes maybe 4 seconds for him to feel the bud lifted gently from his fingers. Jirou is careful to not jar his own earbud when she adjusts his in her right ear, and Bakugou moves to raise the volume a little.

It is a bit annoying, yes, to have one ear open to the noise around them, but it’s not unbearable- far from it. He’s got some reggae on right now, a genre he indulges in when he needs to calm down and just relax his body.

When he turns to look at her, Jirou’s got a smile on her lips. Her feet are tapping to the beat effortlessly, and her fingers are mapping out the tune on an invisible fretboard. She opens her eyes and looks over at Bakugou, and her smile widens, crinkling the edges of her eyes.

Thank you, she mouths, flashing him another blinding smile. It makes Bakugou huff.

‘Whatever,’ he murmurs under his breath. The look in her eyes could not be mistaken for anything else- unadulterated gratitude and a heavy dose of love.

These gooey feelings are going to give him an upset stomach, Bakugou’s calling it right now.

---

Bakugou doesn’t even notice the pattern till Kirishima points it out to him.

It goes a little something like this- Bakugou feels off during training, or maybe doesn’t do as well as he’d expected on a test or project, or something just doesn’t go right. So naturally, he’s in a piss poor mood.

The squad’s antics don’t do much for him then, doesn’t really raise his spirits or anything, and he usually goes back to his room, slamming his door shut and pacing around like a caged tiger.

And that’s when his phone rings. The caller ID reads Pikachu.

‘What the fuck do you want?’

‘Bakubrooooooooo,’ Kaminari croons, and Bakugou wants to break something.

‘Fuck of-‘

‘You ever wonder if cereal is soup?’

All the fight drains out of Bakugou, leaving only confusion in its place. ‘What?’

‘Yeah, I mean, is cereal like a sub-category of soup or something? Wouldn’t that make sense?’

‘Dunce-face, what the fuck? That doesn’t even make sense? You don’t cook cereal?’

‘Yes, but you could eat it with a soup spoon. That should count for something.’

‘I hate you. So much.’

‘Aww, love you too bro. Ok, gotta go, byee~’

Bakugou stares at his phone, shocked and confused and annoyed.

But no longer angry. No longer pacing about, no longer in a foul mood.

Another time, after a particularly bad bout of training, ending with aching forearms and snarls of frustration because he needs to get better but it’s not happening fast enough, Bakugou wants nothing more than to scream into a pillow and maybe eat some hot sauce.

Again, he gets a call from Kaminari.

‘Wha-‘

‘Do you ever just think about pizza and cry?’

‘Huh?’

‘Yeah, I mean, I think humanity reached its peak when it invented pizza, you know? And that makes me cry. Such perfection.’ He can picture Kaminari making a chef’s kiss gesture, and it pisses him off.

‘This is why you called me? Are you fucking with me?’

‘It’s really an honest question Bakubro. Don’t you ever tremble at the sheer magnificence of pizza?’

‘Delete my number.’

‘No can do. Gotta go, love you, bye!’

And again, he’s gone, just as quickly as he arrived. And again, Bakugou is left feeling baffled and miffed but no longer angry, no longer itching to scream and claw and break something.

He still eats some hot sauce though.

Kirishima is with him after one of his bad days, sitting on his bed and trying to pacify him.

‘It’s ok, it-‘

‘Shut up, Shitty hair! Fuck-‘ His hands tremble with the need to just do something, vent somehow, to break the tension in his spine. He doesn’t want to snap at Kirishima, which is why he never lets him tag along when he stomps away to his room after a bad day, but the redhead can be ridiculously caring sometimes and Bakugou doesn’t want to hurt him.

He doesn’t know what else to do though.

‘Shit, I- you need to leave, get out before I-‘

His phone rings. Pikachu, it says.

‘Dunce-‘

‘I’ve decided that, in the event of an apocalypse, you and I are teaming up together.’

‘Wha-‘

‘I know you’d much rather team up with Kirishima, cause he’s so strong and handsome and he’s your best friend, but he’ll be fine. I, on the other hand, will die immediately. So, it’s just you and me Blasty.’

‘Fuck right off, why would I-‘

‘We could name ourselves the atomic blondes.’ Kaminari suddenly makes a whooping noise. ‘Damn, that’s perfect Bakugou! I gotta print tee shirts right now, we’d look amazing.’

‘I am not wearing anything that matches you, miss me with that shit.’

‘I promise it’ll be black, and like, soft, with skull patterns or something.’

‘Fuck off.’

‘I gotta go anyway, but you’re stuck with me Bakubro. Anyway, bye, love you!’

They end the call, or rather, Kaminari cuts it before Bakugou can get an insult or two in there, and when he looks back at Kirishima, he sees a big, goofy smile on his face.

‘What?’ he grumbles, tossing his phone on his bed.

‘He does that often?’

‘What, call me and say really random, really stupid shit? Yeah, all the damn time. I need to block his ass.’

‘Kinda sweet though, huh?’

Bakugou cocks his head. ‘What’re you talking about? It’s a fucking pain.’

‘Yeah, but you don’t seem as mad anymore.’

‘I-‘ And yet again, Bakugou is disgruntled and confused and irritated at himself, for getting swept up by Kaminari’s pace, but he’s not angry. All the fight has mostly bled out of his limbs, and he feels more or less normal if only a little on edge. Nothing too difficult to deal with.

‘Son of a bitch,’ Bakugou breathes. Kirishima’s smile is a tad wider, and he scoots over on the bed, making some space for Bakugou while he pulls out his laptop, ready to load up some shitty videos.

‘Tell him about this and I will never speak to you again,’ Bakugou grumbles finally, settling in next to Kirishima, leaning most of his weight into the redhead.

He feels Kirishima’s chest rumble with laughter.

‘Your secret’s safe with me.’

Bakugou wonders if anyone’s ever tried to harness the power of feels to run turbines or some shit, because this stuff’s turning out to be overwhelmingly powerful.

---

In terms of quirk compatibility, Bakugou has found his perfect match in Kirishima.

The blonde’s quirk is perfect for offence. Granted, it’s exceptionally versatile and he can handle his own just fine, but with Kirishima, he feels invincible.

Red Riot is unmoving, unabashed, and utterly unbreakable. He knows Bakugou inside out, knows his moves, his tactics, his signals. They fight like a well-oiled machine, adjusting and improvising with ease. Fighting alongside Kirishima, alongside Red Riot, is like breathing. They almost dance around each other, and between taking down villains and conducting search and rescue, they’ve made themselves a formidable hero pair even before graduation.

So, it’s not uncommon for them to be paired up even when they’re working and interning under different heroes. They’re that good.

They’re on a mission together when things take a turn for the absolute worst.

Most of the pros are down, caught in the crossfire or too busy protecting the civilians to engage in combat. There are fires blazing everywhere, smoke congesting the air around them so much that Bakugou can barely breathe.

Riot stands next to him, breathing slightly laboured but otherwise unhurt. Bakugou has a cut on his forehead, blood running down his face, but he feels ok. Good enough to rush into battle and do his part in subduing these shitty villains.

But experience has taught him better than to run in with no plan, even when he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, eager to rush into the action. Experience has taught him that without a moment to catch his breath and restructure the plan to achieve their goals, he’ll be doing a lot more harm than good. It’s frustrating as all hell, but he’s a hero in training. You learn this stuff on the job.

‘What do you think?’ He asks the redhead.

Kirishima straightens out his back, hands on his hips. ‘The elemental quirk user will probably be the biggest pain in the ass.’

Bakugou nods. ‘It seemed like a water quirk. We need to get her away from the buildings, away from the piping. There was also that shitty smoke user, he’s the reason the air is barely breathable.’

‘Yao-momo’s masks would’ve come so in handy right now,’ Kirishima muses with a smile.

Bakugou grunts in begrudging agreement but doesn’t comment further on it. ‘There should be three other villains, all with high-level quirks. I’m not sure which other pros will free up to help, but we have to isolate them, move them towards the construction site,’ Bakugou points somewhat East of their current location, ‘as per the plan.’

Kirishima nods in agreement and catches Bakugou’s eyes and the blonde’s breath hitches.

They don’t talk about it, but here’s the other thing- they’re probably going to get hurt, maybe even fatally. Not because they’re weak or they want to or anything, but the villains seem endless. They’re fucking strong too, and even with an army of heroes, the villains seem to come at them harder and faster the longer this battle goes on. Bakugou can feel his own stamina start to vain, and he knows Kirishima will hit his limit too, slower than the blonde but still. There will come a point when Kirishima’s skin won’t harden and Bakugou’s blasts will lower in intensity till all he can manage are sparks.

And even then, he knows they will fight with their fists and their bodies and their teeth. That’s what heroes do- they put everything on the line, for the people and for justice.

More often than not, they lose their lives for it.

Well, for what’s it worth, Bakugou could not have asked for a better partner by his side in such shitty, dire times. Kirishima’s soft smile seems to reflect his sentiments.

‘Hey, Katsuki?’

The hero code of conduct frowns upon the use of personal names in costume. You have a hero name for a reason, and it helps preserve your sense of anonymity and privacy, even if it’s pretty useless at its job.

For Kirishima to name him, and first name him at that, just goes to show how serious the situation is.

‘Yeah, Ei?’

‘Make me some hotpot when we get back, ok?’

Bakugou inhales deeply, coughs because of the stupid smoke, and his fists clench tight enough to leave crescent moons in his palms.

‘Only if I’m in the mood, Shitty Hair,’ Bakugou retorts, his voice far too soft for the King Explosion Murder hero. But that’s ok- here is only Eijirou, Katsuki, and the world burning around them. Soft is ok here.

Kirishima’s familiar belly-deep laughter gives him a boost of energy.

‘Let’s kick some ass.’

Bakugou feels, for one glorious moment, like he can take on the entire world.

They take their first few steps before Kirishima steps in front of him, blocking off his path. When he looks up to catch his eyes again, the blonde’s protests and insults die in his throat.

Kirishima’s gaze is trained on him as he slowly reaches forward and grabs Bakugou’s right forearm with his right hand, fingers digging into the muscle. It’s a firm, solid grip, reassuring and warm and so very familiar. His eyes are bright, bold, and wine-red. And they’re so full of love, brimming with the kind of affection, respect, and adoration that Bakugou never thought he’d be subjected to. Kirishima opens his mouth as if to say everything his body is already telling Bakugou.

‘I know,’ Bakugou interrupts, voice hoarse. Because he does know. The redhead is his best friend in the entire world, his person, his rock. ‘I know, Ei.’ His own fingers wrap around Kirishima’s wide forearm, gripping tight with calloused, too hot fingers.

Kirishima flashes him another soft smile past his headgear before letting go. He waits for Bakugou to catch up and they walk together, side by side, equals.

When they see the first villain, doing her best to uproot an entire building, Bakugou casts one last look at Kirishima, sees his positively feral smile, and charges with the force of a wild beast.

There are no feels there, just adrenaline, rage, and trust so thick, even concrete would crack under its weight.

---

When you’re training to be a hero, things can go wrong.

Accidents happen. People don’t move out of the way fast enough, or there’s a domino effect of some sort, or the aftershocks of one attack reaches a place it shouldn’t.

Bakugou’s switched up his training partner, choosing to train with Iida to fine-tune his aim and work with a fast-moving target. His blasts hit the mark sometimes, but not always. The gym is huge, so they aren’t really risking anyone with their training; at least, that’s how it is for a while.

But then, Bakugou takes aim and blasts at Iida, Iida dodges swiftly, the attack takes out a portion of the rock formations in the gym, and suddenly there’s a landslide headed right at Hagakure and Kaminari.

Bakugou doesn’t even think about it; his body moves before his brain catches up, and he’s suddenly in front of the two, arms raised to obliterate the debris when he realizes that a portion of the mountain had been laced with explosives for someone else’s training, and his quirk would make things exponentially worse. With the last few moments he has, Bakugou shoves Chargebolt and Invisible Girl away roughly and gets buried under the avalanche of debris.

The last thing he thinks he hears is a chorus of voices yelling Bakugou before his vision goes black.

---

And that’s what Bakugou remembers when he wakes up to white. White walls, white curtains, white sheets.

Unfortunately, the noise isn’t white. It’s annoyingly and stupidly loud.

‘There are too many of you here,’ Recovery girl says, sounding exasperated. ‘He will be fine, he just needs to regain his strength.’

‘Sensei, a whole section of a mountain fell on him, how can he just be fine?’ Jirou questions, sounding severely distressed.

‘Plus, this happened while he was saving me,’ Kaminari chips in. ‘I’m not leaving him.’

‘I have a secret healing quirk of my own,’ Ashido bullshits. ‘He’ll feel so much better when he hears my voice. I have to stay, it’ll be a crime for me to go.’

‘I can tape his wounds?’ Sero offers sheepishly.

He can hear Recovery Girl’s sigh from the other end of the room. ‘And you?’

‘He’s my person.’ Kirishima says it like it’s enough of an explanation.

Recovery Girl clicks her tongue. ‘Overdramatic, the lot of you. Play rock paper scissors or something, but I’m only allowing one of you to stay. The rest of you are going back to the dorms.’

The room bursts into noise again and Bakugou’s head feels like it’s splitting open.  

‘HOLY FUCK, SHUT UP!’ The blonde roars from his bed. ‘I LOVE YOU GUYS, BUT IF YOU DON’T STOP YELLING, I WILL BODILY THROW YOU ALL OUT THE DAMN WINDOW.’

His own yelling does more harm than good to his throbbing head, but the noises stop completely so at least it did its job.

He’s alone for a blissful second before a crowd of five idiots surroundS his bed. Kirishima’s face peers into his, smile wide and eyes crinkled around the edges.

‘Hi, how you feeling?’

‘Like someone ran me through a garbage disposal and then put me in a microwave.’

‘Such details, much prose,’ Sero quips, earning him a chop from Ashido.

‘Blasty my love, can we do anything?’

‘Yeah, shut the fuck up and let me sleep.’

Jirou squeezes his calf from the foot of the bed. ‘You gave us a real scare there.’

‘I’m fine,’ Bakugou grumbles.

‘He will be,’ Recovery Girl reiterates, pushing them away and standing next to him. ‘I’ll do another bout of healing once you’ve recovered some of your strength. You can go back to the dorms before bed.’ She turns to his classmates. ‘Only one of you.’

They look at one another and everyone but Kirishima starts shuffling away reluctantly.

Kaminari lingers behind before quickly giving Bakugou a gentle hug. ‘Thanks,’ he whispers into his ear before pulling off and following after the others. Bakugou rolls his eyes and curls onto his side, yelping when he puts some weight on his tender side.

‘Easy,’ Kirishima mumbles, easing him onto his back. When Bakugou is finally comfortable, Kirishima drags one of the chairs lined up against the wall next to the bed and plops down, exhaling. Bakugou opens a tired eye to look at him and sees Kirishima with a stupidly smug smile on his face.

‘What?’

‘You love us, huh?’

Bakugou had hoped they hadn’t caught that, even though he’d screamed it loud enough for the entire building to have heard. Apparently, a cliff falling on you doesn’t stop you from blushing.

‘Fuck off, you were hearing things,’ he says anyway, because what is Bakugou if not in full denial about so many things?

Kirishima’s laugh is loving not mocking, and he puts his hand on Bakugou’s elbow.

‘Good to have you back Kats.’ He gives it a gentle squeeze. ‘Get some rest huh? I’ll be here when you wake up.’

Bakugou gives him a weak glare, but he can’t muster enough rage and anger because the absolute worst part is, he meant it. Because apparently being a rage-filled hero in training doesn’t make one impervious to feels.

Bakugou feels so betrayed by his own thoughts and emotions.

But right as he loses consciousness, he finds himself wondering if he minds all that much and he decides he doesn’t, almost not at all. The answer doesn’t really surprise him either.

He falls asleep to a cool breeze brushing over his skin and the sound of Kirishima humming under his breath.

#boku no hero bakugou #boku no hero academia #boku no hero headcanons #bnha #mha #my hero academia #bakusquad #bakusquad shenanigans #katsuki bakugou #kirishima eijirou #bnha ashido #sero hanta #denki kaminari #jirou kyouka #jirou is in the bakusquad #bonding #bakusquad bonding #fluff #so much fluff #and so many feels #all the feels TBH #this is platonic kiribaku but also who am i kidding looooool #bakugou has his potty mouth #but he's trying ya'll #supportive squad

[wannabemobwife]

Guns, Glamour, and Goodfellas - Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Dusk Till Dawn

Dad!Mob!Tom x Mom!Mob!Reader

-Pairings: Tom Holland x Reader, Rosie Holland x Henry Osterfield,

Brother!Parker Holland x Sister!Rosie Holland

-Warnings: Blood, language, angst, fluff, sadness, possible death

-Words: 2.5K

A/n: I’m sorry its short but, I ended it where I feel like I needed to end it to make people wait.

Chapter 10: Dusk Till Dawn

Words: 2.5K

All that could be felt was immense pain. A feeling of death. Tom’s head was throbbing as warm thick liquid streaked across his forehead. His head collided with the door as the copter tossed and turned.

He awoke to the thick, pungent smell of gasoline and to you, paralyzed next to him. It took a minute for him to gather his bearings. The pilot was missing, either he flew out when you crashed or went for help, who knows. Everything started to come back to him, the moments before you both crashed replaying in his head.

The pilot shouting, “MAYDAY! MAYDAY! DOES ANYONE COPY! This is flight number 514 and we are going down.”

“Tom!” “Y/N!”

And you screaming “TOM? WHAT'S HAPPENING?” “I don’t know.” He said pulling you into his arms.

It all happened so fast. First, alarms started going off within the cabin. Then, the pilot started to loose control. Twisting and turning the wheel. The helicopter did somersaults through the air. Tom could see the look on your face, a look of pure terror as the engine started to give out. You all quickly lost altitude and braced for the impact.

You and Tom’s last words were exchange of “I love you”s.

There was no soul in sight for miles, except you. Only the bright blue sky and the mountains of Montserrat. Tom didn’t know why the copter’s engine gave out 17,000 feet in the air. All he knows as you were stranded, with no sense of getting home.

The windows to helicopter were smashed, glass shards littered the floor of the cabin and the blades were deep into the ground. He was lucky the pilot didn’t fly straight into a mountain. There was no sign of the pilot, maybe he parachuted before you crash landed leaving you and Tom to your deaths. Tom didn’t know what to think. His only focus was making sure you were okay.

If it weren’t for the current predicament and the blood dripping down your face, he would have thought you were only sleeping, you looked so peaceful.

He tried to pry himself out of his seatbelt, eventually ripping it so he could get to you. Urgently checking for your pulse. Pressing two fingers below your jaw and against your neck. He was able to breathe again, once he found the faint beat of your heart.

“Y/N? Can you hear me? Wake up, darling.” Tom yelled, shaking you violently.

“Tom? What happened?” Your eyes opened abruptly, confused by your surroundings. “Our helicopter crashed—.”

“Tom, you’re bleeding.” “Not as bad as you. We have to get you out of here. Here, I’ll carry you.” You only nodded in response as Tom tucked his arms under your knees and pulled you close to his chest.

Laying you down near some rocks as far away from the ticking time bomb, the helicopter. It could blow any second, but it never did. The smoke would create the perfect signal but to no avail.

“Tom, your leg!”

“Like I said, it’s not that bad. Oh my god… your stomach” “My what… oh.” You said as you stared at the gapping puncture wound in your right side.

“Is there a first aid kit?” Tom asked. “I think it probably got lost while we were flying.”

“What happened to the pilot?” You questioned. “I don’t know. I can’t find him.” Just nodding in response. Trying not to cry at the situation. You were stranded with no sign of help any time soon.

“Y/N, I need to stop your bleeding… I have an idea. Where is your carry on bag?”

“I put it under my seat” you called out, as Tom searched for it. Opening its contents in search of fairly useful items.

Tom found a hoodie, make up remover that was 70% alcohol, antibacterial wipes, a handheld mirror, and a bunch of makeshift medical items. Your phones had been thrashed, barely working even though there was no signal. He tore the hoodie up and wrapped the pieces around your torso, almost like a tourniquet and bandage to keep pressure and stop the bleeding.

“Ahh,” you screamed, the pain unbearable as he tied the cloth tightly. “I’m sorry,” Tom apologized profusely.

“It’s okay, I’m okay.”

“Now, I have to take care of you,” you said, wiping the blood off of Tom’s.

“No, you need to rest. The kids need you alive more than they need me.” “Don’t say that. They love you and they need both of us alive and well, so let me take care of your leg.”

“Alright, even after a helicopter crash you are still bossy” Tom said chucking.

“Not trying to pick a fight here… I’m sorry but this is gonna sting,” You explained, about to clean his gash.

“It’s ok… aahhh” Tom hissed at the stinging sensation from during makeup remover on the cut on his leg.

“Bet you loved that. A way to get back at me for whatever I did that made you so mad at me,” Tom jabbed.

“You know what you did.” “Y/N this is not the time or the place for this discussion and no I don’t.”

“Let’s just get home alive and then we can resume our fight.”

“You said I love you,” Tom mumbled.

“What?”

“When we were going down… you said I love you. Did you mean it?” “Of course I meant it, Tom. We’ve been together for almost 17 years. How could I not love you?” You cried as Tom pulled you into his warm embrace. Even with the harsh breeze he was still warm to the touch.

“I love you too, darling. We will get out of this, I promise.” Tom asserted and you nodded, trying not let the tears fall.

What killed Tom was the uncertainty of it all. He had to have hope, something you were lacking. He had to have faith that you both would be rescued. That you would get to hold Parker and Rosie in your arms again.

Tom knew you would be okay and rise out of this like a Phoenix from the ashes. Overtime, Tom grew to believe you were indestructible. Everything that you had survived was a marvel. Surviving being tortured by a rival mob, almost dying in childbirth, and now a helicopter crash. There was no, if. You had to survive this. It was hard to have hope when he saw how fast you were deteriorating.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Tom asked. Concerned as he noticed your breaths becoming more and more labored.

“I think so, my chest hurts though. It’s getting harder to breathe.” You said, before breaking into a fit of coughs, coughing into your hand. Panic started to arise as small increments of bloods stained your hand.

“Baby, you have to stay with me. Think about Parker and Rosie,” Tom whispered.

“Y/N, we both need to stay awake,” Tom pleaded. “I know, it’s just getting harder to,” you said, your eyes begging to close.

“I know baby. But, Parker and Rosie are waiting for us to come home. They need you Y/N, just like do,” Tom said, cupping you cheek and moving towards you, so you were side by side. Allowing you to rest you head on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry. For the past weeks, I’ve been so lonely in our bed without you. I’m so sorry that I accused you of cheating.”

“I am too, love. Never in a million years would I cheat on you. You have to know that. I’m so lucky to have you. I never slept with or even kissed Jazz, there’s been someone killing my men at the mob —.” He said, kissing your temple. This kiss was one of longing, he just wanted you to be his again.

“Shh, it’s ok. I don’t want the last words I ever hear to be an explanation of your supposed infidelity.” You said, using the last of energy to let out a strained laugh.

“Y/N, baby you’re not dying ok? You can’t die. Just promise me, you’ll stay awake until help comes,” Tom begged. He couldn’t lose you, not after everything that has happened. He needed you and he always will. “You know I don’t like making promises I can’t keep” you whispered, trying like hell to stay awake as a few tears fell.

It felt like hours, the waiting. The sun had set. Tom had a plan to get you both rescued, when a plane or helicopter flew overhead he would use your compact mirror to reflect the sun. Granted it was a brilliant idea when the sun was still out. If you wouldn’t succumb to your wounds by morning the temperature would certainly kill you both. You had lost all color in your face, looking like a ghost.

You weren’t unconscious but you weren’t very talkative either, which scared the life out of Tom.

Each hour Tom’s hope would fade. He never wanted it to end like this. He demanded he be the one who went first. Tom couldn’t imagine what a world without you would look like.

If it had to be this way, killed, both your prime at least he was holding you in his arms. He was close enough to the point where, if it happened, he could hear your breathing stop along with the beating of your heart. Feeling you tiny labored breaths against his neck.

5 hours, Tom had been holding you, praying you survive, praying he survives along with you.

5 hours and he was ready to give up as he saw you drift off slowly towards a deep sleep. “I’ll see you on the other side, darling” he whispered before letting his eyes flutter to a close.

Back home, everyone was secretly panicking inside. Nikki couldn’t imagine losing her eldest son, neither could Harry and Sam losing their brother. Harry had left to be a part of the search and rescue team. As soon as Paddy got word, he was on the first flight out of Monte Carlo. Dom and all the boys were really trying to keep it together for Rosie and Parker’s sake.

They all had left the news on, praying that it would be announced that you and Tom were found, alive and well. Most of the news updates were irrelevant to the Hollands. They had already known, there was a pilot, even though Tom had been taking flying lessons for years and was skillful at it. They also already knew you were on a business trip. Nothing was really news to them anymore.

“I’m going to make some tea. Anybody want a cup?” Nikki asked, needing a distraction from the chaos. “Yes,” replied Rosie. “Please,” responded Parker. “That’d be wonderful darling,” said Dom. “Just what the doctor ordered. Let me help you with that,” said Sam. They were all big fans of a cup of tea. What couldn’t tea fix?

DING DONG

Rang the door bell. Nobody was really up for visitors but, I would be rude to not answer. Hoping it not some nosy reporters trying to get a story from broken family members of you and Tom.

“Rosie could get that, please?” Nikki called from the kitchen.

“Sure Grandma,” Rosie replied somberly. Opening the door to the last person she expected to see but the first person she wanted to see. After her parents, of course.

“I just came to see if you were okay. My dad is doing everything he can through the business side… I know you need your space. This was a mistake, I’ll go.” Henry said, staring at the ground. “Please, stay,” Rosie muttered, teary-eyed from all the crying.

“You mean it?”

“I just don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Hey, come here. They’ll be okay.” Henry said, wrapping his arms around her. Oh god, how missed comforting her.

“Henry, I’m so scared. What if we can’t find them?”

“Roo, we will find them. You have to have hope.” “I keep thinking we find them, but they’re dead.” “You can’t think like that,” he said, wiping tears from her cheeks.

“I missed you. Thanks for being here, you’re a nice distraction” “I’ll always be here,” he whispered, cut off by Rosie’s lips against his. It didn’t take long for him to kiss back. This was his second chance and he wasn’t going to miss it.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” Rosie said, pulling away.

“No, I’m sorry. I really screwed up. I never should’ve broken up with you. I love you too much, Rosie Louise Holland. Take me back?”

“I’ve always loved you, Henry Maxwell Osterfield. Of course,” reassured Rosie. Capturing his lips once more in a more passionate yet gentle kiss. “Wait, I have something for you,” Henry stopped, pulling out something from his back pocket.

“That is, if you still want it,” he explained, holding you the silver charm necklace adorned with a H and a R. “Duh, div. I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Rosie quipped as he clasped the necklace together. “There. Now it’s back in its rightful place,” she said, the biggest smile adorning her face. “Rosie, get in here! There’s an update,” called Parker from the living room.

Rosie pulled Henry through foyer and to the family room for the news. She tensed at the thought of the words “2 DEAD” displaying across the silver screen.

“We’ve just got word that both Tom and Y/N have been found. We are unaware of their condition. They are being airlifted to a hospital in Barcelona. Hopefully we can update you on that once families members have been informed. The pilot is still missing. Please stay with us as we continue to update you on this story,” announced the newscaster. Everyone rejoiced, there were no longer sad tears only happy ones. They were all on the first flight out including Harrison and Henry.

It was miracle, they found you when they did. Harry was part of team in rescuing you and Tom. He refused to sleep until he brought you both back home.

“We found them!” A loud speaker sounded from the chopper flying above. The rescue was eminent, you and Tom were found.

“Get two stretchers over here,” called one of the rescuers.

“Tom? Can you hear me? It’s Harry,” Harry said, trying to wake Tom.

“Harry?” Tom whispered, slightly stirring awake.

“Yes, you’re saved. We got you and we are on our way to the hospital.”

“What about Y/N? She’s lost a lot of blood. Please tell me she’s ok,” Tom pleaded, eyes barely even open.

“They got her in the other chopper. She’s gonna be ok, I promise,” Harry stammered.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Tom whispered before being consumed by darkness.

A/n: I just want to apologize here, I'm sorry. I'm so in love with this chapter and couldn't wait to share it with all of you.

Guns, Glamour and Goodfellas Masterlist

Taglist:@thenoddingbunny-blog @adriannauni @dummiesshort @bi-lmg @allthisfortommy

#tom holland #tom holland imagines #tom holland series #tom holland fanfic #tom holland mob au #tom holland au #tom holland x reader #tom #mob!tom #mob tom #mob!tom x reader #dad!mob!tom holland #mob!tom holland #mob!tom holland x reader #mob!tom x mob!reader