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arvinsescape · 3 years

Note

Maybe tom being a huge jerk to reader, maybe fwb, so when they are fighting, he is saying some shit like: you need to get over this teenage crush of yours, like he's treating like an obsessive fan, and you talk back like: you know what? I feel so bad for your fans out there who have no idea how big of an asshole you are OMG YOU COULD CALL HIM A MOVIE STAR but like mocking you know?

A/N: This was the angst turned to fluff I didn't know I wanted!! Thank you so much for the request!! I hope you enjoy 💕💕

Warnings: Mentions of sex, Language.

It had become almost routine, he'd come back from filming, call you, fuck you and then be gone by the morning and you were tired, you truly were. It felt like an endless cycle, one you were growing tired of.

You'd been friends with benefits for a while, almost a year. You'd met him at a bar, you knew who he was, who didn't but that hadn't been what had attracted you to him. In fact, he pursued more than you did, but it never turned into anything more than a friends with benefits relationship.

"Tom?" You said, bodies both sweating as he rolled off you, discarding of the condom. He hummed for you to continue. "Do you ever get, I don't know, tired of doing this?" You asked as you twiddled your thumbs, staring at the ceiling.

"What? Having sex?" He asked.

"No, not the sex. Just, all it being is sex?" You asked timidly as he stood and pulled his boxers and jeans back on. He studied you for a second.

"I don't know what you want." He said, almost snapped. You grabbed your dressing gown that was at the side of the bed, standing as you watched Tom search for his t shirt. Pulling your dressing gown on you looked at him.

Of course over the year you'd developed feelings for him, fallen in love with him but now your heart needed to know if he felt anything for you, at all.

"Like, I don't know Tom. A relationship." You squeaked out the last part and he looked at you like you'd grown two heads.

"You knew what this was when we started." He said harshly, far more harshly than you'd expected. You were taken aback.

"No, I know but we've been doing this for ages now Tom. I was just asking." You tried to shrug off as you watched him pull his shirt over his head.

"Ah, I see what this is. You've got a bit of a crush?" He asked and you laughed lightly, trying to push down the hurt.

"Don't flatter yourself." You laughed as best you could and you watched as he approached you, placing a kiss to your cheek.

"Sorry love, I've gotta go." He said and before you knew it you heard your front door open and close.

It hurt, he wasn't like this usually, usually he'd stay, cuddle but in the month he's been home from filming it's like he's lost himself. He isn't as attentive, every fuck is rough and although you love it, you miss when he'd be gentle with you.

There was one occasion a couple of months back when you thought he might have felt the same, you were both a bit tipsy and he took it slow, it was passionate. It felt like something was there, unspoken emotions.

It was two days later when he turned up again. You were straddling him, kissing him as you took his top off and then you saw it and it brought everything into reality for you, into perspective. There was a love bite, on his chest that you didn't leave.

You moved off him as you ran your hands through your hair and huffed. You knew you weren't exclusive, you weren't that dim but it didn't make it hurt any less. You'd not slept with anyone in the last year and the stupid part of you thought he hadn't either. Idiot.

"Hey," he said as he kissed at your shoulder and you instantly shrugged him off. "What's wrong?" He asked and yo sighed.

"Nothing Tom, I just don't feel like it." You said and he kissed your shoulder again.

"Okay." He didn't fight you on why, you never needed to give a reason to him, no meant no. "Are you okay?" He asked as he watched you angrily wipe a tear away.

"I'm fine." You snapped and he thought for a second, you turned to look at him, he'd been quiet. You watched as he put two and two together.

"You're upset about the other day." He stated and you huffed.

"Can we just drop it?" You sighed, hanging your head.

"Y/N, you know we're not exclusive right?" He said and you felt tears again. "We can see other people?" He said and you sniffled, wiping at your tears before looking at him.

"Yeah, I know."

"You need to get over this crush you have on me." He stated and you didn't appreciate his tone, it felt condescending.

"You know what Tom, that's not exactly easy to do when I'm underneath you ninety-nine per cent of the time I see you." You snapped and Tom raised his brows.

"Y/N," he huffed. "I'm not yours okay, I told you what this was. If you caught feelings that's your problem." He snapped and you gasped.

"What has gotten into you?" You said in disbelief.

"Nothing. I'm not taking the blame because your feelings are hurt that I've seen other people." He said.

"You've never been this cruel." You said, sadness lacing your tone.

"You know what I think it is? I think you're one of those fans that obsesses over me. Next thing you're going to tell me is that you read fanfiction written about me." He mocked and your anger rose.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" You shouted. "Get over yourself Tom, I knew who you were when we met, yes. But do not mistake me as some crazed fan." You snapped.

"Well stop acting like one." He shouted back at you.

"You know what? I feel bad for your fans out there that have no idea how much of a dick you are. How much of a, fucking." You stopped for a second as you thought. "How much of a fucking movie star you are." You watched as anger flashed in his eyes, you'd upset him. Good.

"You don't know what you're talking about, yes, we fuck but don't think for a second I can't find someone else to fill your spot." He shouted and you tried to hold onto your anger but you couldn't, nothing but sadness had set in.

"What happened to you Tom?" You asked, sadness lacing every word.

"Nothing, what are you harping on about?" He snapped and you couldn't help the tears, couldn't help the next words that fell from your lips.

"You've changed, you're not the Tom that left a month ago. You're not the Tom I fell in love with." You said into the quiet air and you could've heard a pin drop.

"You're, you, what?" He stumbled out as he approached you.

"Get out." You said, it was weak but you meant it, your heart was shattered, your emotions tired.

"Y/N/N." He said softly as he tried to take your hand in his but you snatched it away.

"Just get out, find someone to take my place because honestly? I don't want it." You whispered out as your tears fell faster, a sob racking through you. You needed to end this.

"Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that, I was angry. I didn't know." He said and you wiped your nose, looking up at him, you saw something flash behind his eyes, something you couldn't read.

"Just please go home Tom." You said. "I just want to be on my own."

"I don't, it doesn't feel right to leave you." He said.

"Why?" You said, utterly defeated as you made your way into the bathroom, turning to look at him before you spoke. "You've been pretty good at it." You said before you shut the door.

Tom waited around for a good twenty minutes before you heard him sigh and leave. You'd not seen him for a month, no contact, he'd tried to call, multiple times actually and you'd declined every single one. Your heart still hurt but it held onto a hope that maybe he'd come back, but back as the Tom you fell for.

It wasn't so bad being in love with him then, he broke your heart but mended it all in one and if he did see other women in that time he never let it slip, never let you know.

After two more weeks of hearing nothing from him, you gave up. You heard frantic knocking at your door, it made you jump as you hastily went to answer it. What you were not expecting to see was a dishevelled Tom on your doorstep. It was almost mid night.

"I'm sorry." Was the first thing he said as he engulfed you in a hug, knocking you backwards into your flat. You'd missed him, missed having his arms around you.

"Tom?" You asked as he kicked the door shut. "What are you doing here? It's so late." You said, you were just about to go to bed yourself.

"I fucked up, I'm so sorry." He said, pulling back to take your face into his hands. "You were right, I was being a dick, I don't know what was going on with me. I've missed you, god, fuck I've missed you and I didn't mean what I said, I didn't mean any of it."

"Tom, it's okay." You smiled. "I shouldn't have let it carry on. I knew what you wanted from it. I know you don't feel the same and it's okay." You said as you placed your hands over his and you watched as he shook his head.

"I thought, I don't know. I took you for granted, that last month, after I got back, I took you for granted." He rambled and you furrowed your brows. "I never slept with anyone else, fuck I got drunk that once and let someone give me a mark but I never slept with her, everything she did felt off and I couldn't understand it." He was spiralling, rambling.

"Tom, slow down. What are you trying to say?" You said softly, trying to ground him as you squeezed his hands and brought them down to your sides.

"I'm trying to say, fuck, I'm trying to tell you that I love you too, I think I have for a long time, I just didn't want to admit it. But being away from you? I never want that again." He said and your heart burst in your chest.

"You keep me grounded, you always have. You're not afraid to call me out. You treat me like a normal human being, not a celebrity and fuck, I treated you so badly." He concluded and you smiled.

"You did." You said as you moved some hair out of his face.

"I'm sorry." He said in defeat. "I love you, I hope you haven't changed the way you feel about me?" He said, hope clear in his beautiful face.

"My feelings for you haven't changed but you have a lot of making up to do." You said and he smiled.

"I know. Anything, baby, whatever you want." He said and you kissed him, he pulled you against him, squeezing your waist as he kissed you like you'd disappear. You pulled back after a moment and looked at him.

"You could start by coming to bed," you said and you watched as he smiled. "I want a cuddle." You said, you didn't want to have sex with him, you wanted him to hold you and you had a feeling he felt the same.

"Yes miss." He said with a smile before picking you up, holding you close to him as he made his way into your bedroom and for the first time since he'd been in there, it wasn't to have sex. It was to hold you and he did, you had your Tom back and he wanted to stay.

#tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x reader #tom holland blurb

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shurisneakers · 3 years

Text

shut in [12]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: anxiety, ptsd, abuse, death

Word count: 2.7k

A/N: two more chapters to go after this + an epilogue i haven’t written yet fdkjghdfkhg. things pick up next chapter don’t worry. i’d love to know your favourite parts so far if you have any!!

i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

Your first home, from what you could remember, was the overcrowded hall you shared with kids in and around your age.

There was too much noise. Always too much noise.

Even when the children were in their classes, there was always someone whose cries you could hear in the distance when they realised they had nowhere else to go, peals of laughter during lunch breaks, excited whispers when someone came to visit, nervous excuses when belongings went missing.

The orphanage you were brought up in was no place for a child. It was underfunded and an utterly miserable sight. But you made your first friends there. A fiery redhead and a boy who resembled a puppy with his shiny blonde hair and blue eyes. Their names escaped you now.

Within structured schedules and learning to stow away candy left behind by volunteers so that they weren’t taken away by others, you found relief. You didn’t have a family. Caregivers came and went more than the seasons changed. But maybe what the girl and boy gave you came close. As close as six year olds could get, anyway.

They were picked before you. The red head left first, and a few months later was the last you saw of the boy. You often wondered where they were, how they were doing. You never truly got answers, but it wasn’t like you went searching.

You waited another year. They didn’t return. By then a man with a leather jacket who suspiciously wore sunglasses indoors had filled out the paperwork for you and two other kids. You had never interacted with them before until then. A few years down the line you were the only one of the three that remained anyway.

Your second house was in a dark hall. You weren’t allowed to roam around on your own; no one cared if you were 8 or 18. If you needed to be out of the way, you’d be out.

The man who pulled you out of the orphanage you never saw again. A secret adoption, you found out years later, so that no one would know of your existence. All the paperwork he filled out would have mysteriously been destroyed. To the world, you never existed and outside the organisation you were simply another kid who slipped through the cracks.

He disappeared after you were introduced to another who looked to be in his late twenties. He nicknamed you Buttercup, introducing you as the newest member of his cartel. He told you you were delicate, that he’d give you purpose you didn’t think you could have.

The room was inconceivably small. It barely squeezed in a bed and a small closet with a few changes of clothes. It was dark and congested but it enamoured you. Something to yourself. You didn’t have to fight over it with others who had just as little as you.

The man let you hang around with him. He’d show you the artillery, the large fighting rings with men in them beating each other half to death, the rooms he’d hold meetings with where the lighting was a little darker than the rest. He said it made him look menacing and they needed that where he was working. You giggled.

You found a home with the man who was razor sharp and acidic but insisted it was out of love. You wanted to impress him so badly; begged him to let you in the ring, to wield a gun. He’d only shake his head no, saying that he was waiting for the right time.

For two years you were invited to see what would happen if someone disappointed him. Your first encounter with death was a man who had dared to run away. A bullet in his head later you realised that was the best way to kill someone. His favourite way. And you just wanted to be his favourite.

He didn’t take it easier just because you were ten. He only stopped them from fully killing you.

“All these broken bones will heal,” he had said, “but you will always remember the pain. The minute you forget, it will happen again.”

So you didn’t forget. You observed and tried, and kicked yourself twice for every one mistake you made. Every time you’d look towards him for approval, he’d shake his head and point out everything wrong. You hated it. You hated it so fucking much.

The rage you kept building had only one outlet, the one he provided. So it became instinct. It was all you knew.

You found a home with a man you wanted to impress so bad, you never stopped to ask for what. To him, it was repayment for giving you purpose.

When you were fourteen you realised that no, the feeling in your stomach wasn’t from the previous week’s sparring session. It was butterflies. And for the grumpy new kid nonetheless.

He was your age, but missing an arm and couldn’t remember how or why. You didn’t ask him many questions. He was silent, and a little grouchy, which you didn’t like. But you did like when he offered his hand to you after a fight and you did like the nice smile he occasionally had.

You found a new home with his silent company and non-judgemental looks. He always seemed a little sad, like he was searching for something else. He was an excellent marksman and wasn't bad at hand to hand either.

He’d hang around your new room, one that was bigger than your initial place. You’d talk about new techniques you picked up. He talked about how he wished he remembered where he came from.

He was a friend. You needed one.

You remembered the night you were roughly shaken awake to the same boy saying he was going to be taken in the morning to the other centre. A permanent shift for reasons he didn’t know.

You didn’t get a chance to ask how or why, but in the flurry of him explaining that he had to go before someone noticed he left his room, he pressed a kiss to your lips in a rushed goodbye and ran back to the darkness. You were dazed for the rest of the night. You didn’t see him in the morning.

When you asked Ransone why he was gone, he mutely said that he was a distraction. You couldn’t afford one. He didn’t explain any further, no matter how much you begged.

Similar friends found themselves entering and exiting your life just as this boy did. You stopped keeping track. It hurt too much to wake up one morning to learn they weren’t there. You wondered why the influx of kids never stopped if you weren’t supposed to be friends with them.

You realised years later that they were sent there to be ripped away from you as soon as possible. To toughen you up.

He wouldn’t get rid of something immediately, not if it could be used to hurt you.

Your first mission was when you were fifteen. It was a small time thing; go threaten a man in his house so that he thought twice before crossing Ransone again. You did exactly as you were told, except while you were leaving you heard the cocking of a gun. You spun around and shot him in the shoulder, temporarily disabling him as you left. He cowered on the ground.

You couldn't find anyone as you stumbled back to the centre. There wasn’t a friend who you could vent to. All you had was Ransone. He congratulated you on your first shot, ignoring the trembling of your body and the redness that rimmed your eyes.

You realised that his approval didn’t mean so much to you anymore. If your only purpose was to harm, it wasn’t what you wanted. Not like you had a choice.

Then there was Scott, only brought in for minor things like breaking and entering. He was a funny one and you found yourself spending more and more time with him whenever he did show up. You pulled away when you realised that he was going to end up gone like the rest of the people when Ransone realised that you were paying more attention to him than you should.

He was a sneaky one though; climbed in during nights only to disappear by dawn before anyone saw. He was infectiously light, different from the darkness you were used to seeing. You sought out his brightness, his warmth and he happily gave it to you in unlit corridors and midnight trips that had your adrenaline spiking.

Scott lasted longer than anyone else. They didn’t consider him important enough to pay attention to and he never gave them any chance of doing it. He was, what you wanted to believe, your first love. Or what it felt like anyway, love was scarce and so you clung onto whatever he offered.

There was a home in Scott that you wanted to keep alive. You found solace in his flustered repetitions and occasional cheesy magic trick. He made you laugh, and it lit up his face when you leaned over and kissed him gently.

When you got the news that he was killed in a heist gone wrong, you didn’t feel anything for days. The man who broke the news to you looked at you with undertones of pity.

Everyone knew it wasn’t an accident.

You didn’t bring it up with Ransone and simply ignored it when he called it a good riddance even though he would be missed. If you listened to everything he said, you were afraid that you would just kill him.

It was excruciating. You didn’t have anyone to talk to. Only Ransone, as he kept reminding you.

“I’m the only one who cares about you, Buttercup,” he cooed and you clenched your eyes shut. “We’re family.”

No more relationships happened after that. Occasional coworkers-with-benefits but nothing that crossed that. You hadn’t had a friend in years, and Ransone was more than pleased to keep it that way. He was the only constant you’d had your entire life, willingly or not.

People were placed in your way to only inform Ransone of what new updates were in your life. Once they sent whatever information he needed his way, they’d automatically be removed. Everyone had a hidden agenda. Everyone had a specific reason to want to talk to you.

You just let them. What was the point of trying to hide it? You weren’t going to escape any time soon.

“Your only home,” Ransone reminded you, “is here with me.”

You rebelled, many times. Some looked like they would last. In the end you’d return to his dingy office for your next mission because as much as you despised him for the things he had done to you, the guilt over the things he had done for you overshone. Having him as your enemy would be worse than having his convoluted sense of love shoved down your throat until you were forced to accept him.

And that’s what it had been like until now.

You try and take in as much as you can of the house you’re standing in right now. What you used to find restrictive and a crude form of punishment, you found calming. The mundane nature of everyday life was charming.

It wasn’t a vacation, you reminded yourself. But the same feeling of emptiness returned every time you thought of your next move.

You didn’t want to leave. You didn’t want to go back to what you once thought was a home.

You’d eat a thousand dry peanut butter sandwiches over and over again for the rest of your life before even considering going back. You didn’t care for the lack of twenty-first century technology.

You were feeling things you had shoved away years ago because it wasn’t a life meant for you. Now that you were forced to live it and see what it could be like not living in a fight-or-flight mode every second, you can’t see how you ever survived this long.

But still, you had told Ransone that you were returning, and it was a promise he would expect you to uphold.

You tried to remember as much as you can of your time here. The way the sunlight feels against your skin in the morning, the sugariness of the jelly that was basically finished, the worn out tactical clothing from the wardrobe, the leather of the couch clinging to your skin as you rewatch the same three movies time and time again.

You tried to remember the first time you were introduced to the target board, and the range you and Sam had crafted together. The path to the specific tree and back on your runs and the grass that had wilted along it from contant treading.

You sat on the porch stairs for hours, leaning against the pillar for support. The first house you lived in was too loud, the second was too quiet. But this; this was just right.

Sam joined you eventually in the silence. You were grateful for the company.

“Have you decided on a day?”

You nod, looking straight ahead into the darkness. “Tomorrow.”

“You sure? Our timing has to be right.”

“Yeah.” Your voice is coarse. “I’ll have to tell him.”

He nodded, leaning his elbows on his knees. He was too tall for the stairs, looking like he was crouching instead of sitting.

His voice dropped to a whisper like it’s a secret only meant for you. “In case Ransone sees me and decides to…”

He gestured lewdly, sighing when you peer at him in confusion, “...kill me, you need to continue-”

“Stop talking,” you interrupted him quietly. You don’t even want to think about that possibility.

“It can happen. I hope it doesn’t, because it’s a waste of a perfectly good face,” he continues but you just shake your head, trying to drown him out. “Then promise me you’ll do your best to get out. This life isn’t for us, Y/N.”

“I’m not going to let you die,” you muttered. “Not this time.”

“I’m not saying I will, honey,” he continues in a hushed tone, not disturbing the silence built around you, “But it’d make me happy knowin’ that at least one of us gets a shot to live another life. And I know you make good on your promises.”

You were so tired. Of everything. Knowing that you’d be dragged back into it only made the pain sharpen.

“Scout’s honour,” you vowed. He let out a smile at the memory of the last time he used it, lifting his arm to put over your shoulder as you scoot in closer to him.

You sit like that for who knows how long. The night fell hours ago but you don’t want to let go.

“It’s gettin’ pretty late,” he commented.

“I don’t want to go.”

“You’re gonna need some energy for tomorrow.” He’s right, but you don’t want to admit it.

“It’s your turn at the bed tonight,” you evade it.

“You can have it,” he debated softly. If it was your last day there, then he’d do anything to make it the best one.

You’re stuck by an idea but you weren’t sure how he’d react. It wouldn’t be a big deal on the surface but you hadn’t ever done it before.

“Would you maybe-” you trail off.

“We can share,” he finished your thought, pulling you a little closer. You needed comfort. He knew that.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

He only pressed a kiss to your temple, letting you sit out for as long as you needed.

Calm.

The woods provided excellent coverage while also giving him a clear sight of the house. The two of you sat on the porch together, speaking quietly to each other, out of earshot.

It didn’t matter what you were saying now. He had already heard what he needed to hear.

“Get ready,” the agent said hushedly into the intercom, “they’re leaving tomorrow.”

Next part

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

I'll (Never) Know What It's Like Not to Love You

Summary: Spencer finds his old journals in the attic, and he and Derek reminisce on the days they used to pine for one another. Luckily, those days are over, and they have forever ahead of them.

Tags: tooth-rotting domestic fluff, past mutual pining, past hurt!spencer, cuddling & snuggling, late canon

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 1.3k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Happy Bonus Fic Thursday!!! This was written on a whim after listening to "When I'm Older" by Ashe on repeat one morning. I think it's cute though and I do love to give these two a happy ending <3

Spencer has just turned thirty-nine when he finds the journal. It’s only November, but he’d ventured into the attic to dig out the Christmas decorations while Derek was out running errands — he can’t complain about it if he’s not here — and he’d stumbled across boxes full of stuff from Spencer’s old apartment that he took with him when he moved into the house Derek renovated for them.

He finds trinkets and books he’d almost forgotten about, old letters that he never sent, the small remnants he has left of his childhood, and he spends almost an hour sifting through the boxes as he sits on the floor of the loft, barely registering the frigid air around him.

Eventually, he stumbles on the box full of his old journals, and his heart stops at the sight of them. They’re a random assortment of hardback and paperback, colourful and plain, too many different fabrics to count, and they document every day of his life from his first day at university up until around 2009. After he got together with Derek, his life had grown too full and busy to chronicle each and every day, and he switched to only journaling through the really significant moments of his life.

He lifts them out of the box, fingering the spines tenderly as he holds them with the reverence he feels they deserve, until he comes across a fat, purple, leather journal. Jan-June 2004, it says on the spine in Spencer’s neatest print. His stomach tumbles as he remembers what’s written on these pages, and — his world suddenly zeroing into the book in his hands — he opens it.

23rd April 2004

We didn’t have a case today. Derek brought me coffee and ate breakfast with me in the break room and, even though I was smiling the whole time, it hurt so badly. I don’t think I’ll ever not be in love with him. Certainly not when he’s this close to me; not when he looks at me like he did when I knocked the stapler off the desk today; not when he places his hand on my hip and calls me ‘pretty boy’.

I don’t know what the future holds, but I think that the most I can hope for is that in thirty years I don’t still feel like this. Maybe when I’m older, I’ll finally know what it’s like not to love him.

Spencer’s heart clenches as all the emotions he’d felt when writing that entry rush back. Almost all the pages from 2003-2006 are filled with his lamentations about his feelings for Derek. He’d documented other things too at times, if a case was particularly interesting he’d write down his thoughts and observations, and he’d written about the trip he’d taken in 2005 to go and see Diana after the Fisher King case.

Largely, though, he wrote about the way Derek’s eyes looked in the sunshine, the difference in his first and last smile of the day, the gentleness in every strong and powerful muscle of his body. He wrote about the way his heart broke each day at the sight of him, how he would cry at night when the knowledge he’d never know how it felt to be wrapped up in his arms hurt too badly. He wrote about the men he slept with in a vain attempt to forget him.

As soon as the rush of emotions subsides a little, a smile crosses his lips. Tears shine in his eyes as he thinks about how wrong this Spencer was.

He is older now. He wrote these journal entries in his twenties, and now he’s fast approaching being double the age he was then, and still, he has no idea what it’s like not to love Derek Morgan. The only difference is that the hurt it used to bring has been replaced with a kind of joy Spencer never could have expected he would experience.

It’s not something painful he wishes he could forget anymore; it’s the very root of everything so wonderful about his life, and where 2004 Spencer Reid wished he could cut himself open and gut out all the love he held for Derek Morgan, modern day Spencer Reid only wants it to replicate, duplicate, overtake his body until it’s more himself than he could ever be.

⭐️

“I found something interesting earlier,” he tells Derek later.

Their empty pasta bowls are discarded on the coffee table as they sit cuddled up on the sofa and the TV is muted, playing Spencer’s favourite sitcoms across the screen, the sound of the November rain coming down outside filling the room. The Christmas decorations are still in the attic, but the journals are tucked under their bed upstairs.

“What’s that, baby?” He turns his head slightly to see Spencer’s face resting against his shoulder, tightening his grip on his waist, pulling him closer into his warmth.

Spencer looks up to meet Derek’s eyes, and he can’t help but immediately smile. They’re still the same shade of delectable honey brown, still the same ones that melt him every time he meets his gaze, but they’re a little more lined these days. Spencer always tells Derek that age looks good on him, and he means it. He looks older, wiser, safer, and Spencer still wants to melt into his embrace every moment of the day.

“I found the journals I wrote in when I first joined the BAU.”

Derek chuckles lowly, bringing a hand to Spencer’s curls. “Those must have been a good read.”

“They were.”

“What cases did you write about?”

“Not many,” Spencer admits, sliding down the sofa until he can rest against Derek’s chest more comfortably. “I mostly wrote about you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. When I was young and in love and it hurt so badly because I thought I would never have you, the only thing that I held onto was that maybe when I was older, I wouldn’t still be in love with you. And it’s sort of funny, because I’m older now, and if anything, I’m only more in love with you.”

“Oh, baby,” Derek sighs. “We really were a mess back then, huh?”

Spencer laughs. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Penelope was my journal when you first joined,” Derek recalls, tracing his fingertips over the exposed skin on Spencer’s waist where his t-shirt’s ridden up. “I would go into her office at least three times a day when we were home complaining about how much I liked you. And she’d get even more calls if we were on a case.”

“Wait, is that where you used to go when we shared a room? You always used to wander out of the room at random hours making phone calls. I thought it was weird.”

Derek laughs at that, and Spencer likes the way it makes his chest rumble underneath him. “That’s exactly what was going on, genius.”

“When she and Emily come this weekend I’m gonna get her to tell those stories,” Spencer teases.

“Let her,” Derek laughs, “I’m not embarrassed. The whole world can know I was and still am madly in love with my pretty boy, I don’t care.”

Spencer’s heart warms at that, and he marvels at Derek’s ability to still make him soft and mushy after all these years. He sits up properly, shifting up the sofa until he’s straddling Derek’s hips, cradling his face. “I love you so much,” he whispers, leaning in to press his lips against Derek’s.

“I love you more.”

“I’m pretty sure that reading even a single entry of one of those journals could convince you otherwise.”

“Oh, I will absolutely be reading those journals, baby, do not get it twisted.”

Spencer smiles, sliding off his hips to curl up next to him again, resting his head on his shoulder. “You’ve made me so happy, Derek,” he murmurs, connecting his right hand with Derek’s left.

“And nothing makes me happier than hearing that,” Derek murmurs back, caressing Spencer’s thumb with his own. “I’m gonna continue making you happy for the rest of our lives, you know that?”

Spencer sighs, content and warm and loved. “Yeah. I do.”

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @enbyspencer @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @moreidstrobed

#criminal minds #cm #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #cm fic #cm fanfiction #cm fanfic #moreid #derek morgan #spencer reid #moreid fic #moreid fluff #derek morgan x spencer reid #derek morgan/spencer reid #spencer reid x derek morgan #spencer reid/derek morgan

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liam-93-productions · 3 years

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Liam’s full interview with Tings Magazine - Part 2

Note: the interview was recorded in may 2020.

You had the support system of Harry, Louis, Niall and Zayn during your teen years. When that support system stopped, having to deal with it by yourself, did that seem like a harder loss than it did leading up to that? It felt more like an identity crisis because that was like your crutch almost, being a part of the band. It got to the point where it was almost invincible. But that kind of got let go. I had serious questions about whether I wanted to be a solo artist. My thing was if the right song came then I wil, then obviously “Strip That Down” came along and I couldn’t really say no. It’s a bit crazy, especially being released on such a pedestal. You don’t want to undo your legacy for what you set for yourself because you achieve so much so quickly. It’s kind of funny. I was playing poker the other day for a charity. Bryan Cranston and Aaron Paul and a couple of big Hollywood celebrities at this one table and me, which was the most random thing ever. They were like, “I’ve got questions that I like to ask people at the poker table. What was your first job?” Everyone was like I was a paperboy, or I was that, and I was like my first job was One Direction. And Bryan Cranston was like “You can’t really go anywhere from there. You’ve set yourself a hard task.” And I thought it was really funny, but it’s so true. One Direction was such a massive thing and I think we were all just existing since One Direction and in a sense, the hype of the comeback is the thing that’s kept us bubbling along. For sure, from that start, it was this massive identity crisis, you were a part of this unit and you knew how you fit in the unit. You knew the part that you played and as soon as that was gone, you couldn’t play the same role and carry on that way because the other units weren’t there to put it all together if that makes sense. So, you really had to try to discover who you were but in the public eye. That was stressful.

How was that process for you, other than being stressful? How did you go about doing that? Really badly (laughs).

Not at all. I disagree with that. You are very much different now than you were then. And you’ve grown into who you are now in a really amazing way. Was part of this identity something that was brewing during your time at One Direction. I feel like you hear Zayn do interviews and he’s been very clear about feeling different than how he’s been projected in One Direction and the identity that he’s become now. Was that the same case for you? Or was it more of a discovery process where you had no idea who you were when you left? Oh no, it was a complete discovery process. I mean if you look as simple as clothes. We were told what to wear at the start. It was like having four twin sisters. It was like ‘you can’t wear that’, ‘I’m wearing this’. So, we each got our thing. Mine was like plaid shirts. And for two years of my life, I just wore plaid shirts because that was my thing. Then we came out of that and went into this black phase where we all wore black t-shirts and black jeans or white t-shirts and black jeans. And when you come out of it and you don’t have to wear black t-shirts and jeans anymore, I was like, ‘what the hell do I wear?’ I went through a complete transition of clothes and different things. And that is only one element of your life, your appearance, what you look like. For other things, for humor, you only experience the same humor for five years, around the same people. Then that changes. You meet other people. And we become more into the P.C. generation of things and it was like “we can’t say this anymore. We can’t do that”. And that was like another thing. As you try to develop, you make several mistakes. I went through the gangster rap phase. And it is the same with music as well. At first, it was like all the chains and rap, it was like escape the boyband scenario for me.

The Miley Cyrus effect. The Disney to bad girl effect. Exactly, I wanted to escape and identify myself differently. And I kind of pushed that to as many limitsas it could go to. Ever since then, as you get older, you realize that time is a wonderful thing. Instead of being on a race to be a certain someone because all your role models are so far ahead of you because they are already there, but they didn’t start there. For me, when I got into acting and doing auditions most recently, I started looking at actors that I love. Brad Pitt is one of my favorite, favorite people, you know, who’s transitioned to being the most amazing person, who has his own identity. I was thinking, how did he do it? So, I watched an interview of him at twenty-six. You have to watch it. He barely answers a question in the interview, you can’t believe it’s the Brad Pitt you see now.

That’s thirty years of media training in between. Exactly! And this was when he did his first role. I already had my first role, being in One Direction, so I’m even further on than he was at my age. I don’t have to worry so much now I just have to have trust in the process of whatever life is, I know this sounds a little bit around about the house, but I just think you have to take a back seat and move steadily into things. When you are a kid, you are in such a rush. You’re like I want it now. I want to be this guy. When I did my Hugo thing, it was all about muscles and training, and I was looking at Mark Wahlberg. And Mark Wahlberg is freakin’ Mark Wahlberg! It’s a taken him years and years to be Mark Wahlberg. It’s just where you set your sights for your role models, I guess. It’s the little thing that it has to come now and that’s what pop stardom is like, because you need it right now because you are already in it. I’m not waiting to come up, I’m already in it.

Quick and constant. There’s this constant need to feed the system or you’re out of the system. Yeah, and it’s easier for artists nowadays. If you look at NSYNC, after they broke up, it was like, unfortunately, nobody really cared about what J.C. and the other boys were doing. So, they didn’t get the articles. Now, it’s like you are your own charge in that. You can be the front page of so-and-so if you really want to be. You just have to do the right thing on your channel. So, it’s like being able to be in charge of that stuff helps artists a lot more these days. But once again, that’s pressure because we are all in charge of our press and media from our phones. Whereas, they would have to go into work and have someone lay our the interviews or they wouldn’t get them. So, I suppose it’s a different type of pressure really.

Yeah, and it’s a different landscape. They would have it laid out for them, and those interviews would last months and months, where today it’s like one day. Then it’s swipe up, swipe left, and onto the next thing. The lifespan of what we put out is so much shorter. That’s the ting. I had TikTok out yesterday and I haven’t really invested a lot of time into something. But I made this really stupid song about cookies that went with my video. I literally just made this fun song in my house and we were like “Screw it” let’s make a music video for it. We did like one of those Lonely Island type videos and put it out. It’s one of the pieces of content that I cared about the most because I made the whole song and whatever. It was fun, and I wanted people to enjoy it the same way I did. But even when you post something like that, I see some people where it just goes completely over their heads, that this is just a fun thing to look at. It doens’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean that my next album is going to be about freakin’ cookies or whatever. I think we’ve lost some of the lightheartedness, having to take ourselves so seriously all the time. It doesn’t make any sense to me. It’s like, you can view the average time that someone looked at a post, so it’s that cutthroat. If they stayed on for five seconds or whatever, the average time should be the full time and if it’s not, the post was bad. You have that power now, but it’s in seconds. Even the average time someone came on to look at it, it’s down to the seconds.

You brought up the hype of a reunion and relevancy and keeping that alive. That interest. Where does that stand? There’s a lot of conflicting articles about a One Direction reunion. What can you say or not say, what’s the official word? To be honest with you, I keep mixing up the words reunion and anniversary. Our anniversary is coming up; it’s ten years that we created the band which is amazing. It’s a huge achievement for all of us. Every so often, I’ll accidentally say reunion and I’ll be like “oh my Dog, that conflicts another report.” I’ve been really clear that there’s not a reunion, just because I know music schedules. Harry just put out a music video and that’s got two years in it before we even think about a reunion. And I just don’t think everyone’s done yet. I think everyone’s enjoying their time, making their own workm that little bit of freedom. Um, and One direction is not exactly a side career that you can have. It requires you to be fully in it. Until we can all stop and commit to the band for whatever reason, I don’t think it can come back. I think there will be a reunion and I’m excited about it and I think it’s be a lot of fun. It will be interesting to see if we have the same essence that we had as kids.

Essence meaning synergy on stage or camaraderie? I think a little bit of both. I mean One Direction was such a free time, and people enjoyed the fact that it was five lads on a stage having a good time. They didn’t care if we sang in tune or if we fell over. That’s what the show was about. It was chaotic. We’ve all become these more polished popstars. I don’t know if we have the same carefreeness about us, is what I’m worries about. But it’s been nice we’ve all been talking, staying in touch. It’s the first time that everyone’s spoken in the last five years. It’s just nice that everyone’s grown into being nice people. There’s none of them that I really hate. Everyone’s grown up into nice young men who just gone on a bit further from where you left them.

Who are you closest to? Do you speak to any of them regularly? We have a big respect for each other. And I don’t think we give each other enough credit for how we’ve helped each other as well. I speak more to Louis and Niall than I do anybody else. I speak to Harry on occasion. I think we don’t have very much in common as people. There’s nothing wrong with us. We just don’t have as much in common. And Zayn, sadly, has fallen completely by the ... which is terrible. I feel for him sometimes, but at the same point, he made his decision on that. And it’s not something you can go back to lightly. If I saw him on the street, would I say hello? 100 percent. It doesn’t bother me, intrusively. I’ve already spoken about his great news. Having been through it myself, ... it’s interesting. I just think it’s a lonely scenario to be in, not being able to speak to the other people that helped you get to where you are.

If you were to guess, or maybe you already know, would you see that reunion including Zayn or is that over and done with? I think it’s over and done with, for the time being. You can never fully discount it because you had the Robbie Williams Take That scenario. I remember watching that concert when I was in the band. It was so interesting that they were in a band, he left and had all the success he had, and came back. He had his own section of the show which I thought was interesting. They weren’t down in the dumps. They had some of the biggest hits in Britain. I don’t think you can fully discount it. I know for now it’s not possible. I think, for now, it would take certain people to admit wrong in a scenario and I don’t see that happening because they don’t even realize it yet. That’s a little further down the line.

If a reunion happens, how do you think you would envision that creatively? Everyone has such different formed identities. I actually think that we’ve picked up on that already, not knowing what is about to happen next. I remember from the tour screens from the very last tour. The introduction with the songs showed us on video doing different things. It set us apart ever so slightly. But I feel like if we came back together, it would be a celebration of what One Direction was, what is now, and each of the members. I think the tour screens would Harry is a completely different aesthetic that I was. I just think the band’s name is completely ironic because everyone has gone in opposite directions. Maybe, that’s the point of the name. I don’t know. Yeah, I just think it would fit back together quite seamlessly, for completely different reasons.

#liam payne #liam's interviews #tings magazine #05.11.2020

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triviareads · 3 years

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The Becoming of Charlotte Bridgerton (And the Continuous Outrage of Anthony Bridgerton)

For Kate and Anthony 2021 Week, Day 6 Prompt: "Make me".

The Viscount and Viscountess Bridgerton prided themselves on being excellent hosts. Bridgerton House was forever teeming with friends and family during the season, and as their children grew older, their home became a veritable haven for the young people-

A haven Kate presently found herself eavesdropping on along with her very irritated husband.

To be fair, it wasn’t exactly her fault. She was looking for Charlotte and could not find her anywhere in the house. Somewhere along the way, she had run into Anthony who also looking for their daughter (presumably to gift her with yet another expensive bauble, Kate thought, rolling her eyes. Anthony always did dote on the girls).

After exhausting themselves, Kate struck upon the idea of looking in the library, where Miles was entertaining. Her hunch proved right when the Lord and Lady Bridgerton peeked through the shelves to see Miles, his cousins David, the Earl Clyvedon, and Lady Caroline Findlay-Watt; as well as Mr. Arthur Granville, James De Courcy, the Earl of Clairmont; and Charlotte, sitting right there with the rest of them, taking part spiritedly in their conversation as if such behavior was perfectly normal for a girl who had barely completed two seasons.

“What is she doing with Miles's friends?” Anthony whispered after a requisite scandalized gasp.

“Talking, I believe,” Kate said wryly, choosing wisely to ignore the fact that their daughter had helped herself to a finger of whisky.

“But she is alone! In a roomful of young men!” Anthony spluttered and moved to rush forward in what Kate assumed was a bid to rescue his sweet, innocent daughter from the clutches of these men (and Caroline).

“My dear,” Kate said, restraining him, “both Miles and David are there, and Caroline is chaperoning her.”

Anthony threw her a dry look. “This is Caroline we are speaking of.”

Kate was privately inclined to agree that perhaps Lady Caroline Findlay-Watt (formerly Lady Caroline Basset) was not the best chaperone in that she was far too permissive and her circles ran too liberal.

Nevertheless, Kate shushed her husband. “I want to see what our daughter has to say. We so rarely get to see her among her peers.”

It was true- what their eldest daughter did with her time ever since she debuted was something of a mystery. Of course, she attended the requisite balls and other events with Kate, but Charlotte was all too happy to be taken around by her older, married Hastings cousins, something Kate was secretly thankful for, because she knew they would give her the sort of social advantage even Kate could not offer her daughter.

Anthony grumblingly agreed to Kate’s command and fell silent.

“-All shoring up for it,” David was telling the group seriously. “I do want to remain optimistic, but as Lady Holland recently put it, it is no longer a matter of if, but when.”

He then turned to Charlotte, who was too busy staring at Lord Clairmont, and had to be called on repeatedly to elicit any response. Kate glanced at Clairmont, long-limbed and elegant, taking note of how his posture was subtly inclined towards her daughter.

Charlotte was eventually pulled away from her thoughts. “What?” she blinked and asked. “Oh yes, I agree- this government will fall.”

David cackled at this. “Good lord, Charlotte. You sound positively Jacobin when you say it like that.”

“One would think your namesake was Mademoiselle Corday and not the late queen,” Miles teased his sister.

Charlotte, who always took great pleasure in extending a joke, said wryly, “I suppose we’ll only truly know if I ever feel an inclination to assassinate any of you in your bathtub.” This roused a hearty laugh from the group.

Anthony snorted quietly.

Clairmont, who had been silent up until that point, spoke. “I should like to hear what Miss Bridgerton has to say on the matter.” He looked directly at Charlotte who, to Kate’s amusement, blushed ever so slightly. Kate wondered whether the blush was due to the pleasure of having her opinion asked after, or if it was something else entirely…

Kate had her suspicions.

Charlotte spoke. “I know David mentioned the current financial crisis, but I recall someone recently mentioning that the the Jamaica Bill was something of a turning point. Ever since then, all I seem to read in the papers is how tenuous a coalition the current government is comprised of.” Charlotte shrugged and concluded, “I suppose it’s easy to overlook because the bill ultimately passed, and the Whigs did remain in power, though no thanks to Parliament itself.”

Kate glanced at Anthony after this little speech, and to her amusement, she could tell he was riveted.

“Ah, the crisis of Her Majesty’s bedchamber!” Miles said spiritedly. “The only reason the Whigs prevailed!”

Charlotte rolled her eyes at her brother. “Crisis of the bedchamber- you make it sound far more tawdry than it really was, Miles.”

“I wouldn’t be so quick to say that, cousin,” Lady Caroline said mischievously. “I can say with confidence that Amelia’s father-in-law had a public temper tantrum at the Lords when the news emerged that Amelia would not, after all, be one of the queen’s new ladies.”

Mr. Granville asked, “Lady Lowestoft’s father-in-law is… the Earl of Norwich, I think?”

Caroline nodded. “Yes. From my understanding, he lobbied Sir Robert rather hard for Amelia’s position.”

“And Amelia was crushed by the outcome, I’m sure,” David said sarcastically to his sister.

Caroline smirked, “Hardly. Now Norwich on the other hand…”

Lord Clairmont said emphatically, “I have seen that man enough in the Lords to understand exactly what you mean, Lady Caroline.”

“And would you account for Lord Norwich’s poor behavior on the account of some personality deficit, or merely the fact that he is a Tory?”

“A combination of both, my lady,” Clairmont assured her, to everyone’s amusement.

“Norwich was always a bit of a prig,” Anthony muttered to Kate.

Miles, eager to give his opinion on the matter, spoke. “I suppose that whole fracas can ultimately be attributed to Her Majesty’s unwillingness to back down rather than the strength of any one political party.”

“But even that is wholly political, Bridgerton,” Clairmont argued. “Did Melbourne not purposely provide the queen with Whig intimates so she could grow close to them and come to rely on them?”

Miles shrugged. “The queen still could have disliked them. It is hardly Melbourne’s fault if they genuinely grew to become her confidantes.”

“And I should think that you would be the last person to complain about such a thing, Clairmont,” Granville pointed out.

Clairmont grinned. “Oh believe me Granville, I’m not complaining.”

“I thought it was rather admirable for the queen to stand her ground on the matter,” Caroline opined. “One forgets that despite all her grand titles, she is still a woman of one-and-twenty who is being advised by men thrice her age.”

Charlotte smiled at her cousin. “I agree. By all accounts, Her Majesty has proven herself to be quite set in her ways, which is rather impressive.”

“Stubborn could be another way to put it,” Miles teased his sister, who pulled a face at him.

Kate stifled a laugh. Despite their ages, her children could reliably be counted upon to torment one another in little ways.

“Was the queen always like that, Caro?” David turned to his sister and asked. “Weren’t you invited to socialize with her some years ago?”

Caroline laughed. “I’m the last person you should ask, David. The Duchess of Kent nearly booted me out of the princess’s twelfth birthday party because I was too high-spirited and steered her daughter clear of me the entire time. Charlotte, on the other hand, was a perfect angel and played dollies with Princess Victoria for a quarter-hour while the rest of us watched enviously.”

“You remember that?” Charlotte asked delightedly. “All I can recall is the duchess staring disapprovingly at the lot of us- that and the cake.” She said in an afterthought, “To be fair, I was only nine.”

“I’ve heard rumors that the Duchess of Kent had some whiggish sympathies,” Lord Clairmont said thoughtfully. “I wonder if the queen showed any such inclinations early on?” He towards Charlotte.

Charlotte laughed, high and bright. “What would you like me to say, my lord? That the Princess Victoria showed some affection towards little Frances Cowper at her birthday party and therefore was converted to our Whig cause for life?”

“Our cause?” Anthony raised his brows towards Kate. “Did our daughter suddenly decide on a political affiliation?”

Kate shrugged, somewhat confused at so partisan a statement coming from her daughter.

Lord Clairmont chuckled, knowing he had been routed by Charlotte, though in a thoroughly charming manner. He grinned at her and said, “I wouldn't put that past Lady Cowper- pardon, Lady Palmerston. I still forget she remarried.”

"You might be the only person in all of England who still makes that mistake, sir," Charlotte told Clairmont dryly, "for the rest of us have been calling her Lady Palmerston for years."

The room roared with laughter at this.

Kate’s jaw dropped at so ribald a joke coming from her daughter- however artfully it was said.

Anthony choked and very badly attempted to stifle his coughing. “Good God!” He spluttered in an undertone. “I ought to go out there and trounce-”

Kate broke in sharply, “-No you will not- For heaven’s sake, show some restraint, Anthony!”

“Restraint?” Anthony repeated belligerently, and then said with a defiant gleam in his eye, “Make me.”

Kate gave him a lethal smile, fairly certain she knew what sort of persuasions her husband was open to, but she would not give him that satisfaction- not yet, at least.

“Oh I have no doubt I can,” Kate smirked. “For example, what if I told you I expect there to be an understanding reached between Charlotte and Lord Clairmont any day now?”

Anthony’s eyes widened to an almost comical extent and he gawped at his wife. “What?” he hissed. “How could you possibly know this?” His gaze flickered between Charlotte and Clairmont, as if were attempting to make out some visible attachment between the two unsuspecting young people.

“Because I am her mother,” Kate said, looking very smug. “And she told me herself, in other words.”

“She never told me,” Anthony said petulantly.

Kate raised her hand to pat his cheek in a conciliatory manner. “My dear, she knows you too well in that you are hardly tact personified.”

“But that Clairmont fellow!” Anthony whispered, glancing back at the man in question. “He’s so… staid.”

“I think she rather likes him for it,” Kate said thoughtfully, watching as Clairmont continued to be rather sweetly solicitous of Charlotte and her opinions.

And then, purely to torment her husband, she said, “Keep your schedule open, Lord Bridgerton. I would not be surprised if the earl comes to call on you shortly, if this little conversation is anything to go by.”

Anthony growled, broke free of Kate’s grasp, and before she could do anything, he strode forward.

#kateandanthonyweek #kateandanthonyweek21 #Bridgerton #kate sharma #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton #kathony #bridgerton fanfiction #miles bridgerton #charlotte bridgerton #david basset #caroline basset #victorian era #british politics #dadthony

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riversofmars · 3 years

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Thank you so much for your lovely comments and encouragement. I honestly didn't expect such a huge response to an opening chapter so I'm absolutely thrilled to have you all along for the ride <3

Chapter 2: The World’s Turned Upside Down

The Library, 52nd Century

River closed the door to the kids bedroom - alone for the first time since the Doctor had saved her to the Library core - and she finally allowed her composure to slip. She pressed her hand to her mouth and swallowed a sob, afraid the kids might hear. She had been proud of herself for staying strong all the way through her final adventure. The moment the young Doctor had turned up instead of the one her message had been meant to reach, she had realised things would not go according to plan. For the Doctor, it had been the first time they had met. He hadn’t known her yet so she couldn’t tell him why she was really at the Library as she had intended. She also hadn’t been able to take comfort in seeing him though she had so badly needed to. Looking at the Doctor and having him not recognise her was a most cruel trick of fate after everything she’d been through.

At the time, threatened by the deadly shadows of the Vashta Nerada, she had kept her focus on the task at hand: carry out the mission, get access to the Library, get her answers once everything was wrapped up. She had decided she could always fill her Doctor in later; but she hadn’t anticipated this might be a one way trip. When it got to it, when things had fallen into place and she had finally understood how her life had always lead up to this, it had been far too late. Things had been beyond her control. She had to sacrifice her future to ensure her past. The truth of it was only sinking in now that she had space and time to think about it.

River cradled her diary to her chest as she made her way down the corridor to the living room. She dropped onto the sofa and buried her face in her hands as she started to cry; for herself, for her future, for her family. Suddenly, the Doctor’s sorrow at her leaving Darillium made so much more sense. He had known that she wouldn’t return but he hadn’t been able to tell her. Rationally, she knew he couldn’t have told her about her fate, but her sadness gave way to anger regardless. If she had known, she would have made different choices. It wasn’t her own fate she was angry about. As for as dying went, this wasn’t so bad: she was safe, immortal even. Though she was trapped, it beat dying properly. Had she known what was to come, she would not have kept secrets from her husband the way she had.

River trusted Vastra, Jenny and Strax to keep her son safe, and eventually, surely, they would contact the Doctor when they realised she wouldn’t return. He would be angry with her for keeping her secret and rightfully so. But eventually, hopefully, he would forgive her and raise their son. They would be together: Her family. River, however, would never be able to hold her child again. The realisation overwhelmed her and she struggled to breath, her sobs catching in her throat.

Alone with her own thoughts, River allowed herself a moment of weakness; she was dead after all. She could rest from being the strong, self-assured woman she had had to be all her life.

River couldn’t be sure how long it had been when she ran out of tears to cry. She just sat for a while, staring into space that she knew was nothing but strings of numbers. She had been saved to the greatest hard drive in history, everything around her was pure data and so was she.

A realisation came to her like a flash of lightning and she jumped to her feet: She was where she had meant to end up. Quickly, River made her way to the bookshelf on the other side of the room. She was in the biggest Library in the universe with all its knowledge at her disposal. Just because she was dead didn’t mean the forces threatening her husband and child had disappeared.

A new kind of determination gripped her and she pulled book after book from a shelf, that responded to her thoughts of what she was looking for. This was just another stop. Her Doctor was out there still and sooner or later, he would need her help and come looking for her. She wasn’t going to be empty handed when he arrived.

——

London, Late 19th Century

“Jenny!“ Vastra rushed to her wife’s side while the Doctor remained rooted to the spot, trying to work out what was going on.

“Doctor?“ Yaz asked, awaiting some sort of instruction or at least a reaction from her but she didn’t get one. So she hurried to the other unconscious figure. She didn’t recognise what species he was but he seemed to be breathing. They had probably been stunned, Yaz concluded, as there was no blood or other marks of force on their bodies. She took pride in her constantly improving observational skills. This was far better police training than her probationary work ever had been. She looked up to the Doctor who was still staring at the cot, holding on to a stitched piece of cloth. “Are you okay?“ Yaz asked, unsettled by the distinct lack of reaction on her friend’s part.

“Vastra, what is going on here?“ The Doctor’s voice was hollow when she finally spoke. All manner of thoughts were running through her mind but the most obvious explanation couldn’t possibly be true. She tightened her grip around the prayer leaf.

“Doctor, I will explain but first…“ Vastra had pulled Jenny up against herself and pressed a kiss to her forehead, as she tried to gently shake her awake.

“No, explain NOW!“ The Doctor yelled, losing her temper for one terrifying moment that made Vastra and Yaz jump.

“Doctor, let’s look after these people first.“ Yaz stood quickly and placed her hand on her friend’s shoulder, bewildered at the uncharacteristic outburst. The flash of fear across the lizard woman’s face shook her. It was an unwelcome reminder that the Doctor had changed in the nineteen years of prison. Something was weighing her down. They had seen flashes of it in their fight against the Daleks but there had been no opportunity to address it at the time. Now, it became painfully obvious that something was wrong with her. A deep anger had taken root and was bubbling to the surface.

“This doesn’t concern you, Yaz.“ The Doctor bit back and shrugged her hand away. She used her sonic to scan the cot for clues before turning back to Vastra. “Who’s baby was sleeping in that cot?“ She pressed through gritted teeth and Vastra couldn’t bring herself to speak, her throat closing up with sorrow. They had failed the Doctor and River.

“Vastra…“ Jenny mumbled, drawing her attention as she came round slowly. “Someone came… the baby, is the baby okay?“ She asked, her voice weak. Vastra couldn’t answer her wife, she just looked up to the Doctor.

“Doctor, we are so sorry…“ She croaked, her voice full of guilt.

“Doctor?“ Yaz watched and wasn’t following.

“So it worked, the emergency beacon…“ Jenny mumbled, still in a haze. She looked to the Doctor and recognised them from the age of her eyes and the sorrow she found there. A new face was of no consequence.

“You triggered it?“ The Doctor asked.

“Professor Song left it… But we expected you to be…“ Vastra tried to explain that she wasn’t the Doctor they had expected. She was so much older and it only made it harder. She couldn’t bare to think just how long ago Darillium was for the Doctor at this point.

“Where is she? Where is River? Who’s baby is it?“ The Doctor tried her best to keep her voice steady. She needed confirmation. It was so glaringly obvious but also too impossible to believe. How could River have kept this from her?

“Does it really need saying?“ Vastra voice broke and the so did the Doctor’s hearts.

The Doctor hurried down the stairs, she needed space. She couldn’t face the others and she couldn’t keep looking at the empty cot. She tightened her grip around the prayer leaf, her knuckles turning white. She took two steps at a time, running like the devil was on her heels. This was too big, too painful to face and so she ran - until the brittle stairs gave way under her heavy steps and she put her foot through them, crashing through the bottom half of the staircase.

“Oh my God, Doctor!“ Yaz hurried after her, careful not to cause any more damage. She reached under her arms and pulled her up. “Doctor, what’s going on?“ Yaz was at a complete loss, she had never seen the Doctor react like this, not even when they were dealing with the Master. There was genuinely panic and fear in her eyes. The Doctor pulled away from Yaz without a word.

“Doctor.“ Vastra appeared on the landing above and the Doctor’s eyes snapped up to her. “Please don’t run away from this.“ The detective pleaded.

“Don’t talk to me right now!“ The Doctor yelled with anger the likes of which Yaz had never seen. “You don’t get to talk to me right now!“ She struggled down the rest of the stairs without looking back.

“Doctor!“ Yaz called after her as she just carried on, darting to the front door.

“Give her a moment…“ Vastra realised there was no point in trying to stop her, she needed a moment to herself and that was the least they could give her. “In the meantime, would you mind helping me with the others?“

The Doctor slammed the doors of the TARDIS and received a scolding hum for her actions. She ignored it and dropped onto on of the steps in the console room. There she unfolded the prayer leaf again, holding it close as her vision blurred with tears. The TARDIS gave a concerned hum but the Doctor couldn’t speak to answer. She knew the TARDIS understood, their psychic link was stronger than words and the Doctor couldn’t bring herself to phrase everything she was feeling.

She thought back to the last time she had seen River. They had watched the sunrise on Darillium after twenty-four wonderful years there, and then, she had left. River hadn’t been able to keep her promise of return as the Doctor had already known at the time. The Doctor had waited regardless and had set the table for breakfast on the balcony on the off-chance River had managed to trick fate. It had been a long, lonely wait. Eventually the Doctor had busied themselves by fixing up a new body for Nardole when the loneliness was getting too much. For many sleep cycles they’d brought breakfast back to an empty room, setting it on the balcony again and again. The Doctor even did on the day they left Darillium for good and headed to New York to try and clear up the time distortions. It would have been a first step to visiting the Ponds for some comfort after losing their daughter for good, but it had never played out like that.

The Doctor took a deep breath as she considered what River had done after Darillium and before going to the Library. Was this it? Or where they in fact even earlier in her timeline and River had just never told her that the had had a child? Both options were far too painful to contemplate. She was already reeling from imprisonment, the destruction of Gallifrey and learning about the gaps in her past. How was she to cope with this? Her world had turned upside down, inside out, more time than she could count but this was different. How was she to do this without River to rely upon.

“Here we go.“ Yaz helped Strax sit up on a chair in the mostly untouched drawing room.

“I don’t require human assistance.“ The Sonatan protested but Vastra shushed him as she helped Jenny to the sofa.

“That’s quite enough of that Strax, we need to make sure you’re both uninjured.“ The lady of the house stated firmly. Jenny, however, was more concerned with her wife’s wellbeing.

“We’re fine. They only stunned us, but what about you?“ She asked as she reached out and touched her fingertips to Vastra’s cheek brushing off dried scales. Yaz watched the tender gestured as she learned more about the Doctor’s friends. “Your skin appears to be…“

Vastra straightened herself up and rubbed her face to find herself shedding more scales.

“It appears the blast of whatever that bomb was aged me…“ She observed, witnessing the sped up effects of her amphibian skin renewing itself. “Not to worry, dear, I still have a lot of life left in me, perhaps our life spans are more aligned now.“ She gave her a soft smile and her hand a squeeze.

“So you are the Doctor’s friends?“ Yaz spoke up at last as it seemed they had all recovered from the attack they had been subjected to.

“Old friends, yes. By the look of them, it has been a long time indeed…“ Vastra commented with an apologetic smile. They didn’t mean to keep the Doctor’s young friend in the dark but she had to see to Jenny and Strax first.

“So you knew her before she changed?“ Yaz concluded. She had met a few people from the Doctor’s past now, Jack, the Master… she was eager to learn how these three fit in.

“First a young man with floppy hair, then the old Scot…“ Jenny recalled and Vastra finished the sentence for her:

“Now a pretty blonde.“

“Oi!“ Jenny gave her wife’s arm a slap, feeling a lot more like herself now. The after-effects from the stun blast were wearing off.

“Pretty?“ Strax interjected confused. “He looks the same as ever.“ The three women paid no heed to him.

“So when you called for her, you expected her to be a younger self?“ Yaz concluded. Time travel was confusing but she was getting the hang of it.

“Indeed.“ Vastra nodded.

“So what happened here? Who attacked you?“ Yaz pressed on. A child had been abducted so surely, time was of the essence. “And what about the baby?“ She carried on as she looked into deeply unsettled faces. “Who’s is it?“

“It’s mine.“ The Doctor’s voice made them all jump.

“Doctor, we’re so…“ Jenny attempted to get to her feet. She wanted to apologise, plead for forgiveness as they had failed her, but Vastra gently pushed her back to sit down.

“What?“ Yaz frowned, confused as she watched her friend walk into her room. She looked a lot calmer than she had when she had stormed out of the house but her was expression remained grim. Yaz noticed she was still carrying the green cloth. Judging by the way she ran her fingers along the stitching, it had to bear some meaning to her.

“That’s right, isn’t it, Madame Vastra. River entrusted our child to you.“ The Doctor concluded looking to Vastra accusingly.

“You have a child?“ Yaz was stunned. She looked around the room, into grim but knowing faces, and found that she was the odd one out.

“I didn’t know, my wife never told me.“ The Doctor answered without looking to her young friend, she kept her focus on the Silurian, excepting an explanation. Yaz was only getting more confused. This was the first time she had heard the Doctor mention a wife. She had so many question but she realised now was not the right time to ask.

“She was pregnant when she left Darillium. She couldn’t return and had to have the child by herself. Then she entrusted him to us before going to the Library.“ Vastra kept her voice calms as she explained, keeping her answer brief.

“Why would she do that?“ The Doctor snapped. Just because she had already assumed as much didn’t mean she understood it.

“She was trying to keep you safe, keep all of you safe.“ Vastra carried on. She couldn’t presume to know the Professor’s mind but she knew what she had told her and what she had read in the notes she had left behind.

“It’s not really worked out that way, has it.“ The Doctor shot back, upset.

“Strax, how about some tea?“ Jenny looked to Strax, hoping to calm the situation before it could escalate again.

“I was quite enjoying being in the line of fire once again.“ The Sontaran retorted but Jenny’s expression left no room for discussion.

The interruption as they left for the kitchen was enough to calm the Doctor for the time being. She kept her eyes on Vastra, her expression making quite clear how disappointed she was in them for having gone along with this.

“Who was it?“ The Doctor said at last. “Who took my child?“ The words echoed through the silent room, their meaning so poignant it made all their hearts ache. So soon after finding out, the Doctor had already accepted that this was her child, her family, they were talking about. And in the same sentence, she had already lost them. It was too painful to contemplate.

“I honestly don’t know.“ Vastra broke the silence at last. “It all happened very quickly. I was going to answer a knock on the door as Jenny and Strax were upstairs looking after the little one. An explosion happened and then you woke me up. I’m afraid that’s all I remember.“ She explain sorrowfully, begging forgiveness in every syllable.

“A chronon mine… that’s Time Lord technology.“ The Doctor said after briefly considering her words.

“I thought you said all the Time Lords are dead?“ Yaz asked, remembering the Doctor’s account of what happened on Gallifrey after they had left.

“They are. The Master killed them all.“ The Doctor nodded in agreement.

“Perhaps not all of them… at least that was your wife’s theory.“ Vastra said slowly and went to the bureau in the corner to retrieve the file River had left. “She left us with this, accounts of what she did since leaving Darillium.“

——

Sheffield, early 21st Century

“Feels weird, doesn’t it.“ Ryan Sinclair observed walking past by the apartment block Yaz’s family lived in. The spot where the TARDIS had been a welcome sight stood empty. The Doctor and Yaz had left a few days ago and the reality of them being out on adventure by themselves had yet to fully sink in.

“Feels right though.“ Graham O’Brien placed his hand on his grandson’s shoulder as they turned and continued down the street. They had had wonderful adventures but it was time for both of them to carry on with their lives. There were things at home that needed fixing too, not just out in the universe. The most recent misadventure with the Daleks had proven as much.

“Shall we just nip round to the Chippy for tea?“ Ryan suggest when they reached home and he pushed his bike into the garage. The time up in the mountains practicing was starting to pay off. He knew his nan would be proud of his progress and the pride he saw reflected in Graham’s eyes was confirmation of that.

“Sounds good, just let me grab some cash.“ Graham grinned unlocking the front door. “I think I have a twenty in my other jacket…“ He turned into the lounge and jumped with a very undignified yelp. A woman was sitting on his sofa and greeted him with a smile. “Ryan?!“ He called out and his grandson joined him quickly.

“What the…!“ Ryan stared at the woman in shock. She was tall, blonde and altogether far too relaxed for sitting in someone else’s lounge as they returned. “How’d you get in here?“

“Apologies for startling you, Mr. O’Brien, Mr. Sinclair… I hope you don’t mind that I let myself in.“ The woman got to her feet. A empty cup in front of her indicated that she had been waiting a while and hadn’t been shy about helping herself to refreshments.

“We do mind, actually! Who are you?“ Graham tried his best to sound authoritative. Talking a good talk was half the battle, or so they had gathered from how the Doctor approached trouble.

“Kate Lethbridge-Stewart, Chief Scientific Officer at UNIT.“ She extended her hand that neither of them took.

“UNIT?“ Ryan echoed with a frown.

“Rings a bell, doesn’t it.“ Graham sensed that they were both thinking the same thing.

“The Doctor might have mentioned us.“ Kate smiled and sat back down, gesturing for them to do the same. Graham and Ryan exchanged confused looks, not used to being told what to do in their own home. They were, however, relieved that the stranger didn’t seem to be here to kill them.

“You know the Doctor then?“ Graham’s relaxed a little as he sat in an armchair across from her.

“Yes that’s right, didn’t the Doctor try and contact you when we found that Dalek the first time round and you didn’t exist anymore, or something?“ The penny dropped for Ryan as well as he perched on the end of the sofa. He couldn’t quite keep the accusatory undertones out of his voice that he felt were justified. Only the UK would dismantle a useful agency in order to cut public spending. If the Kasavan hadn’t taught them a lesson, surely the Daleks would have now.

“Yes. I’m afraid at the time, UNIT was not operational…“ Kate retorted pressing her lips to a thin line. Clearly the budget cuts were a sore subject for her as well.

“And where were you this time around, eh? Daleks all over the place, straight from the government, all them politicians involved in it, surely that’s the sort of thing you should have intervened in.“ Graham crossed his arms in front of his chest. They had done their very best researching the Daleks in the Doctor’s absence. If UNIT had been about, things surely would never have gotten as far as they did.

“I’m afraid we have had greater concerns to deal with.“ Kate revealed sounding regretful, yet matter-of-factly.

“Greater than an army of Daleks trying to conquer Earth?“ Ryan retorted with a huff and a laugh. He found that very hard to believe.

“With UNIT officially ceasing to exist, it has given us the opportunity to retreat into the shadows and work undetected. We couldn't risk revealing ourselves.“ She gave an apologetic smile. “You might not be aware of it yet but there are far greater forces at work on Earth right now than a rouge strain of Daleks.“

“Don’t like the sound of that…“ Ryan mumbled and Graham leaned forward in his chair:

“Have you spoken to the Doctor about this?“

“Not yet.“ Kate admitted. “Not until we know more. We can’t always rely on the Doctor, they have other things to concern themselves with. Rest assured we will reach out when the time is right. Until then… we are recruiting and Captain Harkness was kind enough to provide your address. Hence the house call.“

“Of course he did…“ Graham shook his head to himself at the mention of Jack Harkness.

“Recruiting for what?“ Ryan asked.

“Humanity’s last stand, should it come to it.“

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emwritesfootball · 3 years

Text

Childhood Sweethearts | Sander Berge

Heyyy could u do a Sander imagine where u have Been childhood sweethearts | One with Berge where youre been childhood sweethearts but break up because he wants more freedome, then you see each other after a couple of mintes in norway and you Get back together

Word Count: 1,200

Warnings: a little angst before it gets fluffy <3

A/N: Had two similar requests, so I combined them. Hope you enjoy xx

- - -

You’d met Sander when the two of you were five years old, and you’d been instantly smitten with him. Something in your five-year-old brain told you that you were going to love him and you listened. The two of you had gotten ‘married’ in the summertime when you were both eight, using blades of grass tied around tiny fingers as rings. Sander was your first kiss and you were his at the age of twelve, both of you wanting to get it over with.

When you were fourteen, Sander asked you to be his girlfriend and you said yes. You didn’t really know what it meant, but the two of you figured it out. You cheered him on when he made his senior debut for Asker 2 when the two of you were fifteen.

From then on, you came to every one of his matches that you could, becoming his number one cheerleader. Sander’s career was quickly becoming your whole world, and you found yourself following him to first Vålerenga and then to Belgium when he signed for Genk. It got hard, but the two of you worked through it together. You fought like any other couple, but every time you got stronger.

When he made his way up to the Prem, getting signed by Sheffield United, you went with him, both of you ecstatic about what this meant for him and his career. You managed to finish school, getting a degree and finding a job in Sheffield while Sander excelled as a footballer.

Neither of you thought there would be a breakup. In fact, just a month before, the two of you had been talking about marriage - you already lived together and loved each other, and marriage seemed to be the next obvious step.

You knew the words out of Sander’s mouth weren’t his, but you let him say them anyway. You listened, your heart breaking as he talked about how he wanted more freedom and how the two of you had been together forever and that neither of you got to explore life outside of the other. All you could do was nod, numb, as you walked to the guest bedroom and slept there that night.

You didn’t have any contact with Sander the next day, shutting yourself away as you processed his words and decided what to do next. You had some time off saved up and you decided to use it, calling up your parents and asking if they were up for you coming back to Norway for a few weeks and staying with them. Of course they said yes, and you went back, leaving Sander with nothing but a note that let him know what you were doing - telling him you might be back, but you were taking his suggestion and taking some time for yourself.

One week into your month-long stay in Norway and you were miserable without Sander. You’d refrained from messaging him every day and it was starting to take its toll on you. Your parents quickly noticed that something was wrong but you played it off, joking that it was all part of the jetlag combined with de-stressing on vacation. They believed you and for that you were grateful.

You’d cut yourself off from football, not realizing it was time for international break again until all your friends started texting about everyone coming back, making plans to hang out with their now-famous footballer friends.

In that second week, Sander flew back to Norway, more nervous than he’d ever been for a national team call up. Mostly, he was nervous because he didn’t have you by his side and that this was the first time he’d possibly get to see you since he’d made the worst decision of his life and broke up with you. All his texts to you about coming back went ignored, left on Read each time. He’d asked around to all of your mutual friends, relieved to hear that you hadn’t moved on with anyone else. Granted, it’s only been two weeks, but there was a large part of him that got scared that you’d taken his words to heart and decided it was best to move on.

Neither of you had been prepared to see each other. You were waiting in line at the coffee shop close to your parents’ place. It was somewhere you and Sander used to go all the time, and when you’d stepped foot inside, it was like you’d never left.

You stepped up to the counter, ordering your usual. Just as you were about to pay, you heard a familiar voice behind you.

“She’s with me.”

You turned around, eyes wide as you came face-to-face with Sander for the first time in almost three weeks. He gave you a shy smile before he walked up and placed his order, paying and taking a selfie with the gushing barista who was excited to meet their idol in person.

The coffees appeared, Sander handing you yours, your fingers brushing his lightly. “Uh, thanks.”

“Can we talk?” Sander asked, hope in his eyes.

You studied him, realizing he looked just as tired and run-down as you felt . “Sander...I don’t know. You wanted freedom and-”

“No.” Sander shook his head vehemently, his expression hard. “I was wrong. I don’t want freedom, I just want you.”

“But maybe you were right, maybe we do need some time apart to figure out who we are without the other person. Sander, we were fourteen when we got together and we’re almost twenty-three now - that’s almost a decade together. I know we’re meant to be but maybe we need a little more time apart.” It killed you to say the words out loud, and it was the last thing you wanted but you needed to know if he was serious.

“Okay, but just promise me you’ll come to the last international friendly and we can decide where we go from there?”

You nodded, resisting the urge to reach out and touch him like you so badly wanted to. “I’ll see you next Saturday.”

***

His kit felt heavy on your back, but you wore it anyway, showing up to Ullevaal Stadium for the match. Your bags were packed and you were ready to go back to Sheffield with him, determined to work it out. When the match ended in Norway’s favour, you were on the pitch, breathless and happy for him as if the last month hadn’t happened.

“I want you,” you said, speaking first when you saw him. “I want us. I want this to work.”

“Really?” Sander asked, incredulous. He’d been preparing himself all week for you to say no, but he hadn’t prepared himself for yes.

“Really. My bags are packed and I’m ready to go when you are.”

Sander let out a happy sound, laughing as he pulled you into his arms and spun you around. When he set you back down on the ground, his lips crashed onto yours, a kiss the two of you had been waiting a month for. This kiss held promises for the future, both of you knowing that it was all going to be alright between the two of you.

#my writing: sander berge #requests: sander berge #sander berge fluff #sander berge angst #sander berge x reader #sander berge one shot #sander berge oneshot #sander berge imagines #sander berge imagine

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quickspinner · 3 years

Text

Licked

🎉🎉🎉Happy birthday to the woman who started it all (at least started the LBSC exchange where I met all these wonderful crazy people to enable and be enabled by) @justknitstuff / @chromemist ! 🥳 This one’s just for you. Sounds like things have been crazy lately and I hope this makes your day a little bit happier.

Aged-up Lukanette, alternate first meeting

Rated TL for thirsty Luka lol...but there’s nothing explicit or above a T rating. Just a lot of ogling and some innuendo.

Luka’s been Jagged Stone’s guitarist for a couple of years now, and he’s seen lots of things. Weird things. Exciting things. Fun things. Not so fun things.

But Luka’s never seen anything like the designer Jagged flew in a few days ago. Unfortunately for his smitten heart, their first run-in (literally) didn’t go too well, so he’s hoping for a chance to smooth things over. A trip to the zoo, while unexpected, seems like the perfect chance...if he can stop ogling her long enough to remember how words work.

Being Jagged Stone came with a lot of perks.

Being Jagged Stone’s guitarist came with less (and a lot more headaches), but sometimes things trickled down, and so Luka found himself walking through the Australia Zoo, trailing at the back of Jagged’s entourage. The rock star had been invited for a private tour of the zoo, famous for its crocodiles, and Jagged had insisted on bringing “a few of his favorite people” along. (A few was really more like twenty, but when you’re Jagged Stone, nobody does a head count.)

It should have been really cool. Luka loved animals and hadn’t been to a zoo in years, let alone one as big and famous as the Australia Zoo. They’d been brought in through a back entrance, and shown some really cool behind-the-scenes stuff, and the rumor was they were going to get to be more hands-on with the animals than was typically allowed.

Except Luka hadn’t really seen any of the animals they’d been supposed to look at that day, because a week ago, Jagged had flown in a stylist from Paris for some emergency or other. Her work done, she’d been invited along on this tour with them, and Luka was having a hard time looking at anything else.

He’d met her shortly after she arrived, on the tour bus. She’d tripped coming down the steps just as he had started up, and she’d nearly taken him down with her, but Luka had managed to get a hold on the hand rail and keep them both from what would surely have been a painful fall. She’d been awfully embarrassed, and in the midst of some very confused introductions, Luka had made some stupid joke that had only made things worse, and she’d fled from him in a chaotic whirlwind of flustered adorable that had made it necessary for him to sit down on the steps for a moment to calm his pounding heart.

He’d only caught glimpses of her since then as she worked frantically to get Jagged ready for the finale show of this stop on the tour. As cute as she was, and as smitten as Luka had been in that short meeting, he hadn’t dared flirt with her while she was working on such a tough deadline, so other than volunteering to take her food or drinks when craft service brought them in, he’d stayed out of the way. She always flashed him a distracted (stunning) smile when he dropped off her food, but she’d been far too busy for anything more. Luka wasn’t entirely clear on why Jagged needed the new outfit so badly and so immediately, but it was Jagged and nobody even bothered to wonder why he did the things he did anymore.

Besides, no one could deny that the outfit, when it had finally debuted, had been amazing. Unlike most people, Luka had the opportunity to see it up close and take in all the details that would, unfortunately, probably be lost under the heavy lights of the stage. Even so, it was designed to look stunning under those lights, and on camera, and anyone admitted to the privilege of actually meeting the rock star in it would be all the more dazzled.

Luka certainly was. Far more than was really justified by what little contact they had, honestly, but Luka was used to trusting his intuition, and his gut (he was pretty sure it was his gut, though other parts certainly had plenty to say) was telling him that this girl was something special.

This should’ve been the perfect chance to talk to her, smooth things over, make a better second impression, pour on the charm. It would’ve been easier if he had his guitar, but still, he should have been able to make this work.

Except summer in Australia was hot. Luka had ditched his hoodie almost the second they’d gotten off the plane. Even his well-ventilated jeans got swapped for a pair of board shorts at his first opportunity.

So naturally, she was wearing shorts as well, and for such a short woman, she had gorgeous legs. Even her feet were cute in little flowered sandals he suspected she’d decorated herself. It didn’t get any better (or rather, it only got better) when he dragged his eyes above her waist. Her flowy, off-the-shoulder peasant top was somehow completely modest and unbearably sexy at the same time. Her hair was pulled up into a bun, with little tendrils sticking to her neck and bare shoulders or waving on the breeze as she fanned herself with the zoo map.

It was all Luka could do not to ogle her like a creep. How he was ever going to manage to talk to her, he had no idea.

So he hung back, trying to get his bearings and find his usual chill, while his bandmates shot him knowing grins and snickered behind their hands. They didn’t dare embarrass him too publicly, though. Luka had been participating in the annual Couffaine prank war since he was a kid and he was very creative when it came to revenge.

It wouldn’t be that hard to shove one of them into the croc pen, he was sure. Just as an example to the others.

Busy contemplating his retaliation, he stopped automatically when the group stopped, and didn’t realize he was standing behind Marinette until she turned suddenly, brow slightly furrowed in thought, and promptly tripped over his foot and tipped forward with a yelp.

“Whoa!” Luka’s arm shot out and he caught her around the waist, stopping her from falling, but she must have been startled by the sudden grab, because she tried to push him away and nearly fell again in the process. Luka didn’t let go, instead planting his feet to steady her. It only took a moment for her brain to catch up with what was happening and she stopped struggling. Instead, she babbled a breathless apology in rather confused English, and Luka grinned as he levered her back upright.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said in French, keeping his hands on her waist for a moment longer to make sure she was steady before drawing back. “I wasn’t paying attention either. Are you all right?”

“Fine,” she said, pushing her hair back from her forehead as she gave him an embarrassed smile. “I’m fine. Thank you. Sorry. Um, again. Thanks. Luka, right? I’ve been meaning to say thanks for everything this week too. I probably would have starved if you weren’t looking out for me, so...” She broke off to suck in a breath and gave an embarrassed smile. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“My pleasure,” Luka replied. “For both. Although Penny orders the food, I’m just the delivery boy.” He grinned at her, and she started to smile back before her eyes widened slightly and she whirled.

“Um, we should catch up with the others?” she blurted. They had fallen a bit behind, and Marinette took off in a power walk that caught her up with the group in no time.

Luka trailed behind, a little deflated. He’d barely even said anything that time, but she’d run away again. Maybe...maybe he should just back off. If she wasn’t interested in him then—but for a second there, he’d thought...

He continued to linger at the back of the group, not approaching Marinette or trying to get near her. They came to another enclosure, and Luka leaned his elbows on the concrete wall of the enclosure, trying to find his enthusiasm for the trip. Below him in the pen, dingos yipped and frolicked, tackling each other and then sprinting around the pen. He had to smile, watching them.

To his surprise, Marinette came up and stood next to him. She shot him a quick, hesitant smile, which he returned automatically, and then stood on her toes a little to peer over the barrier into the cage, leaning her hands on the wall next to him. She gave him another quick smile as she settled back on her heels.

“They’re cute,” she murmured, and then blushed and looked away.

“They look like they’re having a good time,” Luka observed, and she made a noise of agreement. An awkward silence fell between them. Luka’s face was turned towards the dogs below them, but he was watching Marinette out of the corner of his eye, trying to figure her out and not dwell on how much he’d like to nip along the pretty line of her jaw to her neck—

His salvation came when he caught her eyeing his arms as he leaned on the rail. He’d cut the sleeves off this t-shirt years ago, and he was reasonably sure that the flush on her face wasn’t just the heat. Luka turned his face away for a moment to hide his smirk, and the little ego boost was just what he needed to untie his tongue.

But before he could come up with something to say, Marinette did.

“That’s the tour shirt from what, eight years ago?” Marinette asked, leaning back slightly to look at the dates down the back.

“Yeah, I’ve had it forever,” Luka shrugged, pleased by the way her eyes followed the motion of his shoulders. “As you can probably tell.”

“At least it’s good ventilation in this heat,” Marinette quipped, reaching out to pluck the ragged edge of one of the tears on the side.

“Definitely an advantage,” Luka agreed, with a wink. “Not as stylish as yours, though. That’s a cute top. I like the ruffles.” That wasn’t too weird, was it? She was a fashion designer after all. Luka didn’t know anything about fashion but she certainly looked good in it.

“I’m not very rock ‘n roll, I know,” she said, wrinkling her nose, glancing down at herself. Cute. “But it’s me, and that’s what matters.” She tossed her head and scrunched up one shoulder, giving a look that dared him to argue.

“You’re perfect,” Luka smiled, and the pink on her cheeks grew a little darker. “You’re from Paris, right? I think Jagged said so?” he added quickly, afraid he’d made her uncomfortable. Marinette nodded, and he grinned at her, leaning back on the barrier again. “Me too. Well, sort of. We moved around a lot when I was younger but we’ve been settled in Paris for a long time.”

“That explains why your French is so good,” Marinette giggled. “I’d wondered.” She settled against the rail next to him and nudged his shoulder slightly with her own. “I bet the American ladies love your accent.”

Oh God, she was flirting with him, and it was adorable. Luka suppressed the urge to squeal like a teenage girl as he looked down at his hands, grinning. “Maybe. Just my luck the only girl I’ve met worth impressing happens to be French.” He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing so he could pretend not to notice the choking noise she made.

“Honestly,” he began, when he thought she had recovered, “I kind of have a habit of putting my foot in my mouth. Like when we met. I’ve been wanting to apologize for that. I didn’t mean to upset you or make you feel bad. Sometimes I’m thoughtless without meaning to be, so. I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Marinette ducked her head slightly. “That’s all right. The stuttering, the word jumbling, it’s something that happens when I’m nervous. I should be used to it by now. I shouldn’t have been so sensitive, just—”

“No, wait. I really wasn’t trying to make fun of you, but I was out of line and you had every right to be mad at me,” Luka said, putting a hand on her shoulder to stop her. “I’m sorry, and it won’t happen again.”

Marinette stared at him for a moment, and then smiled. “Thank you. I, um, accept your apology.”

“Thank you,” Luka grinned, letting his hand fall from her shoulder. “So. How long have you known Jagged?”

“I’ve been working for him off and on for almost ten years now,” Marinette told him, as they turned away to follow the group towards the next exhibit.

“That’s pretty impressive,” Luka said, and meant it. “I’ve only been with him for the last couple of years. I’m not sure I could take a decade of that.” He waved at Jagged, who was bouncing along at the front of the group, loud and gesturing broadly, chattering excitedly with their hosts (who might be the only people on the planet as croc-mad as Jagged).

Marinette giggled and warmth filled him, entirely different from the heat of the sun on their backs or the way he’d felt when he saw her in those shorts. “You get it in more concentrated doses than I do,” she pointed out. “You’re stuck with him for months at a time. I mostly get video calls, plus one or two unannounced visits and the occasional demand to fly out and design something for him.”

“Like now?” Luka asked, and Marinette nodded.

“I don’t know what they tried to make him wear but apparently it was not acceptable and he needed somebody who gets him,” she said, tone cheerful though she rolled her eyes. “I don’t really mind this time. It got me out of another project that I really didn’t want to do, and Jagged pays well. It doesn’t hurt my portfolio either.” She winked at him and he was pretty sure it stopped his heart for a moment.

“I bet,” Luka grinned, a beat later than he should have. “Jagged’s not an easy man to please.”

“You should know,” Marinette teased, leaning towards him, and then she seemed to catch herself and turn her attention back to the animals, cheeks reddening.

Luka was still grinning as he looked back as well, not really seeing them. Something caught his eye to his other side, and when he looked, he found his bandmates making kissy faces and gesturing rudely. Luka raised his eyebrows at them in warning, and they fell to snickering. Luka rolled his eyes and turned toward Marinette, set on ignoring them, but she had pulled a small notebook from her bag and was sketching one of the flowers planted along the concrete barrier. Luka sighed, but opted not to disturb her.

They were ushered on, and Luka had an easier time getting into the trip now that he’d at least cleared the air with Marinette. When he ended up next to her again, she shot him a quick smile, too excited at the prospect of holding a koala to pay him much attention. Luka didn’t mind; her enthusiasm was cute, he was really kind of excited to hold a koala himself, and he was the one she turned to at the last second, shoving her phone in his hands and begging him to take her picture. He did, grinning stupidly the whole time at her sparkling eyes and beaming smile, and took one with his own as well, “just in case.” Marinette happily returned the favor, and it wasn’t as hard as it should have been for Luka to ignore his bandmates behind her making crude gestures and pretending to cheer him on. Clearly he’d been too easy on them the last few months. As they moved on Luka made a mental note to plan a particularly creative revenge. He had to find a way to ditch those jackasses before they ruined everything.

He saw his moment when they finally reached the famous crocodile paddocks, and the family took Jagged with them into the pen, since he was “an experienced crocodile handler” (“Have they met Fang?” Luka murmured to Marinette, who giggled). By now rumors of the rock star’s presence had circulated and there was quite a crowd jamming up against the barriers to see him—and Jagged never could resist a crowd. Before long, an impromptu croc show was on, and it became obvious the tour wasn’t going to continue any time soon.

Marinette sighed at his elbow and folded her arms, pouting slightly, and Luka quickly assessed his options. Excusing himself, he worked his way through the crowd of bystanders to Penny, who was somehow managing to look both bored and stressed out at the same time. She barely acknowledged his “Hey, Penny,” when he sidled up next to her.

“I was just wondering,” Luka said, brushing sweat-damp hair off of his forehead. “It looks like Jagged’s gonna be a while and Marinette’s looking pretty—” Don’t say hot! “—uh, warm standing out here in the sun, so…” He faltered for a moment as Penny turned away from Jagged to look directly at him, eyes narrowing. She saw right through him, he was sure. He swallowed his nerves and went on. “I was, um, thinking maybe I could take her to find some shade and maybe buy her something to drink and some ice cream, and we can meet back up with you guys in a bit?”

Penny stared at him for a moment, and Luka looked back as impassively as he could. She looked toward Marinette over his shoulder, and Luka couldn’t help glancing back. Marinette’s cheeks were still bright pink and she was fanning herself with her map again.

“Couffaine,” Penny said in a warning voice, and Luka turned back to her with a sigh.

“Penny come on,” he said in a low voice. “Even rock stars don’t meet a girl like that every day.”

Penny’s lips pressed together, and her eyes flicked to Marinette again before fixing back on Luka. “You know she’s flying out tomorrow,” Penny said, her voice unexpectedly gentle.

Luka rocked back on his heels slightly, and took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Tomorrow. That meant his only shot for a date was tonight. If he didn’t at least get her number by the end of the day, she’d walk out of his life and who knew when he’d see her again, and that just wasn’t acceptable.

He focused back on Penny and flashed a smile. “Then I better not waste any time, huh?”

Penny sighed, and then reached around him and snatched the zoo map out of his back pocket. She clicked her pen, then circled a place on the map and slapped it against his chest. “You have two hours. Meet us there and don’t be late.”

Luka took the map and tucked it back into his pocket. “Thanks, Penny.”

She sighed. “Good luck,” she muttered, turning back to Jagged.

He went back to Marinette, blowing out another deep breath and trying to look relaxed as he approached her. Nothing to lose and everything to gain. Time to bring your A-game, Couffaine.

“Hey, do you want to get out of here?” he asked, when she looked up at his approach. “Penny told me where to meet them later, and as entertaining as it might be to watch Jagged get eaten by a crocodile, I’m pretty sure he’s too lucky for it to actually happen. What do you say we go get something to eat and see the rest of the zoo?”

He was rewarded with a brilliant smile and he walked off at her side, flipping off his bandmates behind her back as they passed.

Marinette relaxed almost immediately, away from the crowd, and Luka winced internally, afraid she might have noticed some of the teasing. “Sorry if the guys have been giving you a hard time,” he said, as casually as he could. “They’re a bunch of clowns but they’re mostly harmless.”

“Oh, they’re fine,” Marinette shrugged, smiling up at him. “They seem nice enough, just...loud. It’s always loud around Jagged. It gets to be a bit much sometimes. I don’t know how you stand it. You don’t seem very loud yourself, except when you’re on stage.”

“I’m not,” Luka admitted, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Never have been, except on stage. I’m used to the chaos, though. Ice cream?”

Marinette brightened. “Sure!”

The ice cream might have been a mistake, Luka reflected a short time later. Marinette’s mouth was gorgeous. Celebrities paid good money for lips like that, and watching them glide along her spoon was only half as torturous as watching her lick at the ice cream directly, trying to sweep up the melting drops running down the side.

Luka quickly took a bigger bite of his own than was wise, and gritted his teeth against the resulting brain freeze. Marinette laughed at the face he made, and that brought him back to a place where he could at least speak normally to her. For a while, they stayed on neutral topics, chatting about their families and careers in between cooing over the animals. Marinette was sharp, and entertainingly witty when she didn’t think too hard and trip over her tongue.

Luka was catching her rhythm, now. She skittered away from him when she got overwhelmed or felt she’d been too daring, but as long as he waited, she’d sidle back, settle back into shy flirting that would gradually grow bolder, until something tipped her over the edge and she ran away again. Luka adjusted to suit, letting her have her space when she needed it, easing off his teasing when she returned until she found her footing again. He was enjoying it, actually, now that he knew she wasn’t actually scared or put off by him; he got a charge out of it when he flustered her and she fled, and an equally powerful feeling when she came back to him.

The rest of the afternoon was a series of exquisite moments. Standing a little too close, leaning into each other’s space more than was necessary to read a sign or peer into an exhibit. Shy looks that grew slowly bolder and smiles that turned into soft giggles. A burst of triumph when he took her hand and she slid her fingers between his. The flutter of excitement he felt when she leaned against his arm to point something out, and then rested her cheek on his shoulder instead of pulling away. A look up at him, and a dip of his head that might have become a kiss if not for a rush of small, screaming children bumping into their knees.

They made it to the giraffe pavilion Penny had circled on the map a little ahead of the others, and Luka knew he’d better say what he needed to say quickly. The employee at the doors let them in and led them to the giraffe feeding area, giving them each a handful of lettuce, and went back outside to wait for the rest of the group. Another bored-looking employee was leaning against the back wall, but he didn’t seem to be paying them any attention.

Marinette was back to the bubbly sort of excited she’d been when they held the koalas, and Luka was loving every moment of it, but he knew the clock was ticking. He took a breath and stepped close, reaching over her to offer some lettuce to the giraffe. The giraffe sniffed it, and then dipped its head to take the lettuce from Marinette instead.

Marinette giggled, looking up to scrunch her nose at him. “I think he likes me.”

“No doubt,” Luka said, offering her his handful of lettuce, and not noticing when a leaf dribbled out of the side of the giraffe’s mouth above him and landed in his hair. “I know I do.”

Marinette blushed, and gave him another look over her shoulder, reaching up to the giraffe with another section of lettuce.

“Luka Couffaine, are you hitting on me?” she asked, the quirk of her smile suggesting the idea wasn’t unwelcome.

“I’ve been trying my best,” Luka chuckled, and then grew serious, reaching for her hand to turn her to face him. “You’re really special, Marinette. I know you have pretty much no reason to take me seriously, but believe me, I don’t get this way about just anyone.” Here goes nothing. “I’ve had a crush on you pretty much since you crashed into me on the bus, and it’s getting worse by the minute. I’ve had a great time with you today, and I’m really hoping it doesn’t have to stop.”

For a moment she seemed to glow, and Luka’s breath caught, but then she paused and her face fell. “I’m flying out tomorrow,” she said, dropping her eyes as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Well,” Luka said, leaning in a little. “That still leaves tonight.” Marinette’s eyes blew wide and Luka’s did too as his own words hit his ears. “Dinner! I meant dinner, I didn’t—I mean unless you want to but I—okay forget that I swear I just meant I’d like to take you to dinner.”

“I’d love for you to take me,” she said quickly, and then her eyes widened. “To dinner! Oh my—dinner. Just dinner. For now. I mean, uh—”

Luka couldn’t help it. He started laughing, and so did Marinette, hiding her face in his chest, both of them laughing so hard they couldn’t quite stand up straight and collapsed against each other, swaying slightly. After a moment she peeked up at him, still giggling, and said decisively, “I’d love to have dinner with you.”

Grinning down at her in his arms, Luka’s gaze fell to her lips, remembering that almost kiss, and by the way she pulled that lower lip between her teeth, Marinette did too.

He started to lean toward her but a sudden, hard tug on his hair jerked him backwards, and then he registered something wet and slimy running down the back of his head and along his neck.

Luka screamed at a pitch he normally only hit during concerts, and lurched forward, knocking into Marinette as he flailed over his head. He made contact with something but it just moved away and there was another tug on his hair. He scrambled blindly, trying to get away from whatever it was, not realizing he was practically climbing his small companion.

“Luka, calm down! It’s just the giraffe!” Marinette said, hooking her hands under his thighs and hiking him up to a more stable position. “I’ve got you, you big baby,” she laughed, and he looked down, fully registering the fact that his legs were wrapped around Marinette’s waist and she was holding him up—awkwardly, since he was so much bigger than her, but securely.

If he hadn’t been so embarrassed, he might have been turned on, but as he stared down into Marinette’s amused blue eyes twinkling back up at him, he really would have been just as happy if a hole opened up in the ground for her to drop him into.

Things were going so well, too. Luka twisted around to see behind him, and sure enough there was a giraffe, staring back at him as it chewed placidly. Luka put a hand up to his hair automatically and whined when it came away slimy with giraffe spit. At least it seemed like it was all there. Whatever the giraffe was chewing on, at least it hadn’t taken a chunk of his hair.

That would just be the icing on the cake. He started to put his hand back on Marinette’s shoulder and then realized his hand was slimy now too.

Fuck, he really had no idea how to recover from this.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Luka closed his eyes and dropped his forehead on the top of Marinette’s head. “Hi, Penny.”

“Marinette are you all right?” Penny demanded, and Luka could hear the unmistakable sound of Jagged’s raucous laughter soaring over the hysteria of his other bandmates.

“I’m fine,” Marinette giggled, and looked up at Luka. “Can I put you down now, or do I need to carry you away from the big, scary giraffe first?”

“Just let it eat me,” Luka muttered, and Marinette laughed, dropping Luka’s feet to the ground.

“Not a chance,” Marinette sniffed. “Who’s going to buy me dinner tonight if I let you get eaten by the least scary animal in this zoo?”

“What’s this about dinner?” Jagged asked, perking up, and Luka groaned, slapping his palm over his face. He made a disgusted noise as he realized it was still covered in giraffe spit. He rubbed it off on his shorts and used the tail of his shirt to wipe off his face, sighing.

“You really still want to have dinner after that?” he grumbled mournfully, fully expecting Marinette to back out. When she didn’t answer he peeked out from behind his shirt.

Marinette was staring at his exposed abs. Luka grinned, and dropped his shirt. Marinette’s eyes snapped back up to his face. “I’m gonna find a restroom and clean up,” he told her, chucking her under the chin (with his clean hand) to close her open mouth. “Think about what you want to eat tonight.” He winked and she made a strangled noise.

***

Luka’s foot tapped restlessly as the plane rolled up to the jetbridge (not the gangway, as Jagged had repeatedly corrected him during the first few months on tour). They were a little late, and Luka was tired and hungry and very eager to see his no-longer-so-long-distance girlfriend.

It was torture waiting for the crowd to deplane, and Luka breathed a sigh of relief as he finally made it to the airport corridor and started making his way eagerly toward the baggage claim. He was very much looking forward to being in the same city as Marinette for at least a few months. Their relationship had grown amazingly well, considering they were limited to texting and video calls, except for one week in New York, when Jagged had flown Marinette out for another fashion emergency, and one blissful, heavenly week in London last month when Marinette had taken the train out just to see him, and they had spent the whole week avoiding the overenthusiastic rock star, Luka’s stupid bandmates, and the terrible weather in the very private hotel room Luka had spared no expense for. Even the thought of it made him bite his lip and walk faster.

He was even more motivated because Juleka was supposed to be meeting him here too, and he wasn’t at all sure it was a good idea to leave his sister and his girlfriend alone together for too long in what was bound to be a slightly awkward first meeting.

When he first spotted the girls, he only had eyes for Marinette, and only after he had swept her up in his arms and nearly crushed her, did he have enough attention to notice the giant giraffe balloon his sister was holding. The damn thing was nearly as big as Juleka, and the shit-eating grin his normally reserved sister was wearing was enough to assure him that it wasn’t a coincidence.

Luka groaned and let Marinette slide to the floor. “I can’t believe you told her.”

Marinette giggled and shrugged. “We had to kill the awkward somehow,” she shrugged. “She just got this manic grin and ran off to the nearest gift shop.”

“And it was so worth it for the look on your face,” Juleka snickered.

Luka snorted. Really it was a miracle it had taken this long; he’d had to threaten to quit to keep Jagged from plastering the band’s social media with pictures of Luka hanging off Marinette, a terrified look on his face and his hair sticking straight up and coated in giraffe drool.

Still. “Just for that,” he muttered, and grabbed Marinette’s hand to pull her close, cradling the back of her head in his hand as he kissed her. He meant it to be a simple kiss, just sloppy enough to embarrass his sister, but Marinette put her arms around his neck and pressed up into him, and he forgot Juleka was even there for at least a full minute.

Even the sound of his sister gagging couldn’t wipe the grin off his face when Marinette’s lips finally slipped away from his. “I am so glad to be back,” he growled, and felt Marinette shiver in his arms. “I’m taking you out tomorrow, jet lag or no. You just say when and where.”

“I was thinking maybe we could go to the zoo,” Marinette said innocently, and Juleka cackled as Luka sighed and rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

“I like her,” Juleka said, shoving Luka’s arm. “Don’t mess it up. Although,” she began to snicker, “if you could recover from a beginning like that, maybe I shouldn’t worry.”

Luka opened his mouth to tell her where she could shove her opinion, but Marinette grabbed his collar and jerked him down into another kiss. “Be nice,” she murmured, and then shoved him back, giggling along with Juleka at the blissful look on his face.

So just because I constantly live in fear of people calling me on my BS, I’m gonna warn you now I’ve never been to Australia Zoo and while I did some research and studied the map well...try not to laugh at me too hard if you’ve been. It’s just background so I didn’t try that hard to differentiate it from other zoos. But Knit loves giraffes so I needed a zoo and Australia Zoo seemed like the easiest one to get Jagged to, so here we are. Happy Birthday, Knit!

Fiction Master Post | AO3

#quickspins #the zoo fic #i'll never not know you #lukanette #lukanette endgame #endgame lukanette #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #meet-cute #i am lukanette trash i admit it #happy birthday knit!#giraffe merchandise haunts luka for the rest of his life #giraffe stuffies pop up everywhere #the nursery is totally decorated in giraffes #he can't get away from it #he just accepts it

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catxsnow · 4 years

Text

LOST AND FOUND

Request: Hello. Is it possible to request a funny imagine where (comics) Tim Drake and his S/O is on a road trip and they nearly lost him during a group of middle schoolers touring an art museum and couldn't stop laughing even when he glares at them fiercely.

Warning: fluff

A/N: Hello children! I have returned home and boy oh boy did I miss my laptop. I’ve got a break before school starts again which means lots of time for writing hopefully!

Word count: 1.6k

It had been a long time that Tim had been out of the city without it being a work related matter. Between running Wayne Enterprises and being Red Robin, he had no time to be able to enjoy a vacation. He was stressed, overworking himself, and needed a break. Yet, he refused to take one.

It was when you saw that Tim was dragging around your home and having no energy to spend time with you did you realize he needed some time away from Gotham. No matter how tired Tim was, he always made sure to kiss you goodnight - the past week he hadn't. You knew that he needed time to recharge.

The best way to convince him? A road trip. Tim loved being able to stop and visit different tourist sights in different cities. The freedom of being able to drive himself rather than be couped up in a plane. Road trips with you were always his best source of vacation - even if sometimes they only lasted a day.

This time you wanted to surprise him with the new museum opening up in Ivy Town. It had been years since you had been to the city and it was only a couple hours drive away. So, you forced Tim to leave work and join you on the trip for the next forty-eight hours. As badly as he wanted to argue that he was too busy, he knew he would never win against you.

It wasn't very often that you forced Tim to do things. The first time was when he had come back from a failed mission with a broke arm. He assured you that he was fine, but you weren't taking no for an answer. That was how he ended up in the hospital lying to one of the nurses that he had been mugged.

The second was when he was working a case. You knew that it was time sensitive and that lives were on the line. But after you saw him awake for just over fifty hours, you convinced him that he too needed his rest. Tim would never be able to save people if he couldn't keep his eyes open.

Any time that you made him do something, it was always for his own benefit, not yours. He was the kind of person that over worked himself when he needed to. You were the one to keep him on track. Being a detective like Bruce had driven him to pick up his bad habits too.

You already loaded the car with everything that you would need for the next couple days. Clothes, phones chargers, and most importantly lots of car ride snacks. If you were going to do most of the driving, then you needed the snacks to keep you focused. Tim gladly relaxed in the passenger's seat.

"So, where are we going?" Tim asked. Sunglasses rested on his nose and he looked out at the window as you drove along the coast. He wouldn't admit it to you, but you were right. He did need this break from everything.

"Must life had a destination? Can't we just enjoy the path that it gives us and the people that we meet?" You faked a posh voice. Tim slid his sunglasses down to give you a curious look. "Ivy Town - but that's all I'm telling you everything else is a surprise."

"You know I hate surprises," Tim groaned. You reached over the console to grab his hand. He gladly intertwined your fingers and brought the back of your hand up to his lips.

"Yeah but you love me more than you hate them so, deal with it," you grinned. Tim didn't complain any farther - you were right. He did love you more than anything else. He had been through a lot in his life, and without you he wasn't sure if he could have pushed through it all. You were his number one supporter.

Your road trip was just like any other that you had taken with him. Music blasting through the radio and singing as loud as your lungs would let you. Tim would point out some sort of monument along the way and tell you everything he knew about it. You would stop the car just to get a picture of him in front of the gorgeous coast view.

Snacks were shared and laughter filled the van. These were the times that you loved most with Tim. He was finally able to be stress free with you - or at least a lot less. Tim over worked himself constantly and no matter how many times you told him to take care of himself, he always found a way out of it.

It was several hours later that you had finally made it to Ivy Town. Tim was still trying to figure out where you were taking him. His gazed was locked on the window, analyzing each building that you drove by. It wasn't until you finally reached the new museum that he understood where you wanted to go.

"It's a new science museum!" You grinned at your boyfriend. Though Tim understood the science behind most things (him and his ridiculously smart brain) you were the one in the relationship that got excited over it all. "Ray Palmer funded it! I checked it out the other day and it looks awesome. What do you think?"

"I think," Tim turned his gaze away from museum and back towards you. He leaned over the console in your car to kiss you. "I think I love you. Thank you for the surprise."

"Of course, my love," You kissed him once more. The two of you left your car and headed towards the museum. Crowds of people were scattered around. Couple of various ages, families with their young kids, there was even a class field trip being led around by some teachers. The place was incredible.

After paying for your tickets, you dragged Tim around to each section of the museum. It was incredible in there. Favoritism towards Ray's atom technology was evident everywhere and you were amazed by the explanation of it all. Tim couldn't get rid of the smile on his face as you got excited over every little thing.

Tim found himself relaxing more than he thought he could. He felt like a kid again, running around to all the different models and hands-on experiments that could be done. With you, he always felt as if he was his age, not the adult that he was force to grow too soon to be.

You were standing in front of a huge structure talking about the endless possibilities that this new technology could lead to. Tim had been standing right behind you when you first starting looking at it. However, as you turned around, he was no where to be seen. For a split second, you panicked. As much as Tim could handle himself, you still worried about him.

"Tim?" You called out. The museum was buzzing with people and your voice was drowned out by all the chatter. You spun around on your feels and searched the crowd for him. You couldn't see him anywhere, just the faces of people that you didn't know. Where could he have gone? Why?

Your gaze turned towards the group of middle schoolers that had been there on a field trip. A mop of black hair, just slightly taller than the rest, stood out to you. Tim had been rallied into the class, obviously with the teachers thinking that he was one of them. It was obvious that he was trying to make his way out of the group, but had a struggle of doing so.

He met your eyes, nearly pleading for your help but all you could do was keel over and laugh. Tim was often degraded for his young age. He was the head of Wayne Enterprises before the age of twenty and he was looked down upon by many. Now, he looked even younger while being trapped with a bunch of kids.

Your stomach hurt from all the laughter and tears threatened to stream down your cheeks. Tim had finally made it out of the group and glared at you the whole time that he stomped over. The glare had only made you laugh harder. Nothing in the trip would compare to this moment - and you couldn't wait to tell the others.

"Thanks for the help," Tim scoffed. He stood in front of you with his arms crossed. "Don't you dare tell anyone about that."

"I already sent a video," you showed your phone to Tim. You had sent it to everyone in his family but no one had responded yet. Tim's face flushed and he stuck out his bottom lip. "Oh, so worth it though."

"You're the worst," Tim groaned. You linked your arm in his and walked him towards the exit. That was enough of the museum for one day. Your phone dinged several times, indicating that you were getting replies from the video you sent out. "I don't even want to know what they said."

"Awe, Tim," You reached up to kiss his cheek. Tim got very reactive to your teasing, and it wasn't often that you got to divulge in doing it. This was one of those rare times that you were going to take full advantage of the situation. "I still love you, even if you do look like a pubescent teen."

"I'm a grown man!"

#tim drake #tim drake imagine #tim drake one shot #tim drake x reader #red robin #red robin imagine #dc imagine #dc one shot #dc #fluff

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raendown · 3 years

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Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 4879 Soulmate au: The one where every pair of soulmates finds each other in different ways or through different soulmate tropes

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Chapter 221

Watching the client who had come begging them for assistance with a typically ridiculous problem, Tobirama wondered what it would be like to have such an obvious connection to his soulmate as this man did. His already short sleeves were tied back even further as though to purposefully display as much as possible of the golden words flowing down the back of one arm, a greeting that must have been the first words his other half spoke to him. To have such easy proof of one’s connection, to know from the earliest ages that there was someone out there and how to find them, Tobirama could only wonder at the security this man must have felt in his bond from the moment he understood that it was waiting for him. It must have been nice.

It was also quite the pity for whoever had been the one to speak those words.

Privately Tobirama could admit that a small bit of the attitude he could feel bubbling to the surface was motivated by jealousy, petty retribution against someone who had something he wanted for himself. Out loud, of course, he wouldn’t be caught dead even hinting at such an admission.

“This is all very fascinating, Kirimoto-san, but I can’t help noting you have yet to explain what any of it has to do with Konohagakure. Were you perchance hoping to commission someone to record your story? Contracting a scribe would only be a D-rank mission, not the A-rank you proposed.” Lifting one eyebrow in judgement was probably going a little too far. If only he could bring himself to care.

“I was only just getting to that, Senju-sama,” their client spluttered. Anger flashed across his face but luckily for his continued health he was smart enough not to say anything. “The mission I came to contract your shinobi for is of vital importance! My son is a diamond among chaff; he deserves only the best! If the woman pressing suit upon him is truly so weak-hearted as to look at other men then she must be chased away!”

Tobirama blinked slowly. “And you wish us to…?”

“Why, to bring proof of her infidelity of course! I will pay the full price of an A-rank mission for two of your finest shinobi to approach her in disguise and seduce her away from my son! If her heart is as impure as I think it is then she will no doubt fall for such base tricks.”

He puffed himself up with the same false importance bred in to every idiot that had ever been born in the capital city, entirely ignorant of how little effect that would have on the one he was speaking to. When Tobirama got ahold of his brother he was going to throttle the man for taking today of all days off and leaving his duties to the next in command. Technically Madara would have been the next in command if he weren’t currently at home recovering from pushing himself too hard during training. No doubt that was exactly why Hashirama had taken the day off. Tobirama hoped the two idiots drowned in a teapot for making him deal with this particular client.

Despite his petty irritation he didn’t actually want to offend the man. Or at least not badly enough for the idiot to file a complaint that would bring another lecture down on his head about playing nice with their patrons. Several slow deep breaths helped bolster his patience until he could be certain none of the contempt he felt for this utter waste of time might show on his face; only then did he speak again.

“If you wish to pay for an A-rank mission then we will gladly accept your commission. Do you have any other information that might help us choose the two best people to accept this task?”

“You! I want one of them to be you!” For some reason Kirimoto-san felt the need to rise from his chair and point like there could be any mistaking who he was speaking to. They were, after all, the only people in the room. “I’ve heard all the rumors! Women from here to the capitol cry themselves to sleep every night over the hearts you break!”

Tobirama could feel one of his eyes twitching. He’d heard a lot of rumors about himself before but this one was new. Him? A country-wide heartbreaker? That went beyond laughable in to the territory of utterly absurd. If anything most rumors called him uptight and cold. Which, in all honesty, was certainly more true than the opposite. The last heart he broke was probably well back in his adolescence when one of his clanmates had taken some unnatural interest in him and refused to be turned aside with any gentler tactics than a flat out shredding of her ego.

Clinging hard to his temper, Tobirama bit down savagely on his own tongue before asking, “I don’t suppose I could change your mind on that? My duties here are many and rumors are easily blown out of proportion. Seduction is… not one of my strengths, shall we say.”

“Do...I want to know?” Hashirama’s voice asked in the same moment the door swung open. Their illustrious Hokage recoiled almost as soon as he stepped in to the room, eyes wide and confused upon being met with Tobirama’s acidic glare. Behind him trundled Madraa who looked a hell of a lot more put together than he had when Tobirama bullied him in to going home the night before with instructions to recuperate before he passed out over his own paperwork.

“Ah Hokage-sama!” their client bowed hastily.

“Hello! Um, honeypot mission?” The cringe in Hashirama’s voice was as obvious as the pain it caused him to think of his sibling in any sort of intimate context.

Unfortunately Kirimoto-san managed to speak first. “Senju-sama here has agreed to assist me in the matter I wrote to you about! All we need is one mo- ah! Perfect! You’re perfect! Pray tell, what is your name, miss?”

If nothing else. Tobirama decided while he was busily choking on his own tongue, that right there was worth the shame of having to take part in this ridiculous farce. Madara, to no one’s surprise, didn’t seem inclined to agree. His expression was particularly thunderous when he crossed his arms and leveled their client with a deadly stare.

“Uchiha Madara,” he growled. To Kirimoto-san’s credit he didn’t so much as flinch before breaking in to a massive grin.

“Even more perfect! A man! And here I thought I would have to pay extra for you to dress as one. Most excellent. It absolutely must be the two of you!”

Madara sneered. “I don’t think s-”

“Well now!” Hashirama spoke over him. “I’m sure you understand, my dear sir, that these two are my most valuable shinobi both administratively and in battle prowess. To allow both of them to be deployed on the same mission would be a serious detriment to our productivity - not to mention our security in the event of an attack.”

“But I must have them! Only them!”

“It simply doesn’t seem feasible. To fill the large spaces they would leave empty would mean keeping several extra people on active duty and I’m afraid the cost…” With a face of carefully constructed regret Hashirama sighed and Tobirama took a moment to reluctantly admire his brother’s ingenuity. People could say what they wanted about his overly active emotions. Very few ever realized how easily he manipulated them entirely because of that same buffoonery veiling their eyes to the wily genius underneath.

Kami forbid the idiot ever realize Tobirama admired that quality in him, though.

“Can I not convince you?” Kirimoto-san begged. “If it is a matter of cost I can of course make it worth your while to send them with me! Name your price, Hokage-sama, and I will pay it! Anything to ensure that my precious son lives his life only with a woman who will never betray him!”

The poor sod didn’t even seem to realize the mistake he’d just made as Hashirama turned to him with a beatific smile on his face and dollar signs in his eyes.

When he finally managed to leave the office Kirimoto-san’s face was as pained as his poor wallet was empty. Tobirama couldn’t find it in himself to even pity the man. Not when his own fate had been sealed with more than twenty thousand ryō above the typical asking price of an A-ranked mission. Regrettably, he hadn’t actually been lying when he said that seduction was not one of his strengths but apparently he would have to at least make an effort. It was hard to choose whether he regretted more that it would be a woman several years after he had finally accepted his preferences in the opposite direction or that, of all people, Madara would be there to watch him make such an utter fool out of himself.

“How exactly”-he demanded the moment their client was far enough down the hall not to overhear them-”do you propose I disguise myself? At the risk of showing my own ego, I’ll remind you that I do have rather distinctive looks.”

“You’re not the only one,” Madara growled with both hands going almost protectively to his extraordinary mane of hair.

Hashirama boomed a laugh that lacked even a shred of sympathy. “Oh I’m sure you two will figure something out! You could always wear a henge!”

“And if she’s chakra-sensitive? I notice you failed to even ask about that!” Madara reached out to smack his best friend across the back of the head for such an oversight. Familial bonds dictated that Tobirama should defend his sibling but, as he rather wished he was close enough to do that himself, he opted to pretend he’d seen nothing.

“Sorry! Sorry! I’m sure we can work out something that will hide your hair. Like a big scarf or a hood or something you could tuck it in to!” Hashirama drooped and clasped both hands under his chin. “Please don’t be mad at me!”

“That still leaves me,” Tobirama pointed out.

Both of the squabbling friends turned to him in consideration for several long heartbeats. Hashirama spoke up first with a bright smile. “I know! We can cover your tattoos with makeup! Geisha use white makeup all the time, I’m sure we can procure you some in a discreet manner!”

“Covering my face won’t do much good if my hair is just going to stick out like a fox in a henhouse. The only bloodlines left that produce hair this color are all shinobi clans and as much as I would consider it a complement to be mistaken for a Hatake, that wouldn’t exactly help me fly under the radar now would it?” he didn’t bother to list all of the other shinobi clans he would likely take insult at being mistaken for but his brother, thankfully, had enough tact to skirt that entirely.

Instead he went even deeper in to stupid territory because of course he did.

“You could dye your hair!” he crowed as if with the triumph of a great idea.

“I hate you,” Tobirama told him.

Without another word he swept out of the office, calling over his brother’s whining protests that since he was here anyway he might as well finish his own duties for the day. More than anything he was angered that Hashirama’s suggestion had actually been a logical solution and in the depths of his private heart he admitted that his irritation stemmed entirely from self-image. He didn’t want to dye his hair. He liked his hair. Call him an egomaniac but he rather enjoyed standing out from the masses.

Sending a clone to go pick out some dye from the infiltration core’s private storage room felt somehow less painful than doing it himself. At least when he received the memories of it the deed would already be done. Tobirama completed the handful of duties left unfinished at the tower and then left to wait at home for his clone to return. The first thing he did upon dispelling his copy was sit in his living room to study the instructions on the back of the dreaded box in excruciating detail. The only thing worse than going through with this idiocy would be somehow doing it wrong; this was already going to end in mockery one way or another, he didn’t need to give anyone more ammo than necessary. After making sure he understood exactly how to use the stuff Tobirama spun the box around again to study the color.

Maybe he wouldn’t look entirely terrible with red hair. If the stars aligned in just the right way he might be able to convince himself he looked a bit like his sister in law. The Uzumaki, now there was a clan he would feel no shame for having a connection to and it would certainly be a logical assumption. They did have a rather sizable civilian population.

Turning the box side to side in an effort to determine whether he thought the color looked like a natural one, he couldn’t help but let his eyes be drawn to the golden letters embossed near the very top, an elegant curling script that greatly resembled the letters Kirimoto-san bore along one arm. What would he do, Tobirama wondered, if at last he managed to discover his own soulmate and he wasn’t able to reach out because of this? He’d never been all that fond of undercover missions for just this reason. To meet his soulmate while he didn’t even look like himself, to risk that they might fall in love with a falsity. A deep sigh escaped him and Tobirama spun the box around so he wouldn’t have to look at the letters anymore. Everything about this mission was stupid - including the emotions he was letting it drag out of him. Best to just get this over with before he got too maudlin about things so far out of his control.

All told, including the time he took to pause and investigate the chemical compounds, the dying process took just over an hour and Tobirama refused to look at himself in the mirror until he had thoroughly rinsed the mixture out of his hair and let the whole thing dry completely. Only then did he finally approach the bathroom vanity with trepidation and lift his eyes to take in the horror of what he’d done. He had just enough time to cringe in distaste before the front door of his home slammed open with a bang that ricocheted down the hall.

“Tobi?” Hashirama’s voice called out to him in an oddly strangled tone. “You here?”

“Unfortunately.” At his reply footsteps hurried closer.

“We may have to apply a slight change of plaaaa-....ns...oh my.”

“Anija I swear if you finish that sentence after I only just finished this nonsense”-Tobirama jerked an angry thumb at his own mangled hair-“I will make you regret ever being born.”

His brother stared at him. Stared some more. Blinked several times and then continued to stare, all while Tobirama’s ire grew closer and closer to the boiling point. Finally he drew in a breath that rattled ominously.

“Come with me,” he murmured shortly before spinning on one heel and marching back towards the front door.

“Now hold on! Anija, what the hell?”

Annoyingly, Hashirama did not stop. His only concession was to pause long enough for Tobirama to tear an old jacket out of his front closet and pull the hood up tightly. Just because lots of other strangers were going to see him in this state didn’t mean he had to let all of Konoha in on his shame. Vanity, apparently, would need to be added on to the list of character flaws he hadn’t even known afflicted him until this thrice blasted village was built.

Where the hell they were going he couldn’t tell since the hood of his jacket was pulled so tight around his head that it obscured most of the world around him. On sense alone he guessed they were bound in a general southern direction but for the life of him he couldn’t imagine what existed to the south that had to do with his disguise or suddenly needed to be attended to the moment his brother saw him. Tobirama did try to ask, of course, but for once in his life Hashirama seemed to have lost his capacity for words. If only he could be like that more often. Well, if only he could be like that any other time but for now when Tobirama needed answers that none of his increasingly irritated questions were getting him. He did recognize right away when they entered the Uchiha district. Walking past the uchiwa-embossed gates always felt much like stepping in from the cold to a place with a thousand warm fires all around him. It was, he hated to admit, a very comforting place to be for a sensor like him.

It was also a great relief at the moment; Hashirama might profess to love the whole world but there were very few people he was actually close with and only one of them lived within the Uchiha compound. Tobirama frowned at the inside of his hood. It would make sense for them to go see Madara right now, he was the other half of this utterly ridiculous undercover mission, but it made no sense at all for Hashirama to be in this much of a tither over his best friend unless something had gone terribly wrong in the past hour since they had all been together.

How much trouble could one man get in to within the confines of their own village?

Despite how close the two of them were it was still a mild surprise when Hashirama let them both in to Madara’s house without so much as knocking. Tobirama wracked his brain trying to remember whether Izuna still lived with his brother while the two of them made their way down the hall. Since they were inside now, safe from the judging eyes of the general public, Tobirama allowed his fingers to loosen their hold on the material of his hood until he had enough vision to take in the home of the Uchiha clan head. Much more spartan than he had expected. If he were taking this first look a handful of years ago he would have expected bloodied weapons to line the walls and plaques bearing the heads of notable kills. He’d long grown past such childish assumptions but if he were honest he still would have expected this place to be a little more plush, a little more befitting the head of such a large and lucrative clan.

“Mads? Mads I’m back. Are you...okay if we come in?” Hashirama paused at the beginning of the hallway to gently wrap his knuckles against a plain shoji screen.

“End me now,” Madara’s miserable voice drifted out. “If a single person in my clan sees this I will never hear the end of it.”

“We’re coming in, okay?”

Hashirama waited just a moment longer to give his friend time for yelling if he was truly so opposed to them entering. When no protests came he nodded once and then opened the door, pulling Tobirama behind him as he walked forward in to the room.

Strange as it was to find himself in Uchiha Madara’s bedroom of all places Tobirama didn’t have time to even look around to see if the decor here was as barren as the rest of the house. He didn’t even have the time to ruminate on the odd places life had taken him just today. The moment he stepped inside the room all of his attention was riveted to the figure huddled on the bed with face in hands. Logic told him that was Madara. It sounded like him. Felt like him. His eyes, however, must have been playing tricks on him.

“The...hell...is going on?” Tobirama pulled his free arm away from Hashirama’s grasp to poke at him with confusion. “I thought you said he was going with the scarf idea? How the hell did you get a dye that color to saturate this much hair in such a short time? And for that matter, why on earth did you give him the same color as me?”

“Oh I didn’t do this,” Hashirama said.

“So he did it to himself?”

“No, I think you did it.”

Tobirama blinked slowly, one eyebrow rising. “I most certainly did not. You saw me when you came to get me, you know exactly what I’ve been doing since I left the tower.”

In his indignation at being accused he missed the sharp movement of Madara’s head snapping up to look at him for the first time since he entered the home. Busy as he was jamming a finger in to his brother’s side, he didn’t see those eyes zero in on him like a kunai finding its target but he sure did feel the weight of them. At first he ignored it - this was hardly the first time he’d been stared at - but when Hashirama managed to bat his finger away and pointedly indicated the man whose house they had just invaded he finally looked over.

“Can I help you?” he muttered, instinctively defensive under that much scrutiny.

“What do you mean the same color as you?”

His first reflex was to pull the hood tighter around his head. Then he realized how stupid that was. If the two of them were going on the same mission then obviously Madara would have to see him in this state at some point - and if anyone was going to understand the pain of having to dye his hair such a wildly unsuitable shade it would be the man whose head currently matched his own. A heavy sigh of defeat escaped him before, with great effort, he finally allowed his fingers to unclench so the hood of his jacket could fall back to reveal that his hair indeed was a perfect match for the ridiculous color of Madara’s. He expected the man to stare, of course. What he didn’t expect was for his jaw to drop and one hand to reach out blindly for Hashirama.

“You,” Madara croaked. “Go away. Now. I...I need to talk to...just go away!”

“Okay.” In a move possibly more surprising than anything else that had happened so far, Hashirama turned to leave the room as easily as that, not a word of protest. Tobirama watched him go with both eyes wide and blinking.

“I...how did you do that? I’ve never seen him leave so easily in my life. How did you make him do that!?”

Bed springs creaked and groaned like a symphony to announce Madara’s rise from the bed, eyes still locked on to Tobirama with all the intensity of the hawks he so enjoyed flying. He looked just as silly with the wrong hair color as Tobirama felt he himself did but something told him that mockery would not go over very well just now no matter that Madara was one of the few who could give as good as he got. The arguments they got in to were usually some of the highest points of Tobirama’s week.

“You dyed your hair.” Unfortunately his intelligence didn’t always shine through quite as obviously, such as moments like now when he felt compelled to state the very obvious.

“So did you,” Tobirama said with one eyebrow raised in judgment.

“No I didn’t.”

After a pause Tobirama canted his head to one side and lifted the other brow. “Well then I suppose I’ll need to get my eyes checked very soon.”

“No! Shut up, you don’t get it! I didn’t do this!”

“You’re claiming...what? Some kind of hair dye bandit snuck in and colored your hair when you weren’t looking?”

“I think it means we’re soulmates, you absolute fuck!”

“Oh.”

There were dozens of responses he could pretend he’d been expecting and that one would not have been even close to getting on the list. Tobirama opened his mouth only to close it, thoughts racing over each other in a jumbled heap because he knew exactly what Madara was getting at. Of course he did.

And of course the universe would be so petty as to give them a way to find each other only through humiliating themselves. Sometimes he really did hate other people for how easily they discovered their bonds. Not him, though, oh no. He couldn’t have a red string tied to his pinkie, he couldn’t have been born with the first words his soulmate would say to him imprinted on his skin, he couldn’t even have the moment of unquestionable knowing when he heard his partner’s voice for the first time. Because it was him and because it was Madara they just had to do things the hard way, waiting until one of them dyed their hair so the change of color could be reflected on their other half.

“That color looks awful on you,” was all he could think to say; perhaps a little too honest but from the very start of peace the two of them had silently agreed to never pull their punches with each other. Madara stared at him in disbelief for a half dozen heartbeats until without warning he burst in to raucous laughter.

“Seriously?” he demanded. “That’s all you have to say?”

Tobirama threw both of his hands in the air. “Well what do you want me to say? It’s not like I have some big speech prepared just in case I find out the other half of my soul has been riding around in you this whole time!”

“No? That’s almost surprising. You’re usually prepared for pretty much anything.” The smile on Madara’s face gentled his words from insults to fond teasing and Tobirama wondered how long the possibilities of this had been hiding right under his nose.

“I didn’t really want to go on this mission in the first place,” he mused. “Now I really don’t want to.”

“Because we match and it’s incredibly obvious that we shouldn’t?”

“No, dumb ass, because I just discovered my soulmate and I’d rather like some time to process that.” Tobirama rolled his eyes but there was a very telling hint of a smile on his own face as well. How could there not be?

Madara hummed and shifted his weight, coincidentally ending up just a little bit closer when he settled, though Tobirama chose not to point that out. “How much do you think it would take to convince your brother not to send us out?”

“Oh probably about a thousand yen more than whatever Kirimoto-san paid him.”

“Hn. I’d have to dip in to the clan coffers. And then I’d have to listen to the elders bitch about squandering clan funds. Ugh.” Madara’s nose wrinkled. Tobirama mirrored him if for no other reason than annoyance that he’d never really noticed how adorable that was. If he looked back on all the past interactions they’d had he would probably be able to drum up a thousand different clues that they were meant to be together.

Good thing he wasn’t the type to look back. Self reflection was so boring.

The problem of his brother forcing them to go through with this mission still was just something they would have to figure out later. Probably a very quick later since they were still expected to leave some time later that same day but still, certainly a problem Tobirama was willing to put off solving until he absolutely had to. If Hashirama was really so dead set on making them do this when he very clearly understood what situation was happening then he could come get them himself.

“Spot of tea?” Tobirama looked around as though he might spot a kitchen through the bedroom walls.

“Ah, yeah, I guess it would be polite of me to get you some, huh?”

Madara rocked back on to his heels and looked towards the door as well, the perfect opportunity for Tobirama to really look at him and take in all the little details he normally wouldn’t in another person, the shape of his jawline and the tiny amounts of baby fat that had never fully left his cheeks.

“It isn’t like you to be concerned about being polite,” he pointed out.

When his soulmate turned back to reveal an openly amused grin he thought maybe the universe did know what it was doing - but he was still a little annoyed that it had made things so difficult for him. Also quite annoyed that they were likely going to have to see this ridiculous mission through. What an absolute shame that he finally discovered his soulmate only for the poor man to bear witness to his complete lack of seduction skills all in the same day. He hoped Hashirama had already started running because he was going to murder his own brother for this.

#rae writes #soulmate collection #madatobi #tobirama #madara #hashirama #fanfiction

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ad1thi · 4 years

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and then there’s you | Au-gust Day 8: Superheroes/Superpowers AU

AU-gust masterlist

i took a brief hiatus but now im back!! this is possibly one of my favourite things ive written, ever

Steve was never expecting to get along with James. He didn't have the best start with Tony - even though he likes to believe that they've moved past that and have become good friends - and James' protective streak was well known. After all, the man broke records trying to fly back to New York fast enough and managed to show up just as the Hulk picked up Tony from the sky.

He still remembers the way James landed around them with a thud, his faceplate snapping up and shoving all of them to the side so that he could get to Tony. He remembers the way Tony's face softened; the way James reached out with one metal encased hand to awkwardly rub his hair before settling on his shoulder.

He remembers fiercely missing the time in his life when someone looked at him like that, like he was the reason the world continued turning.

In retrospect, Steve honestly should've seen this whole thing coming, but he's still blindsided by the whole thing.

After the last of the Chitauri are felled down, Thor and James raging in the sky until they drop like flies, they regroup back at Stark Tower. It's almost too easy, over in a matter of hours, even though Steve feels like it's taken ages. They lock the Spectre away and clasp chains around Loki's body - and he can release a breath that he didn't know he was holding it.

"Colonel Rhodes," he says, later, when they're all lounging in a beatdown shawarma joint, shamelessly taking advantage of an extremely grateful store-owner, “I just wanted to say thank you for all your help. Having two heavy hitters in the sky really helped us take down the stragglers. We couldn't have done it without you."

James and Tony (from where he's resting on James' shoulder) both turn to him and give him identical looks, the kind that makes Steve want to duck his head and rub the back of his neck.

"No need to thank me Cap," James says finally, "Just doing my civic duty." But he keeps looking at Steve, in a way that stirs feelings inside Steve that he thought had died when he went into the ice.

Guess not.

He nods once and is saved from answering by Tony grabbing the Colonel into another discussion. He takes another bite into his wrap, the food feeling wooden inside his mouth. Tony has one hand in the air, gesticulating wildly, but the other is wound around James, inter-twined with his own. It twists something inside Steve, and he tries to tell himself that it's just him missing his life before the ice. Before he was dropped into the twenty first century.

He looks up to see Thor giving him an all too knowing look for a man who only met him a couple of hours ago. It makes him so uncomfortable that he stands abruptly, pulling both Tony and Rhodey out of their conversation.

"I have to go," he says stiffly, "I have some work to attend to. I'll see you guys at the Helicarrier tomorrow at 0900 for a debrief," he nods at his team, "Colonel, it would good to meet you."

"Call me James," he says, nonplussed, "that’s what everyone who isn't this fella calls me," he thumbs at Tony; who's face twists in mock outrage.

Steve doesn't say anything, spinning on his heel and all but running out of the shawarma joint, lest he dwell too strongly on the fact that James called Tony fella.

Despite their horrendous first meeting, Steve and James actually get on fairly well. He's in New York a lot, despite still being on active duty. Ostensibly, it's because the War Machine - now rebranded as Iron Patriot armour needs regular check-ups and after what Tony and James mysteriously refer to as the Hammer incident - Tony is the only one who fiddles with it.

It makes sense, since Tony designed the damn thing, but Steve knows that James is a genius of his own right. Privately, he thinks that James is equipped to deal with any and all faults in the armour, but he makes it a point to come for Tony. Watching your bestfriend strap a nuke to his back and fly into space with no concrete desire to return tends to do that to someone. Hell, if Bucky had pulled something like that he wouldn't have left him out of his sight.

Besides, now that Steve has been living with him and gotten to know the man behind the mask so to speak, he can see why Tony inspires that kind of loyalty. The way he badly misjudged Tony still digs at him, even though Tony has waved off his apologies multiple times and promises that he harbours no bad feelings.

Steve isn't complaining though. He likes that James visits, even though he frowns everytime James complains about how hard it was to finagle time with his superiors. Clint calls it his Captain America face, says that he makes it every time he thinks there's a fight. Steve doesn't know if he has a specific face, but he does know that it doesn't sit right with him that James has to fight that much to come stateside.

That was the whole point of the War, that they would fight so that future generations don't have to. There's a lot to be said for the twenty first century. His country's proclivity with inserting themselves into every war that side of the Atlantic isn't one of them.

Still, James' regular check-ups mean that Steve has gotten a chance to get to know Tony's bestfriend - since he winds up spending a lot of time in the workshop these days; sketching while Tony putters around. It's like white noise - the sound of a wrench or a blowtorch, interspersed with Tony and JARVIS sniping with each other, and it reminds Steve of the barracks, of the Howlies huddled around a single fire and sniping around each other.

(It reminds him that he's no longer alone)

When James comes however, the entire workshop lights up, and Steve along with it. Despite his best efforts, the smidgen of interest he'd felt in the shawarma joint has buried itself inside him, planted seeds and grown around his heart. It doesn't help that James is one of the most easy-going people he's ever met, the kind of person one gravitates to.

He reminds Steve deeply of Bucky, but then again - Steve was never overcome with the urge to bear Bucky down and kiss him until they both couldn't breathe.

"Steve!" James cries out, as the workshop doors open with the faintest snick, "It's good to see you."

Steve looks up from his sketchbook - where he's been drawing James funnily enough - and gives him a warm smile, "James. Good to see you. How's the Iron Patriot?"

"Don't call it that," Tony wags his wrench at Steve, looking like he's contemplating the merits of lobbing it at him, "You do not call it that in my workshop. This is a sacred space."

"She's handling like a dream," James says over Tony, but he still walks over and pulls Tony in for a small hug before making his way over to Steve. The first time this had happened, Steve was almost jealous, but he's since realised that it's just a part of James' schedule. The need to physically remind himself that Tony is okay.

"There's been a couple of tough missions," he continues with a grimace, after he's done surreptitiously looking Tony over and found his way to the couch where Steve is currently propped up. "I've definitely got some fresh bullet dents. But nothing Tony can't fix, isn't that right Tony?" he calls out to where Tony has turned back to his holo-screens and gets a half-hearted gesture in response that Steve takes to mean that Tony has heard James.

"Enough about me though, not in the least because I could be arrested for going into detail," James reaches out and places his hand over Steve's; and it takes everything in Steve to not react to the touch, "You getting through the list okay?"

A month into his stay at the Tower, Steve was listlessly chewing a banana in the Common Room when James came out for some water and saw him. "They taste weird," he'd said, when James asked if the banana had done something to offend him, "I guess I was just hoping it was something that hadn't changed."

James had regarded him for a second, and then pulled out a napkin from thin air, "You should make a list. It's what I tell most of my rookies, when they're going back after a long tour. Make a list of everything you want to catch up and work through it on your own pace. At the very least, it gives you something to do."

Ever since then, Steve keeps a small black book on his person, filling it with a never-ending list of things. The entire team pitches in, depending on what it is that Steve is about to discover about the twenty-first century. Steve likes it best when James carves out time for him though.

"I'm adding more things than I'm crossing out," Steve admits, and James clucks sympathetically, "but it's good. I've not Star Wars on my list next? And Tony made me promise to wait for you to come back so that both of you could introduce it to me together."

James whistles lowly, but his eyes light up, "Oh I am so happy that you waited for me for this. Never listen to Tony, he thinks the prequels deserve rights," he bends down to whisper at Steve loudly, "we don't recognise the prequels."

"Is that prequels slander I hear in my safe haven?" Tony pipes up, spinning around to face them. He's still got the wrench in his hand, "Don't make me revoke your access honeybear because I will, don't test me."

James holds up his hands in mock surrender. "I'm going to go freshen up," he says with a clap, "but after I'm back, we can discuss Star Wars strategy."

Steve watches him go, until he disappears around the corner. When he looks back at the workshop, he sees Tony looking at him with a look that's half speculative, half sympathetic.

"You know that nothing can happen right?" he says apropos of nothing, but Steve knows exactly what he's talking about, "It's against the law. DADT. If his superiors find out, his career is over. 's why me and him ended in the first place."

Steve found out about Tony and James' history only a month ago, and the sting has faded. Mostly because he knows it was a long time ago, and neither of them harbour those feelings anymore.

"I know," Steve says carefully, because Tony is still James' bestfriend, "and I wouldn't ask him to risk that. Doesn't change how I feel though. And if I have to wait, or hide it, or even ignore it until he's ready to deal with it - I'm ready for all of it."

Tony nods, like it's the answer he's expected, "You'll be good for him Steve. He deserves someone who'll wait." Unlike me, who didn't goes unsaid.

"I don't expect anything from him Tony," Steve says, looking Tony right in the eye, "but I can't just pretend I don't feel the way I do. Especially not if there's the barest possibility that he feels the same."

Steve isn't generally good with these sorts of things, recognising interest. Still, he doesn't think he's imagined the looks he's gotten from James the past couple of times he's been over, over misread the touching, the talking, the borderline flirting.

"He does," Tony confirms, "but like I said - nothing can happen." He says in a careful tone, and it takes Steve a couple seconds to cotton onto what Tony is implying. It leaves a rush through him, reminding him of back-alley trysts, protected by the shadows.

"Nothing can happen," Steve repeats, and Tony pointedly turns his back as Steve leaps up from the couch and follows James out. He thinks about calling ahead, or maybe messaging - but there's a decent chance that James already knows about this conversation, since Tony wouldn't have brought it up unless James had expressly allowed him too.

Steve might not know much about the twenty first century, but bro-code well enough.

He knocks on James' door, thrumming with energy, and his heart stutters when James opens it in a towel; one around his waist, catching the droplets of water falling down his chest, and another around his neck.

"Steve?" he asks, and there's no mistaking the hopeful tone in his voice. It confirms Steve's suspicions, that Tony was talking to him on behalf of James.

Steve doesn't reply, just pulls him for a kiss.

Fin

#my writing #steverhodey #warshield #steve rogers/james rhodes #steve x rhodey #steve rogers x james rhodes #adi does AU-gust #AU-gust #Superheroes/Superpowers AU #post Avengers (2012)#past rhodeytony #pre slash #mutual pining #first kiss #dadt #secret relationship #pov steve rogers

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rubysunnday · 4 years

Text

Florence Nightingale

Summary: WW2 has arrived and instead of staying in Birmingham, you followed them to the front lines - as a nurse

A/N: I think this is the longest fic I’ve written yet! I’ve had this idea in my head for a while and it feels good to finally get it down :)

The First World War had taken a lot from you. Your whole family was changed by those events and it haunted you al.

But when the news of the Second World War broke out, you knew that your whole life was about to be rocked. Your entire family was of age and was being sent to the front. The women were rising up to take over again.

Whilst the rest of your family stayed at home, working in the factories and helping evacuate children to the countryside, you made the decision to head to the front as a nurse, helping those injured by the fighting.

As much as you missed your family, you hoped that you’d never see them until their days off or until the war was over. I’d you saw them in the hospital, your heart would break into two.

You hadn’t told your brothers that you’d enrolled as a nurse on the front line, they would’ve freaked out and forced you to come back home. You waited until they’d gone before enrolling so they couldn’t do anything.

It was a very busy day in your hospital. A bomb had reached the trenches and dozens of soldiers were injured and in need of help. All around you, bombs were exploding and the sound of gun fire over powered the screams of pain.

Ironically, it felt like Birmingham.

“Y/N!” Patrick, the doctor in charge of the hospital, yelled at you. “I need you!”

“Coming!” You called back, wiping your hands in a towel and running over to where the latest soldier had been brought in.

“Shrapnel in his arm and side,” Patrick told you as they lifted the soldier into a bed. “I’m assuming you can manage?”

“Go,” you nodded, pushing Patrick out the door to go deal with those in worse shape.

You turned around to face the soldier and froze.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head furiously. “Arthur?”

Your brother groaned and you immediately snapped back into your nurse mentality, sitting down on the side of the bed with a bowl of hot water, tweezers and a cloth to pull the shrapnel out of your brother.

This was your worse nightmare come true.

Night had fallen hours ago and you were sitting by Arthur’s side, carefully changing his bandages and cleaning them.

Your brother groaned softly and you looked up to see him slowly waking up.

“Arthur?” You asked softly, moving closer to him.

“Y/N?” Arthur asked, frowning. “What?”

“A bomb exploded in your trench,” you told him gently. “You’re in the hospital.”

“What? In Birmingham?”

You paused. “No, in France. At the front line...I’m a nurse.”

Arthur’s head turned to face you snd you had told hold him down (which wasn’t very difficult) to stop him from tearing his stitches.

“No, you can’t be -“

“Arthur, calm down otherwise I’ll have to knock you out again,” you warned him and he actually listened to you for once.

The two of you fell into silence for a while as you continued to clean his wounds, holding his hands when he hissed in pain.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Arthur asked quietly after a while.

“Because you would’ve stopped me,” you said simply. “I didn’t want to just do nothing. My whole family’s here, why shouldn’t I?”

“If Tommy knew, he’d kill you,” Arthur muttered.

“He’d also be under my care so I could sedate him if I wished,” you shot back, smirking and Arthur chuckled.

“You know, Finn and Michael are under my command,” Arthur said.

“Really?” You asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

“Yeah, managed to call in a favour and get them with me to keep an eye on them.”

“They weren’t with you when the bomb exploded, were they?” You asked nervously.

Arthur shook his head. “No, they were over the top when it happened. They’re fine, y/n.”

“I know, if they weren’t I’d know.” You sighed. “Try and get some sleep, Arthur. I’ll be right here.”

“Don’t you need to sleep?” Arthur asked as you settled down in your chair.

“Not much chance of that happening, Artie, “ you replied, smiling. You grabbed his hand and held it as he fell asleep.

Twenty years later and the roles had completely reversed.

The next morning came far too quickly for you. Arthur had slept the entire night, thankfully, and you had left him with Marie as you went to get him some breakfast.

“He’s our commanding office and our brother!”

You frowned at the yelling come from the front entrance. You turned around and walked back the way you came, bedding towards the yelling which was increasing in crescendo.

“Hey!” You called, silencing everyone in the room. “What is the problem here?”

“We want to see our commanding officer,” the soldier doing most of the yelling told you. “He was brought in last night after the bomb explosion...”

You stopped listening as you stared at the two soldiers in front of you, trying to figure out why you recognised them.

“Michael?! Finn?!” You exclaimed, cutting them off.

Finn frowned at you. “Y/N?!”

You gasped as Finn launched himself at you, hugging you tightly and spinning you around.

“What the hell?” Michael laughed, joining in on the hug as you dismissed the nurse behind the desk.

You couldn’t help but cry as you hugged your twin and your cousin.

“Is Arthur -“ Finn began, pulling away.

“He’s fine, I’ve been with him the entire night, Finny. I promise you, he’s fine.”

“Can we see him?” Michael asked. You nodded and gestured for them to follow you. You didn’t let go of Michael’s hand as you led them through the maze of corridors and walls to the room where Arthur was.

“Finn? Michael?” Arthur asked, trying to sit up.

“Don’t you dare, Arthur Shelby,” you scolded, forcing him back down. “I don’t want to have to stitch my brother back together again.”

“You’ve gotten bossy,” Finn teased and you elbowed him in the ribs.

“I need to go and do my rounds,” you told them. “I’ll be back in about two hours. Don’t do anything stupid, otherwise you’ll get kicked out.”

Finn kissed your cheek as you left and you gave him a smile.

Your rounds had taken you two hours, but you’d yet to get back to Arthur as an influx of newly injured soldiers arrived. You’d been caught up frantically arranging the beds, stitching injured soldiers up and holding the hands of those who were dying.

They’d gone over the top again that afternoon and plenty of soldiers had gotten caught up in the rain of bullets and bombs raining down around them.

You’d been tending to one badly injured soldier when two more came in - one with bullets in his stomach and leg and another with a shattered right leg due to a bomb explosion.

Patrick had done his best with them both, but wasn’t sure if they’d last the night. You, the new Florence Nightingale according to many soldiers, offered to sit with them both during the night, just in case.

But as you headed over to their beds, which were situated against the back wall, you finally caught a glimpse of the poor soldiers.

And you nearly fell to the ground in shock.

Tommy and John lay next to each other, both pale and practically dead. Tommy’s stomach was pierced with bullets and John’s leg was smashed to pieces, a cage set around it. Your heart dropped to your stomach as you pulled a chair to sit in between them.

You carefully took each of their hands and sat there quietly. You weren’t going to tell Arthur, it would make him even iller than he was.

“You alright?” Marie asked you quietly, noticing your face.

“Basically, my entire family is in this building. Two of my brothers are dying next to me and I’ve no idea how to tell Finn or Michael if they die. Oh god, I’d have to tell Polly.”

Marie put a hand on your shoulder and squeezed it gently. “Let me know if you need me, y/n.”

You smiled sadly at her as she walked off. The evening passed quickly, but the night went painfully slowly. You’d asked Marie to let Arthur know you’d been caught up with an influx of patients so wouldn’t be back for a while and you stayed with Tommy and John the entire night.

It was early the next morning when you finally began to doze off. It was the first time you’d slept in two days and as much as you didn’t want to, you couldn’t help it.

But when someone squeezed your hand, you instantly work up. You blearily looked over and saw John slowly waking up, squeezing your hand as he did.

“John?” You questioned softly, letting Tommy’s hand go and turning to face John fully.

“Y/N?” He mumbled. “Am I dead?”

You chuckled softly, trying not to cry. “No, but you nearly were.”

“Am I in Birmingham?” John asked, slowly turning his head to look at you.

“No, you’re still in France. I enrolled as a nurse for the army.”

“Huh, good for you,” John muttered, falling back to sleep.

You smiled sadly as your brother passed out again. You didn’t let go of his hand, re - adjusting your position so that you could hold Tommy’s hand too.

You fell asleep again, only waking when Patrick shook your shoulder.

Your immediate thought was that someone had died.

“Who’s -“

Patrick shook his head. “They’re both fine, y/n,” he reassured. “I came to tell you that there’s room next to Arthur if you want to move them.”

You nodded. “Thank you, Patrick.”

“They made it through the night; hopefully they’ll get it through the next two days,” Patrick told you.

“Tommy hasn’t woken up yet, but John briefly woke up last night,” you told him, standing up and yawning.

“That’s good,” Patrick replied, smiling. “Go and check on your other brothers, I’ll have John and Tommy brought through shortly.”

You got up and walked through the corridors towards Arthur’s room.

“Hey, y/n,” Michael called as you walked past him. “You ok?”

That was all it took for you to completely break down in front of your cousin. Michael quickly caught you in his arms, guiding you to the floor as you sobbed.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” He asked softly, stroking your hair.

“Tommy and John came in last night,” you told him through your tears. “They’re in a bad shape and I don’t know if they’re going to survive -“

You cut yourself off as a fresh wave of tears hit you and Michael sighed sadly, hugging you tighter. You and Michael may have had your arguments the past few years, but you’d never been so grateful for your cousin before.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time, sweetheart,” Michael told you. “I know that your brothers are injured, but Finn and I are here and we can take up the slack. It’s ok to not be ok.”

You nodded, trying to calm yourself down as Michael kissed your head. “They’re being moved into Arthur’s room, if you want to see them.”

Michael nodded, helping you stand up. He put an arm around your shoulders and guided you down the corridor to Arthur’s room.

Michael watched you sleep next to Arthur, your brothers arm wrapped over your shoulders, holding you against him tightly. Tommy and John were in beds next to you, both still unconscious.

Finn and Michael had forced Patrick to sign you off your job so that you could spend time with your dying brothers and had take up the job of looking after you all.

Michael looked up as a groan came from Tommy. He stood up and headed over to his cousin, sitting down next to him.

“Tommy?” Michael asked quietly, trying not to wake you. “Are you with us?”

“Michael?” Tommy asked, scrunching his face up. “What?”

“You’re in hospital. So are John and Arthur.” Michael caught his cousin as he tried to sit up, forcing him back down. “They’re fine, Tommy. They’re right here.”

Tommy looked over and saw John, visibly relaxing. He turned his head the other way and saw Arthur and then you.

“What? Why is y/n here?” Tommy demanded, his voice still holding an air of authority despite the pain he was in.

Michael sighed. “She enrolled as a nurse on the front line. She’s been here since Arthur was brought in three days ok. First time she’s slept since.”

At the mention of your name you woke up, rolling over and spotting that Tommy was awake.

“Tommy!” You exclaimed, jumping off the bed and walking over to your brother. “Are you alright?”

“I’m better for seeing you, sweetheart,” Tommy said, smiling broadly.

“Thank god,” You muttered, bowing your head in relief.

“Tommy?” John grumbled, waking up to all the noise.

“What’s going on?” Arthur asked, also waking up.

“Oh, now they all wake up,” you muttered to Michael and he giggled.

You were so grateful that all of your family was safe and well. Yes, there were still years left of a war that could still kill them all, but for now it was all perfect.

You laid down next to Tommy, curling up into his side as he, Arthur and John caught up with each other. Finn and Michael joined in, Finn sitting down next to John.

“I missed you, Tom,” you whispered to your brother, kissing his cheek.

“Missed you too, gorgeous,” your brother replied and you smiled.

“Just, next time you want a family reunion, don’t fucking kill yourselves in the progress,” you said, loud enough for them all to hear. “I don’t think I can cope with it again.”

“She’s gotten bossy,” John muttered and you threw a cushion at his head.

“That’s what I said!” Finn exclaimed and you threw another pillow at your twin.

“I’m regretting being nice to you now,” your grumbled.

Tommy smiled in response, holding you tightly against him and pressing a kiss to your head.

“My little sister, the nurse,” Tommy said softly, smiling broadly.

“Y/N Shelby, the new Florence Nightingale of France,” Arthur announced and there was a murmur of agreement from your family. You just smiled happily, snuggling into your brother for the first time in months.

#imagines #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #shelby sister #shelby sis #tommy shelby x sister!reader #arthur shelby x sister!reader #john shelby x sister!reader

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thetriggeredhappy · 4 years

Note

Okay so that last one with scout losing snipes broke my heart into a zillion pieces so... What if sniper never died? Maybe he was badly hurt and is hiding somewhere... -🐑

i really like how you people keep doing this thing where you’re like “hey what if you ripped my whole heart out and stomped on it” then i do because you literally asked and you're all “owie :( ouch owie :( can i have a band-aid now” like it’s funny every time

(warnings for mention of firearms and discussion of severe life-threatening injury)

His contract expired.

Somewhere along the line—wonder when?—apparently his work had gotten ‘sloppy’. He’d gotten ‘erratic’. So six years after what all happened, when his contract was up to be renewed, Miss Pauling gently urged him to let it expire and to just head home.

It wasn’t like he had a good reason not to. He didn’t particularly get along with any of the team (anymore). A few of them had come and gone—Pyro apparently got reassigned somewhere and was gone overnight, and at some point Demo decided to leave mercenary work altogether to get a real, proper, legally sound job somewhere. Both of them had been replaced.

Their new Sniper wasn’t as polite as—

She was even more of a recluse, although she got along alright with Heavy sometimes. She was also Russian, which probably helped. And Scout felt a little bad about how much he hated her. She couldn’t help what happened. It wasn’t her fault. She was just picking up the baton on this job. Someone had to do it.

Mostly he just ended up avoiding her. And everyone else.

Exactly once he’d tried to take up dating again. Someone had gotten particularly sweet when he was out at a bar, and they’d flirted for a little while, then they’d suggested they both head somewhere else, and that they had a car if he wanted to—

He quietly stammered his way through a refusal. The vague guilt and unease reached a head the second he thought about getting in a car.

He’d needed to sell his car and get a motorcycle instead, at some point. The idea of getting in a vehicle had become an irrational fear, after he’d seen a picture of the wreckage, smelled the acrid smoke on the salvaged belongings.

That was one reason he took a plane home and had all his stuff shipped separately.

That meant that it was a few days of wearing only his old clothes when he got back, waiting for the rest to show up. And those were a little hard to squeeze into, he’d really been a lanky fuck before he became a mercenary.

The only thing he had at home that fit right was the suit, left there hanging in his closet to get eaten by moths.

The suit and the boxes of things were all shoved into the far side of his closet, and they stayed that way. He felt like maybe he wouldn’t ever be ready to look at them again, and in the meantime, they just made him feel guilty.

For the first two months after he got off work, he didn’t really do much. He stayed home, stayed out of trouble. Put his things away, sorted through what he wanted to keep and what he could just get rid of, either selling it or scrapping it if it was just kinda garbage. He tried to catch up with his brothers a little bit, the ones left in Boston still, but he didn’t get very far, feeling weird and disconnected.

After two months, he finally felt bad about Ma constantly tip-toeing around the topic of employment or hobbies (not that he needed to worry about those—he had enough money saved to not worry about much of anything until he was like, eighty), and he started trying to look for work, or maybe just something to keep him busy. For a month or so he looked into becoming a bartender, but the hours were a little weird. He thought about trying to get into doing baseball on some professional level, but he was getting a little old to be going into it for the first time since his late teens and early twenties. He very briefly looked into doing the cartoons for the newspaper—he was pretty good at art by then—before he found out they would require some amount of actual schooling for it.

So he ended up latching onto that, and started heading to the library five or six days a week to spend a few hours there studying to get his GED. His Ma supported him wholeheartedly on it, and got around to telling him, about a month into his new routine, that she was really glad he found something to do, something he wanted, that he’d just seemed so miserable, before, waiting around for something to happen.

Maybe she was right. He was waiting around for something to happen. He got the speech from Miss P—“ten years following your departure from the team, you and anyone nearby you will be kept in the system, and if there’s anyone who tries to bring you harm we’ll catch them before they can, and here’s a phone number to call if anything suspicious happens that you want looked into”. To him, that meant “someone might try and kill you”. So he did stay strapped when he went places, looked over his shoulder, kept an eye on doors and other potential exits.

So when he got back from the library one day and saw a car parked out in front of the house, at least he was prepared.

He thought fast. Kept driving past the house and parked a little ways down the block—he could drive the bike back later, it didn’t matter. He unlocked the door as quietly as he could, pushed it open with his shoulder, pistol drawn and cocked, falling back into old habits maybe a little too easily considering he hadn’t been a mercenary for almost a year and a half.

Voices from the living room—not from the TV, and not Ma on the phone, because he could also hear the TV, and there was a commercial playing that he recognized, one that didn’t involve Ma and a second, much deeper voice.

He steadied his hands, rolled his shoulders, and stepped into the room, leveling his gun directly at the head of the person within.

First he took stock of the fact that Ma was indeed there, sitting on the couch, looking relatively relaxed and entirely unharmed, if surprised to see him there and also with a gun. Then he took stock of the room, saw that there was only one other person here, the one he was pointing a gun at, the one who had slowly raised his hands up to either side of his head. Potentially unarmed, it was hard to tell with his baggy jacket—

Wait a minute.

Scout frowned, squinted, looking over his face a little more closely as realization started creeping into view.

He tried to imagine, for a second. What exactly would seven years do to a guy?

Maybe he’d end up with his hair growing out a lot longer, from close-cut to hanging down around his ears. Maybe with a beard, relatively clean but still a bit messy in some ways. Maybe he’d get new clothes, his eyes would sink a little bit more, would start to crinkle at the corners. More freckles, more spots maybe. Aged, scarred. Maybe he’d be wearing glasses. Maybe, despite all of that, he wouldn’t look all that different at all.

“...’llo, Bilby,” Sniper said quietly, hopefully, voice rough, and maybe he meant to say more, but he didn’t get the chance, because Scout lowered his gun, marched three steps forward, and slapped him clear across the face.

It was a hefty slap. The smack noise was practically ringing, and his hand stung like a bitch, and he’d hit him hard enough to knock his glasses off to clatter across the floor, and his head snapped back at the force of it, and the noise he made was satisfyingly pained.

“Right. Probably deserve that,” he croaked, and maybe he meant to say more, but he didn’t get the chance, because Scout tucked back away his gun, grabbed Sniper by the sides of his head, and kissed him square on the mouth.

It was a hard kiss, hard enough that he got Sniper to do that thing where he made an undignified little squeaky noise of surprise, caught off guard by it. He only melted forward for a second or two before Scout was pulling back away again.

“You fucking piece of shit son of a bitch cunt I’m gonna fucking kill you,” Scout practically snarled.

“Jeremy,” his Ma admonished from the couch.

“He’s right,” Sniper said weakly.

“I’m gonna kill you,” Scout insisted, just as fiercely. “What the fuck happened to you?!”

“There was a—“ Sniper started explaining, but Scout cut him off.

“Car bomb between 2:45 and 2:50 PM twenty minutes away from the nearest city limits,” he listed off, “I know that, but what—seven fucking years, Snipes!”

“I know,” Sniper said, voice flimsy. “First two years were recovery and physical therapy, next four were trying to get legal papers and apply for a visa to get back into the States again.”

“That bad?” Scout asked, still angry but faltering.

“Needed reconstructive surgery on... most of the left side of my body. Lost some teeth,” he said, and tugged his lip back on one side to show him where three teeth, the three behind the canines, were a slightly different color, then dropped his hand again. “Plenty of scars. Might be, er... missing a lot of those freckles you liked. And... voice comes and goes sometimes. But, Australian miracle medicine, I’m much better than I was.”

“You grew your hair out,” Scout noted next, carding his hands up through it.

Sniper laughed. “Lost half my teeth and needed a new coat of paint on the whole left of me, and you’re worried about my hair?” he chided.

“It’s just new, thought you hated it getting long,” Scout shrugged.

“Y’know,” his Ma said, sounding all too amused by the proceedings, approaching with Sniper’s glasses and handing them over to him, “you’re lucky you showed me those pictures all those years ago, Jeremy. Otherwise, strange guy shows up at our door askin’ about your work name and all, I would’a started blasting.”

She nodded meaningfully towards the table beside the couch, and Scout saw that indeed she had a gun there, taken from its place where he kept it stashed by the door as a “just in case”.

“Thanks, Ma,” he said, smiling a little.

“No problem, sweetheart,” she said, and patted him on the arm. She glanced between him and Sniper and scooped up the firearm from the table. “I’ll just go put this away,” she said, and left the two of them alone.

“Would’ve been easier to track you down if you’d given me more to go on than ‘southern Boston’,” Sniper said, eyebrows rising. “And if I didn’t need to be so careful about how I asked.”

“Huh?”

Sniper’s expression fell a little, and he raised his hand to fix his hair where Scout had mussed it up. “Look, you know the rules. Employer keeps an eye out for us for years after we leave. That means if I asked through my usual methods of tracking people down, that’d send up flashing red lights somewhere. So I... needed to take extra precautions.”

“Miss P told me they took care of the guys that tried to kill you,” Scout said, frowning.

“I went off radar for almost two years without official leave,” Sniper murmured. “And it wasn’t on purpose, but I don’t think they’d believe that. They might try and kill me if they find out I’m still alive. I’m a loose end.”

Scout’s heart dropped.

“Only cut it close once,” Sniper said, gaze falling. “But that was enough for Miss Pauling to get in contact with me, to try to talk to me. I... I told her I’m done, I’m out of mercenary work, and... just as a precaution I have to do a few things now. Check in on the regular. I wear this,” he said, pushing his sleeve up to show off a bulky device on his wrist, bigger than a watch. “It’s tracker. Makes sure I’m only in the places I say I’m going. Had to get a visa by myself, get transportation by myself, and it cut my protection time in half so now I’ve had to hire on someone to guard my parents and keep them safe, but now she’ll keep it secret that I’m alive. They’ll stop looking for me in two years, and if by then I’m still playing by the rules, I’m free. Back to normal life.”

“She said it was okay that you be here?” Scout asked. “In the same city as me? She wasn’t worried about that?”

“Told her why I was coming here,” Sniper shrugged.

“And what’d you tell her?” Scout asked softly.

They looked at each other.

“I... didn’t want to assume,” Sniper said quietly, carefully, looking over his face. “That you’d... I, I understand if you’ve moved on. Seven years, declared dead—“

“I didn’t,” Scout said just as quietly.

Sniper gave a breathless little laugh, cupping his face. “Bilby, I told you to,” he tried.

“Well, so-rry,” Scout said next, throat a little tight, hands on his hips, “Mister—Mister Legally Dead. Sorry I didn’t jump into speed dating the second I got the news. What, you—you wanted me to have kids by now?”

“Wouldn’t blame you,” Sniper shrugged, and kissed him, and pulled back away. “But... I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Well I’m glad you’re glad,” Scout mumbled, and kissed him, and pulled back away. “So...?”

Sniper was smiling, wide and unashamed. “So one day at a time,” he said quietly. “We can talk about it more in a bit. First, mind if I use your phone?”

“Why?”

“Meant to call in to check with Pauling in—“ He glanced around to find the clock in the room. “—three minutes or so. And... I ought to tell her I’ve made progress. And... that we’re sorting out details. Might call you over to talk to her too.”

“Yeah, go ahead. Hallway by the kitchen,” Scout directed, and kissed him again, and again, and again, until Sniper urged him down and off before he was late calling in.

He found himself in the kitchen, looking out the window. Ma was unloading the dishwasher and humming. In the hallway, the sound of talking, long pauses, more talking.

“He seems nice,” Ma said quietly, and shot Scout a smile, and Scout smiled too.

“He was—is,” he corrected quickly, flinching a little bit.

“How you feelin’?” Ma asked.

Scout looked down, crossed his arms over himself. “Y’know how in movies there’s that bit people do, all “feels too good to be true” or whatever?”

“Uh huh.”

“Kinda the opposite. It feels... like him being gone wasn’t real. And now stuff is real again.”

“Like you woke up?”

“...Yeah. Yeah, exactly,” Scout confirmed.

“I could tell,” Ma admitted, and stretched to reach the cabinet to put things away once they were good and dry. “Been a zombie since you got back, seems like maybe you’ve been a zombie for a while.”

Scout moved over to help, taking the dishes that belonged in the higher shelves and starting to put those away. “Sheesh, was I seriously that obvious?”

“It was pretty bad.”

“...Is that, like... normal? Or... healthy?” Scout asked carefully.

Ma laughed. “Sweetheart, how should I know?”

“But you know, like, everything.”

Ma pinched him on the cheek at the compliment and he squawked a complaint, and she laughed.

“I don’t know if it’s healthy,” she finally replied. “And... maybe it’s not about whether it’s healthy. Maybe... it’s just one step. And, hey, it worked out, didn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, and smiled. “Yeah, it did.”

“Bilby,” Sniper called, leaning in to look through the door to the kitchen, phone cord visibly all stretched out. “Wants to talk to you.”

Miss Pauling ran through a brief check to make sure he was indeed Scout, then asked a series of questions. Whether he felt safe with being around Sniper on the regular. Whether Sniper would be staying with him on the regular, and the fact that instead of extending security to cover him, she’d need to just go more lax on Scout’s security to make sure Sniper wasn’t found out.

He was fine with that. All of that.

After the phone call, after a few more questions, he dragged Sniper upstairs and flung open the door to his closet, digging through the dusty old boxes with purpose. Then he was pulling out an item and shoving it directly into Sniper’s chest.

Sniper put his hat back on, and Scout couldn’t help but yank him down into another kiss at the wave of nostalgia and familiarity as Sniper nudged his glasses up and looked at him and asked if it was on crooked, the same way he’d said a hundred times before, a hundred years ago.

And, hopefully, he’d say it a billion more times, for a billion more years. Scout would make sure of it.

#sniperscout #speeding bullet #tf2 #team fortress 2 #shut up me #everybody talks #my fanfiction

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ladyanput · 4 years

Text

A Hurtful Prank Pt.2

The second part to the fic inspired by @vivilakitty (I know this isn’t exactly what you said, I’m sorry)

Felix strode down the street of Paris. At the age of twenty, he hadn’t been back since that whole incident with Marinette, not that he hadn’t wanted to. But when it came out that Hawkmoth had been defeated and he turned out to be Felix’s own uncle was the villian that had caused havoc on the city, one small, cruel part of him had haughty thought that Adrien and his father weren’t so perfect after all. But as soon as that thought had struck, guilt ate at him, only imagining what his cousin must have went through, finding out that his own father was a villain and his mother was kept in a glass coffin beneath the house. He had been certain that the news must have crushed his cousin. Felix had reached out, but he had never received a response.

So here he was, two years after the incident, looking for his idiot cousin. As stubborn as Adrien might be, Felix had found out that he was staying in an apartment in Paris, living with a girlfriend. He never found out the girl’s name, but a small part of him said that it must have been Marinette. The thought alone made his heart ache.

So lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the person headed his way, also lost in her thoughts. The two of them collided and went stumbling back. Felix shout his hand out, grabbing the woman by the wrist and steadying her before she could go falling onto the sidewalk.

“I am so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going! I didn’t mean-” The words died on his lips as soon as the woman stood and met his gaze with large, beautiful blue eyes. “Ma- Marinette…?”

Marinette stood there, looking rather stunned as she stared up at him. She had grown into a beautiful woman, her soft lips a beautiful rose, those jewel blue eyes of hers framed by long, dark lashes. She was about a head shorter than Felix, her shapely body clothed in a white blouse and black pencil shirt. She looked so.. So womanly, almost nothing like the stuttering girl he knew years ago.

“Wha- Felix? Is that you?” She sounded stunned as her hand tightened on the umbrella she was carrying. He wondered if she wanted to beat him with it. He wouldn’t have stopped her. To his surprise, her face broke out into a breathtaking smile. “Felix, how are you? You’re looking great. Wait, weren’t your eyes green when I last saw you?”

“I-I usually wore green contacts.” He explained. His mother had always hated his grey-blue eyes, saying they weren’t as perfect as Adrien’s. So she had always forced him to wear contacts, and he had done so without complaint, until he had moved out of the house and moved into his own place. He had felt so free. “You’re looking great, I see you outgrew your pigtails.”

“Yeah, I thought when I got into lycée, I could use a change.” Marinette reached up and touched a lock of her dark hair, which now brushed against the base of her back. Felix had been right, she looked beautiful with her hair down.

Soon the two adults just stood there in awkward silence, not looking at each other. Cars drove by, and people brushed past. The silence was almost deafening to Felix, he wanted to continue this conversation, but didn’t know where to take it. Besides, who would want to talk to a guy who hurt you so badly in the past?

“Would you want to grab a coffee?” Marinette reached out a gently touched his arm, the smile returning to her face. Felix felt the blood begin to pound through his veins, rushing to his ears, making him feel as if he were about to go deaf. Completely oblivious, Marinette continued to rush out the words. “I mean, you’re probably busy, but I wanted to catch up, you know, since we haven’t seen each other in so long.”

“Coffee would be great.” Felix spoke up before she could sputter out more and embarrass herself. He took her hand without thinking, only to quickly drop it, visibly flinching. “I'm sorry.”

“Felix…” Marinette stared up at him, reached out for him, but he stepped away.

“Let’s go get that coffee, shall we?” He muttered, turning on his heel and walking away. His heart ached with every step, but he had to remind himself that she was with Adrien, and who would want a monster like Felix?

…

The two of them got their coffee and walked around as they drank and chatted. Marinette told him about how she was an up and coming designer in France, Clara Nightingale and Jagged Stone being the biggest amongst her celebrity clients. Felix had known she was the infamous MDC, a designer that had taken the world by storm with her designs that made anyone rush to buy them. He even had a few of her designs in his closet. Felix went on about telling her how his family had suffered much because of the scandal of Hawkmoth, that they were basically shunned by the world, even though they had had no part in what Gabriel had done. He had quit modeling, much to his relief, and now was still trying to figure his life out, to not be on the path his mother had tried to carve for him.

“I’m sorry… About your uncle.” Marinette whispered, taking a sip of her coffee loaded with sugar. Felix rose a brow at her, and she flushed. “I mean, it must have hurt, to realize that he was a villain.”

“I couldn’t care less about my uncle. He was a selfish bastard that only thought about himself and his needs, he didn’t care about anyone else. His goals as Hawkmoth made that very clear. I just hope Adrien had gotten that memo.” He shrugged, tossing his now empty cup in a nearby trash can. Marinette chugged down the remainder of her coffee before doing the same. “How is my cousin, by the way? I couldn’t get a hold of him.”

“Oh… I haven’t seen Adrien in two years, since… Since his father was arrested.” Mari whispered, fiddling with her hands as she stared down at her boots.

“What? I thought you were living with him…”

“What?” The word came out in a laugh when Marinette met his gaze. There was an amused twinkle in her eyes. “Where in the world did you hear that?”

“W-well, I heard that he was living with a girlfriend. Since you’re in love with him, I only assumed…” Felix trailed off, closing his eyes tightly in regret.

“Felix…”

He remained quiet.

“Felix, look at me.”

He opened his eyes, and realized where they were standing.

On the very bridge where he had kissed her and had hurt her so greatly.

Regret came rushing back.

“Felix, I stopped loving Adrien years ago. I… I fell in love with someone else. I realized that Adrien would never saw me as anything more than just a friend.” She whispered as she reached out and took his hand.

Marinette thought back to the final battle with Hawkmoth, to Chat Noir’s reaction when Ladybug, as the Guardian of the Miraculous, had ripped the pin out of Hawkmoth’s shirt and Gabriel Agreste had been sitting in his place. He saw the despair in pain in his eyes, and it clicked who her partner had been. But she had remained silent, letting the police take the man away, and had done her best to comfort the sobbing Chat Noir.

A week later, he had messaged her, telling her to meet him at the top of the Eiffel Tower. She had, and he had demanded that since Hawkmoth had been defeated, they should reveal their identities to each other. They weren’t in any danger anymore, what was the point with the secrets now?

Ladybug had smiled sadly at him, but agreed. Grinning. Chat Noir dropped his transformation and Adrien held out his arms wide, as if to make a spectacle of what Ladybug already knew. But the confirmation had only made the wounds on her heart sting more.

“Isn’t it amazing, my lady? Now we can finally be together, like we were destined to be! We can live happily ever after now, and have a big wedding, as well as-”

“Adrien, I can’t love you. I don’t love you, because you don’t love me.” Marinette smiled sadly at the model. He turned to her, a look of confusion on his face.

“What do you mean, my lady? I’ve always said that I love you, I never once lied.” He urged, reaching out for her hand. But she took a step back, widening the distance between them.

“Because you said to me that you could never love me. That I was only a friend, and that was all I could ever be.” She whispered, meeting his gaze. She watched the wheels spin in his head, before the horror filled his eyes and he slowly shook his head.

“No… Please, no, don’t tell me…”

A flash of pink light and Marinette stood before him, a bittersweet smile on her face. Adrien looked ill as he reached out for her.

“I’m sorry, kitty, but… I was in love with you. With you, Adrien, I had been since the first day we met. But on the day Felix came, I realized that you’d never love me for me. You were too lost in a fantasy of Ladybug that even if I told you who I was, you’d never want me. You’d only want Ladybug.”

“No… No, my lady, I love you!” Adrien frantically grabbed her hand, pulling her close. “This is all Felix’s fault! He was always jealous of me, because everyone compared him to me! He was saying stuff because he was jealous, my lady, whatever he said was a lie!”

“He didn’t say anything! In fact, I think he was more honest with me, even when he was pretending to be you!” Marinette snapped as she tried to tear herself free from his grasp, to no avail.

“What, don’t tell me you actually love that monster! He lied to you, my lady, he didn’t care about you for a second! He used you for a cruel joke, then when he got caught, he played all sorrowful, but he’ll always be the same, selfish, pompous asshole of a cousin that I had, who acts out like a brat because he’s jealous!” Adrien gave Marinette a hard shake. “I love you, he doesn’t! He probably doesn’t even remember you, most likely trailing along some other girls for a laugh! You’re nothing to him!”

“Adrien, you’re hurting me, stop!” Marinette felt hot tears prick her eyes at Adrien’s words, but knew they weren’t true. If it had all been a joke, he wouldn’t have taken the time to come to her home and apologize, right? He had cared in a way… Right?

“I love you, Ladybug!” He shouted, sounding frantic now.

And Marinette stared at him with large, teary eyes, before a bittersweet smile spread across her face. She hugged him, holding him close, before moving to grasp his hand. Adrien visibly relaxed.

“You see, my lady? I love you more than anything, I’ll do anything to protect you, as your knight in shining armor…” He whispered.

“I’m so sorry, kitty.” She whispered back, taking a step away,his ring firmly in her grasp. Her blue eyes then hardened and she transformed back into Ladybug. “As the Guardian of the Miraculous, I hereby strip you, Adrien Agreste, of your Miraculous. While you fought nobly, you have never taken your duties seriously. You often treated it as a game. I understand, Adrien, why you did. It was a freedom to you, but you never fully realized how big of a job it was. Hawkmoth is now defeated, and Paris is finally at peace. I thank you for your aide, Adrien.”

“N-no, you can’t do that! I am the true Black Cat holder, we are soulmates! We are meant to be, Ladybug, please!” The boy begged, reaching out for the ring, only for Ladybug to jump up onto the railing, keeping the ring out of his reach.

“You were never a true Black Cat, Adrien. I’m sorry, I really am… But I think right now, with all that has happened, it is too much for you. You’ve become unhinged due to grief, and I wish you well, and hope you build yourself a lovely, peaceful future, Adrien..”

Adrien screamed after her as she left him on the Eiffel Tower. Later that night, she cried herself to sleep. He had tried to get the ring back, but things got so intense, she had threatened to get a restraining order. Adrien had backed off right then and there.

Marinette blinked, being brought back to the present, before she shrugged, her smile sad, but she gave Felix’s hand a squeeze.

“I found myself thinking about someone else. Someone who I really shouldn’t have. I thought I didn’t know him, since he lied to me, but then I thought back to my conversations with him on the date he took me on. About how he loved classic literature, how he loved big dogs and wanted as many as he could get, once he got his own place. A guy who probably felt… So Neglected, because everyone was comparing him to the cousin they thought was so perfect, when he actually wasn’t.”

Felix felt his throat tighten and his eyes burn as sudden tears welled up. Then he cupped her cheek in his hand.

“Mari… I thought about you every day since I left. I hurt you so badly, Marinette, I was awful and selfish and spiteful. My family never let me live it down, yet you’re here, so nice and forgiving… Why? Why are you forgiving me, I don’t deserve that forgiveness!” Felix’s was thick with tears as he pulled her closer, resting his forehead against hers.

“I don’t know. But… You could definitely make it up to me, by letting me know you. The real you. Not Adrien, not the Felix your family tried to mould you into, just you.”

“How a-about a date?” Felix whispered, a shaky laugh leaving him. “A movie, and some ice cream?”

“I think that sounds great.” Marinette beamed, but glanced up when thunder boomed overhead. Rain began to pour, and both broke out into laughter. “Here, hold on.”

Marinette opened the black umbrella and held it over the two of them. Felix smiled, and pulled Marinette against him. Sharing a smile, he pulled the woman who had taken a hold of his heart into a warm kiss, a kiss that meant he wanted to build something with her. Something genuine and true. Her returning the kiss made his heart soar and he knew he had found someone who finally wanted him, Felix Agreste, for himself.

Taglist: @vixen-uchiha @kuroko26 @theatreandcomicfreak @poshplumcot @bluerosette23 @ladylb @riarkle-felinettelove

#felinette #ml felix #miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng

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ohmightydevviepuu · 4 years

Text

our little life (rounded with a sleep) / chapter 3

our little life (rounded with a sleep) chapter three

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful detective. She had blonde hair, green eyes, no family, and she was good at finding people; in fact, she proclaimed this on her office door. “Swan and Humbert,” it said. “Private investigations, missing persons, and bail bonds.”

Only lately, she's been thinking that maybe it should say "Emma Swan: Loner, Loser, Complicated wreck."

Her partner's been killed on a case after she made a deal with her landlord to find what had been taken from him. But when she tracks a possible perp to a bar on the outskirts of town, Emma will find out exactly how deep the rabbit hole goes.

always, always, always because of @thisonesatellite and @profdanglaisstuff thank you AGAIN to the amazing team at @captainswanbigbang

cw: canonical character death rating: T/M (implied violence, language) AO3 chapter one | chapter two | chapter three

chapter summary: Emma’s tracked down her suspect but then he looks into her eyes like he can see her, like he recognizes her--

And it’s a big fucking problem. She doesn’t trust him. They are not a team. No matter what he says or how blue his eyes are when he reads her like an open book.

“I’m sorry if I’ve kept you waiting,” James Hook said. “A woman such as yourself deserves my full and prompt attention.”

His voice was familiar; exactly as she had heard it in her dream down to the cadence of his accent.

“Does that line ever work?” Emma asked.

His eyes twinkled with appreciation. “I,” he said seriously, “will let you know, yeah?”

He was wearing eyeliner, kohl smudged around his eyes. Blue button-up shirt--partially undone, matched his eyes, would look even better on the floor--buttoned waistcoat, jeans that showed off his--

Fuck.

Emma needed a drink before she ended up like one of the co-eds.

“MacCutcheon,” she said simply.

“How do you like it?”

“In a glass,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Tough lass,” he said with a laugh, pouring her a shot.

“Yeah, well,” she said, picking up the shot glass and downing it in one. The condensation left a ring on the cocktail napkin. “It’s been a long day, and I’m thirsty.” She looked around, taking in more of the place--anything to look at instead of staring at Hook and his partially-unbuttoned shirt. “What’s with all of the swords?” Emma asked, gesturing at a wall covered in weapons.

The Rabbit Hole fell on the upside of ‘dive’, but only just barely. Maybe it was the Edison bulbs. The soft yellow glow gave everything a patina of ‘vintage’ instead of ‘grimey’.

“And what are those, boat hooks?”

“Aye,” he said.

“What are you, some kind of sailor?”

“In another life,” he said, the fake grin stretching across his face, “I served in the Royal Navy.”

“You’ve practically got an armory in here,” she said.

“That’s the idea,” he agreed.

“You don’t seem like the type of guy to collect old-fashioned weapons.”

“Aye,” he said again, the eyes twinkling--again. “I collect blondes from bottles, too.”

Emma was a natural blonde--probably another legacy from one of her parents. She returned his gaze and said only, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

There it was: the real smile. “Perhaps,” he said. “Perhaps I would. James Hook.” He held out his right hand to her, and Emma shook it, which was when she noticed that he only had the one.

“I know who you are,” she said.

“Ah,” he said. “So you’ve heard of me? Well, it’s always nice to leave an impression.”

“Oh,” Emma said. “You have. You’re handsome, and charming--”

“Do go on,” Hook said, shifting his weight against the back counter.

“The kind of guy who--now, stop me if I’ve got this wrong--steals a man’s wife and leaves a boy motherless, then keeps up the grudge by breaking into his home and stealing from him again.” Emma watched him during her recitation. This was her favorite part: skips always broke down when the hot piece of ass they’d been planning on nailing turned the tables and cuffed them.

Not in the fun way, either.

But Hook just looked at her, stepping forward again and bracing his elbow against the bar, his chin in his hand. His fingers curled against his upper lip, his eyes were wide and innocent, and the fake grin had returned; the change was so smoothly done it was--almost--imperceptible.

“Sounds like a lovely tale,” he said. “But I’m going to wager the truth is rather more gruesome.”

Emma was calm. She was focused. And he was not lying.

“Besides,” Hook said evenly, “I’m going to need you to be a mite more specific in your accusations; you see, I’ve had many a man’s wife.”

“And I need you,” Emma said, matching his tone, “to return what you’ve stolen.”

His smile--the fake smile--faltered. Just for a second. “Tell me something, love,” Hook said, leaning into her personal space, his eyes never leaving hers, “If a woman comes to you and begs you to take her away, is that theft?” He ran his tongue over his lower lip and winked at her.

“But--why would she leave him?” Emma asked before she could stop herself. The son, they had a son--

What were they even talking about?

“Because he was a coward,” Hook said easily. “Because she loved me.”

Emma pulled herself away from his gaze. Whatever was going on here--he wasn’t lying.

“So, lass,” he said, “you know who I am, but you won’t even tell me your name?”

“What fun would that be?” Emma said.

“If you’re helping Rump--Gold,” Hook said, with particular emphasis on the name, “I’m afraid you’re fighting for a lost cause.”

“I’m not fighting for anything,” Emma said, “except for my fee. Tell me what you know about Graham Humbert’s death.” She grabbed his wrist. “And I’m gonna let you in on a little secret--I’m pretty good at knowing when someone is lying to me.”

“He came in here the other evening, on the hunt,” Hook said, biting down hard on the ‘t’. “He often did. It’s rather a target-rich environment, as you can see.” He gestured at the crowded room and leered. “That’s the last time I saw him.”

Emma smiled, the kind that showed no teeth, that was small and controlled, and tightened her grip on his wrist. With her other hand, she pulled her phone out of her pocket, unlocked it and scrolled to David Nolan’s entry. “He came here looking for you the night he died,” she said. “A fact I think the sheriff--” Emma held up the phone to show him “--will find fascinating, don’t you?”

He started to pull away, but Emma twisted his wrist just enough to put pressure on it--enough that pulling away would make a scene and potentially force someone to call the sheriff anyway. The singer finished a song to a scattering of applause, and Emma kept her grip and her gaze on Hook.

“Well done, lass,” he said. Emma let go of him and his hand reached up to rub the back of his neck. He had rings on two of his fingers and his thumb, and a freaking earring, a black stud. “You’ll be Emma Swan, then.”

“There goes my air of mystery,” she deadpanned.

“On the contrary, love,” Hook said, licking his lips again. “You’ve bested me. I can count on one hand the number of times someone has done that.”

“Is that a joke?” Emma said drily. “Because you’re a terrible liar.”

“Ask me what you’ve really come here to ask, Swan,” he said, and something in his face had shifted, like he had dropped the act of whatever part he was trying to play. His eyes were serious and the tone of his voice had lowered.

“Did you kill him?”

“I did not,” Hook said.

Emma believed him. Shit.

“Now then,” Hook said. “Emma Swan. Bail bonds, private investigations. Twenty-eight years old?”

They weren’t in the bar anymore.

According to the paperwork Graham had pulled, Hook had owned The Rabbit Hole for more than twenty years--clearly a typo as the man appeared exactly as Gold had described him: mid-thirties, no more, no less. It was difficult to picture him running off with a woman Gold’s age.

He’s older than he looks, Gold smirked, and had looked at Emma in a way that made her want to shower. And rather partial, I’m afraid, to brunettes.

Emma had confirmation of this, at least, when Hook had called out to a beautiful brunette in a micromini, tights and an artfully ripped t-shirt. Lacey, my darling, cover for me here, will you?

She’d laughed and given him--and Emma--a wink, and it was obvious what she thought Hook and Emma were doing, and why they needed cover. I’ve got this, Jamie, she’d said.

And he’d taken Emma to a small but immaculate office, dimly lit, rimmed with books, and offered her a chair with a bow before taking a seat behind the desk. She’s new, Hook had said of Lacey, but she does the job like she’s been here for decades. Something about that had amused him; Hook seemed consistently to be amusing himself with jokes only he understood. Any man who kept a skull-and-crossbones on the wall was definitely a man with an unusual sense of humor--in fact, this room had a distinct nautical theme, with a red flag draped above the black one and an honest-to-goodness ship in a bottle on his desk, and it was all a far cry from the badly-curated murder-tinged whimsy that made up the decor of the main bar.

“That’s oddly specific,” Emma countered. “Do I, like, get a prize if you’re right?”

“An educated guess,” Hook answered, and said nothing else as his eyes settled over her. Emma felt like she was being evaluated; not the first time that had happened, and she had no idea what he thought he was looking for.

“So, then,” he said. “Your Graham Humbert came looking for me.”

“He wasn’t my anything,” Emma said quickly. Maybe too quickly.

“Aye,” Hook said. “Of that I’m well aware.” He twisted his thumb against the metal of one of his rings and broke eye contact, looking down and away from her. “We weren’t friends, you know. Barely even acquainted. But you might say that we had certain connections in common.” Hook looked at her quickly and looked away again. “I hadn’t seen him in as long as I can remember.”

There was something strange underlying the words. Not a lie, but not the truth. And something about the phrase tickled Emma’s memory, like she had heard it somewhere before.

“He was involved with Regina Mills,” Emma said, realizing it at the same moment she said it.

“Indeed he was.” Hook made a sound, almost like a bark, and it took Emma a moment to realize it was a laugh. There was no amusement in it. “You wouldn’t know it to look at him, but she rather held his heart in her hands.”

Emma winced.

“Apologies, love,” Hook said quickly, and with apparent sincerity. “That was in rather poor taste, I admit.”

“You were too, weren’t you?” Emma asked instead of acknowledging his half-assed apology. “Involved with her?”

Another harsh laugh escaped him. “Indeed I was,” he said, “though not in the way you’d think. I did some work for the family. A long time ago.”

Emma smirked. “A man who used to be a sailor and now owns a bar?”

“‘Used to be’ is right, Swan,” he said, “but one might consider the bar payment.” He did that thing again, where he over-emphasized the harsh consonants. “For services rendered.”

“You realize you are the only one in this entire neighborhood who owns their property outright instead of paying rent to Robert Gold?”

“Am I?” He examined his fingernails. “That’s fortuitous.” It was obscene, the way Hook made words sound, but Emma knew a distraction when she saw one. This man used words as deflections, armor not unlike her collection of leather jackets.

“She came to see me,” Emma said.

“Did she?” That got Hook’s attention. “And what did you think of Her Majesty the Queen?”

“Her what now?”

“Regina, love. Latin.”

“You speak Latin?” Emma’s eyebrows definitely went up.

“And Greek,” he pointed out, smirking.

“They teach you that in the Royal Navy?”

“Something like that,” he agreed.

Emma’s head was beginning to hurt. This was shaping up to be the world’s worst first draft of “Who’s on first”--she wasn’t getting anywhere, and she needed another drink.

“What did she want?” Hook asked, and for the first time, there was genuine curiosity in his tone. He twisted behind him, pulling out a bottle, then repeated the process and came up with two glasses pinched between his thumb and forefinger, placing one in front of her. He pulled the cork with his teeth, poured himself a shot, and then gestured at her with the bottle.

Emma gave him a look.

“You’re something of an open book, Swan,” Hook said, the picture of innocent hospitality, “or did you not want another drink?”

“Regina wanted to know,” Emma said, ignoring his outstretched hand, “what I was doing about Graham’s death.”

“Don’t make a man drink alone, love.”

“I don’t want a drink,” she lied. “Or a man.”

Hook pouted. “Now who’s not telling the truth?”

Emma took the bottle from his hand and poured herself three fingers’ worth.

“I do find that spirits can be an excellent solution to so many of life’s problems,” Hook said with false cheerfulness, “so I am glad to see that you are making progress.”

Emma left the glass on the desk and leveled a glare at him.

“Are you?” he said, raising his eyebrows, “making progress?”

There was a knock on the door at the same time as it opened, and a young man stepped in. Nearly as tall as Hook, he had long, dark blonde hair that he’d slicked back, leaving some fringe to fall messily at his temples.

“Alright, Liam?” Hook said.

The young man--Liam--coughed and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, only Lacey said you were back here--”

“And you wanted to interrupt?” Hook asked, a mix of exasperation, fondness and something sharper in his voice.

Liam shrugged.

“Swan,” Hook said, “allow me to present my lit--younger brother, Liam, who was just leaving.”

Emma nodded at him, with his slightly-less-blue eyes and the curious way they watched her.

There was a look in Hook’s eyes as his brother walked out that Emma was not prepared to acknowledge. She pushed her untouched tumbler of rum back toward him and snapped, “Enough. Why did Graham come here to see you?” Emma demanded.

Hook shrugged.

“He tracked you down through property records,” Emma said. “Because the Mills Organization paid you in real estate for work you did for them a long time ago?”

“So it would seem,” he said.

“You know it says on the deed that you’ve been the owner here for as long as I’ve been alive?”

“Does it?” he smirked. “And yet I’ve retained my youthful glow.”

There it was again--not a lie, but not the truth.

He’s older than he looks.

Emma sat, toying with the tumbler she had pulled back toward her seat, running her forefinger around the ring of the glass and saying nothing.

“What can I say, Swan,” he said. “‘I contain multitudes.’ Not unlike your Graham Humbert.” He looked at her as though he was expecting a reaction; Emma stared at him.

“Is that supposed to mean something?”

“Ah,” he said, as though to himself. “Not a believer, then--well, surely that will stop you getting killed.”

Hook considered her for a moment before tossing back his shot, then said: “Walt Whitman, lass. American poet.”

“Didn’t study poetry at any of the high schools I got kicked out of,” Emma said. “What does my listening to you recite poetry and mutter to yourself have to do with Graham?”

Hook shook his head. “Absolutely nothing, love,” he said. “Merely pointing out that you might be surprised by what they teach you in the Royal Navy.”

“You don’t know anything about what I believe,” Emma said sharply.

His blue eyes blazed. “I know that everything you think you believe is wrong,” he said.

“A man is dead, Hook,” Emma said. “I need you to stop fucking around and give me back whatever it is you’ve taken.”

“She’s dead, Swan,” he said sadly, the fire gone just as quickly as it had come, “and whatever that bloody crocodile has you looking for, I don’t have it.”

He had that look again.

Crocodile.

“Just like Milah, when the crocodile took her from me.”

“His wife?” Emma said. “Look, I’m sorry she died, but Graham--Graham was murdered.”

“Died,” Hook snorted. “Like it was some kind of accident--”

“That’s not what I said,” Emma protested, feeling suddenly on the defensive.

“--lass, it was no more of an accident than Humbert laid out in the alley.” Hook poured himself another shot and held it. “And you, Swan, helping him? I fear we’re working at cross purposes.”

“I’m just here to retrieve something on behalf of my client,” Emma said, exasperated and confused, “and to get paid Same as Graham, only he ended up dead and I would prefer to avoid that.”

“It’s a shame, really, Emma,” he said, apparently not listening. “I think we could make quite the team.”

“And what,” Emma wanted to know, “would our objective be?”

Hook paused and looked at her before he drank the second shot, and Emma still had no idea what he was looking for. He took a breath and said: “To avenge your partner,” he said, as if it would be that simple. “To exact revenge on the man who took my hand, Rumplestiltskin.”

“Swan!” Hook called, rushing after her. “Swan, wait up!”

Emma was ten or fifteen feet out the door of The Rabbit Hole when she doubled back quickly and pushed herself against him. “Whoa!” she cried. “Whoa, whoa, whoa.”

Hook smiled at her and pulled them closer together. “It’s about bloody time.”

Emma hit him. “I seem to have a shadow,” she said, gesturing at the figure running into the darkness--the one that had lunged itself at her and forced her up against Hook.

“I suppose,” Hook said, pretending to consider it, “that’s a plausible excuse for grabbing me, but next time don’t stand on ceremony.”

Was the man insane? “Do you have any idea what you sound like right now? Who the fuck is Rumplestiltskin?”

Hook’s face fell. “I sound like a crazy person,” he said. “Apologies, love, I realize Humbert didn’t--” He paused, took a breath. “Would you settle for ‘dashing rapscallion’?”

“Excuse me?” Emma stuttered.

“As opposed to ‘crazy person’, Swan,” Hook pushed, and then leaned in closer at her continued silence, angling his head so their eyes were level. “Scoundrel, perhaps?”

He was close enough to--

He was very close.

“I think, Swan,” he said, very softly, his eyes boring into hers, “that you are not the only one with a shadow. Don’t turn,” he warned, “just look at me.”

The full focus of this man’s attention was nearly unbearable. Emma desperately needed to break eye contact and maintain her wits, which was how she noticed the red streak on his shoulder.

Where she’d grabbed him.

Unfortunately, that drew his eyes to the spot as well, and he knew immediately what it was.

“Swan,” he said, and he sounded disappointed. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s nothing,” Emma insisted. “Just, the jerk who came after me must have had a knife or something.”

“Give me your hand,” Hook said.

“What?” Emma said, trying to pull away.

He wouldn’t let her. “It’s cut,” he said, getting impatient. “Let me help you.”

“No,” Emma said, taking a definitive step back. Hook countered by stepping forward, back into her personal space. “It’s fine.”

“Swan,” he sighed. “It’s not.”

And he ran his hand down her arm, curling his fingers around her wrist and lifting it for closer inspection, balancing her hand on his left wrist against his prosthetic.

“I’m not taking medical advice from a man who has named himself after a character in a fairy tale and who thinks my client can spin straw into gold,” Emma muttered. “Not even when he suddenly decides to be a gentleman.”

Hook’s face twisted, that already-familiar smirk pulling at his mouth as he took something out of his pocket. “I,” he said, and his tone was serious in spite of his expression, “am always a gentleman.” He looked at Emma through eyelashes that were thicker than hers were after several rounds of lash primer as he repeated his bit with the cork and moved to pour the contents over the small slash in her palm.

“What is that?” Emma asked suspiciously, then swore as the liquid hit her skin.

“It’s rum,” Hook said. “And a bloody waste of it.” He handed the flask to her before she could refuse and pulled out a handkerchief from his coat pocket, pressing it into her hand before Emma could try to pull away again and tying it off with his teeth.

Just--his teeth . Why?

His eyes never left hers, not even as he stepped away from her.

“He’s gone,” Hook whispered.

Emma sighed and took a swig of the rum in resignation. “Scoundrel it is, then,” she said, taking a definitive step backward and crossing her arms across her body in the universal signal for back off. Because she knew what he was doing, she had seen this movie before, and it hadn’t ended well.

They were not a team.

They could not be a team.

“Why were you following me?”

“I wanted to continue our conversation,” he said. “Is that so hard to believe?”

Emma shook her head slowly.

He grinned, shrugged. “And," he said, "I would like to see Regina Mills. I was hoping you would be so kind as to facilitate transportation.”

“You don’t drive?”

“I don’t drive a car,” Hook said. “It’s not by choice that I live here in the city, love, it’s by necessity.”

Emma felt her resistance wavering. “What makes you think I’d be willing to help you?”

“You seem,” Hook paused, as if searching for the correct word, “motivated.”

“What happened to cross purposes?”

“I look at this very simply,” Hook said. “I help you get what you want, and it gets me what I want. No more, no less. Besides, I find that I quite fancy you--when you’re not yelling at me, that is.”

“I don’t understand you,” Emma said.

“The mystique is part of my charm, I assure you,” Hook said, raising his eyebrows.

But she had already given in to whatever scheme this was, had given in the minute she pushed herself against him.

The minute he had held her arm and pushed into her space.

Emma gestured for him to go ahead, and they started walking to her car. Hook took in the careworn yellow Beetle with a grin on his face. “Quite a vessel you captain here, Swan,” he said, pulling the door open on the passenger side.

“It seemed like the best choice at the time,” Emma said softly, meaning it, momentarily hating herself for how wrong she had been--and how much this felt like the same beginning all over again. She ran a quick address search on her phone and came up with nothing; it was odd, given the extent of the Mills Organization’s influence.

“I know where she lives, lass,” Hook said. “I’ll navigate.”

Emma pulled out of her spot, the silence growing between them, interspersed at odd intervals with his muttered directions until he spoke. “You know, Swan, most people would find your silence off-putting, but I should warn you that I love a challenge.”

“No challenge,” Emma said. “I’m not looking for someone who’s gonna give his heart to the world, or some true love riding to my rescue.”

“But?” Hook prompted.

“I mean,” Emma said, dripping with sarcasm, “somewhere in the universe, there's gotta be a guy who'll keep me warm when I'm cold, feed me when I'm hungry and maybe, on occasion, take me dancing.”

“No,” he said. “That’s not it. You’re afraid--to talk, to reveal yourself.”

“Am I?” Emma said flatly. “What are we doing now? What happened to ‘a bit of an open book’?” She finished with a horrible imitation of his accent.

“You’re afraid to trust me.”

“Afraid to trust the guy who believes in fairy tales, Captain Hook?” Emma snorted. “However did you guess?”

“Bartender’s a sympathetic ear, love,” Hook said, “but I don’t need you to share. You have that look in your eyes.”

Emma’s entire body went still.

“The one,” Hook said, as if she didn’t already know--didn’t own a freaking mirror--hadn’t seen the look on his face that very night, “you get when you’ve been left alone.”

“Now I’m some kind of lost girl?” Emma forced herself to laugh. “Nice try, Hook, but my world ain’t Neverland.”

He made a noise, halfway between the unamused bark-laugh and a sigh, and said: “My point, Swan, is that an orphan’s an orphan.”

Emma said nothing, but Hook pressed on. “And True Love--well, that’s the rarest magic of all, or so they say. Have you ever even been in love?”

Emma narrowed her eyes at him, took a deep breath, and lied. “No,” she said simply. “I have never been in love.” She pulled the car against the curb and turned off the ignition. “We’re here,” she said.

“Who’s the guy, Swan?” he said, and his voice was almost free of affect. She could--almost--believe he meant it.

“What guy?” Emma said, because fuck him and his open-book bullshit.

“The one,” Hook said as if it was obvious, “who left you with such a high opinion of me.”

Emma got out of the car and slammed the door shut behind her.

@kmomof4 @shireness-says @spartanguard @optomisticgirl @eirabach @winterbaby89 @stahlop @teamhook @iamlaxdris71 @snowbellewells @carpedzem @scientificapricot @ultraluckycatnd @therealstartraveller776 @wyntereyez @nikkiemms @searchingwardrobes @courtorderedcake

#csrt #our little life (rounded with a sleep)#cs fic #captain swan rewrite a thon #cursed!killian #season 1 divergence #an alternate theory of the curse

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