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nevvdrinksteaa · 6 months

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favors pt. i

~~~

i think that this sounded better in my head, but i went ahead and wrote it anyways because i really couldn’t stop thinking about it. also kinda leaned into the horny vibe i was feeling, i’ve never written smut but i’ve read a lot and i think i could do it lmao

~~~

pairing: mike schmidt x reader

prompt: idea from sweet child o’ mine @macfrog (it’s amazing i suggest you read it)

you’re abby’s babysitter and mike can’t pay you just quite yet and he asks if he can do anything for you in return and you mention that you need a date to your brother’s wedding.

warnings: uhmm fluff, angst, suggestive content, i think that’s it, let me know if i missed something!

word count: 1.7k

PART TWO HERE

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Waking up from your uncomfortable position on the couch, you heard the rain pattering on the window. The cold air suddenly swarming your body as you woke from your slumber. You reach over and tap your phone on the coffee table, watching the screen light up and checking the time. 5:48 AM Mike should be home in about 30 minutes. You reluctantly decided to slowly remove the blanket, standing up and reaching your hands in the air, stretching your stiff body as much as humanly possible.

You decided to help Mike and start cleaning up the mess you and Abby made from your activities. You start picking up the crayons, markers, and pencils and place them in the pink basket you picked out for Abby hours before coming over, smiling at how she colored in the paper hearts that were stuck to the sides, picking up the loose paper and sticking it in a neat pile on the desk on the dining table for Abby to use when she wakes up. You walk directly towards the hallway, taking clothes from the hamper and starting a load of laundry. Softly chuckling to yourself about how manly the laundry detergent Mike picked out smelled, you filled up the cap with the green goop and threw it in the washer.

Mike walked through the door as you were finishing up the dishes, drying off the big bowls you and Abby used to make brownies. He kicked his shoes off by the door and placed his keys on the little hook above the light switch. He looked at you for a few moments, taking in how cute you looked dancing to the soft music that came from your phone, how pretty your hair looked slightly knotted from your nap on the couch, the shorts you were wearing creeping up your legs with every step you take.

Mike loved watching you, in the least creepy way possible. He adored everything about you, taking the little extra time he had to notice things he never had any interest in noticing in anyone else before. You were so different and he was so infatuated, interested in getting to know you, getting to know your interests, getting to know your body. He thought about you constantly, something about you made him feel like a teenage boy. He was deep in thought when you turned around, yelping when you noticed him staring at you.

“You want to take a picture? Some people say they last longer” you say smirking, crossing your arms at the brown-eyed boy.

He chuckled softly at your flirtatious comment, a light pink dusting spreading across his tired face, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. You were listening to music and didn’t hear me come in.”

“It’s okay, I was just finishing up some dishes, I didn’t think it would’ve been fair to leave you with the brownie mess” His ears perked up with excitement “You made brownies?”

He faked surprise, ‘Of course, you made brownies’. You were always doing extra things, it was his favorite thing about you, always doing the most and expecting nothing in return.

You grabbed a brownie for yourself before sliding the plate over to the pretty boy. You stayed leaning against the island, smirking to yourself when you saw Mike's eyes dart to your chest.

“Abby and I made them, she said that she wanted to surprise you when you got off work”

“I swear that kid is only nice to me when you’re here,” he said, partially to you and partially to himself.

Rolling your eyes “You know that isn’t true, she adores you”

“I would strongly disagree, She told me I was the ‘dumbest person ever’ when I told her she needed to eat more than just spaghetti and pizza”

“To her defense, she ate brownies today, that's more than spaghetti and pizza”

“I cannot believe you would rather agree with a 10 year old than me” He put a hand over his heart, sighing heavily to show he was hurt by your words. “I always knew you liked Abby more than me.”

You looked at him, eyes wide at his comment. “Sorry, I thought it was clear that I liked her more than you” you paused, for dramatic effect “I never tried to keep it a secret.”

He laughs grabbing a second brownie, and moving away from the kitchen island toward the couch. “You coming?”

“I could be” you winked, smirking at him. He shook his head, thinking of all of the ways and positions he really could make you cum.

You start to follow him, scolding yourself for flirting with him, staying behind for a few seconds to click the lid back on the Tupperware container.

You walk around to the left side of the couch, opposite to where Mike was sitting. After your comment, you got nervous, thinking you pushed it too far. You started noticing the quietness that suddenly arose and not knowing what to say to make things less awkward.

Mike was the first to break the silence, “How was she today?”

“She was good, I was able to pull her away from her drawings long enough to watch a movie. We watched Coco and the end made her cry, then she called me a monster for making her watch it and walked right back to the bedroom to color” You giggle at the memory of the evening you had with the younger sibling.

“Sounds like Abby” Mike sighed “At least she’s warming up to you enough to sit and watch a movie with you, I can’t remember the last time we sat down for a movie”

You grabbed his hand, noticing the sadness that started to form on his face. “You know she loves you, she talks about you constantly, you’re front and center of every one of her drawings. You’re her favorite person”

He smiled softly at your kind words, grateful to have you there to comfort him. “Thank you”

“Of course, that’s what I'm here for”

“Technically you're here because you babysit my sister, but it does make me feel good to think that you’re here only for me”

“Yeah yeah Schmidt, keep telling yourself that”

“Speaking of” Mike trailed off, “It’s going to be just a little bit longer before I can pay you, the new job doesn’t offer insurance so I have to pay for everything out of pocket and Abby was just sick-” You cut him off

“Mike you know I’m not worried about it” he sighed and you could tell by the look on his face that he was still bothered by not being able to pay her.

It had been three weeks since you started babysitting for Mike, coming early to help him make dinner before he leaves for work and staying late to get Abby dressed and feeding her before driving her to school so Mike could get more than an hour of sleep.

You enjoyed helping Mike and loved taking care of Abby, you were the oldest child in your family, so you were used to caring for people.

Mike hated it, it made him feel so guilty. He felt like he was taking advantage of your kindness, promising you every day that it would be only a little bit longer before he could pay you.

“You know, if you feel bad you could just repay me with a favor”

Mike perked up. His mind was filling with ideas of what could fall out of your pretty little lips. He would do anything you asked him to, make you dinner, give you a massage, eat you out for hours and hours. ‘God, why was he suddenly so horny?’

“What kind of favor are you thinking?” slightly squeezing his hand that was placed across your soft thighs. As soon as the words came out of his mouth he felt like a cheap whore, suddenly nervous that he was coming onto you so strong and you wouldn’t reciprocate.

“As tempting as this favor is,” you say placing a hand on his chest “I was thinking something else”

He was suddenly so embarrassed. He quickly pulled his hand away, placing it in his lap, and looking away from your beautiful face. You felt bad seeing a pitiful look on his face, hurting Mike’s feelings was the last thing you wanted to do.

“My brother is getting married in two weeks and I need a date.” He was ecstatic, pushing his horny feelings aside, he could picture it in his head; you two hand in hand, his tie matching your dress, sharing a kiss after your first slow dance-

“My boyfriend has a work conference and he has to be at” You have a boyfriend? “and my family is so annoying if I know if I come without a date, all they would do is tell me that I’m wasting my life away and I’m going to forever be so lonely and-” You have a boyfriend? How could he not know that?

“Mike, are you listening to me? If you’re uncomfortable pretending to be my boyfriend then I could always ask someone else”

“I’ll do it” Against his better judgment, he agrees, hoping that something could come out of it

“Really? Oh my god, thank you so much!” You lean over and hug him “You’re really saving my ass”

“Anything to help” he laughs, trying to make it seem like you didn’t just stab him in the chest with a casual mention of your boyfriend.

Suddenly, your alarm goes off and you pull away from the hug. Mike felt cold at the loss of contact.

“It’s 7:30, you should get to bed” you state standing up from your spot on the couch “I’ll get Abby ready from school so you can catch up on some sleep, I’ll text you the details of the wedding after I drop her off”

Mike watched as you walked away, feeling like he just got punched in the gut. You didn’t feel the way he did and god that was embarrassing. He never had time to even think about a relationship and the first time in a long time he does, the girl in question has a boyfriend.

Mike let out a deep sigh and got up, heading towards his bedroom ready to close his eyes and forget about the miserable conversation. As he walks past Abby’s room he notices you crouched beside her bed, softly shaking her awake.

Fake boyfriend or not, at least he knows he won’t be pretending about his feelings for you to your family.

#mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt smut #five nights at freddy's #josh hutcherson #nev writes

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portraitoftheoddity · 1 year

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Beginner Hikers: Trail Etiquette

@somesuchnonsense added some EXCELLENT info in the tags on my beginner gear post about Hiking Etiquette, and frankly, it deserves its own post:

While you might be going out hiking to get away from other people, odds are good you're still going to encounter a few other folks doing the same, and some basic politeness and understanding of trail etiquette can keep you from being that guy.

So!

How to Not Be An Asshole Hiker:

Acknowledge Other Hikers. You don't have to have a whole conversation -- most people don't want you to -- but making eye contact with a brief nod or 'hello' as you cross paths is considered polite.

Respect the Right of Way. While you're going one way on the trail, someone else may be coming the other way. If the trail is narrow, one of you is going to have to step to the side. The general rule is that hikers going uphill have the right of way, and hikers going downhill should yield. That being said, if you have the right of way but notice that you have a better spot to step off to the side of the trail safely than the other person or party, it's polite to do so. Also, if you are hiking solo and there's a large group coming through the other way, it's polite to let them pass since it's easier for one person to move aside than a whole troupe. It's also polite to acknowledge people going the same way as you at a slower pace that you may be passing, and give them a chance to step aside before you pass them.

Stay On The Trail. Apart from stepping aside to the edge of the trail to let others pass, you should stick to the blazed trail and avoid bushwhacking. This is important for your safety so you don't get lost, and also for the ecosystem -- you could be damaging protected plant life or increasing erosion by trying to make your own shortcut. (Reasonable excuses to leave the trail are if you need to relieve yourself, or if there is a tree down or rock slide across the trail that you need to circumvent for safety)

Leave No Trace. On the topic of not damaging the ecosystem -- If you're gonna have a picnic, bring a bag for your garbage (or any toilet paper if you had to use some), and be sure to clean up after yourself, and erase any signs you were there. Everyone else wants to enjoy the scenic beauty of nature too, so leave it as pristine as you found it. [Side note: Leave the rocks alone, do not stack them into cairns, but also do not mess with existing cairns by adding or removing rocks if you see any -- these are often built by trail maintainers as trail markers in places above tree line where blazes may be obscured by snow and are important to keep folks from getting lost]

No One Wants to Hear Your Music. So you have a cool little Bluetooth speaker so you can blast your favorite tunes with your friends? Cool! Keep it at home! If you want to listen to music when you hike, wear headphones. Don't make your noise everyone else's problem. Enjoy the sounds of nature, and respect that other hikers may be out here for the serenity of the wild, and not your spotify playlist.

Look Out For Other Hikers. If you see another hiker in distress, see if they need help. If there's a problem on the trail up ahead or conditions they should be aware of for safety, give other hikers a heads up. Step up to be a good samaritan where one is needed if you are able. Some of the kindest strangers I've had the honor of meeting, I've encountered on a trail. It can be a really wonderful community!!!

#lena hikes #hiking etiquette #this isn't getting into the winter hiking etiquette about snow pack and post holing and all that jazz #because frankly winter hiking is its own animal and I'm still learning a lot there #beginner hiking #thank you somesuchnonsense!

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flowerpotmage · 6 months

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Tight Grip, Broken Dam (14)

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You don’t question it anymore, when Miguel appears in your bed at night. He’s not there for sex, no, you’ve never even kissed—though you would be lying if you said you weren’t open to the idea of kissing him. He’s there for comfort. For rest. If only it could stay so simple.

Pair: Miguel O'Hara & GN!Reader

Notes: for chapter: sex dreams, soup, superheroing (now with less peril!)

Word Count: 3.3k

Read this chapter on Ao3 here. If you like my work, please consider leaving kudos there as well! You do not need an account to do so.

Dr. Parker approves your return to Spidering on a Wednesday.

You’re practically buzzing when he does, having been crawling out of your skin stuck in a cycle of gyms and training courses and mundane work for the paper. It doesn’t help that the latest news stories have all been about your disappearance, and have now moved on to theorizing over the likelihood of your death.

You can’t remember the last time it felt so good to put on your suit.

Your body cuts through the crisp night air as you swing through tall city buildings. You stop a mugging, a purse thief (who even does that anymore?), an attempted robbery, and a potential car accident. People cheer and gasp when they see you swing by, hands scrambling for phones to take photos and videos.

It’s a busy night. Petty criminals emboldened by your previous absence act with a particular fearlessness you haven’t seen since the early days, and you bounce from place to place like a video game character chasing quest markers, your path chaotic and messy.

You stop to rest for just a moment on top of a bank and let the sounds of the city roll over you.

Your watch pings: it’s Miguel.

“Hi,” you answer, beaming under your mask at the little bust of him floating above your wrist.

“Back on the streets?”

“More like rooftops,” you joke, lifting your mask so he can see your face. He smiles when your own grin comes into view. “Doctor Parker gave me the all clear.”

“Right,” he says, pausing hesitantly. “How is it?”

Your grin slides into a much softer smile. “It’s going great. I’ve already helped a lot of people tonight.” You pause. “They weren’t sure if I was… still around.”

He nods, understanding.

Sirens call you from a few blocks over, your head jerking up to track their distance. You look back down at your watch.

“I should go get that,” you say, smiling apologetically as you turn and start walking across the rooftop. “Will you… will you be at the apartment tonight?”

“Do you want me to be?”

You pause. Of course you do. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He smiles, half a smirk. “You just want someone to have dinner ready for you when you get home.”

You laugh, pulling your mask down. “I’ll see you later.”

He chuckles, ends the call, and you jump out into the open air over the street.

You’re all over the news the next day. Headlines of City Spider Lives! and Spider Returns and other such variations dot the papers and fill screens. You even trend on TikTok.

Gwen arrives around noon to borrow your washing machine and catch up, when you’re on your couch doing research for your next piece for The Bulletin. The temperature has been dropping, so the balcony doors are closed and you have a blanket across your lap, dressed in one of Miguel’s overnight shirts and a pair of sweatpants.

“Whose shirt is that?” she asks, greetings exchanged, and piling her things into the washing machine.

You blink, looking down at yourself, and glance over the back of the couch into the hallway. Your fingers run over one of the folds over your stomach, the fabric soft and warm. “Uh.”

Gwen turns to look at you with a raised eyebrow, a cheeky grin in place.

“None of your business,” you say, turning back to the laptop balanced on your thighs, legs stretched out like a bridge to the coffee table.

You hear the lid of the machine close, the clicks and beeps that announce it turning on. Gwen swings over the back of the couch to land next to you, graceful as ever.

“So I guess the pair of plates on the dish rack are none of my business too?”

You shoot her a halfhearted warning glare and she holds her hands up in surrender.

“Alright, alright,” she says, dropping her hands into her lap. “I’ll leave it alone, but I want you to know I’m happy for you.”

You grumble something noncommittal, face warming. Miguel had been in your apartment again last night—you’re struggling to clearly remember just when the last night without him was—and had stayed for breakfast this morning.

You had cooked for him, for once. Pancakes, with fruit.

“Is this all you know how to cook?” he teased. “Why am I not surprised?”

“I know how to cook other stuff,” you laughed, and turned to look at him.

Your usual positions were reversed, you at the stove and Miguel seated on the other side of the counter that divided the kitchen from the living room. He smiled at you, forearms folded on the counter as he watched you.

“Cereal doesn’t count.”

“Oh, shut it,” you said and turned back to the stove, pretending that your skin wasn’t tingling under his gaze.

“Whatcha working on?” Gwen asks, pulling you back to the present.

“Some filler piece on an animal shelter,” you say. “I’ll get something better soon, now that I’m not ‘sick.’” You lift a hand to draw quotes in the air around the word.

“Hm.”

And you do, when you go into The Bulletin later that afternoon. Ellison delightedly informs you that he’s acquired press passes for an event celebrating donors to the city’s oldest art museum, and even gotten you a plus one.

“That’s pretty big,” you say. “But not normally enough to get you this excited.”

It’s true. Ellison, normally friendly, albeit marginally stressed on nearly every occasion you’ve seen him, is practically bouncing on his feet as he grins.

“Well, the Spider is back.”

“I’m not–”

“I’m not trying to get you to cover the Spider, calm down,” he says. “Karen’s taking it.”

Shit.

Your lungs freeze for a moment. It would be one thing for a colleague to cover your after-hours life, but one you’ve befriended?

“Karen, huh?”

Ellison nods. “We’ve gone long enough without a reporter on this. She’s had success with other vigilante characters before. Daredevil, Punisher. Spider’s probably the safest of the lot she’ll ever meet.”

“Can’t argue there,” you say, half mumbling, mind already racing through how you’ll manage to keep Karen in the dark, because you know with her tenacity she’ll corner the Spider sooner or later.

Miguel slips into your apartment through the balcony. It’s late, so he figures you’re probably asleep—which is why he’s opted to portal to your rooftop and scale down the building for the quiet, mundane entry instead of the far more obtrusive route of portaling straight to your living room. Of course, he could just sleep in his own home, but…

The sliding glass door clicks shut under his hand, white noise of the city now shut out. Turning, he scans over your living room—laptop dark on your kitchen counter, couch blanket unfolded and laying haphazardly on the cushions.

You’re working more again. That’s good.

He turns to your bedroom door, cracked open as if inviting him in, and opens it slowly. His caution is rewarded; you lay there, sleeping, the back of your head the only part of you visible from under the small hill of blankets.

The sight warms his chest, sparking his smile to life.

Miguel’s shirt isn’t on the chair where he left it, so he goes into your closet to get one of the others that had found their way to your apartment and stayed there. He changes there, in your room. He knows you won’t wake if you haven’t already, and so there’s no worry of you catching him stripping from his suit at the foot of your bed.

Not that he would mind you seeing, he realizes with a start. Not just as a fantasy, but really, actually seeing him like this, here, in this moment.

He swallows; turns his head to look at you as he holds his shirt in his hands.

Deep asleep.

Even with this revelation—of fantasy versus reality and the way it sends his mind spinning—his whole being softens at the relaxed expression of your sleeping face, the soft sound of your deep breaths.

He slips on his shirt, his pajama bottoms, and walks around to his side of the bed. Lifting the cover, he slides in beside you. There’s a pause, where he wrestles with the impulse to kiss your face or your hand on the pillow, and instead of pulling you close to his chest under his arm he rolls over to lay on his back and stare at the ceiling.

Sleep comes, eventually.

“Miguel,” you whisper. “Fuck, please–”

You’re under him, face turned to the side on your pillow as he kisses your shoulders, your spine.

“Okay, okay cariño. I’ve got you.”

He lifts himself up on his hands above you, a hand planted on the mattress by your waist and the other finding its place on your skin, sliding across hips that roll and shift against the mattress, searching for any of what he’s denied you thus far.

“Lift for me, sweetheart. There you go,” he praises when you arch your back for him, lifting your hips to give him access.

You’ve been moaning and whining so quietly this whole time, the sounds sweet as sugar and rushing straight to his cock, making his mouth water.

“Miguel,” you plead. “Please…”

“I know, I know mi vida,” he soothes, stroking himself and sliding against your opening. “I’ve got you.”

When he slides in it's so fucking perfect that he can’t help but groan, the sound deep and straight from his soul.

And then, in a change that only makes sense in dreams, you’re above him, pulling his hair back and riding him as you lick his neck. His hands grip your hips, and—

Miguel wakes, skin hot and a weight on his chest: you’ve cuddled up to him at some point in your sleep, a leg hooked around his, dangerously close to–

Mierda.

It's not even dawn yet, going by the lighting and the clock on your bedside table.

He’s had dreams about you before, of course, but this… He closes his eyes, willing the ache between his legs away, using all of his will to not shift his legs wider to provide room and relief. Shocking hell though, it’d be easier to calm down, for his racing heart to slow, if you weren't right there—

Your arm around his middle tightens, then loosens, an unconscious hum escaping your throat.

That’s it. He needs to get out of here. It’s not easy, disentangling himself from your sleeping body without waking you, but somehow he does it, his hardness finally giving up and softening.

It comes back later though, after he’s made you breakfast and left and is in the shower in his own home, the dream rising unbidden behind his eyes. He indulges in the images, brow furrowed and panting softly as he wraps his hand around himself and lets the images in his head play through past the moment he woke.

“Shit, shit!”

You scramble from the couch to the stove, where the lid on a pot of soup is starting to rattle as the contents inside boil over. You turn down the heat, remove the lid, and stir the contents—slowly, slowly it simmers down.

You’re making soup for Miguel, a surprise to prove his teasing remarks wrong. You've dug out an old recipe from your aunt, one she got from your grandmother that you’ve been told your mom loved growing up. It's something you make every fall when the air starts to get that little bit of bite to it—and you think Miguel will like it too.

The soup is saved, thankfully. You ladle the steaming hot contents into a tupperware after changing—Spider suit under your clothes, a comfortable shirt and loose jacket—package the two containers into an old tote bag with napkins and spoons and then portal to HQ.

It’s gray in Miguel’s dimension, the skies overcast and disproportionately bright: the sort of overcast that hurts your eyes more than a clear sunny day, the sun behind the clouds turning the sheet of gray into cold diffused light. Even the climate-controlled space that hosts Miguel’s Spider Society has a hint of the chill from outside—far easier to keep the building cool at this altitude than to heat it, apparently.

Soup was the right call.

You make your way through the weaving beams and paths, swinging through the open space on your webs before landing at the entrance to Miguel’s lab.

“Whatcha got in there?” Lyla pops up, eye level with yours.

“Soup.” You raise an eyebrow, a hint of a smile on the corner of your lips.

“Sure hope you didn't spill any on your way in,” she teases, flickering from one spot to the next to remain in front of you as you walk further into the dark hall, circling a pointed finger at you. “With all that web-slinging.”

“Of course not. I used the good tupperware.”

Miguel isn't at his multi screen platform this time, but in one of the side nooks, working on something you can't see on an old-school tablet.

“Guess who's here!” Lyla pops up near Miguel’s hunched frame.

Miguel lifts his head to look at Lyla, then straightens in his seat as he turns to look at you over his shoulder, creased eyebrows relaxing into something softer, more open.

“Hi,” you say, unable to help the smile that spreads on your lips as he turns to face you more fully.

“Hello,” he says, then raises an eyebrow, nodding at the tote bag on your shoulder. “What’s in the bag?”

You shrug the bag off your shoulder and walk forward to join him at the workbench. “Whatcha working on?”

He hums, turning to continue facing you as you walk closer and come to a stop next to his seat. “I see. Information for information, huh?”

You chuckle. “Soup,” you say, pulling the containers out and answering his earlier question, turning to look at him.

He’s smiling at you, still seated in his chair, and your stomach flips. An image flashes through your mind, so fast it almost unbalances you; Miguel wrapping an arm around you and pulling you in for a one-armed hug, leaning his head against you in a moment of pure, warm affection, and you kissing the top of his head. Nothing far from what occurs in your home, or your bed at night, but… never here.

Miguel turns to look at the soup you’ve placed on his workbench, the clear lids steamed opaque by the food inside.

“You made this?”

“Contrary to your very firm opinion, I can make food other than cereal.” You nudge his shoulder, pushing gently with your hand. “Family recipe.”

Miguel looks at you again, pushing his tablet aside. “I should get another chair in here.”

“What, just for me?”

He hums in affirmative as you take a seat on the workbench, pulling out two spoons and the napkins you packed.

Your face heats, cracking open the lid on your meal as Miguel cracks open the lid on his.

You nudge his arm with your knee. “Your turn. What are you working on?”

Miguel raises an eyebrow at you, lifting a spoonful of soup to his mouth. He gives a surprised hum. “This is good.”

You shake your head, smile only somewhat rueful at his avoidance of your question. “I told you I can make food other than cereal.” You look down at your own container, held in one hand as you perch on his workbench. “It’s a family recipe.”

It’s Miguel’s turn to nudge your leg with his arm. “Thank you for bringing it.”

“Of course. You’re terrible at feeding yourself at work, so…” You trail off with a teasing shrug, laughing when he nudges your leg again, this time in playful indignation, and devolving into laughter when he raises a serious eyebrow. “What!”

He places the soup down on the bench, standing up and leaning over you, saying your name in playful warning. “You didn’t even have groceries in your fridge before me.”

Your face flushes, heat zinging from your crown and your toes to meet in your stomach. The laughter bubbles to a stop in your throat as Miguel towers over your seat on the workbench surface.

You swallow. “Two things can be true at once.”

His eyes flick between yours. Everything freezes, even your breaths, and you try not to blink for fear of losing the fragile moment—whatever it might be—and then Miguel lowers his eyes, a swift downward stroke past your lips, and steps to the side to sit on the bench next to you.

“Alright, alright,” he says. “You make a fair point.”

You’re glad he doesn’t have super hearing, because your heart is thundering as you zero in on your little thing of soup to ground yourself. Miguel is equally silent for an extended moment—did he feel it too?—and when your racing pulse has slowed but the heat lingers in your face, he speaks again.

“How’s work?”

“I’m finally getting good assignments again,” you say, taking a small spoonful of your soup. “I get to go to a gala, write about all the big wigs and how much money they raise for whatever charity.”

“I’d like to read your work sometime,” he says, between his own spoonfuls. “If you don’t mind.”

You look over at him. He looks at you.

“Sure.”

Miguel smiles.

It’s easy to slip back into old routines. When you’re not working from home then you’re out as Spider, and when you’re not doing either of those things you’re wrapped up in bed and sleeping your long days away.

Miguel has to return to old routines as well, long days and nights at HQ and as the Spider-Man of his dimension. Even on the nights you don’t see him you know he visits, the bed warm when you wake up and food on the stove waiting for you.

Tonight, a week into your return, you’re out in the city once again. It’s a slow night, the air cold and crisp with the impending change of seasons. Bikers rumble past on the street below, one last ride before the weather changes too and leaves the streets too slippery, too dangerous.

You have your mask pulled up over your nose, exposing just enough to eat the hot slice of pizza bought with cash from a small spot near Hell’s Kitchen. A small thud behind you has you dropping the last few bites and pulling down your mask, spinning to face your surprise guest.

He stands there, every inch covered in deep red body armor, even his eyes hidden behind glassy red lenses that shine back a funhouse mirror reflection of yourself. The shade of red he wears is just this side of too warm to be reminiscent of blood and instead calls to mind rust and flames. Every angle of his body is tense, straight, lines culminating in two small points on the fore of his helmet-mask: the horns of the devil.

You watch as his head tilts slightly, chin tipped down as if lifting his ears.

Then you speak, uncomfortable with the silence of waiting.

“Daredevil.”

The reaction is instant, his head lifting and tilting like a dog who’s just heard an animal outside.

“Spider. Welcome back.”

You narrow your eyes under your mask, examining his changed posture: more confident, just a degree more relaxed, disarmed.

“Thank you.”

Silence falls again, the space between you interrupted by the low whistle and whoosh of a cold breeze.

“Am I on your turf?” you ask, just a shade apprehensive, joking to ease the strangeness of this encounter.

That almost earns you a chuckle, and certainly earns you a grin. “No. You’re more than welcome here.”

“Hm.” You smile under your mask, tilting your head as you drag your eyes over him. “Thank you. Cool suit.”

His grin remains, spreading wider. “Thank you.” A pause, a gesture of his hand towards you. “Yours too.”

The silence lingers again, the both of you sizing one another up in a new way.

“I should…” You point your thumb over your shoulder.

Daredevil nods.

“Nice to meet you,” you offer, shooting a web off to the taller building across the street. He gives another nod, and you're gone.

<< Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter >>

#x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #astv miguel fic #miguel o'hara fic

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ohtobemare · 1 year

Text

Abstracts, Part 2 • Iceman x OFC

Summary: Art really is a beautiful thing, even if it is in a class of it's own. And he isn't just talking about the studio's newly-acquired curation, either.

Length: ~2400 words

Pairings: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky x OFC

Warnings: Angst, mentions of cancer/tracheotomy, age gap, religious undertones.

"It's definitely not contemporary,"

"'mpressionist, either."

"Abstract, maybe?"

"Bro! That isn't even close to abstract!"

"Dawg, how can you even say that––that's like, like the category everything without a category falls into!"

If he was able, he would chuckle. Spinning the Sharpie through his fingers once, Tom angles the sketchpad between his fingers to face the group of young minds currently crescented in a half moon before his chair. The room is still in the presence of the canvas hanging on the wall before them as light tries bleeding into the studio from the pane windows only half curtained, facing the street.

Tapping the marker against the paper loudly, he snaps, brow popping to attention when each of them angle and turn in their seats to face him. Lowering his gaze to shoot them a look that reads all levels of "Really?", a few of them chuckle as they read the message he's scrawled across the blank page—

Missing the point–it's ART

A few of them eye roll, sliding back around to face the canvas.

And really, it is. Art is not bound to categorization, or event type. It exists as itself, a product of creative vision born from the creative. Corporate culture and the organized world pines to label art into the neat little box of category and type logistics, when in reality, art is limitless. Boundless, like time and air—anything, created with heart and vision and passion, born out of love, can be art. Words. Photography. Steel and concrete, pottery and paint—these, and countless other mediums, are art.

God Himself gave life to His visions with breath and light, something eternally beyond art. But, the more tangerines and lavenders he saw spin through the sky, the more foamy white of a churning ocean he remembers—he cannot help but think that such things, in their own way, are artful.

Life itself, in many ways, is art—birth, existence, death. Art, art—art.

He can feel it in his soul, most days. Swirling and buzzing like an instinct that's always been there. The only other thing he's ever felt clearer is flight, navigating the brilliant skies with confidence and a certainty that, even now, has never left him. You just can't communicate such things—they are giftings, he's sure. Giftings from a gracious God in heaven that understands what it means to crave and burn and thrum with thrill.

Draping a leg over the other, he rests the sketchbook on his lap, recapping the Sharpie and smacking it down the page. Eyes tracking down to his familiar handwriting, the corner of his mouth ticks up as the air thickens with the flutter with hushed musing and whispers, as if these kids aren't aware that it's his throat that's on the outs, not his ears. A few of them toss chance looks over their shoulders, maybe to check if he's still there.

They forget that his silence is permanent, for the most part. That talking is painful. That the absence of sound from Tom Kazansky doesn't mean absence of the body, anymore. God, what he wouldn't give to speak again—to have the power of voice. He'd never stop speaking. Why had he spent so much of his life worried about talking too much?

You never realize what you have until you lose it, the adage is true.

"Ice is right, guys," Theo sighs, claps his hands on the front of his jeans, and pulls himself up from his chair like he's anything but the thirty-something young man he actually is, "it doesn't matter what kind of art it is—it's art. Quit trying to figure it out and just study it. Figure out what it means to you. Because if you can figure out what it means to you, someone else will figure out what it means to them, and we can sell the damn thing."

Such is the purpose of art, and the studio. Tom smiles, head angling to consider Theo slipping out of the group. He puts a hand on his shoulders, giving it a light squeeze as the younger man flashes a bright, coy wink at him that says, See? I know exactly what I'm doing, when in reality, Ice's returned smile is just amused.

Theo has no more of an idea about the purpose of this moment than the rest of them—because neither does Tom.

It's an exercise he's put into practice since opening the studio. Study and reflection of curated commissions in the presence of creators is the essence of good art—if the studio doesn't study the piece, neither will any customer, and thus, the creation is doomed to hang on a wall, unobserved, when that was never its intended purpose.

Whether it sells or doesn't, it should touch the group that studies it.

And that is the essence of art. Meaning, even if we don't fully understand what it is. Tom smiles, thrumming his fingers along the spiral of his sketchbook—it's a lot like faith, he imagines. Things have meaning, have purpose, have existence, even if we cannot see or understand them. And maybe that's the great beauty of art at the core of the issue—it requires faith to understand art. Maybe even to make it.

One of the girls of the group turns around in her chair, arm winged over the back of it as her face falls into a contemplative wrinkle. Ice doesn't know her name—she's a new student. She'd waltzed into the art studio this morning, wanting to check things out and feel the pulse of the place. Theo had asked her to join, for her input. If Ice remembers correctly, she's a potter—clay is her medium of choice, and she's been quiet most of the session.

"Do you know what it is?"

His return smile is small, coy as he lifts a shoulder dismissively. His ideas of what the piece actually is and means doesn't matter—the artist is the only one who truly knows, or claims that they know. But an artist, half the time, only truly guesses.

He doesn't require artists sharing the purpose of any piece that finds its way into his studio. He'd prefer they didn't, doesn't believe in those bio cards that you see in museums or collections on display. One perspective of arts doesn't, in the grand scheme of things, truly matter—because art, like faith, finds people differently. In different seasons.

In truth, Tom Kazansky really has no idea. None whatsoever.

And as much as that thought should bother him as the group musters away from the piece, having drawn no real conclusions, it doesn't. Instead he just sits there, head canted, gazing at it. The damn tube is raw and unusually hot in his throat, but that's probably because of the ascott. He swallows a breath, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a smirk.

Glancing down at the page, he uncaps the Sharpie again and circles his formally penned ART. Then, drawing an arrow off it, he scrawls in thick, bold strokes the only conclusion that he can draw about not only the piece, but the afternoon's session.

BEAUTIFUL

XxxX

"Hey, Ice—Tom. Can I introduce you to someone quick?"

It's after five in the afternoon when Theo's head comes poking around the corner of the studio office, his brow crooked up curiously as he considers the Admiral parked behind his standing desk, bent over a journal. A mountain of magazine, newspaper, and various other pop culture clippings teeters haphazardly to his right, threatening to spill over the pages Tom is currently pouring over with a poised Exacto knife.

Not lifting from his stoop, his eyes move to consider Theo, not looking the least bit impressed that he's been interrupted in such a crucial moment. Shoulders slumping, he releases a little puff of exasperated air, dropping the knife dramatically and resting his palms at either side of the journal. Half leaning against the table, his head lifts to consider the young man from Charlotte, brow lifted expectantly as his lips twist up in a mildly irritated manner.

He's been trying to work all afternoon. Curators, artists, students have been in and out of his office, eating up his working time. Anyone who's ever been around the studio knows that after 1 in the afternoon, Iceman retreats to his haven for his own work. These four walls are saturated with his inspiration, they bleed for him whenever he knicks the vein of opportunity.

Not only is this the best time of the day for him to muse, but—usually by this time he's exhausted. Communication is time consuming these days, requiring efforts one could never imagine. Ingenuity, brainpower. Improv. By the time he slips into this space he's frustrated, tired, and his social graces are redlined. Theo takes over for him, usually only peeks his head in when he's about to leave.

Resigned, Tom huffs and sinks onto the stool behind him, hands parted in a I guess, fine type of way. Clapping them on the thighs of his jeans, he relaxes onto the stool, lifting his feet to the bottom rung of it. Toes curling in his socks, waves Theo in.

Despite the look on Tom's face, Theo's mouth screws up in a smirk.

"Perfect. She's right out here—only be a second, I promise," slipping in through the door, Tom watches him wave the woman up to the doorway, and Theo steps aside to allow her to peek into the room. "Come on in," he probes, grinning.

"Thanks," comes the reply, before she's swinging into the door like a cool breeze off the ocean, and before Tom can even fully get a look at her, she's approaching the standing desk, hand outstretched to him in greeting while the other fidgets a loose spiral of curl behind her ear.

"Admiral Kazansky? My gosh, it's such an honor."

For a second time, relativity has stopped existing, and Tom worries that the earth has stopped spinning on its axis. If he were to glance out his window he'd be reliving the moment Joshua watched the God of Israel stop the sun, for certainly nothing beyond this moment could be actually real.

He's so captivated by her azure eyes, the perfect fullness of her lips and face, the way her lashes curl immaculately behind the clear frame of glasses that he doesn't even feel his heart slam to an all-stop in his chest. All of the feeling leaves his body, instead it's replaced with a white-noise, static-like numbness that seems to buzz through every vein and through his pores.

There's nothing really that can mirror the way it feels when your fighter touches down on the deck of a carrier, the way the line catches the arm just so. It's jarring for a moment, before adrenaline spikes the blood and reminds you that you've touched the closest thing to earth the surface of the ocean can muster. But, if there's anything close to that feeling, it's this.

She is the picture of radiance, of glory and beauty. The only thing that compares is perhaps the sun, or maybe the glittering universe of stars that hang in the sky. But, even they don't compare, because he's fairly certain the expanse of the world is laid out before him in the depth of her irises, which speak to him and somehow manage to see him in ways he's never experienced.

Her energy is wild. She's alive, so very, very alive—not one part of her is cold. Not one iota unfeeling. He can feel her, even from across the desk—can think of nothing he wants more than to touch her, to feel the life flowing through her veins. Tom swears that Icarus is lingering in her face, that he's glimpsed a too-close sun and will be blind should he look away.

Without thinking he slips off the stool without grace, stumbling forward under the weight of her eyes, somehow managing his hand into hers. God if she notices the moisture that's leapt into his hands she doesn't show it, but he's pretty sure both her and Theo could see his heart pounding through his ribs if they look closely enough.

Her lips move, but he's missed what she's said. What a tragedy. She could speak forever and he'd never be bored of her. She'd said his name and he'd been reborn, in places he never expected to feel again. Biting at the inside of his cheek, he somehow gathers the brainpower to smile at her and nod.

"I can't believe you're actually here," her head is shaking in disbelief, the reckless curls about her face dancing with the action, "I mean, I guess I hoped you'd be in-studio, but I assumed in my gut that you'd be gone for the day. I'd say it's divine intervention, but—not sure how many people actually believe in that here, really."

His world nearly stops when she releases his hand, her eyes tracking about his workspace swiftly. All at once he's embarrassed, proud, and a little uneasy having such a work of art examine his place of art. For a second he's worried he considers her a piece of art, but he can't help but think otherwise—she's beautiful. In not the average way. Much like the painting hanging freely on his studio wall.

Reaching for a pen and a clip of something he very quickly disregards, he pens the note carefully. In his best penmanship. In penmanship that he hasn't used since his office at the Navy. He makes a point to be careful of the cursive, of the wet ink that's likely to smudge as he slips it across the desk to her.

Her eyes flick to the note before holding his a minute longer.

What can I do for you?

Her lips turn upward in a reassured, determined smile.

"I'd like to talk to you about some art, Admiral."

Tags:

@cherrycola27 @thedroneranger @mayhemmanaged @desert-fern @startrekfangirl2233 @soulmates8 @chicomonks @angstytalesrx @dakotakazansky @books-are-escapes @sarahsmi13s @cassiemitchell @lovinglyeternal @bobby-r2d2-floyd @that-one-random-writer @horseshoegirl @lavenderbradshaw @bradleybeachbabe @roosters-girl @footprintsinthesxnd @chaoticassidy @roosterisdaddy36 @callsignharper @hisredheadedgoddess28 @genius2050 @ohgodnotagainn @moonchild-cupcake

#top gun fanfic #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun fanfiction #call sign meerkat #tom iceman kazansky #iceman top gun #val kilmer #tom iceman kazansky x ofc #iceman x ofc #tom kazansky x ofc

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lrialthewriter · 8 months

Text

Future Extra: Studying the Past

Word Count: 2,500

Note: This happens DECADES after the ending of the story, and will give hints to what could happen on Reign of Voices, please keep that in mind. This part of the story will be a recurring thing that I might post every now and then.

Fawn ran across the halls and managed to get to her class hall on time, sitting at the back of the angled room before catching her breath. She's really lazy when it comes to preparing to go to her classes and sometimes she would intentionally miss it as long as she’s attending enough times. However, this course is a different case as they have found themselves fascinated with the subject, which goes through the history of humanity. While history itself is really tiring to go through, the last few lessons have tackled the Era of Prosperity.

Just as Fawn started to open up her bag to review their notes from the last meeting, professor Terry walked into the big classroom, all the students had shushed down and began preparing their pens, papers and laptops for the upcoming lecture. They were immediately greeted by the usual cheery mood that the professor has but instead of projecting their usual slide presentations, they took their marker and started to write something.

‘History Paper Project’

Professor Terry looked at the entire class and smiled, “Good day my dear students, as much as I would love to talk about our recent past and walk you through the history, I have decided to make this the final project of your class,” a lot of murmuring have started in the room, while some sounded really worried, Fawn herself felt excited by the idea.

“Fear not,” the professor continued, making the class go quiet again, “as long as you pass what you have found out, regardless of how common or detailed the information you had with regards to the topic, I will pass you in my class. Think of it as some sort of reward for sitting through some history lessons you can find online, though of course efforts will definitely be rewarded, but we will talk about the topic of your paper,” and with that, professor Terry has written more things at the board.

‘Era of Prosperity’

“Any part! Want to focus on one of the two wars? Or do you want to dig deeper on the history of our first Council? Do what you want as long as it’s on the times new roman, font size 12, double spaced, you know the drill by now.” The professor laughed as he wrote those details on the board, “You want to go by group? You want to go solo? Be my guest, just make sure that you write your names in the group.” This made some students start to look around the class and even type out messages through their laptop.

“Well if you have any questions, you can ask now or email me later. Other than that we would not be having any classes for the rest of the semester, our last meeting will be the deadline of this paper, so about… two months? Now, onto the questions.” After Professor Terry finished, a couple of students raised their hands.

“What type of sources can we use?”

“Any, as long as you have proof that is reliable, don’t forget to use APA 22th edition for it”

“How formal does the paper have to be?”

“You wouldn’t be defending it, however I want it written in an orderly manner, introduction, separation of data depending if you are taking different points of view or going through a sequence of events. I just want it to look formal and definitely have no subjective writings on it.”

“Can I partner with someone from a different section but is a student under your name for this course?”

“Email me their names before you start for me to check on them, but yes as long as you inform me at most 2 weeks before the deadline”

Fawn was the last one to get called on to ask her question, “What was the reward if we actually put the effort into this project?”

Professor Terry grinned, “That is a good question! The Regalient University of Innovation would actually be the one providing it, though they refuse to tell the professors themselves what the reward would be, they have mentioned that the Council is involved.” A lot of mumbling has happened within the room.

“The Council are alumni of the school right?” One student blurted out.

“You are correct! Even the former Supere Fuantei have learned their major in our mother university, That can be a full on paper on itself,” Professor Terry laughed, “That does remind me, if any of you needed a proof that you would need some information for educational purposes, email me so I can ask the university to help you out. Apparently they will give the students whatever is necessary to help for this project, so don’t hesitate to email me about it.”

“No limits huh…” Fawn mumbled to herself as she wrote that info down before going through her phone and messaging Jace, ‘hey r u in the class rn?’

Her phone immediately vibrated upon sending the message, ‘yeah I am, also yes we can pair up’, making Fawn chuckle at the idea of Jace already writing out a message to ask her.

“Very well, if there are no further questions, class dismissed. Email me or meet me at the faculty every Wednesday if ever you need help with the project.” And with that the professor left while everyone else started to pack up and leave.

Fawn giggled at the idea of being able to research a lot of things for the paper, while they aren’t too interested in actually claiming the winner over the best paper, they still wanted to give it a shot. She texted Jace to meet her at their usual place before bolting out, they want to get some library books before everyone else gets the idea.

==============================================

Jace arrived at the cafe he and Fawn frequent over, while it’s close to the campus, it is somewhat of a hidden treasure due to how unknown it was for a good amount of students. Besides, a lot of the students would have preferred staying in the campus or one of the more luxury cafes nearer. This does make the cafe really calm to stay through for study sessions, which Jace assumed they would be doing in here once Fawn arrived. The duo have studied, drawn and even slept in this place so they were basically regulars at this rate. As soon as Jace entered the cafe, the owner and bartender of the cafe, a friendly old man named Nilson, waved at him and started to prepare something behind the counter.

“Hey well if it isn’t Jace! You want the usual?” Nilson smiled, which makes Jace shake his head given he can see that Nilson is preparing the drink already.

“Well, you are already preparing it already, so I might as well, oh and prepare Fawn’s favorite as well, they are just currently getting something done but they should be here in a moment.” Jace said, making Nilson give a thumbs up as he also started working on a second drink.

As Jace walked towards a table by the corner of the cafe, Fawn bursted out of the door with a lot of books on hand. He immediately went to help her out, with Fawn mumbling a quick thanks, before they walked to the table where they dropped a lot of the books they had on-hand.

“Oh thank you so much Jace! I’m sorry I didn’t ask for help earlier, I just got too excited and bolted out to get the books as fast as possible.” Fawn explained while catching her breath, letting her head rest on the table as she does so. “I have so much ideas for our paper”

“I can tell,” Jace laughed nervously as she looked at the books that she brought with her, all of the books were connected to the Council one way or another apart from two of them. "Club album 2024… Alumni 2025 and 2028… These are like, nearly 6 decades ago! How did you got these?" He asked as he started to flip through the pages of the Club album.

"Well, Prof. Terry did said we are allowed to ask the university for help, I approached him as soon as he left the class hall and asked if he could help me retrieve some books from the restricted section!" Fawn explained as she sat upright and took the Alumni book "They were also kind enough to let me drag it out of the university, though if we damage them it is a great trouble." She then pulled out a set of documents, "I don't really like scaring you, but I'll just say I can get expelled if these books are heavily damaged."

"Expelled?!? Are these the only copies left???" Jaze asked in fear, RUI doesn't like expelling their students nor is very strict about the restricted section of their library, so to hear that makes him fear for Fawn.

"Not really and they have digital copies too, but they told me that these are the copies specifically for the Literature club–" Fawn said as she pointed at the Alumni albums "–and this one is for the Art Club," Fawn said as she pointed on the Club Album. "Why those specific clubs? I don't know either, frankly I am terrified of holding them on the way here." Fawn said, shrugging as Nilson walked up to them with their drinks in hand.

"Hey fellas, I see that there are a lot of books here. I'll just put your drinks on this other table here–" Nilson then went to drag a nearby small table beside the bigger table the duo was using and placed their drinks there "–there ya go, I heard something along the lines of 'expulsion on damage' so I'll just assume y'all don't want that, right?"

"Y-yeah!" Jace answered, "Thanks for the drinks"

"Anytime, these ones and some snacks are on the house. Seems like both of you will be on a nose dive into those books" Nilson said, laughing as he turned around to go back to his station, "Have fun reading!"

"Oohhboy okay, time to see why they specifically gave you the one for the art club…" Jace gulped as he started actually skimming through the club album, there were definitely far less clubs available back then but it was still plenty enough that it took a while to find the Art Club section, "No fucking away."

"What is it?? Did you discover something??" Fawn jumped over and looked at the page he's in.

'Perlad Hiro, Club President'

The two stared in awe at the information in front of them. There it was, the leader of the Supera Council back when he was just around the same age as them, staring right back at them with a gentle smile on his face.

"Holy shit," Fawn said as she then went to whip out her phone and search for the oldest image of their Leader. Upon finding one she then went to put it side by side with the college photo.

The image of Supere Hiro that Fawn showed was one of his first public portraits right after he was previously put on the second seat back when the Supera Council was just created. The serious face almost sent chills to both of them compared to his college photo where he looked so friendly and welcoming, seemingly content and proud to be featured as the president of the club. Meanwhile Supere Hiro was known to be extremely strict for the first few years after the Resistance war had ended, and his controlling demeanor definitely leaked out of his portrait.

However, the one that stood out the most for both of them was the difference in his glare. While his college picture has so much glow, enthusiasm and warmth in his eyes, his portrait as a newly seated leader has a glare of its own yet it felt empty. It was almost as if his soul was sucked out of his body as he doesn't seem to focus to anything that was happening in front of him

This made Jace take out his tablet and search through newer photos of the Leader. Supere Hiro himself is almost turning 90 at this time, however due to how fast medical advances were, the average lifespan of 90 back in the 2020s has doubled by the 2080s. Looking at the newer images for the Council, they still looked like they were just in their early 40s. Jace zoomed in to Supere Hiro and saw that he had the focus in his eyes once again, like how it was when he was at college.

"He looked so… different" Fawn said as she looked at the pictures between her phone and the album. "The wars probably dented him hard…" she sighed and sat down, taking out her holographic computer and turning it on and started setting up documents to jot down some notes.

"I mean, he ended up needing to hold leadership so early as well, I'm surprised he isn't so scarred" Jace shrugged as he went to place his tablet right beside the album and as he was about to say something, he saw something neatly written on the page, right under the Leader's portrait.

'Proud of you Per

-Sai'

"W-wait" Jace nudged Fawn to look at the page, "is THIS why they specifically handed us this copy???"

Fawn smiled so wide, "oh my fucking god that HAS to be from the former Leader holy shit," she started to make squealing noises, the thought of discovering how close the two Council leaders were is giving her so much hope for the project, "they are definitely not beating the allegations and historical theories that they used to have a relationship before the government overturn" she laughed as she started to type out on her computer.

"Wait, I have a theory." Jace said as he then started to look for a different club in the album and it even threw him off more as he somewhat violently shook Fawn.

"Wh-wha woah calm the shit do- holy fucking shit what?!" She gasped seeing the club album opened up to the Literature club's officers.

'Saimin Fuantei, Club President'

"What the fuck how come we never learned these." Fawn said as she admired the portrait of their deceased former Council Leader, who looked vastly different with his short ponytail and much more calming stature.

"Well, we ARE learning right now, aren't we?" Jace said, grinning as he looked at the other piles of books on the table.

Fawn shook her head,"Well you better be taking down notes, I think we are onto something here," she said as she started a new document for the project. "Hmm… how about tentatively we focus on what we can find about the connection of our Council leaders before they have taken their seats?" She asked while scratching her head.

Jace nodded, "I feel like the librarians were setting this up on us…"

#slice of life #comedy #designs for Jace and Fawn will be posted probably this month #original story #RoVoices #RoVextra

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superlinguo · 1 year

Text

Linguistics Jobs: Interview with a Director of Conversation Design

This month’s interview is with Greg Bennett, a Director of Conversation Design at Salesforce, a customizable, cloud software platform for customer relationship management. In this interview, Greg discusses the culture shock from transitioning to industry from academia, and how his discourse analysis training has impacted his work and career in the tech industry. You can find Greg on Twitter @gabennett45 or on LinkedIn.

This last post of 2022 is also the last in this series, and we'll have more in 2023 about the future of lingjobs!

What did you study at university?

I hold a BA in Linguistics and MS in Applied Linguistics from Georgetown University. I also studied Japanese language and culture during undergrad. My academic focus was on interactional sociolinguistics—particularly, how users manipulate textual stylistics to convey contextualization cues during synchronous, text-based chat.

What is your job?

I founded and lead the Conversation Design team and practice at Salesforce. I oversee strategy and workflow for an international team of Conversation Designers who craft conversational experiences that “sound” like Salesforce and train language models to recognize myriad varieties of language input from users. I spend much of my time discussing with various leaders across the business the resource investment strategy for conversational apps and features that position Salesforce at the forefront of the market; scaling our resources and tools to expand my team’s sphere of influence across our ever-growing lines of business; and championing my team’s impact on our bottom line within and beyond the company.

How does your linguistics training help you in your job?

I never expected linguistics to be as vital or central to my role as it is now. I’ve always had my discourse analytic mindset running in the back of my mind to interpret conversation and stancetaking in real time in all of my past roles. As a leader at Salesforce, I certainly maintain that approach to developing relationships with stakeholders across the business. However, since conversational AI is fundamentally about language as an interface for a technological system, I find myself referencing every aspect of my training as a linguist to contextualize and strengthen my proposals for a conversational solution—from generative syntax when debating the ‘conversationality' of a conversational app’s brand name, to acoustic phonetics when determining the pitch range for a voice app in 2019, to discourse markers when creating cohesion between turns of text-based chat with our chatbot templates—I basically spend all day, every day, using linguistics to form connections and drive product strategy.

What was the transition from university to work like for you?

It was a huge culture shock! My first role outside academia was as a UX researcher at Microsoft. I was coming off the heels of having a limit on the amount of photocopies I could make in the Department of Linguistics to entering an office where food was catered every day, Post-Its could be used ad nauseam with nary a pang of guilt, and every time I had a research finding to articulate, it had to be done in a slide as opposed to a fleshed-out paper (to say nothing of my joy at being able to photocopy in color at the office). Everything required fewer words, had to be finished in a fraction of the time, and had to look way more visually appealing than anything I was ever expected to do in academia. I had to go beyond simply stating, “this is what I found in the data” and evolve towards, “we as a business should do y in order to make a market impact of z because the data say x.” (In industry, always lead with the “so what” and follow up with the data—something I learned from profoundly expert and gracious women in UX who taught me how to adjust to corporate priorities, read the atmosphere of a business, and succeed at advocating for oneself and one’s craft at the highest levels. I wouldn’t be where I am now without them.)

Do you have any advice do you wish someone had given to you about linguistics/careers/university?

My advice would be that your title and your degree aren’t the defining characteristics of who you are and what you do. When I was in academia, I deeply enmeshed my sense of self and self-worth in my status as a graduate student, and when I took a break after the MS, I had to mourn the death of a huge part of my identity. I had no idea who I was without the Department of Linguistics at Georgetown. But, after a lot of therapy and soul-searching, I came to the realization that even if I didn’t have the title of “student” anymore, that didn’t mean I was no longer capable of learning, just like even if I no longer had the title of “Director of Conversation Design,” it wouldn’t mean that I would suddenly become incapable of leading product strategy for conversational AI. Look inward. Titles, accolades, insignia—they’re distractions. Figure out what truly motivates you, what fulfills you and align to the elements of those qualities that present themselves in whatever role you pursue.

Any other thoughts or comments?

A quick overview of the company I work for and the evolution of its conversational technology: Salesforce is a publicly traded company that provides customer relationship management software as a service in the cloud. In 2017, the company released the Einstein Bot Builder, a declarative platform for Salesforce administrators to create and deploy text-based chatbots to their own customers for service use cases. Since then, it’s grown into an expansive feature ecosystem, ranging from chat analytics to reusable chatbot templates. The Bot Builder, coupled with Slack, which Salesforce acquired in 2020, opened up the opportunity for me to establish a design practice by which Salesforce can create unified, consistent, and inclusive conversational chat experiences based on sociolinguistic research.

Recent interviews:

Interview with a Research Scientist

Interview with a Language Engineer

Interview with a Natural Language Annotation Lead

Interview with an Artist

Resources:

The full Linguist Jobs Interview List

The Linguist Jobs tag for the most recent interviews

The Linguistics Jobs slide deck (overview, resources and activities)

The Linguistics Jobs Interview series is edited by Martha Tsutsui Billins. Martha is a linguist whose research focuses on the Ryukyuan language Amami Oshima, specifically honourifics and politeness strategies in the context of language endangerment. Martha runs Field Notes, a podcast about linguistic fieldwork.

#linguistics #linguistics jobs #ling jobs #lingjobs #tech industry #discourse analysis #linguist #conversation design

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chibi-chanforever · 3 years

Text

𝙰 𝙳𝚎𝚋𝚝 𝚃𝚘 𝙿𝚊𝚢

Pairings: Bokuto x Fem Reader x Akaashi

Warnings: Hardcore Smut and triggering themes please read at your own discretion. This is just a work of fiction and is not encouraged in anyway whatsoever.

themes: Non-con, Kidnapping, Drugging, Gunplay, Orgasm control/denial, Edging, Cuffs, , Creampie, Cunnilingus, Voyeurism, Masturbation, Blowjob, Threesome, Face Fucking, Penetrative Sex, Mentions of Stalking and Yandere.

A/n: Heyaaa so basically this is in collaboration with the Church of Meian theme of May-mafia/Mayfia. Its my first collaboration and my first time posting smut, hope yall enjoy!! Please make sure to check out the amazing art and stories posted by the lovely people in our little church and give them some love, the link is at the end of the story!! Also special thanks to @kinsurou, @murdereddaydreams and @vanille--kiss for helping me and supporting me through everything. Love you soo muchoo my little ohana

A heavy sigh escaped your lips as you glanced over to the stacks of paperwork you still had to go through. The daunting pileup that only increases every hour. You sighed again as you thumped your head onto the desk,frail arms just barely cushioning the blow. While staring blankly at your own feet, you spied the wastepaper basket sitting near, completely empty apart from a few used sugar sachets and soggy teabags.

Your eyes flit towards the pile of files again and you couldn't help but wonder what would happen if a few papers landed in the trash can, accidentally, of course. You contemplated for a few more seconds, before you shuddered as you imagined familiar cat-like eyes flit across your vision. You didn't want to really know what would happen if he found out about it, did you?

The minx-like golden eyes flashed once again in your mind as you recalled the fateful day. The day from which everything spiralled downhill.

If only, if only your family hadn't gotten into trouble with the Nekoma clan, things would be different. But no, they had to take a loan and fall into the mercy of Nekoma…

But at least you got off easy, you thought as you cradled your head. At least you and your family didn't suffer the same fate as the others. You were thankful to the head of the Nekoma for giving you the opportunity of paying off the debt through work, instead of the usual means. A shudder ran through your spine as you thought of the stories you've heard, of what happened to the other people who owed the clan money.

A heavy Bam shook you from your stupor as your head jerked up to stare at the new batch of files that had been banged onto the stack. You shook your head to clear your thoughts as you reached for the first file of the batch. It would be better to just get to it and finish it before the end of the day. That's when you noticed the little photograph that slipped out on the floor and you bent to pick it up.

There were four guys in the frame, two of them being the focus of the shot, with goofy big smiles and arms draped around each other, though there was a big red circle drawn around the one with owlish silver hair, the ink of the marker recent enough to smudge a little. The other two guys looked like they were not meant to be in the picture, but oddly that fact only made it so much better.

One with blonde highlights stood grimacing in the background while the other guy's face was barely visible, his body half turned and blurry as if someone had called out to him at the last moment when the picture was being taken.

Overall it looked like a fun bunch of friends but you wondered why there was a circle drawn around one of them. You flipped the picture, curiosity getting the best of you. Finding only a date written you turn the picture again, choosing to focus on the people in there.

“T-these are the next in-line heirs to the Nekoma clan” you whisper lowly to yourself. They were the ones who were supposed to take over in the coming years and were your current bosses. You couldn't wrap your head as to what this was doing in your file. You were given only the most basic work to handle as their secretary, numbers to jot down, business meetings to book and take note of the expenses and make detailed reports about meetings they attend. Maybe this slipped in by mistake somehow ??

You centered in on the person grimacing and the one with bed-hair; cogs turn in your brain as you wondered why these two individuals seemed so similar before something dawns on you and an audible gasp leaves your lips as the picture dropped onto your lap.

With trembling hands you shoved the picture back into the file and hide it at the bottom of the stack, maybe this was a file that was not supposed to be in your hands, fuck fuck fuck. Your eyes skim the room to watch out for anyone observing you. These guys didn't trust you enough to give you such things, so obviously it was misplaced and dumped into your paperwork by accident.

You suddenly noticed Lev jogging towards you and your whole body tensed as he approached. You pretended to work on the other files that were scattered around on your desk, typing random words and numbers into the excel sheet, your gaze was strongly focused on your screen yet everything was blurry. If Lev were to take a peek as to what you were doing at this moment, he would realise that what you were typing was utter bullshit.

“Ah, you remember the stack of files and papers that I just placed here?” He pointed his finger to the stack of papers that still lay stagnant there.

“Yes sir? What can I do for you t-today?” You kicked yourself under the desk for how weird you sounded in the moment, but lucky for you he was in a hurry so he didn't pay much mind to you.

“Can you give those back to me? I think there were five bunches of them, I think I gave you the wrong ones,” he rubbed the back of his head as his voice took an almost sheepish tone by the end.

Without saying anything in return you just nod stiffly before taking the first four files, slowly sneaking in the file that you shoved at the bottom, you softly banged them against the table as if to align them before giving them to him with a small smile.

“Hey Y/n?” Lev called out to you after he cleared his throat. You slowly turned your head towards him trying your best to act innocent as if you hadn't just seen a picture of the mafia head with his friends.

A light pink blush clouded his face as he clumsily took the files from you, bowing a little before he scurries off to give those files to whoever he was supposed to give them to in the first place.

You let out a deep exhale of relief, slumping further into the chair as he turns a corner and goes out of sight. Your phone suddenly buzzes and you yelp as your body jolts upright from the chair, you relax visibly when you notice that it was only a reminder that you had kept on your phone signalling the end of your shift.

Dropping it back onto the table with a clatter you stretched yourself in the chair, a smile gracing your lips as you collect your things to head home, deciding to stop at the grocery store to make a big dinner for the family today, just to relax your mind and console yourself that everything was alright, that you wouldn't be killed for seeing confidential information. It was just a picture, you thought, yeap just a picture that could possibly be a kill target, fuck did you get involved in a crime? You pinched your arm as you walked out of the office, shaking your head of all the negative thoughts.

The keys jingled as you struggled to slide the key into the lock with two grocery bags in hand, the atmosphere eerily silent as you entered the house, you called out for your mom and dad, followed by a soft “tadaima” only to receive no response in return.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You laughed as you remember that a few days ago your dad tried to make dinner and ended up breaking your mom's favourite ceramic pot while removing one of the pans. She has been so mad at the time that she took a vow to not cook until your dad got her a similar ceramic pot if not a better one.

You entered the living room to find it completely empty, and chill ran down your spine, where were your mom and dad? You walked toward the fridge and suddenly everything made sense when you saw the small sticky note with a haste scribble that said that your parents had gone out at the last minute for a makeup dinner, decorated with a small smiley in the end.

With a broad smile plastered on your lips you placed both the grocery bags on the counter, humming softly to yourself as you removed the items from within the bags. From the corner of your eye you suddenly notice a shadow cross and your body goes rigid. Your hand slowly inched forward before curling around the handle of a pan nearby when a tingling feeling rises up your spine, signalling someone’s approach.

In the room filled with soft rays of evening light you stand ominously still, breath bated as you tighten your clammy grasp, knuckles turning white, cold beads of sweat running down the side of your face. You backhand swung the pan the moment you see a slight shadow come up behind you, but your actions were stopped midway as you were pushed head first onto the counter, your hand with the pan being banged harshly against the cold surface of the marble, forcing you to let go of the pan. The person behind you used their body weight to keep you pinned to the counter as you trash around, trying your best to get hold of any object you can use to defend yourself.

Just as you get your right hand free from under the person’s weight, you feel a pinch on your shoulder and suddenly your body starts losing its strength,eyelids getting heavier and your vision turning blurry. As a last attempt you tried to scream out for help, but the moment you open your mouth a gloved hand clamps down on your lips and you try to trash around, only for him to lean his weight further on you, knocking the air out of your lungs.

Right before you passed out, you faintly heard a phone buzzing and for a second you wondered if it's yours. You fought to stay awake as the man still kept you pinned against the counter, shuffling behind you before a small beep followed by a smooth soft voice reached your ears.

“ I have her Bokuto-san”

That was the last thing you witnessed before losing control over your senses and everything went dark.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You woke up to a cold concrete floor, a dull throb sitting in the back of your head as you grunted softly, your vision confiscated by a blindfold. The place where you were injected felt like it was on fire, limbs feeling heavy and…

You tried shifting your arms but all you could hear was the clang of metal against the concrete. You tried moving your feet but they were seized with cuffs which were attached to metal chains rooted firmly into the floor. You pushed yourself up onto your knees, only to be pulled back by the chains hooked on cuffs around your wrists, the rattling sound echoing loudly throughout the room along with a disgruntled sob. You held your breath in fear, hoping that no one was around to hear it. The room fell utterly silent as you tried your best to hear for any footsteps, only to be greeted by a soft hum of jazz, barely thrumming in through the walls.

You wanted to cry, scream, trash around, but there you laid, frozen in fear, trying your best to not make a single sound, making it seem like you were still unconscious. You were just delaying the inevitable, buying as much time as you could; you didn't have a single clue as to what you had done to be in such a situation, if it was about the loan, weren't you already paying it off by working? Or did they get tired of waiting?

But hadn’t you walked the perfect line with your job? you didn't have a single complaint from your superiors and your colleagues commended you on it, because it seems that they weren't compatible with just anyone and most of them didn't survive beyond the second week. So why were you here then? Was it the–

Your thoughts were cut short as you heard keys chime on the other side of the door and you froze in your spot, trying your best to pretend that you weren’t awake just a moment ago, tugging on your restraints.

You slowed down your breathing, evening it out just as the door opens, its hinges creaking loudly as you hear a chorus of footsteps pad through the room. But your little act of being asleep was immediately cut short as a bucket of ice cold water was thrown over your body making you jolt upright in shock, gasping and shuddering at the sudden overwhelming sensation.

“Looks like the little kitten is awake now! Let’s get this over with, shall we?” A deep voice boomed throughout the room, and you cower back a little, chains clanking along with you.

“Akaashi, remove her restraints but keep the cuffs on her hands.” The same authoritative voice commands and soon you feel a presence behind you, undoing your chains.

Your shivering body only trembled more as you felt fingers graze your calves and back, your now damp blindfold only serving to rile on your fears. You didn’t shift from your position when you felt the weight drop from your hands and legs, too scared to do anything. Your mind ran a million miles per minute, barging through your brain with various emotions and thoughts, but yet you feel blank as a chair scrapes loudly against the floor, placed in front of you.

A hand hooks under your arm, pulling you to sit upright and a whimper leaves your lips in fright. You wanted to plead– heck even beg for mercy, cry a litany of apologies and offer anything up in exchange for your life, but your lips didn’t move a single inch, even though you were practically screaming from within. You choke on the silence that suffocates the room before a gentle finger traced the back of your neck and you suppressed the urge to shudder at the feeling, soon finding your blindfold falling to the floor. You squinted, trying to move away from the sudden bright light before coming face to face with the last face you expected to see, the supposed kill target, his golden orbs more brighter and fierce than you remembered, excitement dancing along his lashes.

“And what do we have here?” He leaned forward as he rested his elbows on his knees, his palms joined in front of him and a cunning smile plastered on his face. His eyes raked your form before looking at the man behind you, nodding at him before you heard the softest “Yes Bokuto-san” flow past you and your eyes widen when realise where you heard it before; you recollect to the voice you barely managed to hear before you were rendered unconscious and painful tears started to collect in the corner of your eyes as you tried to swallow the lump on your throat.

The guy now known as Akaashi brought something to the guy in front of you before going back to his earlier position behind you. Faint light glinted against the object and when you realised what it was, tears flowed down freely your cheeks as soft hiccups wrecked through your body.

“Aww honey, don’t be scared. All you need to do is answer all our questions truthfully and I won’t have to use this. Whaddya say hmm?” Bokuto cooed as he slid the gun against your cheek, before placing the barrel under your cheek and tipping your head upwards. Afraid, you closed your eyes before nodding meekly.

“That’s a good girl. See we won’t be having any problems then.” He says with childish enthusiasm in his voice as if it were just another game for him. Akaashi stood silent, his eyes never leaving your form, watching the way your nipples pebbled under the cool air, your shirt now almost transparent as droplets of water slid down your shivering form. Bokuto feigned a cough and Akaashi flits his gaze to him, immediately registering that Bokuto noticed him staring at you, his signature playful smile getting a little bit wider, a hidden intent written behind that smile.

“It’s time to pat her down, Akaashi.” Bokuto stated before turning to you, “Don’t worry hun, it's just a mandatory procedure.” The moment those words were said you were lifted off the ground and placed onto Bokuto's lap and a sob fell from your lips as you tried to get away from his hold, but that only spurred him on to wrap his hand around your waist firmly.

“Shush now little kitten, don’t worry, the more you struggle, the harder it will be.” He pulled you closer to his heated body, your back hitting his chiseled chest as you straddled him, making your pencil skirt bunch up, your cuffed hands uncomfortable as they get smushed at an odd angle between your back and his chest. You try to move forward because the burn was too much, but the hand on your waist only tightened, keeping you put, your legs kept secure behind his ankles.

“So tell me kitten what’s your name hmm??” He asked you while Akaashi kneeled down in front of you and started patting down your shoulders before his fingers found your buttons, relieving them from its reserves with ease; you looked down at Akaashi with unbelieving eyes, Bokuto’s question falling on deaf ears and that was your biggest mistake. His hand on your waist slid up to roughly grab one of your tits, pinching the nipple harshly and making you cry out in pure agony.

“I asked you something pet, I don’t like to repeat myself twice. Geddit? Now I'm going to ask you once more and that will be your last time. You hear me?” His voice was viciously low and threatening. You only nodded back in response, the sting still fresh on your skin. “ Use your words kitten” He commanded, and you choked out a broken “Y-yes.”

“Good girl. Now tell me what your name is, hmm?”

“ It’s Y-Y/n,” you managed to stutter out, chest heaving.

“That's a lovely name for a kitten! Well now, what is a pretty little thing like you doing in the Nekoma estate, hmm? What is your relationship with Kuroo and Kenma? Are you their fucktoy? Wouldn’t doubt if you were, you seem quite fun to play with” he whispered the last part as he grabbed your face, turning your head away from him. He brushed his nose against your neck, taking in your scent as hot puffs of air collided against your skin.

“I’m j-just a secretary, I have a debt to clear with them, t-that’s all. I’m not their- their- '' heat rushes to your cheeks as embarrassment and anger flowed through you as it dawned upon you what he really meant and you tried to pull away from Bokuto. “I don’t do anything of that sort! I don’t have that kind of relationship with them. I just arrange meetings and appointments, and other basic stuff, that’s it! Now let me go!” You spit the words out, anger boiling through your veins, but it soon turned ice cold with the next question, and you realise you fucked up… Big time.

“ Then you must know about the upcoming business meetings of Nekoma, right? That means you would know the location of Kuroo and Kenma? ” And the room once again went silent. In your fit of anger and defiance you didn’t even realise that Akaashi had slid your shirt up over your shoulders, sliding them down up to your cuff covered wrists and was now drawing your skirt down. You tried to wiggle your hips to hinder his movements but it only serves to his advantage as it slides down easier.

“Please l-let me go, I-I don’t know anything please!” You begged, voice turning desperate, you couldn’t give out information about the Nekoma clan or they would have your head for it. What about your family–

“You’re a smart little one aren’t you, you know they will hunt you down if you give me their information. But if you decide to tell me, I give you my word that no harm will come to you or your family, furthermore your debt will be repaid. And if you don’t, I could put a bullet through your head right now.” Bokuto said with a playful lift to his voice, bringing the gun up to your temple.

“ I really don’t remember! Please, I can’t recall w-with who it was.. Please don’t shoot!!” You sobbed out, mind going blank when the gun is placed to your temple, fear overwhelming your senses.

“Aw it was good knowing ya kitten, you would’ve made such a good pet.” He cocks the gun with a loud click finger at ease on the trigger while he places soft kisses on your neck, softly whispering against your skin, “ Sayonara–”

“KARASUNO!!” You screamed out the first thing you remembered right before he could pull the trigger. “It’s Karasuno, sometime in the middle of next week, in the Miyagi Prefecture.. That’s about all I know. Please, please let me go now, I’m begging you!!!”

He chuckled darkly right next to your ear and goosebumps rose all over your skin with adrenaline. You closed your tear filled eyes, sobs shaking through you. You wanted this to be a nightmare, a dream from which you would wake up any moment, but the cuffs digging into your wrists and warm hands searing into your skin said otherwise.

“Mmm you definitely deserve a reward for that, don’t you?” He licks a long stripe from the base of your neck to your ear before whispering those words. You shake your head violently, not wanting to spend another waking minute here but he completely ignores your signs of protest. Bokuto’s hand travels down your body till his hand reached your panties to cup your pussy, groaning when he hears a small whimper leave your lips at the contact. He tugged on your panties, a hiss leaving his lips when he noticed how sensitive your body was.

“Such a pretty kitten, Akaashi, why don't you reward her for me, yeah?” Bokuto said as he shifted your panties to the side, dipping his fingers into your folds before prying them apart, giving Akaashi a good view of your cunt. Akaashi took his lower lip between his teeth before swiping his tongue across it as he indulged himself with the sight of your glistening pussy.

“Go on ‘Kaashi, don’t you want a taste?” Bokuto questioned, his fingers circling your clit, before travelling to your entrance, he dipping two fingers inside before removing them and spreading them, your juices smeared all over them and he popped his fingers to his mouth, a low growl arising from his chest made you bite on your lip harshly. “Of course I do Bokuto-san.” And that was all Akaashi said before he hooked your legs over his shoulder and dived into your pussy, flattening his tongue against your entrance before dragging it upwards towards your clit, rubbing his tongue against it before sucking on it.

You moaned loudly as Akaashi kept slurping up the juices dripping from your hole, making sure to not let a single drop go by, while Bokuto unhooked your bra, sliding them up so he could see your perky little nipples just begging for attention. He uncocks the gun and hooks it on his waistband, after which his hands find purchase of your soft mounds, pressing each nipple inside with his forefinger before pinching them and rolling them between his fingers. He gave your nipples a few rough tugs just to hear your sweet voice more.

You’re too overwhelmed to do anything but mewl as Akaashi detached himself from your pussy, fingers tugging down your panties and pocketing the soaked fabric. He used his thumb to rub your nub while his tongue prods your entrance and you gasp, taking a shaky breath in. When he rubbed a certain spot at the entrance you threw your head back and Bokuto immediately wrapped his fingers around your throat, his grip firm as his lips hastily crashed onto yours, drinking in all your moans and whimpers. He continued to kiss you, your moaning making it easy to plunge his tongue into your mouth, the kiss so heated that it brought you right on the edge of tipping over.

Your legs shook uncontrollably, being just one flick away from falling over the edge when Akaashi pulled back and you breathed heavily, not wanting to show them that this affected you much, while you mourned the loss of such a sweet release. His face is smeared with your juices and he licks his lips as he uses the back of his sleeve to wipe off the excess. The corner of his mouth lifted as he looked at Bokuto and nodded at him as you whined at your stolen high. Bokuto broke the kiss and smiled at Akaashi wide enough to have the tops of his incisors seen, the feral intent in his eyes reminding you of the dangerous position you were in.

Your eyes widened when Akaashi abruptly stood up and slid his hands under your butt, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass as he picked you up from Bokuto’s lap and you yelped. Akaashi’s eyes were fixated on you the entire time you were in his arms, his eyes shifting from your eyes to your lips continuously while you squirm.

“P-please no, I-I don’t want to go any further please” you told Akaashi, eyes big and pleading, filled with fresh tears.

“It’s okay Doll, don’t worry, we won’t hurt you until you disobey. So be a good little pet for us alright?” He whispered against your ear as he placed you down on your wobbly legs with your back against the mahogany table behind. He cupped your face gently, thumb swiping across your trembling lips as he looked at you with pure adoration. If it were any other situation you might’ve even considered going out with this beautiful man; but here you were, held against your will, your body being used as per their whims and wishes and you couldn’t do a single thing about it, it made your stomach twist with hate and disgust knowing how weak you were.

Akaashi leaned in, softly pressing his lips against yours into the most sweetest and gentle kiss you’ve ever had. You were so lost in it that your mouth unconsciously granted him access when he licked your bottom lip, you immediately tasted yourself on his tongue. The way he explored your mouth made you moan, your pussy clenching over a single kiss, only coming to your senses when his fingers fiddled with the straps of your bra, unclasping them and you bit his lip in defiance when he pulled your bra off your body, the taste of iron now pooling on your tongue.

Akaashi pulled back when you bite his lip, raising an amused eyebrow at you. He couldn’t believe that you still had thought that you could say no to them, it was cute to him; luckily it wasn’t Bokuto-san or she would've gotten a punishment by now– Akaashi thought as blood dripped from his lip onto his chin.

“This kitten is still using her claws I see, quite feisty~” Bokuto chimed as he came behind Akaashi, watching the entire scene from the corner. You looked at both of them in shock when Bokuto turned Akaashi’s head and pulled him into a kiss, licking up the blood that was on his lips and groaning when he still tasted the remnants of your sweet juices on Akaashi’s tongue. Bokuto broke the kiss, his lips sliding down to Akaashi’s neck and chuckling against his skin as he remembers the day Akaashi first saw you.

Akaashi was so mesmerised by you, couldn’t stop talking about how beautiful you were and how he wanted you so badly. Akaashi mentioned you so many times that it had started to get on his nerves, sometimes he even moaned out your name when he was asleep. Bokuto finally snapped when Akaashi choked out your name as he came all over Bokuto’s hands pumping his shaft. And when Akaashi found out that you worked for Nekoma it was the perfect excuse he needed to bring you in and play with you, see what was so special about you. Akaashi insisted on getting you personally, not wanting anyone else to get their hands on you; he was possessive like that– Bokuto was brought out of his fazed stupor with your cute little mewls filling the room.

Akaashi had started marking up your neck, slurping bruises on your skin while his fingers played with your nipples.

“Kitten, why don't you put on a little show for us? Play with that pretty little cunt of yours, show us how you like it and maybe I’ll think about letting you go?” Bokuto said as his fingers rub circles on your hips soothingly. The prospect of getting out of here had you ready to do anything and you eagerly nod your head at the offer, maybe once they freed your hands you could try to escape too. But Bokuto seemed to know what you're thinking, because he turned you around and shoved your head onto the table, your toes barely grazing the floor as you struggled under the weight of his body on yours. He removes the gun from his waistband and places it on your neck.

“Don’t even think about doing anything funny, cause there won’t be a second chance~” He singed as his hips grinded into yours, his erection pressed against your ass and you gasped as you felt how big he was even through his pants. He lifted himself off you once you yelp out a “Yes” he slowly slid the gun down your back, smacking the barrel against your ass before going lower and rubbing the cool metal against your folds. You dug your nails into your palm to ground yourself as he continued to rub against your clit, teasing the little nub till the barrel was covered in your juices.

“Get on the table kitten, I want a perfect view of your pussy.” Bokuto stopped his ministrations as you struggle to get on the table, when you took too much time for his liking he shoved your other leg on top and smacked your ass, making you scream out, he rubbed his fingers over the red print that is visible as he growled out a ‘hurry up’. Akaashi on the other hand started uncuffing your hands, sliding the shirt that was stuck above your wrist along with your cuffs.

You were already on the verge of cumming earlier, so doing that once again wouldn’t take that long. You reached down your trembling fingers and started slowly circling your clit, you moaned as you started going faster, rubbing yourself just the way you had done dozens of times before.

“Don’t be shy, Doll. Stuff a few fingers up that sweet hole” Akaashi said as he unzips his pants, pumping his cock in his hand at the lewd sight of you playing with yourself. He had imagined you like this whenever he stroked his cock alone, but he didn’t know it would be so fucking hot.

“You heard him, use those fingers to stuff your hole, kitten.” Bokuto chimed in with Akaashi. You reached down further and slowly start to slide two fingers in and out of your pussy, moaning as you started feeling good, the base of your palm bumping against your clit. You started going faster, feeling yourself reach your high once again, your moans turned higher and higher in pitch. You were just about ot cum when Bokuto slaped your hand away from yourself, making you whine loudly when you were denied another high. It was starting to feel like torture, your thoughts were getting fuzzy and all you could think was how badly you wanted to cum.

“Doll if you wanna cum then you just gotta ask” Akaashi said softly as he rubs his fingers over your sensitive folds, making you buck into his hand. You almost didn’t care about anything anymore, the only thing on your mind was the need to cum, but there was a little shard of dignity that was left in you and it made you bite your tongue. Your anger and frustration of not getting to cum makes you a little bold.

“F-fuck y-you” you panted out with as much venom in your words as you could muster. Bokuto shook his head as a chuckle wrecked through his chest once again. You were certainly a fun thing to tease and play with, the way you refused to give up only served to pique his interest further. “Oh I certainly plan to kitten, I’m going fuck this pretty little cunt all night. Make you a pliant mess on my cock”

You heard the clink of a buckle being opened, noticing the gun placed on the table not too far from your reach and with your hands free, you tried to push yourself off the surface only to be held down by your neck. “Oh no you don’t Doll, I’ve waited an eternity to feel those lips on me” Akaashi remarked as he unbuttoned his pants with his free hand and slid down the zipper. “Now pull my cock out, pretty girl.” He slowly released the pressure on your neck, Bokuto smacked your ass when you didn't comply, his heavy hand stinging enough to have you immediately reach out, tugging on the waistband of the his pants.

Akaashi bit his lips as your fingers touched his cock, his hard member twitching at the contact. Not being able to control himself any further, Akaashi swooped down and pulled you in for a kiss while simultaneously Bokuto aligned his tip with your entrance. Akaashi pulled back, standing straight so that his cock was mere inches from your face. He removed his shirt before he gathered your hair in his hand and pulled you towards his member. You shook your head no, using one to keep you up while the other pushed on his waist.

But your attempts were futile as Bokuto slammed himself into you with one swift movement, making you scream at the stretch and Akaashi used that as an opportunity to shove his cock into your mouth, groaning when you gagged and sputtered on his length, still attempting to cry out. The sounds from your warm mouth made him shudder in pleasure.

Bokuto starrted slamming into you immediately, fucking into you with feral intensity and using you as his personal pocket pussy, each thrust pushed your mouth further on Akaashi’s cock.

“Nghh you're so fucking tight kitten, squeezing my dick so fucking good” Bokuto grunted out before placing both his hands on your hips, his fingers holding you tight enough to leave dark bruises and he used that at leverage to fuck into you faster, His fat cock stirring up your insides and hitting spots deep inside you that you didn't know you had, making you moan continuously on Akaashi's cock. Said man slowly started to buck his hips into your mouth, falling into a rhythm with Bokuto, once in a while pushing his cock deep enough that the tip hit the back of your throat.

The room echoed with muffled moans and low growls, squelching sounds filling the room. Both men fastened their pace, pulling and pushing back and forth, singing praises and defiling your body at the same time.

“Oh fuck d-Doll haa.. your mouth feels so good, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum!! And I want you to drink every drop of it” Akaashi keened as he kept moving his hips, he wrapped his hand around your throat, squeezing firmly till he felt the outline of his cock making you lightheaded. Akaashi watched as you rolled your watery eyes back in pleasure, choking and gagging on his cock, feeling his cock on your throat was the last strand and it pushed him off the edge and he gave a deep thrust cumming directly inside your throat, fingers still clutching your neck. He pulled out halfway, so that his cum spilled all over your tongue; shudders wrecked through his body as his thighs flexed till it burned, he pinched your nose as pulled out of you and clamped his other hand over your mouth so you had no other choice but to swallow, and once done he pulled you up as he climbed on the table as well.

You hung on Akaashi, hands hooked around his shoulders as Bokuto still kept pummelling into you, thighs slapping loudly against your ass. Akaashi kept kissing you, not leaving your body alone even for a second, biting and sucking on your lips or roaming along the length of your neck. His hands roamed all over your body before sliding between your folds, lithe fingers barely grazing your nub before forming a 'V' where Bokuto's cock enters you, spreading your folds. Your thighs trembled uncontrollably, body shivering, you would be laying flat against wood, had it not been for Akaashi holding you up, one hand wrapped around your waist.

Your mind was going crazy, you were so close to cumming but you just needed that little push, that little rub and nudge on your clit. The fact that Akaashi's fingers kept lightly brushing against it didn't help any further, you wanted to just cum, a dam waiting to be broken and you couldn't take it anymore.

“Please, please mmnnn j-just let me cum!!" You cried out, transgressing in the moment of pleasure.

“All you had to do was ask Doll” Akaashi murmured against your skin as his fingers slid up to your clit, rubbing refined, delicate circles around your sensitive nub and that was the final push that made you cum all around Bokuto's cock, pussy fluttering around his shaft, squeezing him tightly as an orgasm wrecked through you, compelling your body into a convulsing mess as a prayer of moans leave your lips, your toes curling till your feet hurt.

Your pussy clenched tightly around his shaft triggered Bokuto’s orgasm as well, his hips slowing their pace as he pumped deep strokes into your hole. And with a loud shivering groan against your ear, your pussy was filled with hot spurts of cum as he leaned his weight slightly on your limp body, his skin hot and sweaty against your own.

He placed a soft kiss on your back before pulling out of you, walking away to get something. During the time he’s gone Akaashi gently stroked your hair, while holding you in his warm embrace until Bokuto returned with something in his hand. Bokuto reached out and clicked it into place with alige fingers before smiling devilishly. You looked down, weak hand unconsciously reaching up to touch the item and you gasped, realizing it's a collar, and yanked on it to try and remove it. Hastily you reached behind hoping to find a buckle to release it, but instead you found a lock and turned towards Bokuto.

“D-didn’t you s-say you were going to let me go?” You asked, voice trembling with trepidation. While you were looking away Akaashi linked a leash to your collar, wrapped the excess length around his knuckles and handed it over to Bokuto. He yanked on your collar as he did so, forcefully bringing you closer as he offered Bokuto your leash with a heated kiss before Bokuto pulled away to look at you with a sickeningly sweet smile.

“Oh I said I’ll think about it, and I think I’m not done with you just yet kitten~”

Heyya thank you soo much for reading!! As promised the collabs links are down below, please show some love and support!!

The Church of Meian Masterlist🌼 Mayfia masterlist🌼

Also requests are open!!

©️Copyrights of chibi-chanforever. 4/6/2021.

#tw.noncon #tw.kidnapping #tw.choking #tw.gunplay #tw.drugging #mafia #bokuto smut #akaashi smut #haikyuu smut #hq smut #smut #yandere haikyuu #yandere #yandere akaashi #collab #church of meian

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homoose · 3 years

Text

Love Has a Learning Curve: Part V (x reader)

Summary: Y/N meets Diana, and it goes better than she expected. Y/N meets the team, and it doesn’t go completely as planned. Spencer’s spidey senses are tingling.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: hurt/comfort, fluff

Word Count: 5k

Warnings/Includes: alcohol/drinking, reader gets drunk on accident and is incredibly insecure and self-deprecating, I think that’s it

a/n: Thank you all for your patience and kind words in this really sad and weird moment of my life. This couple brings me so much joy and I’m absolutely dreading the hurt that’s coming in the next part. Sorry in advance 😭 But also, you can re-read Lighthouse and First of Many before the angst!!!!!! If you haven’t read those fics, I recommend it because there are some relevant connections. ♥️

Series Masterlist

———

Y/N felt his hands sneaking around her waist, rubbing low over her tummy, and then the press of his warm body along her back. She tilted her head to make room for him to settle his chin on her shoulder, smiling as his hands completed their journey and wrapped her up tight.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” she answered, pressing their cheeks together.

“Are you almost done?”

“You made quite the mess, doctor.” It was the last weekend of Spencer’s sabbatical, and he had spent the afternoon cooking all of her favorite foods— a sort of preemptive gift for when he was back on the BAU’s unpredictable schedule. She’d taken on the responsibility of the dishes in return, which was no easy undertaking considering it seemed as though he’d used every single pot, pan, and utensil in her kitchen.

“If you’d let me help, you’d be done by now,” he complained, hugging her a little tighter and turning his head to drag his lips across her cheek.

“Let me just finish this pan, and then I’m all yours.”

He pressed a kiss to her cheek, then another to the spot behind her ear, and one more to her shoulder. Then he propped his chin once more and rubbed his thumbs where they rested against her sides.

She laughed a little as she ran the dish brush along the edges of the pan. “Comfy?”

He hummed his confirmation, and she could feel his smile as she lathered the inside of the pan, then rinsed it, and finally drained the sink. She dried her hands on the kitchen towel and turned to face him. He didn’t remove his hands, instead just let them glide over her hips and then settle on her lower back.

“Thank you for all of that.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of the fridge, packed full of leftovers. “My mom will be so honored to know you made her pot pie.”

“I could eat it every day for the rest of my life and be very, very happy.” He dropped his gaze and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Speaking of moms, I… I was wondering if you, um— if you’d want to meet my mom?”

Her eyes went a little wide, and he took her silence as an answer, continuing, “You don’t have to. It—it’s too soon.”

She brought a hand up to cup his chin between her fingers, bringing his eyes back to hers. “I would love to meet your mom.”

…

Spencer shut off the engine of the Volvo, turning in his seat to face her. She tried to settle her nerves without also spurring his own anxiety, which had been quite obviously flaring all morning.

“I’ll check in and visit for a few minutes, try to gauge what kind of a day it is, and then I’ll text you to come in or not.” He ran a hand over his face. “I really should have had you drive separate, because if it’s not a good day I don’t want you to have to wait around while I visit with her, but she’s been having a lot of good days recently, and—”

“Honey.” She found his hands where they were clutching a little aggressively at his leg and covered them with her own, running her thumbs soothingly along his skin. “It’s okay. Either way— whether I meet her today or we wait for a better day— it’s okay.”

He closed his eyes and breathed a relieved sigh. “Have I told you how much I love you yet today?”

“Mm, I don’t think you have,” she smiled.

He brought her hands up to his mouth, kissing the back of each. “I love you so much. The most.”

“I beg to differ.” She leaned over the console and kissed his nose. “I definitely love you the most.”

“Agree to disagree.” He shifted to meet her lips in a quick kiss. “I’ll text you in a few minutes?”

She gave him another kiss. “Sounds like a plan.”

Spencer dropped the keys into her hand and then climbed out of the car, closing the door and practically trotting toward the building. She would have laughed if it weren’t for the raging anxiety that was nearly suffocating her. She opened her door and put her legs out the side of the car, taking a deep breath and looking out over the parking lot.

Y/N knew that meeting Diana was a good thing. That Spencer wanted her to meet the most important woman in his life was a testament to their relationship. But the closer she got to it, the more she felt completely and totally out of place. What did she have to offer this woman’s remarkable son other than a mountain of student loan debt, an endless supply of expo markers, and an ever growing collection of toilet paper rolls?

She loved teaching kindergarten, and she was the first to defend the profession in most settings. But she was about to be in a room with two of the most brilliant minds on the planet, and she couldn’t help but wonder what she would possibly have to contribute. More than that, what would Diana Reid think of her son settling for someone so… ordinary?

Her phone buzzed with the incoming text message, and she bit back a sigh.

Spencer: It’s an incredible day. She’s already asking about you.

Y/N turned her face up to the clear blue sky, feeling the sun on her face and taking a deep breath. Then, she hoisted herself out of the vehicle, locking it and turning to walk toward the building. DC was hot and sticky this time of year, and she was grateful for the blast of air conditioning as she entered the facility.

The woman at the front desk— Suzanna, by her name tag— smiled kindly at her. “How can I help you?”

“I’m, um— I’m here to visit with Diana Reid.” Y/N began signing into the visitor’s log, smiling a little at Spencer’s hasty signature right above. “Her son is here, too— Spencer.”

“Ah, yes, you must be Y/N. Diana’s been so excited to meet you.” Suzanna chuckled lightly at her expression, and Y/N wondered just how much everyone already knew about her. “They’re just through there— in the sunroom.”

Y/N mumbled her thanks and turned in the direction of the sunroom, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle from the skirt of her dress. She’d spent far too long getting ready this morning, including steaming the dress— a simple number with a black bodice and a skirt covered in books. It was her own personal nod to the incredible legacy that Diana had left— not only as a professor of classic literature, but also as the mother of the most incredible reader— and man— she’d ever met.

And now she had a moment of panic, wondering if maybe it was too on the nose, or if Diana would think it was silly and immature. She briefly considered turning and heading back out to the parking lot, but then Spencer appeared in the doorway to the sunroom, waving his thanks to Suzanna and then positively beaming at her . How could she deny him this?

He held out his hand to her, and she accepted it, instantly more at ease from the simple touch. He pulled her gently into the room, and there was Diana, perched on a floral sofa and looking quite elegant in a soft purple shawl.

She stood immediately, an absolutely radiant smile stretching across her face at the sight of them. Y/N watched as she clasped her hands in front of her and felt Spencer squeeze her hand at the same time.

“Y/N,” Diana smiled. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Y/N returned her smile. “It is such an honor to finally meet you, Mrs. Reid.”

She scoffed and waved her hand. “Just Diana, please.” Y/N saw the moment she noticed the dress, her eyes crinkling a bit at the corners. “I can already tell you’re perfect for my son: the lover of books.” She motioned to the seating area. “Come, sit.”

The three of them sat, Spencer in the armchair just across from them as she and Diana sat on the sofa. Y/N folded her hands in her lap and tried to straighten her posture. Diana leaned back against the couch with a smile.

“I really have heard a lot about you,” she repeated, sliding her eyes over to a blushing Spencer. “Spencer tells me you teach kindergarten.” Y/N nodded, and Diana shook her head. “I deeply admire the patience and energy you must have for that age group.”

Y/N laughed a little. “They can certainly be a handful. I hear you were a teacher as well.” Her eyes went a little wide at her mistake. “A professor, I mean.”

“Oh, yes, yes— 15th century literature.” Diana tilted her head, considering Y/N with a knowing gaze. “But teaching is teaching, no matter the age. And where would any of us be without our kindergarten teachers? The ones who teach us the very foundations of learning. Who not only teach us to read and write, but also to inquire and investigate and discover.”

Y/N felt unexpected tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, and she had to take a moment to breathe before speaking. “Thank you for saying that. Sometimes people assume that kindergarten is all play doh and finger paint.”

“What’s that saying about making assumptions?” Diana pondered.

“Issac Asimov said, ‘Assumptions are our windows on the world,’” Spencer offered.

“Mm, thank you for that, honey, but the one I’m thinking of is from an episode of The Odd Couple , I believe,” Diana corrected, winking at Y/N. “When you assume, you make an ass of you and me.”

“Ah.” Spencer held back a laugh, and Y/N’s heart felt just a little bit lighter.

Diana smiled brightly at her. “Your students must absolutely adore you.” Diana gestured vaguely to Spencer before continuing, “Spencer loved his kindergarten teacher— hm, Mrs. Hudson, was it?”

Spencer nodded in confirmation. Diana looked back to Y/N with a slightly mischievous grin. “His report cards always came back with the note that he was ‘helping’ the other students just a little too much— always the professor, even at five years old.”

Spencer let out an indignant squeak, and Y/N laughed. “My parents got a very similar note.” She gave Spencer a smile. “We just couldn’t help it, apparently.”

“I’m sure it didn’t help that he’d been reading for three years before he was even enrolled,” Diana mused. “Did he tell you that he originally considered studying the classics?” Y/N shook her head. “Well. When you’ve already read and discussed all the course material, it seems a waste of money, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed, I suppose it does,” Y/N agreed.

“Oh,” Diana tapped Y/N’s arm affectionately before gesturing back to Spencer, “and then there was the time that he became so fixated on the idea of becoming a magician that he somehow managed to trap a rabbit in our backyard.”

“ Mom ,” Spencer choked out.

“Oh my. No, no— please go on,” Y/N begged, waving her hand dismissively in Spencer’s direction and leaning closer to Diana. “I need all the embarrassing stories.”

Diana let out a lilting laugh. “The poor thing spent the better part of a weekend in a storage bin while Spencer tried to figure out the top hat trick.”

Y/N turned to him with a bewildered grin. “The storage bin was well ventilated!” he defended. “And she had plenty of food and water.”

“Did you figure out the trick?” Y/N asked.

“No,” he admitted sheepishly. “Mom found out about the rabbit before I could. And you need more than just the hat for the trick anyway.”

“We fed her one last carrot and then sent her back out to be with the rest of her bunny family, who must have been missing her dearly.” Diana winked at Y/N. “At least that’s what I had to tell six year old Spencer.”

“Rabbits are incredibly social and live in large colonies, so that actually was most likely the case,” Spencer supplied.

Diana smiled fondly at her son, and Y/N could practically feel the love radiating off of her. “Either way, I had one very sad little boy for the next week or so.” She turned back to Y/N. “We actually took a break from some of the more... advanced reading material so that I could read him The Tale of Peter Rabbit .”

“A classic in its own right,” Y/N said.

Diana nodded. “I’ve always said that children’s literature encompasses some of the most profound and imaginative storytelling. We can learn a lot from Peter and Ferdinand.”

“I love Ferdinand!” Y/N gasped. “Gosh, that’s one of my all time favorite books. My mom read it to me when I was little, and I read it to my kids every year.”

Diana threw her hands up. “And that right there tells me everything I need to know about your teaching. Well— that and everything Spencer’s already gushed about, of course.”

The three of them spent the better part of the afternoon laughing and trading embarrassing childhood stories. Diana was even more lovely than she could have imagined, and Y/N was grateful to be so quickly accepted into the small but incredibly loving family unit.

Every so often, she would catch Spencer’s eyes on her— soft and content and practically sparkling— and her heart would leap into her throat. He was uncharacteristically quiet, letting Diana lead most of their side of the conversation, only chiming in here and there to offer context or defend himself in a particularly mortifying tale. Diana unwittingly (or perhaps purposefully) revealed just how much Spencer had spoken about her; she already knew about Y/N’s home, her family, and most of her interests.

Spencer may have been quiet, but he was also blushing profusely— caught in the act of being absolutely enamored with her. Y/N found that she didn’t know how to feel about that. She should be happy. She should be thrilled. And in some ways, she was. Being with Spencer had made her the happiest she’d been in a very long time— maybe ever.

It was the happiness that scared her.

She deserved happiness. That’s what Anita would tell her. But the way she felt with Spencer— comfortable, natural, easy — was the rising action. She was still anticipating the climax, the mountaintop, the apex of joy. She hated herself for it, but she couldn’t help it. She’d learned that every mountain had a valley, and the falling action always dragged her against every jagged stone on the way down. She never failed to plummet from the heights into the depths of where she’d learned to live, quiet and lonely and a little bit bruised.

This knowledge didn't stop her from soaking up every second of the highs.

“I’m starting to get a little tired,” Diana admitted. She reached across the couch and patted Y/N’s hand, squeezing gently, and then she looked to Spencer. “I start to— forget when I’m tired.”

The smile that had become almost permanent that afternoon faltered slightly, but he nodded and checked his watch. “Four hours is pretty good.”

She hummed. “They’ve been longer as of late.”

Y/N watched as his nose twitched. “Does Dr. Kincaid think that’s good or bad?”

Diana gave him a sympathetic smile. “She’s not sure.”

It was quiet for a long moment, and then Y/N stood. “Let me give you a minute together.” Diana stood as well, and Y/N clasped her hands together. “I don’t think I can articulate how incredibly happy I am to have finally met you. And I— I definitely don’t have the words to properly thank you for raising such a wonderful man.”

Diana took her hands, squeezing them gently before pulling her into a hug. Y/N returned the embrace, and Diana murmured, “Thank you for loving him. Through the highs and the lows.”

Y/N blinked back tears for the second time that day, nodding into Diana’s shoulder and hugging her tightly.

With a final squeeze, Diana released her, and Y/N excused herself back out into the foyer. She signed out of the visitor log and waved to a grinning Suzanna, and then headed outside to catch her breath. She made it to the car, unlocking it and settling into the passenger seat before leaning over to turn it on and get the windows rolled down.

Spencer emerged from the building, his hands in his pockets. He quickly made his way to the vehicle, practically running across the parking lot and sliding behind the wheel. Before she could even say anything, he was surging across the console to grab her face in his hands and pull her into a kiss.

She steadied herself with her hands on his chest, clutching at his shirt and returning the unexpected passion with a slightly bewildered smile. When he was finished, he pulled back to lean their foreheads together. She caught her breath and asked, “What was that for?”

“She loved you, and I love you, and I’m so glad you got to meet her.”

She could hear the emotion in his voice, and she slid her arms around his back, pulling him into a hug. “Me, too.”

He leaned into her for a minute longer, breathing into her hair and pressing another kiss to her shoulder. Then he pulled back, smiling widely. “How would you feel about meeting the other family?”

…

Spencer drove them to meet up with the team at O’Keefe’s, a favorite haunt of theirs on the evenings when they’d wrapped a case at a reasonable hour. They headed up the sidewalk hand in hand, with Y/N leaning a little into his side. She was feeling slightly more at ease this time around thanks to the buffer of knowing Penelope, Luke, and JJ already.

Spencer held the door open, trailing in behind her with a hand on her waist. She spotted Penelope’s bright green dress immediately, and Spencer raised his hand in greeting. The group gave them a raucous cheer, and Y/N couldn’t help but smile.

Spencer kept his hand on the small of her back as they approached the table. He greeted the group and then turned to Y/N, gesturing around the table. He introduced her to Tara, Matt, and Emily, the three of whom greeted her with warm handshakes. Penelope was practically vibrating with excitement as she scooped her up into a hug.

“Gosh dang it, you are just so cute ,” Penelope squeaked. She pulled back from the hug to take stock of Y/N’s outfit. “The books, I love it. And the shoes!”

Y/N laughed, twirling her ankle to show off the pink t-strap heels. “I’m definitely going to regret them in about an hour. But they look cute anyway.”

Tara sidled up to the two of them, raising her glass in solidarity. “Here’s to cute shoes and pinched toes.” She took a sip of her scotch and then turned to Y/N. “What’s your poison?”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” Y/N insisted.

Tara waved her hand and gestured to Spencer. “You got grandpa to come out to the bar. You’re not paying for a single drink tonight.”

“I come out with you guys!” he squeaked indignantly.

A chorus of exasperated groans made their way around the group, followed by good-natured laughs. Tara raised a single eyebrow in Spencer’s direction, and then turned her attention back to Y/N. “Like I said, you won’t need your wallet tonight. What’ll it be?”

…

She did not, in fact, have to reach for her wallet at all that evening. Between the seven of them, Y/N’s cup was always full and her smile was nearly permanent. She heard endless stories about Spencer, complete with photo evidence— much to his dismay.

She learned that Tara had a doctorate in forensic psychology, and Emily had worked internationally for years becoming the Unit Chief of the BAU. Luke had been an Army Ranger and a member of the Fugitive Task Force, and Matt had traveled the globe with the International Response Team.

They were all incredibly kind, asking about her family and her work, listening with interest as she recounted growing up on a farm and her days spent teaching kindergarten. Despite their apparent interest, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a little… silly. Stories of field trips and finger painting felt incredibly juvenile in comparison to the lived experiences of this remarkable team of people.

She did her best to steer the conversation back to the team whenever possible, which in some ways made the whole thing worse. But she managed to keep a smile for the evening, and she lost track of how many drinks made their way down the hatch. Luke ordered an assortment of snack foods for the group, and she gratefully accepted a few fries and a mozzarella stick to soak up some of the alcohol sloshing around in her stomach. At some point Spencer returned from the bar with an extra glass of water, sliding it her way with a knowing smile and a press of his lips to her cheek.

Eventually, Y/N had to excuse herself to the bathroom, patting Spencer’s arm and carefully navigating the dim bar. In the way that it so often did, the level of her intoxication made itself abundantly clear in the harsh lighting of the restroom. She stumbled out of the stall to wash her hands, using the countertop for balance and cursing under her breath.

She raised her head to analyze her appearance, groaning a little at the smudge of mascara under her eyes. As she swiped at the black rings, she considered that she had never quite figured out the ideal amount of alcohol— somehow always managing to get a little too drunk. And now she was too drunk in front of all of Spencer’s friends— his family.

Not only that, but for the second time today, she couldn’t help but feel so overwhelmingly ordinary . Surrounded by the team, all extraordinary and awe-inspiring in their own right, she was… plain, unaccomplished, boring . Spencer had called her remarkable; she felt anything but.

She closed her eyes against the tears that were threatening to spill over, remembering the last time she’d cried in a bar bathroom. She’d spent that evening wondering what was wrong with her… wondering if she deserved to have someone like Spencer at all.

“That’s just… the alcohol talking,” she reminded herself out loud into the empty bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror. “Stop bein’ a weirdo.”

She pushed out of the bathroom and back into the bar, walking a little more cautiously as the alcohol started to course through her bloodstream. As she approached the group again, Spencer’s eyes found her immediately, and he reached for her, pulling her underneath his arm and into his side. He brought his mouth close to her ear and murmured, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just—” She slid her hand around his waist to keep herself steady. “Just more tipsy than I thought.”

He ran a soothing hand along her arm. “Do you wanna go home?”

She shook her head. “No, no— ‘M fine. ‘S nice to be with your friends.”

“You’re sure?” He squeezed her shoulder and lowered his voice. “Because honestly I’m kind of ready to go.”

She looked up from where her head was resting on his chest to see him smiling softly at her. “Whatever you want.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and then turned back to the team and cleared his throat. “We’re gonna head out.”

Tara made a show of checking her watch. “10:45? I’m surprised you stayed this long, old man.”

…

Y/N’s eyes opened slowly and came into focus as Spencer’s car came to a stop outside her apartment. “Why’re we here?”

Spencer shut off the ignition and pulled out the key with a small smile. “I have a feeling you’re going to feel… less than stellar tomorrow. I thought you might like to wake up in your own bed. Hang on.”

He climbed out of the vehicle and closed the door before coming around to her side. She could feel the tears welling up as she fumbled with the buckle on her seatbelt. Everything was a little uncoordinated, and she felt absolutely ridiculous.

The door opened, and she carefully swung her legs out one at a time. Spencer stood slightly to the side, and she knew she should hurry up and let him get home, but she didn’t move to get up.

“Do you need help?”

She shook her head, and the action sent a tear rolling over her bottom lash line. She tried to swipe it away, but of course Spencer caught it.

“Hey— what’s wrong?” he asked gently.

She sniffed. “Are you just dropping me off?”

He cupped a hand underneath her chin to tilt her eyes upward, and his eyes were soft but concerned. “I was planning to come upstairs with you. Unless you don’t want me to.”

She shook her head. “No, I— you can come upstairs.”

“Okay.” Spencer cocked his head. “Honey, what’s going on?”

Y/N didn’t know where to begin. She was drowning in self-doubt— had been since about the one month mark. It seemed that every day there was something new to feel insecure about. The confidence she’d had on his doorstep in March was nowhere to be found.

That was too much for her slow moving brain to articulate at the moment, so she settled on: “They’re all so smart and funny and cool and interesting.”

“Okay…” he prompted.

“And I’m not,” she admitted.

His mouth turned quickly down. “That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is,” she insisted. “I’m just— a kindergarten teacher and I— I don’t have any cool skills or stories, and I don’t even have any muscles, and they’re all so pretty —”

“Hey, stop— stop.” Spencer squatted down to be eye-level with her. “First of all, you’re not ‘just’ anything. And you’re my favorite kindergarten teacher and the best one I know.” He grabbed her hand and laced their fingers together. “You have lots of cool skills and stories. And I don’t have any muscles either.”

She lifted her free hand to squeeze his bicep. “Yes, you do.”

“Muscles are overrated.” He smiled and brought a hand to her face, smoothing her hair back and then letting his fingers linger on her cheek. “And frankly, pretty is too mundane a term to describe you. I’d go with something like radiant, or ethereal, or incandescent.”

“You have to s‘plain your jokes to me,” she slurred, swiping her forearm under her nose.

“Not always. And besides, I have to explain my jokes to basically everyone,” he reminded her. He squeezed her hand. “But unlike everyone else, you let me explain them to you. And you actually listen to the explanation.” He shrugged. “I think I like that more than I like telling the joke.”

She was quiet then, eyes focused on a particularly interesting piece of loose gravel. She knew the list of her flaws was longer, but her brain couldn’t string them together in her current state.

Spencer shuffled closer and waited patiently until she finally looked at him before continuing.

“I love you. And not because of your job, or your cool stories, or your muscles,” he clarified. “I love you because you’re you. And, a little selfishly, because I love the person that I am when I’m with you. Okay?”

He smiled tentatively, and she let out a long breath. “Okay.”

He leaned forward and kissed her nose. “Now, come on. Let’s get inside.”

Spencer helped her navigate up the walkway and the three flights of stairs. Rather than rummage drunkenly through her purse, she passed it off and allowed him to retrieve her keys and unlock the door.

He supervised and provided balance support as she haphazardly swiped a makeup wipe over her face and fumbled into her pajamas. Finally he got her settled into bed with a bottle of water on the bedside table.

He pulled up the covers around her. “I’m going to go to the bathroom,” he murmured.

This was the moment that he’d realize what an absolute fool she was. He’d finally be alone in the bathroom, and it would become abundantly clear that she couldn’t drink responsibly, that she was boring, that she was obnoxious. She was sure of it, and her heart was fracturing into a thousand tiny pieces.

Spencer’s nervous laugh broke through her haze of insecurity. “Whoa, I thought we were done crying?” he joked. “Honey, c’mere.” Spencer pulled her up into his arms, rubbing a hand over her back.

She hadn’t realized she was making any noise until the sound vibrated against where Spencer had tucked her into his shoulder. As if she hadn’t been foolish enough tonight, now she was blubbering into his nice cardigan. Despite herself, she clung to him like he’d disappear like smoke between her fingers.

“I’m— I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed; it’s not funny,” he apologized. “Shhh, sweetheart . It— it’s okay, it’s okay .”

“I don’t want you to go.” Her voice was full of tears and cracked pathetically at the end.

“Okay, okay,” he agreed, a tinge of confusion in his voice. “I’m— the bathroom can wait, I suppose.”

That only made her cry harder, which poor Spencer responded to with even more aggressive soothing. He stroked over her hair and hugged her tight, shushing her and rocking her a little bit back and forth.

He was just so sweet . Kind and thoughtful and considerate— three things she hadn’t experienced from a significant other in a very long time. And it was exhausting waiting for the shift— for the moment that he realized she wasn’t worth the hassle. She was so tired of anticipating the end.

“I don’t want you to leave.” She hated how ridiculous she sounded, gasping and hiccuping.

Spencer froze for a full second and then squeezed her impossibly tighter. “I’m not. Baby, I’m not. I am right here.” He stroked a firm hand up and down her spine. “I need you to take some deep breaths with me. I’m gonna do it, too, okay?”

He led her in a series of deep inhalations and long exhales to the rhythm of his palm on her back. He murmured quietly to her, reassurances and promises and love. As her breathing came closer to normal, he pressed a soft kiss into her hair.

“I love you, Y/N. You know that, right? I wouldn’t change one single thing about you.” His hand on her back slowed to a stop, and she could practically hear him considering his next move. “I’m pretty sure Billy Joel wrote a song about it, actually. I love you just the way you are. ”

She couldn’t stop the laugh from bubbling up in her throat at the tone deaf melody, and she felt him smile against her hair. “Okay?”

She wasn’t okay, but that wasn’t his fault. She sighed and sniffed. “Okay, off brand Billy Joel.”

“That’s not very nice,” he chuckled, pulling back to swipe his fingers over her damp cheeks.

“Yes, it is,” she insisted. “I love off brand. Just as good as the real thing, and with some fun quirks.”

“Somehow I don’t think he’d appreciate the comparison.” He smiled softly at her, and then his expression melted into something a little more serious. “But I mean it. There is no place I’d rather be, and no one else that I wanna be with. When I say that I love you the most, I mean that I love you more than I have ever loved anybody. Ever.”

He looked at her so earnestly that she wanted to cry all over again. How was he so wonderful, and gentle, and loving, and perfect ? He’d promised to do better on a chilly night in January and then spent every single day since then doing exactly that.

“But I actually do have to pee,” he admitted sheepishly. “Are you going to be okay here for a few minutes?”

He was speaking to her as he would a child, and she was utterly mortified. She waved her hand. “ God , I’m bein’ so annoying.”

“No, you’re not. You’re a little drunk. And a lot adorable.” He tapped gently on her nose. “But you’re also kind of sad, and I don’t want you to be sad.” He propped the pillow up behind her. “It’ll be the fastest pee ever— four minutes, tops. Most of it will be hand washing. Okay?"

“Okay,” she smiled, and she really meant it.

He hopped up and trotted to the bedroom door. “See you in four minutes. Have some water while you wait.”

She followed instructions, sipping carefully from the bottle he’d left for her. She also rummaged through the bedside drawer for the Advil, popping two and washing them down with another swig of water.

Spencer returned to the bedroom with his cardigan and pants already discarded. He quickly slipped out of his button up and into his pajamas before sliding in beside her and holding out his arms. “All right, c’mere.”

“Hmm?” she hummed.

“I’m demanding snuggles,” he clarified. “That’s the price you pay for my chauffeur and caretaker services.”

Another smile slowly turned up the corners of her mouth, and he returned it, pulling her against his side. “There she is.”

She allowed herself to settle and melt into his warmth, the soft fabric of his t-shirt under her cheek and his fingers brushing lightly over her arm. She willed herself to stop waiting for the shift. She begged herself to stop looking for the end.

Maybe this time there wouldn’t be an end. Maybe she could have an infinite middle with Spencer Reid. Maybe she had earned that.

———

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#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds self insert #homoose writes #lhalc

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imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl · 3 years

Text

Good Girl, Bad Boy (Pt. 02 of 15)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove X Reader

Word count: 2.3 K

Summary: You're the extreme opposite of Billy Hargrove. The good girl, with perfect grades, the child every mother wants to have. And you don't want to have nothing to do with his kind. Ignoring Billy – and his constant, lingering stare – became an habit. But after you're put together for a special school program, you'll have no choice but to get along with him. And soon enough you'll find out that Billy is so much more than just Hawkins' bad boy.

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{Stranger Things Masterlist}

{Dacre Montgomery Masterlist}

Growing Closer

You find Billy walking away from his locker, ready to go home. He's alone this time, and you heard something about Stacy being mad at him. You wonder what he did to her. Or if he just got tired and is now aiming for someone else.

“Hargrove.” You call when you're closer enough to be heard. Billy turns around immediately, and you both stop in the middle of the hall. “Do you happen to have some time? We need to discuss the calendar.”

“Sure.” He simply says, and it's clear to you he's pissed off already. He was forced into the program, so it's only normal he doesn't want to do that.

“We can hit the library. It remains open for two hours after class.” You can't help but notice some people staring. But that isn't a surprise. You and Billy are as different as day and night, and nobody expects to see you two talking.

“Sure.” He repeats, and a fun expression crosses his face before he steps aside, gesturing for you to walk.

Chuckling, you furrow your eyebrows, starting to make your way to the library.

You know the place by heart since you're here at least three times a week. Waving at the teacher who stays in the reception, you pick a table in the back, so your chattering won't bother anyone. Taking a seat, you watch as Billy settles down across from you.

It's a little weird at first, and a silence falls in between you two. You suddenly realize you've been staring at him, way too focused on his blue eyes. You didn't know Billy's eyes were so beautiful. But you quickly clear your throat, searching on your bag for your notebook.

“I made you this planner.” Pulling the paper sheet off the notebook, colorful by many different marker colors, you slide it over to him. Billy's eyes fall on it immediately, eyebrows raising. “It's just to help you keep up with everything until the end of the year. More stuff will probably be add, but don't worry, I'll let you know.”

“You have everything figured out, don't you?” He finally speaks up, holding the paper in his hands.

“I know you don't want to do this. But this is senior year and you're almost free. Just a little longer and this will be over.” Offering him a small smile, you put a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I won't repeat the year. My grades are enough to get me through.” He sounds a little angry, and you sigh.

You don't know what to say to make him cooperate if he doesn't want to. “Look, you can't get out of the Improvement Program. But you can pick another tutor. So if you want, I have a list of everyone who's still available and maybe if there's someone you already know or happen to be friends with–” As you speak, you start looking in your bag for the small blueish paper. “–you just have to talk to Mrs Martinez and–”

“I want you to be my tutor.” His voice startles you since it's a little too loud and because of the silence, it echoes a bit. “But just because I know you're the smartest person in this school.”

Biting your lip, you nod, not sure how you feel about his compliment. “Thanks... I try.”

“You freaking succeed,” Billy mutters, cupping his hands above the table.

There's heat creeping through your cheeks so you look away, bringing back to mind what else you must talk to him about. “So, the next project is a presentation on History about World War I. Our part is about the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand, the invasion of Bosnia and Herzegovina, and the July crisis. The happenings before the war was set.”

“Great.”

“Shhh.” Someone says, and you look at a small group of people on your left.

“You shut up, asshole.” Billy raises his voice a little, and you look at him with wide eyes.

“Hey. Don't say that.” You warn him, giving the boy an apologetic look. “We're at a library, we're supposed to be quiet.”

“Excuse me.” Mr Williams comes, standing a few feet away. “Some students are complaining about your chattering, so I'll have to ask you to leave, please.”

“Oh...” Blushing a little, you start gathering your stuff. “Sorry, Mr Williams. We'll leave.” Billy is just about to say something when you give him a look.

You're quickly outside again, fixing the strap of your bag on your shoulder. “We...” Moving out of the way of some people heading to the library, you set into his pace, walking side by side. “We'll need some time to work on everything. So we can switch between your place and mine because doing things in the library won't work.” You feel a little shy to propose this, but it's not a big deal. You'll be doing this until the end of the year, so it's quite inevitable. “If that's ok with you, of course.”

“We should hit your place then. My father is home today, so... It just won't work.” There's a change in his voice, and you glance at him.

“My mother is home too. But she won't bother us.” Walking a little faster, you gesture at your car. “Just follow me.”

Billy nods, and you smile, giving him a little wave.

The school is empty, and so are the streets around it, so you have no trouble speeding away. Keeping your eyes on the review mirror, it only takes twenty minutes to get to your house, so you park on your usual spot, stepping out of the car and waiting for Billy to do the same. When he finally joins you on the porch, you move to unlock the door.

Billy couldn't help but feel lucky to be at her place. He never thought he'd come here, under any circumstances. Trying not to let her notice, he allows his eyes to wander a little as she opens the door, taking in the place (Y/N) calls home. It has a weird feeling for him, almost as if the place is sacred, somewhere he wasn't supposed to be.

“My mother is nice. But she may say some embarring stuff so... Be prepared.” Following her inside, Billy notices as her mother looks at them, eyes going a little wide to see him. He wonders if she isn't used to her daughter bringing boys home. Knowing (Y/N), he knows she's not. “Mom, this is Billy Hargrove. I told you about him yesterday, remember? From the Improvement Program.”

She told her mother about him. So yes, she was thinking about him. Maybe just for a couple of seconds, maybe just as someone she knows, who she has told to help. But it doesn't matter. (Y/N) was thinking about him, and for now, it's enough.

“Of course.” She stands up, coming to give her daughter a quick hug and shake Billy's hand. “I'm Amanda. (Y/N)'s mother.”

“It's good to meet you, Mrs–”

“Call me Amanda kid, or else I feel terribly old.” She jokes, kindly smiling. “I believe you'll be hanging around here a lot because of school. But don't worry, I won't get in your way.”

“Thanks, mom. We'll be in the dining room.” (Y/N)'s light touch on his forearm is enough to make him shot her a glance, almost too desperate, something in him wanting to ask her why she did such a thing. Billy curses himself as he follows her to the dining room for feeling so stupid. It's just a freaking touch. On his freaking arm. And she wasn't even giving it much thought.

As Billy settles down on the table, (Y/N) moves the centerpiece to the edge so they'll have more space. “Do you want anything? Water? Or some chips? I happen to have some.”

Her voice sends Billy into some kind of stupor. A guy like him shouldn't feel this way. (Y/N) is just a girl, and he had many. But none of them ever made him feel like this. Like his heart is trying to jump off his chest. After a year, he did think he got over it. But he was wrong. Billy didn't want to be this close to (Y/N), always watching her from a safe distance. But this stupid school had to put them together, so damn close. Look at him now, seated on her dining table, staring at her like a complete idiot.

Just because she offered him water and freaking chips.

“Water is nice.” He mumbles, eyes on her back as she walks away, passing behind his chair. A sweet scent irradiates from her. Like flowers, he doesn't know which one though, like freaking sunshine.

Laughing at his stupidity, Billy looks down at his hands. How can someone smell like sunshine? It's illogical.

“Get it together, she's just a girl,” Billy says to himself, resting his back against the chair and taking his jacket off, laying on the chair next to him. Girls are nothing new to him. He had they all figured out, their ways, how to break them, how to please them, how to bend them to his will.

But not (Y/N).

A nice girl like her is immune to his tricks. And that's good because if she wasn't, it would mean she could also fall on someone's traps. Like Tommy, or Jimmy, or Jackson. The very thought of those assholes with her, touching, caressing, kissing... It disgusts him, and he's quick to push such images away.

“Did you say something?” (Y/N) asks, coming back from the kitchen and handing him a glass with cold water. Once she's close enough, he takes a deep breath, and her sweet scent almost drives him mad.

She's not a girl for you, get it together. “No.” He mumbles, taking long sips before putting the glass down. “So what now?” He sounds a little rude, so he immediately clears his throat after, eyes on (Y/N) as she takes a seat next to him on the round table instead of across from him. Billy finds it odd, but he's thankful for the proximity. This way, he can be surrounded by her candy-like scent, trying to memorize it so he could play it back later. When he's into the nightmare he calls home.

You're just about to start, History books already on the table, since you'll begin with the presentation, notebooks and papers so you can take notes, but then you look at Billy. There's a bruise on the apple of his cheek that you haven't noticed it before.

“Did you get into a fight?” You ask, leaning slightly forward to take a better look.

“What?” There's a moment of confusion on his face before it changes. “Yeah.”

“Did you win?”

“In a way.” It doesn't look like he'll say anything else.

“Well, if someone punches you, make sure to beat them up.” Smiling a little, you take the History book, opening it on chapter 7. “What exactly do you know about–”

“Are you still dating Steve?”

The question takes you by surprise, making you nervously giggle. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Just curious.” He shrugs his shoulders, tilting his head to the side. “Saw you two talking earlier today and he wouldn't be happy to know we'll be around each other a lot.”

“Steve is my friend. We dated last year but only for two months.” Avoiding Billy's eyes, you go through the book, not really paying attention to anything. You can feel his stare, and for some reason, your cheeks start heating up.

“Who broke up with who?”

Chuckling, you turn your body towards him. “Why do you want to know, Billy?” Maybe he's just trying to procrastinate. “Because if you're just trying to delay things I–”

“No, I really want to know.” He leans forward, pulling the book closer to him. “You and Harrington don't fit together, so I was surprised to see you hanging out with him last year.”

“Steve and I got pretty close when he dropped the jerk act. And we were both single so we decided to give it a try.” The only reason you're telling Billy this is because it's not a secret. Some people know and they probably didn't put any effort into keeping it hidden. “But it didn't click. We were dating but it wasn't really romantic, so...” You smile to remember it, and the memory that comes back is definitely a secret. Nancy is the only one who knows, her and Steve, obviously. But you guess it's ok to tell Billy, it's quite funny. And silly. “We... We never really kissed, you know?”

“What?” His voice startles you, and the genuine confusion on his face only makes you laugh. “You're joking.”

“I'm not, and if this gets out, I'll know it was you.” With a finger pointing at his face, you fake a threatening face. “So keep it between us or else.”

Pinching his eyebrows together, Billy seems amused. “Or else what?” His voice gets lower, as he leans closer.

“Or else I'll have no choice but to make out with Steve in front of the whole school.” In a sassy tone, you smile, biting your tongue not to laugh at his expression. Billy is... Impressed? Surprised, maybe. Something tells you he wasn't expecting this answer.

“Ew. Please don't.”

“Then don't tell anyone.” Shrugging your shoulders, you pull your feet up, crossing your legs on the chair. “Now, C'mon. World War I.”

“One more question and we get to it.” As he speaks, you feel him pulling your hand away from the notebook, forcing you to give him attention. “Why in the hell didn't you and Steve–”

“We kissed. I mean, those quick kisses, you know. Like when you say hi or goodbye. Just a peck in the lips. But that was it.”

“That was it?”

“That was it.” Giggling again, you assure him. Why is it so important to him anyway? “Now, can we start?”

You watch as Billy's eyes remain on you, burning, lingering. After a while, his lips break into a smile and he looks down at the book, shaking his head lightly. “Let's start.”

@multific @clockworkballerina @tina1938 @graciehams @moatsnow @all-the-stars-on-your-skin

#billy hargrove fanfiction #billy imagine #imagine billy #billy hargrove imagine #imagine billy hargrove #billy hargove x reader #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x y/n #billy stranger things fanfiction #billy stranger things imagine #billy stranger things #stranger things x you #imagine stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things imagine

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hardlyinteresting · 3 years

Text

Risks Worth Taking 2/2

This is the second half, part 2/2 of the story, thank you to everyone who has read it! Professor!Zemo x Student reader Part 1 here The reader takes Zemo’s philosophy class focusing on Machiavelli. Posted in 2 parts because it exceeded the textbox limit. Apx 3k words.

Warnings: student-teacher relationship (the reader is of age, no real focus on power imbalance), implied age gap, consumption of alcohol, implication that the reader is sleeping with Zemo for better grades (she's not) and of course let me know if you want me to add anything else!!

Week five, he is not shocked to find she’s once again the first one in class. “Good evening,” he greets warmly, unwrapping his scarf from around his neck as he makes his way to his desk. She smiles back, “I left my paper on your desk there, I figured I’d get the pile started”. He laughs setting down his coat and bag, “Something tells me there will be few submissions for this class”.

He’s right. Less than half the class bothers to show up. Most of her peers seem to be getting a head start on winter break, at least the class is quiet she thinks content listening to Helmut summarize the most recently assigned chapters, providing historical context where needed.

“Enjoy your break Helmut,” she says softly as he shuts the lecture hall door.

“You as well. Do you have plans?” She shakes her head, “No, just reading”. He smiles, “Then I am sure it will be a good break indeed”.

The cafe is warm and cosy. She settles comfortably into her favourite booth with her favourite book and a second cup of tea.

The bell at the front door dings as a man enters in a long black coat and leather gloves. Fancy she thinks to herself as he approaches the counter to order. It's usually other students dressed in sweatpants and hoodies, the man’s put together dress piques her interest. He orders and then she watches over the top of her book as he drops a $10 bill into the barista’s tip jar. Oh, well dressed and exceedingly well mannered. She can't help but watch him as he waits. Removing his gloves he tucks them into his pockets and unbuttons his coat, she swears she can smell his cologne from where she sits; it's incredible!

“Cherry blossom tea for Helmut?” The barista calls sliding the cup across the counter.

Helmut? It isn't. Is it? He turns after saying a polite thank you, and she can feel her heart hammering as he turns and she sees his face. It is. She's not sure why she's shocked, she did tell him about this place after all. Do I say something? She wonders, weighing the pros and cons, but her thoughts are halted when she hears his voice,

“Hello,” he smiles softly, “I didn't expect you to be here--I know you pointed this place out, but I wasn't--”

He's worried he's intruding. Oh, how the tables have turned.

“No, no. It's okay! I don't own the place-- did you want to sit? You don't have to--”

He chuckles as her nerves get the best of her.

Silently he sets down his cup shrugging out of his coat, putting it over the back of the chair before sitting down.

“What are you reading?” He smiles, trying to peak at the cover.

Again, after their initial stiffness, the conversation flows smoothly, just like it had in his office. After several warm drinks, and a couple croissants ordered between the two of them it’s grown dark outside. Neither had noticed the cafe empty out slowly over the hours, the barista cleaning up for the night until she clears her throat from behind the counter. They both turn to look at her, finally noticing how quiet the shop is.

“Sorry, we’re closing now,” the barista smiles sweetly. “Not a problem. I apologise, we lost track of time. We’ll get out of your way,” Helmut apologizes. The pair collect their things sliding back into their coats and gloves. Helmut waits patiently for her to be ready to go his hand resting gently at the small of her back as she slips out of the booth and past him.

Helmut stops and puts another bill in the girl’s tip jar.

“Sorry for keeping you,” he apologises again.

Outside the winter wind is cold against their faces.

“Are you hungry?” Helmut asks.

“I could eat,” She responds. “Ever been there?” Helmut asks pointing to the pub across the street. “I don’t know if it’s your speed. It’s not super nice or anything, but their food is decent,” she says honestly. He laughs, “‘Decent’ is better than what I can make at home by myself”.

She bites her lip thinking about it, does he want to spend more time with me?

“Okay,” she smiles as they make their way across the street.

Settled at a table, they wait for their server, she asks, “Was that a fifty dollar bill I saw you put in that tip jar?”

He shrugs, “Yes”.

He says that as if it’s normal, she thinks.

“I know you’re not from here, but you do know that’s a lot of money right?” “Yes,” he shrugs again, “But she made excellent tea all afternoon, she let us stay as late as she could and she was polite. And I have been here long enough to know that servers of any kind don’t get paid fairly. I can afford it, she deserves it”.

She feels the smile grow across her face, she considers gushing that he’s such a good person, but instead what comes out is, “I’m really starting to consider becoming a professor”.

He laughs, “I told you, it’s family money, not my facility pay”. God, that laugh, sets off butterflies in her stomach, the warm, genuine sound of his laughter.

He continues, “Before Sokovia fell, my family were royalty. I was a Baron there”. “I knew your name sounded familiar,” she sighs, “I remember hearing about Sokovia on the news. I remember your name, you were building orphanages and relief centres”.

He nods sadly, “Many of us thought we could salvage what we had left after everything. We couldn’t”.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, without thinking she reaches across the table to place a comforting hand on his arm. His hand comes to cover hers, so much larger than her own.

There’s a silence between them for one of the first moment since he sat down with her earlier at the cafe. But it’s not uncomfortable, it’s the opposite -- a silence of understanding, both parties knowing there’s nothing they can say to make things better-- they can only ruminate.

The peace is broken by a waiter coming to take their orders. “Do you drink Helmut?” She asks with a mischievous smile. “I have been known to indulge,” he confesses, his eyebrows furrowed. “Two shots of ?” she turns to look at Helmut expectantly. “Vodka,” he replies. “Two shots of vodka, and an order of cheese fries to share please,” she orders, “thank you”.

The waiter returns not before long, placing the drinks and food on the table.

She holds her shot glass up waiting for him to do the same. “Prost,” he says raising his glass towards her. “Cheers,” she responds clinking her glass into his before they both tip them back.

And that’s how their night begins.

It’s nearing midnight when they settle their bill, Helmut insisting he pay-- though she put up a good fight. “Can I walk you home?” He asks looking at her under the light of the street lamps. She nods, her face feeling warm both from his attention and the alcohol coursing through her bloodstream. Her apartment is only three blocks away, but time seems to slow down as they walk arm in arm through the freshly fallen snow. At her door they stop, she looks up at him, him down at her. Without a thought, lips meet. It’s not rough or particularly sexy, but she feels her knees go weak when his hand comes to cup her cheek, his other splayed across the small of her back pulling her closer. This kiss deepens and she clutches the lapel of his wool coat before they both pull away. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “Don’t be,” she sighs.

Then the thought hits her, “How are you getting home?” “Oh-- I was going to get a cab and go back to the cafe to pick up my car in the morning,” he explains. “Nonsense-- you can stay here,” she offers unlocking her door and stepping inside, he doesn’t follow. “Not in my bed,” she laughs flicking on the light, “I’ll set you up on the couch”. He steps inside.

In the morning he wakes to the sun shining through the window. It takes him a minute to orient himself remembering he crashed on her couch. He sits up taking a moment to look around the apartment, it’s cute. Books and textbooks and notebooks strewn about the place. It’s homey and inviting and every bit what he’d expect her space to look like. Carefully he grabs one of the open notebooks tearing out a page he writes a quick note:

Good morning, I find that I feel very sorry for having to leave before you wake. Alas, I have much to get done, and I do not wish to trespass in your home longer than needed. I am grateful for your hospitality, and even more, your company. If my memory serves correctly I must also apologise for making that advance towards you last night. It was ungentlemanly, and you are unquestionably deserving of much better. I hope you can forgive me, and that you might allow me to make it up to you. -Helmut

Week six.

“He should appear to be compassionate, faithful to his word, guileless, and devout.” Is written across the board. When she settles into her seat. She’s not early this week, rather just on time. Helmut notes the heavy rise and fall of her chest as she tries to catch her breath, he holds back a smile at the thought of her sprinting to his class. When the class is settled, he proceeds to hand back all of the submitted essays, now marked. He smiles as he sets hers on her desk, “Bravo,” he says quietly enough that just she hears it as he shuffles along to the next row of students. She anxiously flips to the last page, red pen scrawl reads 100%. Her jaw drops. There’s no way. She thinks back to the rumours she heard on campus at the beginning of the year, about how difficult a marker he is. Bullshit. Her blood boils, rage sizzling beneath her skin. She avoids his eyes for the rest of class staring down at her notebook as she notices the indents in the blank page-- indents left from where he had written her a note that morning. Her anger freezes replaced by the cold sinking feeling in her chest. All his kind words, all those moments shared-- did he really think she was just spending time with him for a better grade? What kind of handout does he expect to get from her? She scolds herself now for the little crush she’d developed-- how stupid could she be? The prince must appear to be virtuous in order to hide his actions, She remembers from her reading, a dagger to her chest as she thinks bitterly that she’s not shocked that the professor is practising what he preaches.

The class ends and he moves to collect his paperwork, sorting it back into his bag. She stays. “I’m glad you stayed behind,” he starts. “I’m sure you are,” she says sharply. Confused he puts his things down turning to face her. “Have I done something to upset you?” He asks seriously his head tilted to the side as he racks his brain for anything he may have done to make her so cross. Perhaps his note was not sufficient in conveying his apology? “Do you think I’m stupid? Or that I’m naive?” she asks arms crossed, “I’m not sleeping with you for a good grade,” she states firmly, sliding her essay back across her desk, “feel free to adjust my grade accordingly”. Is that what she thinks? His mouth goes dry, his mind and heart racing with all the different ways he wants to apologise, to tell her that she has it wrong. He approaches her, finally making eye contact with her, “Your grade will stay as it is. I mark all of my student’s work without looking at the cover pages. I have always strived to remain impartial. Your essay was marked no differently,” He explains calmly, “I would be wrong to say that I don’t hold any affections for you-- it is quite the opposite. I enjoy the time we have spent together, and I would like to continue to remain in your company; I hope to eventually find myself in your affections-- but none of this has any bearing on your grade. I am sorry that I have acted in a way where this was not clear”. Her throat clenches, oh. “I’m sorry--Oh my god--I’m so stupid!” her hand flies to cover her mouth. “You have nothing to apologise for-- I should be the one apologising,” he insists. She shakes her head standing to stand in front of him, “We’ve both been obtuse”. “I’d like to make it up to you. I’d like to take you out for dinner-- a proper meal. If you’ll allow me”. She nods her hand coming to rest on his cheek, thumb running gently across his cheekbone, “I would like that,” she says quietly, her eyes glazing at his lips, “But only after the semester is done and I’ve graduated”. “If that is what you want,” he nods understanding. She can feel him leaning in, her eyes flickering up to his caramel eyes and back down to his lips, his hand rests on her hip, but he waits for her to close the gap between them.

Last day of the school year.

She waits by the door to the lecture hall as he speaks to his class. She listens to the back and forth of conversing ideas from the students, her heart beating faster every time Helmut speaks. It takes a while for everyone to leave when the class is over, but he does his best not to make her wait too long, gathering his things as quickly as possible, he makes his way over to her.

“Maybe I should’ve taken this course, the conversation was much more lively!” She laughs. “Your intelligent thoughts would have been wasted here, my dear” He smiles shutting the door behind him, “your class needed a brilliant mind in it”.

The summer goes by quickly. Fine dining, nights in. reading during rainstorms. Nights of soft romance, followed by nights of passion. Pasts shared. Futures envisioned. In his bed the night before the new school year she rolls over to lay almost on top of him, laughing when he lets out an oof. “Old man she teases,” earning a playful pinch on the thigh from him.

She glances at his nightstand, a copy of The Prince laying there.

“And what are your personal feelings about Machiavelli anyway? You never speak about your own thoughts”

“You're so clever,” he laughs, “but you're right”.

He sighs pulling her closer. he tries to focus on his hand running up and down her arm, how soft her sweater is under his fingertips. He takes a deep breath before speaking, “every time I read it, my opinions change,” he confesses, “there was a time when I was young and stupid; thought I was invincible that I agreed with a lot of his ideals. Then I grew older, fell in love--I thought him stupid and lonely. I experienced an incredible loss--”

She squeezes his side as she hears his voice grow tense with tears, he swallows and continues, “and then I thought I understood him. I learned how to grieve and I thought him intolerable. In the end I learn more about myself than I do him”.

She smiles, “and have you read it lately?”

He nods kissing her softly, “I have”.

“And?”

“I learned to trust my instincts. To take the risks that are worth taking”

“You're kind of a sap,” she laughs, her face getting warm she buries it in his chest. Part 1 here

#zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #professor!zemo #daniel bruhl x reader #zemo #daniel bruhl #baron zemo x reader

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thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch · 3 years

Text

pt.1: the swapping begins

-> 4-fking-am masterlist <-

b:katsuki / f.reader

genre: neighbor au, pro-hero bakugou

warning(s)!!: bakugou's potty mouth (ofc)

status: on-going!

synopsis: you had just moved into your new apartment and like every other college student under the sun, you had the worst sleep scheudle known to man. due to this, you find yourself playing music through your speakers at 4 am. your neighbor slides you a note under your door about your ‘shitty’ taste in music, thus the note swaps begin.

a/n: the first part has arrived! hopefully, updates on this particular series won't be so drawn out since i'm planning to keep all written parts on the shorter side along with the smau parts being just easier since it's all just dialog LOL (ive done smau in the past for other things but they weren't so hot but hopefully i'm better now lol rip)

-x-x-x-

w.count: 1.3k

-x-x-x-

Why did you decide to go back to school to pursue further education again? If it wasn’t to stress yourself into early grey hairs or to rip out those grey hairs until you were bald, then why?

Collapsing over your desk- textbook open and notes out in messy piles with doodles across every edge and corner from wandering concentration- you groan. Exams were right around the corner, but you couldn’t for the life of you get your brain to focus on one thing- much less multiple things- for more than a couple hours, so studying quickly turned into a failed attempt to study.

Normally, studying wasn’t so difficult for you and you actually found it therapeutic in its own weird way. You enjoyed learning new things and the pride and wholeness you felt after succeeding to teach yourself something new was well worth whatever the process to get there was to you. But, this current college burnout was making all those end results hard to get to.

You glanced at the clock on one of the elevated shelves of your desk, the dimly glowing orange letters showing the time of 3:54 am. You groaned again, pushing your forehead into your written words and definitely smearing pencil lead on your forehead while you were at it. Maybe you’d soak up the words this way and have the knowledge transferred automatically into your brain if you pushed just hard enough.

Another dull and unrelenting amount of minutes pass you by before you officially call it quits for the night. Giving up, you walked to the other side of the room and plopped down on your bed’s edge next to one of your nightstands, your wrist rubbing your forehead to hopefully clear away the mess of leftover lead on it. On this nightstand was your radio and beneath it along the shelves and below the drawer was a collection of CDs.

In a world where albums were digital and everything was Bluetooth compatible and no one carried around a portable CD player anymore, you felt somewhat awkward sometimes at the seemingly large and ridiculous collection of yours. There were still plenty of people with CDs and even vinyls, but still- the awkwardness of your ‘retro’ thinking at your age did make you feel a bit self-conscious; no matter how idiotic it sounded.

You leaned over the bed and down to the bottom shelf cubby and grabbed a thin, plastic album case. Popping it open, the cheap plastic threatened to break and bend as you pushed open the top of your radio and placed the CD inside, shutting it again and turning it on.

A small little baby blue boombox that resembled a sort of bubble-like structure- a late birthday gift from your friends back in your hometown.

You figured if you didn’t absolutely blast your music, it would be fine to play aloud. Plus, you decided to put your bedroom in the backmost room, and the second room closer to the front room of your apartment was used for storage- since renting a storage unit was way too expensive. In your mind, the room closet to the door for a single living tenant would definitely be their bedroom- so you did the opposite when you moved in.

With your legs still handing off the side of the bed, you threw yourself back onto the mattress with your arms out to your sides. You stared at the ceiling of your room, thinking that at some point you’d need to purchase some cheap glow-in-the-dark stars to tack up there just for nostalgia’s sake.

As you heard the radio read the CD in small hums, you shut your eyes and smiled when the first track started. To be honest, you weren’t really pressed for what music you were going to be listening to, so you just kinda pulled from your cubby and popped the CD in without even looking at what you grabbed. You almost laughed when an older album your mom used to listen to started playing.

You weren’t exactly sure how it happened or when, but the next thing you knew, you were staring blankly and tiredly up to your ceiling again. The sun outside had risen and you heard birds, outside chatter, and basic roadside living outside. Even being up on the fourth floor, you could still hear the world below fairly well since you almost always had your window open with a fan inside of it.

Your body was sore from how you were laying on your back with your arms out, and you felt stiff. Legs partially numb from hanging off the bed all morning when you turned to look at your clock on the desk with squinted eyes.

Almost noon.

“God,” you moaned, forcing yourself up and wobbly making a path out of your room and into the kitchen to solve the problem of your severe cottonmouth. Stepping out of your narrow, short hall, you yawned and stopped before stepping into the kitchen when you saw a note at your doorstep. It had been slid under the front door and was face down, small blotches of black bled through to show that the other side had something written on it in marker.

More intrigued with the mysterious note than ready to deal with your dry mouth and throat that demanded water, you trotted to the paper and flicked it up. Your eyes quickly scanned the note and you gasped, slightly slapping a hand over your mouth.

‘Your taste in music really fuckin’ sucks’

Oh my god, someone heard that? Were you too loud? Was it annoying? Who in their right mind has the further room from the door other than you who did it on purpose so that this situation could be specifically avoided? Would you need to move rooms? No, then you’d have your other neighbors slipping you notes or even knocking on your door.

Maybe this neighbor has a roommate and had no choice but to take the room furthest from the door. Would you need to move out now before you died from overthinking the situation?

Racing back into your room, you tore out a sheet of lined paper and a mark erfrom your jar of pens, pencils, highlightser, what have you, and began to write in large letters a note back.

‘I’m so sorry about the noise! I’ll make sure not to play it that ungodly early again! (also, no it doesn’t, my taste in music is fine).’

You felt a little silly putting the added small text at the bottom of the paper in parentheses, but you felt the need to nip this particular neighbor’s opinion about your music in the butt- you boiled the choice down to comedies sake.

Making your way back to your door, you unlocked the bolt and unlatched the chain as you poked your head out. For it being almost the middle of the day, you made sure no one was in the halls before you jogged out your door and to the left. Your room was the furthest left room and they heard it, so clearly it had to be the left side neighbor... right?

Taking one last left-to-right look down the hall, you knelt at the door, pushed your paper under it, and dashed back into your own apartment before locking it back up. You let out a breath, as you pushed your back into the door, feeling awkward and almost embarrassed at the idea of passing notes with your neighbor. Trying to be secretive about it and acting like if someone saw you push a note under their door you’d be looked at strangely.

In a somewhat awkward way, you felt like some weird criminal.

“Whatever,” you shook your head, slapping your hands on your cheeks and heading to the kitchen. Finally ready to get that glass of water you had been craving to soothe your aching throat with. You had other things to get done today anyway. Now that you were awake, better get your day started.

Even if you may have just completely fucked your sleep schedule.

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lordabovehelpme · 3 years

Text

Rainy Day- Din Djarin x Reader

This is the next chapter to my Days Filled with Love series. You can find the first part here! :)

Summary: When your family experiences a downpour, you have to find other ways to entertain yourselves.

Warnings: female reader, children

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The soft sound of rain echoes throughout the house. All the lights are off as the soft glow of the morning light casts shadows onto the golden skin of your husband. His hands idly rub over your chest and shoulders. Every now and then he’ll just cup your mound of fat, not in a vulgar way but rather in a pleasant way. He has told you time and time again how he loves the comforting weight and heat that your body offers him.

His back is leaned up against the headboard as you lay between his large thighs with your own back against his chest. He happily fondles your mounds while you read one of your favorite books. A steaming mug of tea rests on the bedside table, long forgotten as you become enveloped with the characters' story. His head rests atop your own as he lazily skins over the various words you are so absorbed in.

The soft comforter lays across your lap, keeping all four of your bare legs nice and warm. Before you had kids your husband would often sleep as he was born, naked and very much not afraid. But after Grogu climbed in bed a few nights you both decided that in order to save his innocent eyes, the mandalorian should keep at least a pair of boxers on.

There have been countless moments where those boxers have saved more than one pair of little curious eyes. Mornings where the blanket is ripped off of your sleeping forms by various excited children. Nights where little bodies crawled in between the two of you in a search for safety from their dark dreams. But you can both agree that you would never trade those memories for the world.

You have to admit, in the mandalorians' arms you truly feel like nothing can hurt you.

“Cyare,” He gives your chest a squeeze as he tries to gain your fous, “pay attention to me! You’ve read this book so many times before.”

Without missing a beat you counter him, “And I’ve given you kisses about ten times more.”

A small smile breaks onto your face at his loud boyish groan. He settles back into silence and places his head again on top of your own. In reward you reach back with one hand and cup his cheek. When he leans into your touch you slide your fingers under his chin and scratch at the scruff there.

He hums out his approval and you just know his eyes are closed. Moments like these really make you ponder if you married a man or an oversized dog. A breath of air puffs from your nose as you imagine him with a fiercely wagging tail and two fluffy ears.

When you bring your hand back down to rest on your stomach he whines and rubs his head against your own, again, much like a dog.

You giggle softly at your new found discovery.

“What are you laughing at?”

“Mmm, nothing.”

He sighs and rests his head on your shoulder. His arms snake around your middle and pull you as close as he can into his grasp. He presses a kiss to the spot just below your ear.

Your shoulder rises slightly in response and his chuckle reverberates across your skin.

“I love you cyare.”

You lean your head against his. “I love you too handsome.”

***

You’re standing in the kitchen, vegetables frying in a pan as you stir some pasta. Screams of delight sound from upstairs and every now and then you can hear a crash. You pray that they don’t hurt themselves too bad.

Tobbi is asleep, strapped to your chest and Isabet is sitting in her high chair with some markers and paper. Grogu sits next to her as they draw together.

The kids are antsy, usually outside playing. However, the strong downpour outside has put a stop in their usual plans.

Reeza barrels down the stairs, laughing as hard as she can and running as fast as her legs will carry. She rushes into the kitchen and right into your form.

An oof escapes your lips as you wrap your free hand around her shoulders. “What is going on?”

She looks up at you and smiles, her two front teeth missing from when she lost them earlier this week. “Hi, Tobbi.” She pats his bottom before turning to look at the doorway. “Hide me!”

“Hide you?” You ask in amusement and brush her hair behind her ears.

An inhuman roar sounds from the top of the stairs and echoes through the house. “He’s coming!” She lifts the bottom of your skirt and slips beneath it.

“Oh!” You gasp as you feel her grab onto one of your legs.

“Shh, be quiet Mommy.”

Your eyebrows raise and you just shake your head, turning back to the stove. There is never a dull moment at the Djarin residence.

“Where are you, you little womp rat?” Your husband stomps down the stairs, in the same fashion your daughter did. Maker, they are all so similar to him.

He silently stalks over to the couch and as soon as he peeks behind it he growls as if trying to scare whoever was supposed to be there. When he realizes that his target is missing he taunts again, “You think you’re smart, huh?”

You watch with a smile on your face as he walks into another room.

A hand reaches out from beneath your skirt and opens and closes, obviously wanting something.

“Mommy can I have a carrot please?”

You laugh and hand a piece to her outstretched paw, “Of course sweetheart.”

She latches onto it and once again the hand disappears. “Thank you.” You can hear her munch away at the vegetable and you just smile and shake your head. Never a dull moment.

It takes about two minutes for your husband to make his way to the kitchen. His loud stomps sound through the house as he approaches you.

His gaze locks onto you and he prowls forward. Hands wrap around your waist and he presses a kiss to your lips. But he doesn’t forget to greet his youngest son.

“Hey little guy.” His facade breaks as he strokes the tuft of soft curly brown hair that Tobbi so proudly sports. Little brown eyes open and stare up at the mandalorian. A wide smile forms on your son's face as he reaches up and grabs your husband's finger. He babbles and giggles as the mandalorian tickles his little stomach.

Isabet yells out, trying to get her fathers attention. “REE VA!” Her arm waves down at your skirt.

Small giggles sound from beneath your skirt.

Your husband turns to look at Isabet and then scans down to your long skirt. He meets your eyes and his own swirl with amusement. Giving you one last kiss, he presses his finger against his lips, signaling you to stay silent.

Slowly he sinks down to his knees.

You hold your breath, waiting for what the bounty hunter will possibly do next.

As fast as he can, he whips your skirt up and grabs your daughter. She screams in delight and you gasp at the cool air on your bare legs.

He wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her from you. She tries to reach out and grab your legs but your husband pulled her away too fast.

She is nearly wheezing from laughing so hard. But in between the laughs she pleads with him. “Daddy, no!” and “Daddy, please!”

A loud battle cry sounds from the living room as Myles charges in and flings himself at your husband. But there is only so much a seven year old can do to the large bounty hunter. Your husband bends down and lifts Myles over his shoulder. Tobbi laughs and giggles as his little legs kick in excitement.

Your husband turns to look at you, smiling wide as he holds two screaming and laughing children.

You have never been more in love.

***

The three youngest kids have already been put to bed, so it just leaves you, Myles, Reeza, and a very sleepy mandalorian.

Reeza sits on her fathers lap while Myles sits on your own. A large blanket is wrapped around you and Myles as the two of you stare at the other members of your family.

Your husband's head leans back against the chair as he snores loudly. Reeza lays on his chest, her arms wrapped around his neck as she also snores, the spitting image, and sound, of the mandalorian.

“Does he always snore that bad?”

You giggle and press a kiss to the top of your son's head. “No, it’s just the angle he is at. Once he lays down it will be much quieter.”

He nods slowly, trying to analyze why the angle would affect his fathers loud snores. Once he seems to find an answer he likes, he asks another question, “Do I snore like that?” He sends a disgusted side glance at his father.

Myles was never really a snorer. When he was a toddler he was a mouth breather so naturally he snored a little, but now it has been fixed. “A little when you were younger, but it’s gone away now.”

He nods his head, eyes glassy as he thinks over this new information. “Good.”

You laugh at his simple response. “Yes, then when you have your own kids they won’t stare at you while you sleep and make fun of you.”

“Ewww, mommmmmm.” He whines but you just kiss at his cheeks.

“I know, it’s gross, I’m sorry.”

He looks up at you, gears turning behind those expressive eyes. “You’re kisses will never be gross, kids are gross.”

A loud fit of laughter erupts from your stomach. “Why do you say that?”

“Because I’ve seen you change lots of diapers. And I’ve gagged each time.”

You laugh and shower him with kisses again. “Maker, I love you.”

“I love you too Mom.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next Chapter: Sick Day

I hope you all liked this chapter!

As always, feedback is super appreciated. I love hearing what you all have to say, so please consider reblogging or leaving a comment!

Love, Lordy :)

Masterlist

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If you want to be added/removed from my taglist- just give me a holler and I’ll happily do it! :)

#din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mando #mando x reader #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #days filled with love #dfwl

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gumnut-logic · 3 years

Photo

It was late.

It had been a very long day.

A very, very long day.

Scott had been held back at the danger zone by bureaucratic nonsense and a CEO throwing a fit over a couple of Thunderbirds parking in his carpark and the resultant damage to a nearby building.

The insensitivity and self-involvement had John reining Scott in over comms. It wasn’t like he was going to hit the guy, really, no matter how satisfying it might have been. But it had been a gruelling and messy rescue digging people out of a collapsed shopping mall.

He and his brothers had been digging for hours.

Eventually he had to call it and had sent Thunderbird Two back to base.

He had intended to follow shortly after, but…obstacles.

It was just past three in the morning when One streaked into a hover above Tracy Island. The shift to vertical flight was smooth and mostly subconscious. Scott felt his ‘bird in his bones.

As he lowered her through the gap left by the pool, a dim light from the lounge told him he wasn’t the only one awake.

He had his suspicions who it might be and that only had him working through post-flight faster.

It could be Grandma, but chances were it was Virgil waiting for him to come home.

He didn’t always do this. Only after the difficult ones.

And this one had been far from easy.

Scott hurried up to the locker room and, shucking his uniform, washed the sweat and grime from his skin. It felt good to be clean, an extra step further away from the tragedy they had left behind.

He didn’t bother getting dressed other than to throw on some pyjama bottoms and an old t-shirt. he would check on his brother, possibly grab a quick bite of food and a drink, and then hit the sack.

The house was quiet as he made his way to the lounge. No doubt Grandma and Virgil combined were a force that saw the younger Tracys safe in bed. Virgil likely then turned on his partner in crime and bundled her off as well.

He was determined like that.

Sure enough, a quiet step into the lounge and he found his brother in their father’s chair.

Asleep.

Dark curls let loose from their product by a long-ago shower were a hastily combed mess on his forehead as Dad’s chair held Scott’s brother as if it were its owner. The worn upholstery cradling worn out rescue operative ever so gently.

Scott’s bare feet made little sound as he stepped across the hardwood floor. It was a warm night. The open windows let in a soft breeze off the Pacific laced with the honey scent of flowering pōhutukawa trees.

Virgil muttered and shifted in his sleep.

The sound drew Scott’s attention back to his brother. The desk lamp was the only source of light in the room beyond the starlight far above. The moon had already set and outside was almost as dark as it got, the ocean murmuring in the distance.

There was paper on the desk.

Scott didn’t use much in the way of paper himself. Most of his work was digital, often holographic and as ecologically sound as he could get it.

Virgil, however, did keep a stash of different surfaces to art on in his studio. Paper was one of them. Obviously, some had made it out tonight.

Pencil sketches covered the white sheets. Eyes, half drawn faces. Gordon popped up in one corner, a familiar smile on his face. Thunderbird One had her grapple out and was lifting something half-drawn.

He found his own face staring out of the paper. His drawn self was obviously angry and glaring at a faceless head.

Scott arched an eyebrow at the obscenity scratched into the cartridge under the non-person creature.

Virgil had obviously not been happy that Scott had been held up.

There were other words on the page amongst the drawings. Virgil doodling and possibly venting in the process. Even Scott could see the emotion drawn in graphite.

He sighed.

As if agreeing, Virgil snorted and tried to turn over in the chair, a manoeuvre that wasn’t recommended.

Scott caught his brother under his arms as he tried to slide off the leather upholstery.

He earned a grunt for his efforts. Bleary brown eyes opened and stared up at him. “Sc-t?”

“Hey.” A soft smile. “You planning on camping out tonight?”

Another grunt and his brother tried to right himself in the chair. “You took too long. Why didn’t you sic John on ‘em?”

“I did. But not until tomorrow. John needs his sleep as much as you do.”

“Yes. Yes, he does. Tol’ him.” Virgil’s eyes drifted closed again and he began to sink back into the chair.

“Oh, no you don’t. You’re going to bed, little brother.” Scott gripped Virgil a little tighter and pulled him up and out of the chair.

Various limbs pinwheeled a little and Scott ended up with his arms full of dopey brother, but he got the man on to his feet.

Virgil grumbled into his t-shirt and Scott let off a snort of a laugh. His biggest brother was hopeless when his sleep was disturbed. It was an ongoing source of prankdom – at the risk of the perpetrator’s life.

Hell, Gordon had managed to draw in a second pair of eyebrows on Virgil’s forehead once – while the man was supposedly awake and nursing his coffee.

The double-eyebrowed death monster that had resulted once enough coffee had been ingested was of legendary proportions. Grandma had literally roasted Gordon alive and a ban on markers on anyone’s faces had been instituted for all eternity.

Gordon was a multitalented artist, however, and simply switched mediums.

The honey had Scott blowing a circuit.

But dopey Virgil was a familiar and smile-inducing feature of the Tracy household.

Scott found himself grinning.

“Shuddup.”

Well, at least Virgil had managed a couple of neurons worth of thought.

Scott’s smile only got wider.

Virgil groaned and pushed his brother away and stumbled a little. “’M gonna bed.”

“You do that.” Scott had to stick out a hand and steady him as he wobbled into the side of the desk. “Need a hand?”

That triggered some incoherent grumbling that threatened bear territory. Scott couldn’t help himself and just grinned more as Virgil teetered away in the direction of the elevator.

The fact Scott had to save him from falling into the sunken lounge was probably a sign that the answer to his question was a definite ‘yes’.

A hand on his brother’s elbow prompted more grumbling, but the elbow wasn’t yanked away and by the time they made it into the elevator, Virgil had pretty much faceplanted himself into Scott’s shoulder.

The grin turned into a fond smile as he hit the button for the residential levels.

“You neeb togoto bed too.” It was muffled by the sleeve of Scott’s t-shirt.

“That’s the plan.”

“You bedda.”

Scott wrapped an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “Or what?”

More incoherent grumbling.

Scott pulled him in a little tighter as the elevator doors opened.

It was like leading a zombie down the corridor, though Scott could easily empathise. He was looking forward to his own pillow as soon as he saw Virgil to his.

A yawn escaped.

His brother looked up as if the medic had bypassed his brain and booted in safe mode. “You need sleep. Go to bed.”

He gestured towards door to Virgil’s rooms. “After you.”

Virgil frowned. “You first.”

Scott rolled his eyes and, reaching around his brother, activated the door and, with a little manoeuvring, manhandled Virgil into his rooms.

“Hey!”

His hand returned to his brother’s elbow and he marched him into his bedroom, amid protests.

“You need to look after yourself.” Virgil finger was jabbed into Scott’s breastbone.

Was it possible for a human to have one half of his brain awake and the other asleep at the same time? Apparently, some birds could do that. Gordon had gone into great detail that year they spotted some migratory waders landing on their beaches mid-transit.

In any case, Virgil obviously wasn’t all there as Scott backed him up against the end of his bed and pulled back the covers. Virgil continued to nag Scott to bed with varying levels of coherence. Smiling, Scott gave his rambling brother a gentle nudge and their gentle giant went Gulliver, flat on his back.

“Scott?!”

The eldest yanked up the covers and muffled the outraged mutterings. “Yes, Virgil?”

But his protests began to fade away and, as Scott pulled down the covers a little and tucked them in, he realised Virgil’s eyes were already drooping again.

Dopey indeed.

He brushed curls off his brother’s forehead. “Sleep, Virg.”

“Mmm, Sco’, go bed.”

Softly. “I will.”

“Mmmhm.”

Scott couldn’t help but smile a little more as Virgil drifted off.

A final touch to his brother’s hair and Scott straightened, his body creaking enough to remind him, that yes, he needed his bed as well.

He slipped quietly out of Virgil’s room and secured the door. A glance down the corridor, a thought, and he walked quietly down to check on Gordon.

The last he had seen of his fish brother had involved sad eyes and concrete dust. A quiet step into his rooms and he found Gordon as he had suspected he would.

The aquanaut was tangled in his sheets and throttling his pillow.

There was a frown on his face.

Much practised manoeuvring and he managed to straighten the Fish out and untangle him from his bedclothes.

Half asleep protests were halted by a plushie squid that awake Gordon would claim to his death never left the mantle above his bed.

Scott knew better.

His little brother quietened, falling into a deeper sleep.

After that, Scott couldn’t help but check in on Alan. It was probably a fortunate thing, because opening the door found Alan asleep in front of it.

The littlest Tracy had a history of wandering in his sleep. Scott had it checked out and it was directly related to early childhood trauma. Which one was a game of pick one.

It was managed, but occasionally it flared up. One of the most common symptoms was climbing out of bed and sleeping on the floor. Sometimes, the piece of floor chosen was a little inconvenient.

Scott was just happy the piece chosen wasn’t a balcony. Five and now Eos had been tracking Alan while he slept for years and issued alerts if he should wander too far.

Scott slipped into the room sideways and, with cracking knees, lifted his little brother off the floor.

Fortunately or unfortunately, Alan shared his sleep type with Virgil and slept like the dead. So, it was easy to move him over to his specially plush rug and snuggle him up with a pillow and quilt from his bed.

Alan muttered something about Virgil pulling him up, possibly something to do with the day’s rescue.

Scott reached out and touched Alan’s cheek.

His little brother mumbled his name and leant into his hand.

Scott blinked. The emotion that suddenly gripped him was just a sign of how tired he was.

Letting go, he pushed to his feet and slipped from the room. In the corridor, he closed his eyes and leant back against the wall for a moment.

One to go.

He tugged at the collar of his t-shirt. “Eos? You there?”

“Where else would I be?” Despite the smart-ass remark, her voice was quiet. Something she had learnt the hard way.

He ignored the comment. “John’s status?”

“John is currently in REM sleep. No signs of nightmare. Pulse regular, respiration as to be expected, body temperature 36.7 degrees Celsius. John is well, Commander.”

Scott let out a breath. “Thank you, Eos.”

“You’re welcome. Kayo and Mrs Tracy are asleep in their rooms, as is Hiram. Which is a concern, if I may say so, because he left Max on the ceiling.”

A blink. “Again?”

“It would appear so.”

Scott groaned. “Keep him out of the hangars this time.”

“I will try. But you know how he is.”

A grunt and Scott pushed himself off the wall. “I’m going to bed.”

“Good. Virgil was adamant you do exactly that.”

A frown. “Or what?”

“He said ‘or I’ll knock his ass out and drag him there myself’. His tone seemed humorous, however, John said it was a half-truth.” A pause. “Which half, I’m not sure.”

Another grunt. “Both halves, most likely.” To stave off a round of questioning at that, Scott quickly followed up with, “Tracy Island out.”

The house fell quiet after that and he let his shoulders drop, rolling his neck as he made his way to his own quarters. In his rooms lay freedom. A moment where he could just be himself, relax and sleep.

Sleep.

The door clicked shut and exhaustion caught up with him. It was a matter of steps to his bedroom, a modicum of the last of his energy to shove the covers aside, and he let himself fall face first into his pillow.

His body melted into the mattress.

It had been a shitty rescue, but his family was all home, safe, uninjured and resting.

He could let go.

So he did.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #nuttyfic reblog #a bit recent I know #but it is fluffy #and has sleepy Virg

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ahkaahshi · 4 years

Text

a parenting moment [miya atsumu x reader]

pairing: miya atsumu x fem reader

genre: fluff

warning(s): none

word count: 2.3k

overview: when yours and atsumu’s five-year-old daughter gets into trouble at school, it’s up to him to practice his good parenting skills

note: though this is a reader insert story, it focuses more on atsumu’s relationship with his daughter and sheds some light on how I think he would be as a dad :) also I wrote this months ago and am just now posting lol hope you enjoy

Atsumu’s features settle into a look of discontentment as his honey colored eyes scan his young daughter’s short figure, taking note of her dirtied shoes and the slightly disheveled appearance of the French braids he’d woven into her dark hair that morning. Wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead and letting out a small sigh, he asks, “What happened, girly?”

She turns her (e/c) gaze towards the polished wooden flooring of the large gym and mutters, “I got in a fight at school and they made Mommy pick me up.”

Instead of towering over her, as he had inadvertently been doing before, Atsumu kneels down in front of her and places his hand on her shoulder. “Hey, look at me, (daughter’s name),” he requests, making her tilt her chin up the smallest amount so her eyes can meet his. When their gazes connect, he purses his lips before saying, “We’ll talk about it when we get home, ‘kay? Right now, Daddy’s gotta practice, so jus’ sit tight with Coach Foster for a bit ‘n hang out.”

She nods slowly and Atsumu lifts her light blue backpack off of her shoulders to carry it with him over to the bench beside the court where his team is currently running through serve-receive drills. The head coach gives him a small nod of acknowledgement and a promise that he’ll protect her from any rogue volleyballs as she takes a seat.

Knowing that his daughter’s safety is in good hands and that she’s occupied--since she had pulled out a notebook from her backpack to doodle and write in--gives Atsumu a sliver of comfort as he returns to his practice. It takes himself some time to get his thoughts off of her, however, given the situation.

Minutes earlier, you had appeared at the gym with (daughter’s name) and offered a brief explanation of the matter at hand. You’d had to pick her up from school after receiving a call that she’d gotten into trouble, but, because of your own responsibilities at work, you’d had to drop her off with your husband. According to what the teachers had explained, she had gotten into a physical altercation with another student that had ended in tears, screaming, a few scrapes, and a dropped popsicle--your daughter’s, unfortunately.

(Daughter’s name) was a well-behaved, studious girl--though she did have a bit of a wild, energetic streak in her, thanks to Atsumu--so to hear that she’d been involved in a fight was understandably shocking to both of you. Sure, she enjoyed roughhousing with her dad and her uncle, but you’d been adamant about reiterating that real fighting was not allowed.

Atsumu hated seeing his daughter so distressed. It broke his heart. Usually, she was upbeat and full of life, but, now, she looks so defeated and ashamed. In an attempt to cheer her up in any way he can, he enlists the help of Bokuto and Hinata to tell her funny stories during each water break; and while they provide her some temporary relief, the cloud of sadness casting a shadow over her still lingers.

Though she holds onto his hand and clings to his side during the commute back home, she’s unnaturally quiet, and goes straight to her room upon returning to the house. He decides it best to leave her alone for a bit, but he can’t ignore how quiet the house feels without the sound of her favorite show blaring from the television in the living room. To busy himself for some time while you’re at work and she’s in her room, Atsumu sets himself to whipping up a snack after he’s taken a shower, and icing his aching joints.

After preparing some onigiri that looks rather sloppy compared to that his brother always serves, Atsumu shuffles down the hallway towards his daughter’s room. Her door is open, so he can see her sitting on her bed with a selection of colored pencils strewn across the comforter, and one in her hand that she’s using to color in a project she has to complete for class.

“Hey, girly,” he greets her and stands in the doorway, “Wanna eat some onigiri with me?”

She doesn’t respond verbally, but nods her head without lifting it to look over at him. So, he walks into her room and plops down on the bed beside her, setting the plate down in front of him. Before he can even get so far as to offer her one of his homemade creations, he hears her sniffle loudly.

Turning his honey-colored gaze to her brings him to the realization that she's stopped coloring and, instead, has her hands pressed against her face as her body shakes with quiet sobs. His paternal instincts to protect and comfort her immediately kick in, and he pushes the plate aside so he can sling an arm around her shoulder to pull her closer to him.

“Hey, hey, li’l princess, what’s goin’ on?” he murmurs.

She leans closer to him but keeps her hands over her face. “It wasn’t my fault, Daddy,” she whimpers softly, the sound of her strained voice nearly shattering her father’s heart, “There’s a really, really mean girl in my class. She always pulls my hair, a-and takes my markers, and cuts in line so she gets the last orange popsicle--and that’s my favorite flavor--and... I hate her!”

Atsumu grabs a tissue to dab at the tears spilling down her cheeks once he gently moves her hands away from her face. He’s silent for a moment as the previous sadness he felt at his daughter’s suffering morphs into anger upon hearing that she was being bullied. “Didja hit ‘er 'cause she was bein’ mean?”

She nods and cries, “S-She pushed me during recess ‘nd I got mad and pushed her back,” before finally lifting her head to gaze up at him with watery, (e/c) eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt her, Daddy! I-I was just scared she was gonna hurt me!”

Wrapping both of his arms around her small frame, Atsumu brings her face to his chest and holds her tightly in his embrace in an attempt to comfort her. “It’s alright, (daughter’s name). Mommy ‘nd I will make sure this gets fixed, ‘kay?” The grip she has on the back of his t-shirt tightens slightly as she presses her face into his shoulder. One of his hands rubs her back to calm her down while the other smooths down any stray hairs sticking up from her head.

After a few minutes of crying, whimpering, and venting, she’s finally relaxed enough to let her dad lead her into the living room so they can sit and watch a few episodes of her favorite show together while snacking on onigiri.

“Hey,” he calls out to her, making her tear her wide-eyed gaze away from the television screen, “I know me, Mommy, ‘n Uncle ‘Samu always say that fightin’ ain’t the right way ta go about things, but I’m proud of ya for stickin’ up for yourself, girly.”

A small smile sprouts across her lips that’s made even cuter by the fact that her cheeks are puffing out from the amount of rice she has in her mouth. The sight makes him chuckle and ruffle her hair.

“But don’t go tellin’ Mommy I said that. Instead, use yer words, find one of the teachers, ‘n let ‘em deal with whoever’s givin’ ya trouble, alright?”

When she’s finished chewing her food, she replies, “M’kay.”

“Mind tellin’ me what started the fight in the first place?” he asks, one of his thick eyebrows raising in curiosity.

She twiddles her thumbs and slowly directs her gaze back to the television. “She made me drop my popsicle when she pushed me.”

“And it was your favorite flavor, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah...”

With a hearty laugh, he comments, “Man, you really are yer mom’s daughter, ya know that? She don’t mess around when food’s involved.”

The sounds of his daughter's giggles ripple through the air, sending waves of warmth over him as he continues telling her stories about all the times he’d dealt with you getting on his case about food or treat-related issues. He made sure to include an anecdote about a time when you’d nearly knocked him over after he’d jokingly swiped your candy bar during lunch in high school.

Needless to say, he never did it again out of the fear that Osamu wouldn't let him live it down if he got destroyed by a high school girl over food. However, the passion and unrelenting desire he’d seen in your eyes that day had made him absolutely sure that you were the one for him.

By the time you step into the house a few hours later, your daughter--being the mature, young girl she was--has moved her schoolwork from her bedroom to the living room table to do her assignments while her dad snoozes on the couch. Upon noticing that she’s in a better mood than she had been when you’d dropped her off at the gym with Atsumu, your heart lifts slightly.

“Hey, honey,” you greet her as you slide off your shoes and set your purse down on a table in the entryway, “What’re you up to?”

She holds up a piece of paper with colored markings on it that vaguely resemble Atsumu’s tall figure holding what you assume to be a volleyball, along with a few, familiar faces in the background. “I have to draw a picture of what you and Daddy do at work to show my teacher.”

You smile at her and plant a kiss atop her head before commenting, “Looks good so far. You drew Bokuto-san’s hair perfectly.” She chuckles and quickly returns to her masterpiece, since your compliment seems to spur her to keep creating. “I’m gonna talk to Daddy, real quick, okay? I wanna see how you draw Omi-san’s hair when we’re done.”

With that said and your daughter on a mission to produce her version of the prickly, outside hitter on Atsumu’s team, you rouse your husband from his nap so the two of you can head into your room to talk about the situation. Once out of earshot, he explains what your daughter had told him and the two of you work together to devise a plan and time to speak with her teacher about the true story. Amazingly enough, this entire exchange occurrs without your usual, good-natured--but sometimes cumbersome--squabbling.

“Hey, ‘Tsumu,” you call out to him, reaching for his hand and wrapping your fingers around it gingerly.

He had been on his way to the bedroom door so he could head to the kitchen and start making dinner while you showered, but he stops in his tracks and turns to face you once more. When your eyes meet, your heart skips a beat, like always.

Taking a deep breath, you tell him, “Even though we may argue from time to time about parenting, and you sometimes let her have just a tad too much sugar before conveniently deciding to take a nap so you don’t have to deal with her going berserk, there's nobody else in the world that I’d rather share a kid with than you. She loves you so much, and so do I.”

His unoccupied hand finds your waist to pull you closer to him, and he leans down towards you to plant a gentle kiss on your lips. As per usual, the tender moment you shared doesn’t last long, since he always has something smart to say. “What’s gotcha all sentimental, (f/n)? Does seein’ me doin’ fatherly things give ya the hots for me, or somethin’?”

“Oh, yeah, sleeping on the couch while our self-starter of a child does homework by herself is so fatherly.”

He frowns. “I had a long practice. Bein’ a professional athlete is hard work, baby.”

With a sardonic smile on your face, you mention, “Working a nine-to-five is pretty tiring too, baby.”

“Fair,” he groans and slides his arms around your back, “But, seriously, what’s got you feelin’ all in love with me, huh?”

You snicker at his tone and the mischievous look on his face as you brush his golden hair away from his eyes before letting your hands come to rest on his cheeks. “It’s just that when I picked (daughter’s name) up from school today, she was all sad and mopey. Yet, when I come home after dropping her off with you, she’s all smiles and rainbows again. It just reminds me of how good you are to her and it makes me happy that she has you as a father.”

A genuine smile rather than a sly one appears on his lips, and you press your own against them to give him a few, affectionate kisses.

“You know I’d do anything for my favorite, li’l girl, (f/n). She’s only as good of a kid as she is 'cause of you, anyway.”

Your lips form a giddy grin, as if he’s a high school crush who’s just delivered the sweetest of compliments to you, and you allow him to pull you closer so he can shower you with more kisses. “I love you, baby,” you murmur as you plant another peck on his cheek.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

There’s a short moment of silence as he pulls you into a tight hug that seems to wash away all the stress that you didn't even realize had been building up within you at the day you’ve had. His breath fans across the tender skin of your neck when he nestles his face there and allows his hands to roam up and down your back. However, after the two of you release each other, you notice a sneaky smile playing at his lips that oftentimes makes you wary.

“Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Wanna go see (daughter’s name)’s rendition of Omi-Omi?”

Chuckling and following him out of the bedroom, you agree, “Wouldn’t miss it.”

masterlist ⭐︎ treat me to a coffee!

taglists (see pinned post on my blog for form)

general: @krynnza, @yamagucji, @tendo-sxtori, @dinablossom, @newfriendjen, @devlovesramen, @ohbyunhunn, @aftcrlust, @mister-future, @kyleclxin, @kac-chowsballs, @osamusmiya, @nit-sir-hc, @arixtsukki, @shinsurou, @ichorizaki, @dominikmagnus

atsumu: @pretty-setters, @misora-msby, @why-aminot-dead, @lotsoffandomrecs, @tsumue, @heyhinata

#haikyuu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu!!#hq!!#x reader #reader insert #anime #manga #miya atsumu #fran writes hq!!

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crow-summoner · 3 years

Text

Darklina Week Day 2: Role Reversal

Sun Summoner!Darkling and Shadow Summoner!Alina

Alina, a cartographer for the Ravken Army, undertakes a dangerous mission to stay by her only friend’s side. They must cross the Forge, a hellscape of intense heat and unrelenting light that has torn their country in two. Nothing can survive the Forge for long. Nothing but the monsters that call it home. Alina thinks she and Mal will make it as long as they’re together, but when their mission falls to pieces, Alina discovers something shocking about herself. She can banish light. Her powers draw the attention of the Golden General, a military leader who scares and intrigues Alina in equal measure. One thing’s for sure. Alina can’t go back to life of a mouse, and the General’s her best option to fight for something more. Can Alina save her world, or will she die trying?

Or, an AU where light powers aren’t necessarily good, and shadow powers get to be heroic. Content warning for some volcra expy related gore and some canon-consistent sprinkles of Malina at the beginning. There’s plenty of Darkles after that, now with extra sparkles.

Story under the jump

The Forge

Alina sits at the inn window, adding the last buttery yellow lines to her painting. For being such a blight against their nation, the Forge made a lovely landscape. She dons her fabrikator sunglasses, and turning her back to the unrelenting sunlight, she lifts her tented mirror up to compare her painting to the real thing. Her superior officers would kill her if they knew what she was using their equipment for, but the Forge is too bright to look at directly. Her superiors may not appreciate art, but if she’s going to risk her life for more supplies, she wants to leave a memorial for herself.

“It looks too much like a vacation spot,” Mal says, dragging up a chair so he can sit next to her. He’s already wearing his glasses and darkened veil, which will supposedly keep the Forge from boiling their eyes out and trap moisture near their faces. Alina would be happier if more than army issued fashion stood between her and certain death.

“You make a pretty bride, you know that?” Alina says instead of responding to the criticism. There were enough horrors in the Forge. She wanted make something pleasant. She places her canvas between the shelf and the wall, hoping that someone working at the inn will find it.

Mal huffs. “You wouldn’t say that if you saw the bags under my eyes. Don’t know how people sleep around here.”

Alina supposes people can get used to anything, even perpetual daylight. She secures her mirror and knives to her belt and dons her veil and gloves. She shimmies down the narrow walkway as if showing off the latest fashion. “What do you think?”

Mal makes a show of considering it, rubbing his chin under the veil. “I think the sveta will be too smitten to eat you.”

Alina tilts her head in mock coyness. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me.” She leaves it unspoken that she wishes someone else was smitten with her.

“Come on,” Mal says, taking her by the arm. “I want to be on time for once.”

By the time they reach the skiff, Alina and Mal are five minutes late. Thankfully, Alexei, her fellow cartographer, covered for her.

“You owe me,” he says, shoving her maps into her hands.

“I’ll bake you a cake,” Alina promises.

“You already owe me twelve cakes!”

“Then I’ll name my first born after you.”

Alexei snorts. “Like any of us are going to live long enough to have kids. We’re all going to be beef jerky in a few hours.”

“Squeak. Squeak, Alexei.” It’s the code their cartographers have for when Alexei’s boundless optimism is bringing them down.

Normally, Alexei would grumble but acquiesce. Today, he just stares at the skiff. “Do you really think the sveta are real?”

Alina shrugs. “What else could eat our men out there?” Admittedly, invisible creatures made of light sounded farfetched, but she’s seen the battle scars. Other soldiers had claw mark scars across their chest and spots where something inhuman had taken a bite out of them. The light could blister, burn and tan flesh, but it couldn’t do that.

“I dunno. Maybe him,” Alexei said, eyeing the golden carriage in the distance. “The Geldling.”

Alina quickly hushes him. General Kirigan tolerates others calling him the Golden General, but he does not take kindly to the Geldling. Sure, the epitaph was based on an old Kerch word for gold, but gelding is also what one did to a prized horse to keep it docile. It was as good as saying their leader is a ballless pet, and everyone knows it.

Sure enough, one of the heartrenders lifts his veil and glares at them. He might have been handsome once, but his sour expression makes the lines on his face hard.

“Captain Herring may be rough, but he’s not a cannibal.” Alina hopes this is enough to cover over their mistake. The heartrender doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t fight them either. That suited Alina well enough.

“Watch what you say,” she whispers to Alexei. “We have to depend on these people to survive. Don’t make them mad.”

Alexei nods. “Sorry.”

Thankfully, the rest of their time at the dock goes smoothly. Soon, all the soldiers and Girsha gather inside the metal skiff, ready to take off. A tidemaker hoses them all down, making Alina feel like a drenched rat, but the water is important in such a hot place.

Alina makes sure to stand by Mal, gripping his arm for support as the skiff slides along the sand. There’s enough space to move around, but something about the lack of windows makes the room feel unbearably tight. It’s like one big coffin.

Squeak, squeak, Alina tells herself. No one’s going to die today.

The skiff rattles as they pass over marker zero. They’re officially in the Forge. The panels in the side of the skiff slide up. Rows of dark nets allow squallers to force air out without letting the light in. They’ll have to use the tinted mirrors along the sides of the skiff to direct it.

Alina fans herself, wishing the nets could ease the heat. She was drenched just minutes ago, but her uniform’s now bone dry. Sure, the tidemakers periodically release a mist from their fancy containers and push it around the cabin, but that’s like giving a starving man a single bite.

“I bet I can sweat more than you,” Mal jokes, and she’s sure it’s to help distract her. Even the dumbest man in their unit wouldn’t brag about that.

“No way. Sweat more than that heartrender over there, and you have a deal,” she whispers back. It was a hard challenge. The heartrender already smelled like he’d bathed in nothing but used socks for years.

Mal leans back in shock. “Yikes. Are you trying to kill me? I can’t beat that.”

Alexei sniffs beside them, rubbing under his veil. “My lids are scraping my eyeballs.”

Alina reaches over and slaps his hand the way she used to do with the younger kids at the orphanage. “Then stop picking at them.”

Alexei mumbles. He’s a good cartographer, but he also comes from money, and that didn’t always make for a good soldier. Alina wonders if she should have erased his name instead of Ruby’s. This mission called for two cartographers, and Ruby could withstand discomfort better than he could, but Alina wasn’t thinking rationally. Mal was going to go into the Forge by himself, and Alina needed to remove someone so she could forge her own name on the mission papers. Mal wouldn’t give Alexei a second glance, but Ruby had red hair and a slim figure. Alina couldn’t risk Mal having “glad we’re still alive” sex with her after the mission. It was petty, childish even, but Alina couldn’t help herself. If they all survive the skiff, she’ll woman up and tell Mal how she feels. Lord knows hanging in this middle ground wasn’t doing either of them any favors.

The skiff shakes, and Alexei grabs the walls. “Saints! It’s the sveta.”

The squaller at the helm shushes him. “Just a bump. Don’t call attention to us.”

Alexei’s shoulders slump, but he retakes his position behind the squaller without another word.

Alina can’t help but lean around her squaller to peak in her mirror. She’d heard about calcified roots surviving the Forge long after the crops perished. The real thing must be prettier than the paintings. Instead of a root, Alina finds the fragments of a skull and the front of a skiff.

She steps back, her stomach sinking into her boots. It’s one thing to know the odds, but it’s another to stare the evidence in the face. Better men than them have failed to cross.

The crew stand in silence as the skiff passes the first marker. Alina gives her squaller the proper directions and distances, and soon they pass the second marker. The third. The fourth. Alina allows herself to hope. Just eleven more and they’re home free.

She scratches her arm, and flakes of dry skin come off. No wonder the skiff regulars look like leather. She’d rather go AWOL than do this again. Then again, she didn’t have be here this time either. She has no one to blame but herself.

The skiff rumbles and tilts. It’s just another bump, she assures herself, but something raps against the ceiling. The heartrenders tense up, and the squallers shift their positions.

Oh, no.

She checks on Mal just to be sure, but he’s clutching his gun tight, his head tilted up. It’s the same stance he took when he found that rabbit in a barren forest or when he was about to catch her during hide and seek. He’s sighted something, only this time, that something is stronger than them.

The squaller at the helm brings the skiff to a stop and signals for the shooters and heartrenders to take position. All the non-combat staff – cartographers included – must gather at the center. Alina takes out her knife and her tented mirror, praying she won’t have to use them.

“Protect yourselves if you must,” the squaller whispers, “but don’t get in anyone’s way.”

Alina’s never felt more useless in her life.

The skiff continues to shake, harder this time. Something whines above them. Something answers it’s call from somewhere in front of them. Another whine sounds from behind the skiff. From all sides. How many of them are out there? At least a dozen given the sheer number of cries. No one dares make a sound. The sveta are fierce, but they’re just as blind as a human in the Forge. Maybe if they don’t hear anything, they’ll get bored and hunt elsewhere.

The ceiling dents in with a clank, knocking the skiff to the right. One of the soldiers jumps at the sound, aiming where it came from. The squaller at the helm blows him away, but not in time. The shot blows a hole in the ceiling, letting the light in. The beam hits a tidemaker’s shoulders, carving a smoking black line through her kefta. She screams, tearing off the cloth to expose a blistering gash. A healer pulls her to the side as one her friends tries to stifle her screams with a damp cloth, but it’s too late. The sveta cries draw closer.

Something claws a large hole through the ceiling, the soldiers scrambling to avoid the new beams. Some squallers attempt to blow up a tarp to cover the open areas, but it stops in thin air. No. Not thin air. The tarp drapes over something Alina can’t see with her naked eye. Under the plastic, she can make out its large, pointed wings and snout.

“Blast it,” the squaller at the helm shouts, and the soldiers open fire on the creature. It whines, batting away the tarp, and then it’s gone.

For a moment, no one makes a move. The cabin is utterly silent. Then something flashes across Alina’s mirror, and the next thing she knows, the soldier beside her explodes in a splash of red. On the other side of the skiff, a healer’s hand disappears. He draws back, clutching his now bloody stump as one of the creatures screeches in triumph.

Alina backs up, though there’s nowhere left to go. Oh, saints. She should have never come here. She begs every saint she can think of to forgive whatever sin brought her to this horrible moment. Shooting her fellow man in combat. Wishing harm to the girls Mal so much as looked at. Disregarding Ana Kuya’s rules at every turn. Whatever it was, she repented. Just please don’t let her die at some monster’s hand.

The durasts burst dust in the air. It makes their own people cough, but it helps make the sveta more visible.

BAM!

Another chunk of ceiling caves in, forcing the crew to huddle along the perimeter to escape the light. Not all of them were quick enough. Several soldiers blister and peel, crying as the sveta tear off chunks of flesh from their bodies.

Alina can only stare. It’s too late for prayers. Too late to run. She should have talked Mal into fleeing while she had the chance, and now ... Alina holds out her mirror, a new hope setting in. They might not make it out, but she can at least die by Mal’s side. He has to know how she feels.

Alina slowly shifts through the chaos, dodging shots and beams of light. She finds him by the helm, taking deep breaths as he aims and shoots. Something heavy hits the floor, gurgling. Of course. Leave it to Mal to find the creatures without a mirror.

She shines her mirror in the direction the creature fell, hoping to avoid tripping its body, but to her surprise, she can just make out the sheen of its skin. The colors change as she tilts the mirror, first blue, then pink and maybe green. All the colors of the rainbow. It reminds her of looking through a prism. Not invisible then. The sveta are just reflective.

Alina giggles. Ana Kuya would be so proud of her, committing to her education even as she’s about to die. She keeps giggling over and over, knowing that if she stops, she’ll have to cry. There are just so many bodies around her. They used to be people, and now they’re meat.

Someone grabs her wrist, and a shot of energy courses through her, quieting the hysteria. Mal drags her beside him.

“I’m sorry,” she says, but he’s busy readying his next shot. “I lo – ” She doesn’t get any further. Another soldier’s bullet ricochets off the wall and hits Mal in the shoulder. He doubles over, his gun clattering to the floor.

Alina drops her mirror, pressing a palm against the wound. The blood seeps from between her fingers no matter how hard she tries to stop the flow.

Mal slides to the floor, Alina crouching beside him. The light streams against them, burning her chest and his back. The pain means nothing compared to the loss.

“No. Not like this,” she says, covering Mal’s body with her own.

The pain in her back only lasts a second. It occurs to her that this is not a good thing. It means her nerves have been eaten away, but she’s glad to do it if it means Mal can live.

Something rumbles in the pit of her stomach. She feels like she’s going to burst, and she doesn’t have the strength to fight it.

All around her, the creatures cry and flap their wings erratically. She doesn’t have time think about it as the world goes dark, sinking her into a deep oblivion.

*****************************

Alina wakes, draped over someone’s shoulder, face buried in the red cloth of his kefta. She only lifts her head for one moment, but the light’s unbearable.

The light?

“Mal,” Alina shouts. She wiggles to free herself from the Grisha’s grip. The sveta will come back at any moment. She has to find Mal. Protect him. Where is he?

But they’re not on the skiff anymore. They’re back at the dock, the skiff a shredded husk. People rush every which way, some tending to the wounded and some salvaging the cargo from the hold. Mal could be anywhere among them. Then Alina catches sight of the ground. Oh, saints! So many people lay unmoving on the dock, and Grisha and First Army soldiers keep dragging out more. All these people she trained with. Ate with. Sung bawdy songs with when they’d all had too much kvas. Dead. They can’t all be gone. Right? Right?

Alina kicks at the Grisha. She needs to see for herself who made it out. Mal better be among them. Of course, he would be. He was the best tracker Ravka’s ever seen. He’d always find his way back home. Home to her.

The Grisha swears at her, trying to stop her feet with one arm. “Be still.” She recognizes him. The heartrender that had sneered at Alexei’s comment earlier. Alina drives a fist in the heartrender’s back. If Grisha like him had done more they wouldn’t be in the situation. He did it on purpose, didn’t he? He let their soldiers die because someone spoke against his leader. His pride meant more than the supplies they’d get from West Ravka. More than human life.

“Fine.” With a huff, the Grisha drops her flat on her butt, sand puffing in her face. She’s coughing too much to fight him off when the heartrender takes her by her bicep and drags her towards the camp. Another heartrender takes her other arm, his grip gentler than his coworker’s.

“Was that necessary, Ivan?” The second heartrender asked.

Ivan only grunts “Fedyor” as a warning in response. Fedyor shakes his head with what Alina would call fondness if she thought anyone could be fond of something as sour as Ivan.

“Where’s Mal?” Alina asks Fedyor, but he only lifts a brow. Of course, he wouldn’t recognize the name of a common solider. There were so many of them, and Grisha only concerned themselves with their own. “The boy I was with on the skiff.”

“Ah. Him,” Fedyor says. “The First Army tends to their own wounded. He’s in their care.”

Alina knows what that means. He’s laying outside the infirmary tent, waiting for his turn to have an undertrained medic pour alcohol in his wounds then pack them with mustard plaster. If he’s lucky, they’ll still have enough bandages for him to get his own. Having to use the scraps from old uniforms inevitably led to infection, and without supplies from the west, the camp outpost could not provide the steady diet of alcohol needed to survive that misery. Mal is popular, though. She’s sure someone will be willing to sacrifice their stash for his comfort.

Then it occurs to her that she’s not doing the same thing. She’d been horribly burned by the light, and yet her back doesn’t ache. Someone must have removed her jacket while Alina was unconscious, but her undershirt is scorched where the light hit it. Her chest is unusually red, but it’s not blistering or charred. The worst she can say is that she feels like she’s been awake for days.

“Why would someone heal me?” She’s heard it a thousand times before. Healers were too rare to waste on common soldiers. They were for Grisha and those wealthy enough to be a priority. She is neither, and yet when she looks up at Fedyor, he’s gazing down at her with some feeling she dares not define. It was the same look the Grisha gave the golden carriage when it barreled into the encampment. The same look the peasants near Keramzin gave the bones of Saint Felix on his day of worship. If she didn’t know better, she’d call it reverence.

They stare at each other for what feels like an eternity when he finally says, “We survived.” Alina doesn’t know what she has to do with that. It was luck. Pure and simple. But then Fedyor closes his eyes and whispers, “Thank you.”

A chill runs through Alina despite the heat. She looks at the tents, the people running around them, anywhere and everywhere but at Fedyor and that look, full of expectations she can never fill. They’ve long since passed the First Army section, but they’re now leaving the main Grisha area, heading up the northmost path. There’s nothing there except for the single yellow tent towering over the rest of the encampment.

Alina pulls back, but it does nothing to stop the heartrenders. “What does the General want with me?”

“Just answer his questions, so we call all get on with our day,” Ivan says.

“I don’t know anything! Let go of me!” She turns to look back at the First Army camp, too far away for anyone to see her let alone help. Not that they could do anything if they wanted to. No one says no to the General.

Fedyor grips the back of her neck, and her whole body turns to puddy. The heartrenders lean into her, holding her upright because her knees can no longer bear her weight. She’s too relaxed to move at all.

Ivan sniffs. “You weren’t supposed to do that for anyone but me.”

Fedyor grins. “Sorry, luv. Desperate times and all that.”

They march her straight into the lion’s den.

She doesn’t know what she expected to see. A jeweled throne and a menagerie of exotic animals like the ones she’d seen in the illustrated book of fairy tales back at the orphanage? Enemy soldiers kept in cages and chained otkazat’sya serving the Grisha like the Fjerdan pamphlet a traveler tried to give them before Ana Kuya kicked them off the duke’s property? But this place resembled the main tent for the First Army. Soldiers clustered together around a round table. A large map hung from a board, thread and pegs marking paths, places and interesting parties. And yet the General’s tent was larger than theirs, made of bulletproof core cloth while they had to make do with spun cotten. They must not need to ration oil either given the number of lamps lit, and the gathered Grisha shone like banners in their blue, red and purple keftas. No olive drab for them.

Most of the room turned to face them when the heartrenders dragged Alina in. Some now look at her with open curiosity and others with incredulous expressions. Soft mummers pass through the crowd until someone raises their hand, and the whole lot fall silent. Saints, Alina never heard a tent so quiet before. Even during lights out, at least one person snored.

Without needing to be told, the Grisha step back, parting down the center to make a path. A lone man strides forward, his telltale yellow kefta billowing around him. Notes of silver, white and gold weave through it, enough thread to stitch three tents of this size together, but he’s not wearing the jewelry she’d expect from his high rank, and his clothes are core cloth like any other Grisha. She’s never seen a high officer without any silk on, no matter how impractical it might be. After all, most never saw battle. Not like this one had.

The Golden General is younger than she’d expected given what others said about him. She’d seen a shriveled man with boney hands covered in warts in her mind’s eye, but this man barely had a decade on her, and his warm blonde hair and fair, flawless complexion were pleasing on the eyes. Too pleasing. Even the most beautiful boy back home had some freckle or ruddiness to his skin, but the General’s looks almost painted on. It’s eerie, and yet she can’t look away. He’s like the very embodiment of the light, except there’s a coldness in his gaze and calm comportment.

He may be light, but he’s not warmth.

That right, she tells herself. Ana Kuya warned her about such things before. One of the orphans she’d grown up with saw a gold coin glittering in some bushes under a hill. He’d climbed down for it, only to be rolled by some travelers. They took the buttons from his coat and the boots from his feet. He came home with nothing but his pants and a gash on his forehead. Ana Kuya warned them all then: not all that’s gold glitters. Sometimes, it burns instead. Gold tempts the desperate, but Alina is not blind. The General only looked like a man. He can boil someone’s insides. Make their flesh rot from their bone as if they were already dead. Burn them with a glance. And here he is, looking straight at her.

The General stops a few feet away and clasps his hands behind his back. He looks her over, and she doesn’t know whether to be scared or grateful that she can’t read what conclusions he’s drawn. He nods at the heartrenders, and Fedyor rubs the back of Alina’s neck. Her limbs come back to life, panic rising from her core. She wants to run, but there’s no point.

The General stares at her, impassive, and then finally: “Is it true?”

For a moment, Alina believes the absurd. He’s read her thoughts and knows what she said about him being a monster. Then it occurs to her that he’s talking about the skiff. She closes her eyes. What does he want her to say? She was unconscious for most of what went down, and she can barely remember what she was present for. Flashes of her coworker’s blood and blistering arms intrude behind her closed lids, forcing them open again. Maybe it’s best she can’t remember.

She must have taken too long to answer because the General speaks again. “Is it true that you can banish the light?”

All Alina can do is blink. This has to be a joke, but the General’s expression is serious, and everyone around them is leaning in with anticipation. She knows better than to laugh in their faces and question their intelligence, so she makes do by stuttering, “No one can do that.” It takes a moment, but she remembers to add a quick “sir.” She’s not used to being around anyone important.

She braces herself for him to yell at her the way the generals in their army do, but he merely nods. “Then what did happen?”

Alina struggles for an answer. She tries to tell him that she doesn’t know how the sveta got in, or how their ship made it, but no matter what she says, she keeps returning to those burning soldiers. The General frowns, and she knows she needs to come up with something – anything – to appease him.

The General raises a hand to silence her, and when he speaks, his tone is smooth and calm. “It must have been scary out there. It’s one thing to read about the attacks, but it’s another to live it.”

Alina hadn’t expecting any sympathy, so she just nods.

“You must be exhausted.” When Alina nods again, the General continues. “It’s hard to make sense of anything when you hurt so much. I could help with that if you’ll let me.” He gestures beside him, inviting her closer.

He may have asked for permission, but Alina isn’t sure she really has a choice. Still, he’s been nothing but polite so far. She has nothing to lose by playing along.

Alina slowly closes the gap between them, and the closer she gets, the closer she wants to get. It’s like he’s a magnet, and she’s loose filigree coming together for the first time. She feels the warmth now, not in his continence, but all around him. It doesn’t burn. It doesn’t tingle. It numbs the heaviness of her limbs and banishes the panic that’s haunted her since the skiff penetrated the Forge. Before she knows it, Alina’s pressed up against the General. She’s vaguely aware that it’s not appropriate to stand so close to a superior, and it’s definitely not safe to be within biting distance of a monster, but it feels right. She doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

The General doesn’t seem to mind either, staring deep into her eyes like he’s trapped, too. Her reflection stares back at her in his eyes. They’re just so bright and shiny. She has a hard time placing the color. It reminds her of one of the duke’s vases. The blown glass was iridescent and shimmered with every color around it. She and Mal had argued for years over what color it really was. He said purple. She said green. They finally settled things with a good arm wrestle. Green won, of course. Alina decides that the General’s eyes are green, too.

“May I?” He asks, and though she can’t see where he’s pointing, she answers his unspoken request, sliding her hand in his. His palms are rough from life on the road, but they’re warm, and his grip os gentler than Fedyor’s had been. She could hold his hand and stare into his eyes forever.

“What happened?” The General asks in a voice softer than silks.

The words spill out of Alina on their own. She tells him about forging her name on the staff list. The attack. Shielding Mal. The sveta descending on them, and then – “All I could look at was him, but I could feel the light getting sucked away. Everything went black, and then I woke up on the docks.”

The General says nothing, but his eyes briefly narrow. It’s not a threat as far as Alina can tell. Whatever she said seemed to confirm something for him. The General pushes up her sleeve with his free hand, never breaking her gaze. She doesn’t fight it. She’s curious, too. Something happened back on that skiff. It’s there lurking there in the back of her brain, begging to be revealed. She knows once it’s free, it can never be caged again. The thought simultaneously thrills her and makes her shiver.

The General trails one finger up her arm. Something inside her responds to act, rejoices in it. His finger stops and curls around her forearm. She notes that the nail on his thumb is longer than the others. Sharp. He drives that nail into her flesh, and it’s like a thousand arms stream out of her at once.

Darkness surrounds them, putting out the lights. No, the lamps are still on. She can feel their flames licking at the shadows just as easily as she can feel the General’s grip on her arm. All around them, the Grisha shout. She can’t see them so much as she feels where they are in the dark. It the strangest sensation, and yet it feels like home. Everything is darkness.

Everything but him.

The General glows, smiling down at her. A true lamp would illuminate the world around them, but there he stands, the sole bright spot in the blackness. Standing together, it feels like they’re the only two people in the world. Then the General lets go of her arm and the darkness withers, fading into the ground or retreating under Alina’s skin to fight another day.

Alina clutches her chest, suddenly empty inside. Her head swivels every which way, desperate to find that surety again, but it’s gone. The aches have returned, magnified tenfold. She can barely keep herself upright, and soon, she’s on her knees, her head swimming.

“A shadow summoner,” some squaller says, and it’s as if a dam broke in Alina’s mind. She stares at her rough, ruddy hands. They’re not the hands of a hero, and yet it’s true. It’s all true. She can banish the light. She saved the skiff from the Forge.

She’s … Grisha.

Alina frowns, remembering what Mal said when that Grisha girl made eyes at him from the General’s carriage. He doesn’t tumble witches. Alina was glad to hear it then. It meant less competition for her, and she and Mal had exchanged plenty of digs at the Grisha over the years. Surely, he wouldn’t think she’s like the rest of them just because she has powers. She didn’t grow up coddled and self-important like the rest of them. That had to count for something. He knew her. The real her. He wouldn’t be scared of her because of her shadows.

No matter how hard Alina tries, she can’t bring herself to believe it.

The General holds out his hand. Alina stares up at him, sure she should bat it away. She’s not one of his Grisha. She’s a mapmaker and an orphan and Mal’s best friend. But that may not be true anymore, and she’d be a fool to burn any bridges.

She takes his hand, letting the General lift her to her feet. He pulls her close again, so close she can feel his breath against her face. She should let go, but she clings to his hand like it’s the last safe ledge in a rockslide. He gives her a knowing smirk, and she wants to wipe it off his stupid face. She’s had a rough day. She would have clung to literally anybody, but then the General leans in, and she feels that warmth again. His lips brush her ear as he whispers, “You and I are going to change the world.”

Notes:

Whoo! This is my first Grishaverse fanfic. It may be a little late, but it’s here. One shot for now, but I might be interested in continuing this in the future. Hope you enjoyed!

#shadow and bone #grisha trilogy #darklinadaily #darklinaweek2021 #the darkling #alina starkov #darklina

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