#this is how i shoot my shot actually it’s worked precisely none | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luvdsc · 4 years

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mark lee sucks at technology.

tap the heart if you have a big, fat, embarrassing crush on your best friend!

pairing :: lee mark x reader genre :: fluff / best friend + social influencer au word count :: 5,883 words warnings :: none playlist :: dumb stuff (lany) ⋆ feeling (coin) ⋆ so far so good (gabrielle aplin) ⋆ electric love (børns) ⋆ love by mistake (bad suns) author’s note :: i was debating if i should post it on his bday instead, but i decided to drop it earlier, so uh, happy (approx. one week early) bday to mister absolutely fully capable (except when it comes to tech stuff) !!!! thank you for blessing us with your god tier raps ♡ ↳ part of the not clickbait series.

In your required upper division business course aptly titled “Essential Marketing Strategies,” you had learned about a concept called personal brands. A personal brand is explained as the first impression a person wishes to perceive based on their own experiences, qualifications, and achievements. Your professor had told you and your classmates to pick three words to define your own brand. For instance, you chose to label yourself as charismatic, fun, and creative.

Your best friend’s brand would be awkward, endearing, and technologically challenged.

Okay, so that is definitely more than three words, but who’s counting? You might as well tack on “Y/N’s big fat crush” at this rate because everyone and their mother knows that you carry a torch—or more accurately, a blazing wildfire that can easily be spotted from Pluto—for your best friend.

Well, to be more precise, you should probably say everyone, except Mark, knows. And that’s not for lack of trying either. You completely dropped the art of delicate subtlety months ago already. Maybe you should add “hopelessly oblivious” instead.

The rolling end credits to the sixth Harry Potter film are playing on the screen in front of you, signaling the nearing end of your magical movie marathon. You’re seated on the worn down couch in Mark and Donghyuck’s shared apartment, watching the former make his drink with the fancy, gently used Keurig newly settled on the scratched countertop. Johnny dropped it off a few days ago because he had splurged on a better coffee machine (“It even makes Instagram worthy whipped frappuccinos!”) and didn’t want his old, but still perfectly functioning caffeine provider going to waste.

“What’s wrong with this thing?” Mark slaps the side of the machine, and it starts to emit a low whirring noise. “Oh, that’s good, right? That sound is good, you think?”

His question is immediately answered by the sad squirt of hot water speckled with coffee grinds falling into his mug for a few seconds before the machine shuts off.

“What the hell?” he mutters angrily, carding his hand through his hair in frustration, and you finally decide to take pity on your best friend. Getting up from the comfy spot you know you sadly won’t be able to recreate perfectly again later, you stride over to where your best friend stands and flip open the top of the Keurig.

“Hyuck didn’t take out his used coffee pod,” you say, pulling out the incriminating evidence of your best friend’s roommate and disposing it in the trash can next to the refrigerator. “Where’s the espresso one you’re gonna use? Why didn’t you put that in?”

His jaw slackens, and he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze and mumbling, “I thought I’d just open it later and pour it into my hot water.”

“Mark,” you start, placing your hands on his shoulders firmly and staring into his eyes with a serious look on your face. “Please know that I’m saying this in the most loving way possible, but you are an absolute idiot.”

You release your grip on his shoulders and grab the espresso pod dangling from his fingertips before slotting it into the Keurig. You remove the mug he placed underneath the spout and wash out the accidental coffee water before placing it back in its original position and pressing the start button on the machine. With a sigh, you lean against the side of the counter, glancing at your friend who looks like a child being scolded for stealing from the cookie jar.

“If you pour the pod into your mug, are you just going to chug all the loose coffee grinds, too?”

“... I didn’t think that far ahead.” His lips start to unintentionally form a tiny pout, and your eyes (and your heart, too) soften.

You’re very relieved that Donghyuck is off filming with your friend because he definitely would be making fun of your heart eyes that frequently make an appearance around a certain Mark Lee. Which you always deny. Because you certainly do not have a gigantic crush on your technologically inept best friend.

You glance over at him again and have to physically fight yourself to resist the urge to kiss his cute pout away. Okay, so maybe you harbor a very respectable, medium sized crush. But it's no big deal. It’s completely under control. Unless you’re counting the fact that your best friend is still unaware, and you’re running out of ideas to try and see if he likes you back before you actually shoot your shot. Then it’s very much not under control because you’re losing sleep over it and you don’t know what to do to be any more obvious without stating the, well, obvious.

“Well, now you know. If you forget, you can FaceTime me and I’ll give you instructions on how it works.” You pat his shoulder reassuringly before pausing. “Wait, you do know how to FaceTime, right?”

“Yes!” he exclaims, sulking even more before confessing in a quieter, defeated tone, “Hyuck showed me last month.”

Mark grabs his finished drink and follows behind you, settling back onto the couch next to you. The streaming service already has Deathly Hallows Part 1 in the queue and ready to go, and your best friend is ready to click play until he notices your attention being focused on the smaller screen in your hands. He wonders if you’re about to post another one of your popular cooking videos on that app that shares a name with the most iconic song of the 2000s (hint: the name of the song’s singer is made up of four letters and a dollar sign).

“Are you uploading one of your videos?” he implores before taking a sip of his drink with a satisfied smile. Somehow, it always tastes better when you make it, and he can’t figure out why for the life of him. When he went to Johnny’s place, his older friend uses the exact same pod and water ratio for his espresso, and yet, it’s never as good as yours.

“Nah, I’m ordering my grocery delivery before I forget. Do you want anything?” You select the option to load your usual grocery items into your cart before debating on whether or not you should splurge on buying several packages of those seasonal Pillsbury sugar cookies that only come in stock during certain holidays. It seems like such an insult to the entire premise of your Tiktok account based on baking and cooking, but you’re an absolute sucker for those soft pastries.

“Yeah, can you get me a Shin Ramyun ten pack? Hyuck ate the last one two days ago and didn’t tell me.”

“You sure you don’t want ten boxes again?” You decide to get those Pillsbury sugary delights, happily adding three boxes to your cart. Everybody has a weakness, and yours just so happens to be a premade one way ticket to diabetes. You’re here for a good, delicious time, not a long time.

“No! That was an accident!” He objects, flailing his hands around, before falling back against the couch cushions in defeat. “But Hyuck does all the online grocery shopping now.”

“Thank god. You guys finally have quality toilet paper again.”

The past month of bathroom occurrences was plagued with scratchy tissue that felt more like goddamn sandpaper from the horrible depths of hell. To be honest, you probably would have rather used actual sandpaper, given the choice. You even made sure not to drink too much water any time you came over, but today, you decided to splurge on a venti passion fruit iced tea with sweetener from that very popular franchise sporting a mermaid logo and fiscally cosmic name. To your pleasant surprise, your trip to the toilet this time was wonderfully padded with Charmin Ultra Soft, not that absolutely awful off brand one with the gross texture of a dried pinecone from inferno.

“Hey, that toilet paper was a good steal! It was a three for one deal,” Mark protests, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“Wow, I wonder why it was priced so low.” You deadpan, and Mark blanches, recalling all those restroom incidents that were rather rough. Literally.

“Anyway, do you think my viewers wanna see me make chocolate crinkle cookies or mochi doughnuts?” You bring up the two recipes you managed to perfect and add your own spin to on your phone, eyes scanning the ingredient lists.

“Both. And tell me when you’re making them, so I can come over and eat them.” He gives you a wide grin, and you let out a snort at that. His smile only grows as he says happily, “I love your job.”

“You only love it because you can freeload off of me,” you jest, but nevertheless begin to start to add all the ingredients for both recipes to your shopping cart. You always film cooking videos on Tuesdays, edit on Wednesdays, keep Thursdays free for last minute touch ups and emergencies, and post one every week on Fridays with other various random videos uploaded whenever in between. With that in mind, you schedule your upcoming grocery delivery for Monday.

“Hey, you need me. I’m the best taste tester.” He puffs up his chest proudly before hastily tacking on a more genuine reason. “And because I’d starve without you. I can’t live off of instant ramen and frozen chicken nuggets forever. Gordon Ramsay already confirmed my shitty cooking skills. I need you to survive.”

“Oh my god, when I uploaded those pics of your scrambled eggs on Twitter, I lost like a hundred followers in less than a minute.” You confirm the delivery and place your phone on the coffee table, picking up the opened bag of Cheeto puffs before settling back in your seat. “My cooking credibility was completely shot. I had to explain to my fans that I didn’t make those.”

“Yeah, but now everyone calls me Eggy Boi online!” he whines, and you laugh. You have to admit, it’s quite a funny play on the whole “edgy boi” terminology. You wonder if Mark will find it amusing if he discovers his roommate is the culprit behind his new online persona (He probably won’t, and you reckon Donghyuck enjoys living in a safe space where he doesn’t have to sleep with one eye open, so you stay quiet about it. You’ll use it as leverage some other time).

“Okay, Eggy Boi, come by on Tuesday because I’ll be baking in the afternoon,” you say casually, grabbing the remote control from your best friend and pressing play.

You very narrowly avoid a green gummy bear to the face. It lands somewhere behind the couch, lost forever to the dust bunnies and other snacks that missed its target. You know for a fact that it’ll stay there until the boys decide to move to a new apartment. Mark grumbles at the miss, biting off the head of a red cherry flavored gummy bear perhaps a little harder than necessary.

“I hate you. But I’m still coming over next week because I want a doughnut.”

“No cookie?”

“... and a cookie. Maybe two.”

Wednesday comes faster than you expected, and you’re currently holed up in your apartment’s second bedroom—which you had transformed into a snazzy office space—completing the edits to your second video on mochi doughnuts. You already finished polishing the one about the cookies earlier, thank goodness. If you had to stare at your computer screen for another three hours, you would rather eat those pastries Mark tried to make two months ago, but had mistaken salt for sugar. Adding a cup of salt to any baked good is an extremely effective way to make anyone who tasted your best friend’s brownies experience a trip to the beach. Because they essentially just swallowed a mouthful of sand and ocean water. Because it’s salty as heck. Just like Mark was when you told him.

Speaking of your best friend, he’s currently puttering around in your kitchen doing god knows what. He knows better than to try another recipe and possibly blow up your number one moneymaker—your prized oven—in the process. Your heart nearly drops when your ears pick up the faint chopping sounds of a knife against your wooden cutting board. Is he going to try to temper chocolate again? He nearly burned through your entire stock of dark, milk, and white chocolate last time.

After much contemplation and deciding that you deserve a good procrastination break and a fully intact kitchen, you’re about to go out and see what he’s up to when Mark timidly appears in your doorway, clutching onto a white bowl of watermelon cubes with a fork tucked neatly in it. He shuffles in, dropping the snack on your desk before turning to walk out without a word, not wanting to disturb your work mode.

Your heart warms up at the sight, and you speak up, a small smile slipping into your face. “What’s this for?”

“Knowing you, you probably haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.” He pauses in the doorway and adds on sheepishly, “And I can't cook anything, so this is what you get.”

Your heart swells tenfold, and your smile widens even more as you spear a piece of fruit with the fork and quickly pop it into your mouth. “Thanks, Marky.”

His cheeks flush with a pretty shade of carmine, and he fails to suppress the little giddy smile that appears on his face at your nickname for him. He walks out of your office, reddened cheeks still rising up higher than ever. “Y-Yeah, of course. No problem.”

By the time you finish adding the final few touches to your edited video, the bowl of watermelon has been picked clean. You save your video and transfer both of your completed projects to your phone, making a mental note to schedule their uploads and add them to your account’s posting queue later. Shoving your phone in the pocket of your sweats after ensuring the successful transfer of your videos, you pick up the empty dish and walk out towards the kitchen, the silver fork clinking against the side of the bowl with every step.

As you wash the dish and utensil, Mark wanders over from his spot on the couch, leaning forward and casually placing his chin on your shoulder. Almost instantaneously, you feel the heat rising to your cheeks as you briefly fantasize about your best friend wrapping his arms around your waist and how domestic and sweet the two of you would look, like one of those cheesy couples the two of you always made fun of.

“What’s up?” you ask, making a conscious effort to hold your voice steady and not waver over the fact that Mark is basically draped over you. After you place the dish on the drying rack, you turn around to face your best friend, sorely miscalculating the distance as mere inches separate your face from his now.

“I—” Puberty decides to make an ugly appearance in the form of an ill timed voice crack, and he internally curses as he takes a step back, willing the incoming blush to go away. Letting out a small cough, he tries again, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

“I, um, Jisung sent me some kind of dance video. He said it’s a challenge? I kinda don’t know what to do with it? Like do I make a new dance, record myself, and send it back? Actually, isn't it easier to just do a dance battle face to face?”

“Can I see the video?” You already have a good idea on what the video will be, but you want to confirm it. Mark fumbles with his phone, pulling up the video in his text messages. He angles the phone towards you for you to see, and you grab his hand, bringing the device a little closer to you for a better look and clicking play.

“Oh, it’s a Tiktok challenge! He’s doing the Say So dance!” you exclaim, recognizing the song almost immediately as your eyes follow the fluid dance moves, completely enthralled. “So a challenge isn’t going up against someone, like a battle. It’s just some kind of trend or concept that you try to copy yourself. You’re supposed to learn the same dance and record yourself for this one. I can show you some other challenges and help you practice and record this one tomorrow if you wanna drop by after work!”

“O-Oh, okay, sounds good.” Mark stumbles over his words, attempting to focus on what you’re saying and the dance Jisung is doing, but all he can think about is the way your body is pressed against his side, hand comfortably wrapped around his. He freezes up as the tips of his ears grow redder and redder with every passing second, and his face sports a similar color. He silently prays for the telltale crimson to go away by the time the dance is over.

When the video ends, you once again realize the close proximity between you and your best friend. Your face burns at this revelation, and you awkwardly take a step back. Clearing your throat, you hastily release Mark’s hand (He inaudibly lets out the breath he’s been holding in this entire time, yet he also already misses the way your hand felt grasping his).

“Uh, anyway, I’m gonna make a latte. Do you want a drink, too?” You walk towards the other side of your kitchen with Mark trailing behind you. You take out a floral, peachy colored mug from your cupboards before pausing and looking at your best friend. “Wait, do you remember how to use a Keurig?”

“Yes!” He says, slightly exasperated as he picks out his own cup from your cabinet. He always uses the same one—a cerulean blue mug with squiggles all over it—and all of your friends and guests know not to use it because it’s unofficially officially Mark’s mug (And perhaps, you did indeed buy it from that overpriced kitschy tableware shop down the street two years ago with your best friend in mind).

“Really?” You select the latte option and press start after you had already positioned the mug beneath the spout and inserted a green tea matcha pod. He finally relents, shoulders sagging and a defeated expression on his face.

“... No.”

You chuckle, taking the mug from him and carefully putting it on the counter. You grab the espresso pod you know he likes from the drawer below and place it next to the cup. “It’s okay, I’ll teach you again.”

Mark tries. He really does. He tries very hard to concentrate on memorizing the simple process, but he keeps getting distracted. His eyes are focused on the correct button to push before they start to trail up to your fingertips. And then, they go from your hand to your arm, then up to the elegant curve of your neck, and finally, to the way your lashes frame your pretty eyes and how the tip of your tongue sticks out slightly as you concentrate until all he can focus on is you, you, you.

Suddenly, in what feels like a blink of an eye, you’re done and handing him his finished drink, complete with a perfectly whipped milk foam on top. You ask him if he knows how to make it now, and all he can do is lie and nod with a barely convincing smile.

After all, how can Mark tell his best friend that the reason he never remembers is because you’re the biggest distraction?

Mark should be here in five minutes, according to his most recent text message. And in the text message below that, your friend had sent you a challenge. More specifically, it’s the one she completed with Donghyuck a few weeks ago. When you said you wanted bold suggestions on how to figure out if your best friend feels the same way about you as you do about him, you didn’t want one this bold.

Yet, the video link to your friend’s “today I kissed my best friend” challenge along with a winky face from her is staring mockingly at you. While you aren’t one to back down from a challenge, the mere thought of kissing your best friend causes vast colonies of butterflies to erupt in your stomach and your ears to feel as if they have caught on fire. You’re already tongue tied with your head in the clouds, and he isn’t even here yet. How utterly fantastic.

However, your mother definitely did not raise a quitter, so you spring into action when you hear the faint jingling of a key being inserted into your apartment’s door (You had given Mark a copy of your key almost immediately after you had moved in). You move the pretty indoor fern given to you by Jaemin as a housewarming gift last year closer to the edge of your towering bookcase, leaning your phone against it. You quickly position the device to capture a good view of the couch area in your living room and press the record button, arranging a few of the leaves to hide as much of your phone as you possibly can without obstructing the lens.

You run full speed to your bedroom, letting out a sigh of relief when you’re safely inside and hear Mark finally unlocking the door successfully and shuffling in. When he calls out to you, you try to even out your breathing, walking out of your room with your tripod and laptop in hand.

“Hey,” you greet him in the most casual tone you can muster. You place the tripod down and sit before opening your laptop and setting it on the coffee table. “I thought we could watch a few challenges for fun before trying the Say So one. Have you watched Jisung’s videos before?”

“Um, well, no, not really,” he confesses sheepishly, taking a seat next to you on the couch, leg pressing against yours. He squints at the YouTube video you pulled up earlier before he had arrived, reading the title before clicking the space button to start it. “Savage Tiktok dance compilation part two?”

“Wait, hold up.” You pause the video and then turn to face him with an incredulous expression on your face. “You’ve never watched any of Jisung’s dance Tiktoks?”

“No… I don’t even have an account.” His cheeks are dusted with the lightest shade of pink as he quietly admits, “I watch all of yours though.”

Your eyes widen at his confession, face heating up as you stammer out, “O-Oh, well, I can help you make an account later to upload your video.”

“Sounds good.” There’s a few seconds of silence as you mull over his previous words before he speaks up again awkwardly, “Should I, uh, play the video?”

“Oh! Yes, right! Of course, hit play,” you laugh nervously, twisting and playing with the hair tie around your wrist. He starts the video again, and the two of you watch the compilation, slowly relaxing once more as you tap your fingers to the rhythm of the song and he bobs his head to the beat.

“Do I have to change outfits like that?” he questions a few minutes later, eyes growing round as he sees the girl on the screen switch between four different outfits throughout the dance. His closet basically consists of the same five black shirts that he stole from Jaehyun. Even if he did do an outfit swap, there would literally be no difference at all.

“You don’t have to,” you assure him, clicking the enter key to play the next video that’s recommended: another Tiktok dance challenge compilation. “All you have to do is copy the dance.”

Mark nods, taking a glance at the laptop screen before his hand shoots out and he pauses the video, leaning forward to take a closer look at the little recommended video title banner at the top. “Wait! What’s that one?”

He clicks on it, the new video now loading up. The two of you wait patiently for it to begin, waiting for the spinning disc to stop. But it doesn’t. In fact, the whole chrome page goes blank and then, the little pixelated Google Chrome dinosaur pops up on your monitor, announcing that you have no internet connection. Furrowing your eyebrows, you try to reload the page before trying to re-establish your laptop connection to your wifi. Unfortunately, you cannot find your appropriately named “drop it like it’s hotspot” wifi anywhere to connect to.

And that’s when it hits you. Your landlord had sent out a notice to the entire apartment complex last week about the electricity being powered down today from 4 to 6 p.m. for a maintenance check, and a quick glance at the digital clock on your laptop shows that it’s a little past four.

You groan, closing your laptop and flopping back against the couch cushions dramatically. Mark cocks his head, slightly confused, before he pokes you in the arm. “What’s wrong?”

“I completely forgot about the scheduled electricity shutdown for the entire building. We won’t have any wifi for the next two hours.” You pout, your bottom lip jutting out in the slightest, and Mark doesn’t think it’s fair that you get to be this cute and have this much of an effect on his racing heart rate.

“That’s okay, we can… play some board games?” he suggests offhandedly, pushing away the embarrassing thought and nudging your leg with his, and you smile before a sudden idea occurs to you.

“Or we can still do some Tiktok challenges! What was the challenge you clicked on?” You quickly sit upright, turning to face your best friend, eyes sparkling in excitement. “I memorized a few of the dance ones already! Was it Renegade? I can teach you that one. Jisung showed me how to do it.”

“Um,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. His eyes dart everywhere, except you, as he lets out a feigned cough. “It wasn’t a dance one. It was about, uh, going up to your boyfriend… and um, hugging him... when he’s playing video games.”

“Oh.” You answer lamely, not knowing what to say. You unsuccessfully try to push away the image of you attempting that challenge with your best friend. “Those are really cute.”

“Really?” He says doubtfully, wrinkling his eyebrows and fiddling with the frayed sleeve of his sweater. “Wouldn’t the dude get mad?”

You don’t know what suddenly possessed you to do this (you’ll have to ask Renjun and his paranormal loving ass later), but you thank whatever demon did for that split second because you find yourself gently grabbing Mark’s arm and slipping your head underneath it. You swing one leg over his lap and settle down until you’re securely sitting in his lap, bent legs on either side of his hips, hands curled around the soft fabric of his sweater on both sides and resting on top of your thighs. His arms instinctively go around your waist, wrapping around you securely.

You tilt your head to the side slightly, studying the flustered boy in front of you with a teasing, albeit a little anxious, smile on your lips. “Are you feeling mad?”

Splotches of red litter his cheeks and decorate the tips of his ears, but your best friend furiously shakes his head at your question, bashfully ducking his head afterwards and muttering a soft “No.”

You swallow hard, heart pounding erratically in your chest as you timidly ask, “Would you be mad if I do this?”

Mark looks up at that, confusion written all over his face. His arms start to loosen around your figure, hands now resting on your waist. “If you do what?”

You take a deep breath. “This.”

You lean in and gently press your lips against his. Mark freezes in shock, and you quickly retreat soon after, gnawing at the inside of your cheek as you wait anxiously for his reaction. Your heart feels like it’s about to fall out of your chest and be buried six feet under.

A tiny noise of surprise belatedly escapes from him and crimson spreads across his cheeks like wildfire. His doe eyes are wide and sparkling, staring at you in bewilderment. Your best friend lets out a small laugh of disbelief before a full blown smile breaks out across his face. He gazes at you adoringly, breathing out softly, “I’m not mad at that.”

You perk up at that, draping your arms around his neck as you lean forward, beaming. “Really? You’re not?”

“Definitely not.”

This time, Mark meets you halfway, his lips slotting against yours perfectly and making you feel tingles up and down your spine. Your eyes are closed, and you are so hyper aware of the way his hands grip your hips, how he tugs you closer, and how his lips chase after yours. The number of butterflies from earlier multiply in your stomach, and you have ascended past cloud nine by now.

When the two of you break apart, your eyes flutter open, and you nudge your nose against his affectionately. The brightest grin blooms on his face once again, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, muffling his little giggles and hiding the awfully vibrant cerise that rapidly blossoms on his face.

“Is this a good time to tell you congrats for completing your first challenge?” you say, resting your cheek against the crown of his head. You pull away when he lifts his head up, surprised.

“I wasn’t playing video games though,” he says slowly, processing your words and thinking back to the challenge that started this all.

“It was a different challenge. It’s the one that Hyuck did a few weeks ago,” you confess, and realization dawns on him, his face lighting up for a split second before a look of horror takes over.

“Oh, no. Is that why you had your phone recording on the bookshelf?” Mark asks, dread beginning to cloud his mind.

“Yes…” you say slowly, a little perplexed. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Oh my god, I ruined your video,” he moans, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder. “I saw your phone when I walked in and thought you were filming earlier and forgot to turn it off, so I turned it off for you.”

When the words finally register in your mind, you can’t stop the laughter from bubbling out of your throat, and he raises his head up to look at you with wide doe eyes at the pretty sound. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to!”

You can’t stop laughing at the situation, and he looks at you worriedly, gnawing on his bottom lip slightly. You force yourself to calm down, a soft chuckle leaving your lips before you beam at him, leaning in and placing the softest kiss on the tip of his nose. “It’s okay, Mark. I’m not mad. That video wasn’t important anyway.”

“But still,” he whines before letting out a groan and slapping his hand against his forehead when the realization sinks in even further. “I’m such an idiot.”

“But you’re my idiot now, right?” you say teasingly, albeit a little shyly as well, as you reach over to tug his hand away from his face and lace your fingers with his.

“I mean, I kinda thought I was always your idiot,” Mark laughs softly and a little embarrassedly, eyes averted and cheeks turning pinker than ever. The largest grin spreads across your face at that, and you turn away slightly to hide it. You didn’t think your best friend can possibly be any more endearing, but he manages to prove you wrong every time.

“Well, then now you can add ‘Y/N’s boyfriend’ to your resume,” you say, and he fails to suppress the pleased smile appearing on his face at your remark, his rosy cheeks rising even taller than skyscrapers.

“So, uh, what sort of job description does that have?” He gazes at your intertwined hands in wonder, still completely giddy at the reality of you being his best friend and something more.

“Sharing hoodies, giving me attention, kissing, holding my hand, going on dates, you know, the basics,” you answer, squeezing his hand tenderly, and his doe eyes instantly light up. Mark feels a little bolder than before, and it shows when he grins widely and says:

“Can we do number three again?”

“Yes, we can, Eggy Boi.”

He wrinkles his nose at the name, disgruntled and unimpressed, as he crosses his arms over his chest, sulking. You let out a laugh before leaning in and crashing your lips against his. He immediately relents at that, enthusiastically responding and hugging you closer to him, and you can’t help but smile into the kiss as you feel his own smile appear as well.

At that moment, you decide that you want to change Mark’s personal brand. Because his should be “absolutely wonderful, positively amazing, a cute kisser, your boyfriend, and your bestest friend.” And yes, that is most definitely more than the allotted three words, but again, who’s really counting?

Certainly not you when you’re too preoccupied with kissing your best friend. Correction: best friend and new boyfriend.

One new notification: donutkillmyvibe uploaded a new video!

moominjun commented:

so you’re saying the reason why we didn’t get the highly anticipated best friend challenge video is because @ marklyrawr turned the camera off?

donutkillmyvibe replied: yes 😔 I’m sorry to disappoint everyone 🤧

nanaislove replied: omg no bby it’s ok 🥺🥺💞💓💓💝💗 you didn’t have to make an apology video for that 🥺💗💓💘💖

goofys.chuckle replied: yeah it’s mark’s fault. he’s the disappointment here 🥴

morklyrawr replied: hahahahaha stfu hyuck

tytrack commented:

mark is going through puberty. I apologize

dobunny replied: @.@

goofys.chuckle commented:

are we getting whip(ped)lash pt 2 by eggy boi?

morklyrawr replied: YOU’RE THE ONE WHO STARTED THAT NAME?????

goofys.chuckle replied: uh gotta blast 🚀

showmethemonet replied: @ goofys.chuckle does this mean you’re staying over again?

goofys.chuckle replied: @ showmethemonet yes if you want your super cute, mega talented, very handsome boyfriend to still be alive 🥺

showmethemonet replied: @ goofys.chuckle oh my god I didn’t know I was dating bts jin???

moominjun replied: LMFAOOOOO

goofys.chuckle replied: heart 💔 been broke 📉 so many times ⏰ i don’t know 🤔 what to believe 💯 mama 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 said 🗣 it’s my fault 😢 it’s my fault 🤦🏻‍♂️i wear my heart ❤️ on my sleeve 💪 i think it’s best 👍🏻 I put my heart ❤️ on ice 🧊

jenojam commented:

why am I not surprised……

itsmebetch replied: just mark thingz 🍉

suhprisemf commented:

mark your head looks flat af

jungjaeprince replied: 😂😂😂

10vely replied: @ jungjaeprince be quiet don’t cry

letswonwon commented:

whoop whoop

junguwu commented:

OMG CONGRATS ON YOUR RELATIONSHIP SWEETIE 😍😍

takoyaki_prince commented:

MARK!!!!! you look handsome !! 😘

jisungpwark commented:

rip to @ donutkillmyvibe ’s future videos that mark will ruin. press f in the chat to pay respects 🙏🏻

bigheadking replied: F ✊🏻😔

peachyangel replied: f 🥺🥺

yoitslucas replied: F 🤪🤪🤪 but glad you’re happy, man ❤️

donutkillmyvibe replied: F 💔

morklyrawr replied: @ donutkillmyvibe wtf babe????

officialgordonramsay commented:

didn’t i tell you to get back on tinder ?

apado_god commented:

nice 😎👍🏻

3K notes · View notes

thatslikely · 3 years

Text

Seeker - D.M.

Seeker- Draco Malfoy x fem!reader (unspecified house but not slytherin)

Warnings: none! just lots of fluff

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: This is my first ever fic! I hope I potray Draco accurately! Feel free to D.M. me for any requests or anything like that. I’d also really love feedback, positive or negative. Special thanks to my friend Ocean, who is an amazing author and editor <3

Just a reminder: Y/N is Your Name - Y/L/N is Your Last Name - Y/H is Your House

----

Draco Malfoy.

Anyone who has ever graced the steps of Hogwarts during his reign is bound to have heard the name. The poor first years hear about the hexing of their friends after so much as glancing at his striking blond hair. The second year Quidditch players hear about his skill and precision on a broom. Even the O.W.L.s-stressed fifth years hear of his (almost) unparalleled smarts.

You, of course, heard all these things too. You’d seen firsthand his occasional ruthlessness. There was no doubt in your mind he was a force to be reckoned with. You never let his daunting image intrude your thoughts, however. He would never have a reason to bother you; so why should you care what he did?

That all seemed true until Quidditch results came back for your house. Your eyes scanned over names on the list until you saw your name next to the title of Seeker. You were thrilled to be on the team. You worked so hard over the summer, waking up at dawn to fly laps around the lush forests by your home.

After everyone in the common room was informed of your new title, they all congratulated you for what seemed like hours. They all chanted “Y/N!” at the top of their lungs or gave you encouraging pats on the back. After a while of sober celebration, someone finally managed to sneak in a few bottles of Firewhiskey. You eagerly downed a shot or two before your head started to feel fuzzy. The music and chatter of the party seemed to make your head pound, and you decided you needed some fresh air to clear your head.

The moment you stepped out of the bustling common room, you felt way better. Your whole body calmed, releasing the tension you didn’t know you had. While you could still very well feel the effects of the Firewhiskey, you felt clear enough to walk all the way to the Owlery.

The Owlery had always been a place of comfort for you. You had never owned an owl for yourself, instead opting for an adorable black cat, but something about the flying creatures comforted you. Maybe it was their piercing yellow eyes or their fluffy feathers that seemed to stick out in any direction, or maybe just because they remind you of whenever your mother’s owl brings sweet letters at breakfast every month.

The air tonight was chilly, but you were simply grateful that it was too early in the year for snow because whenever Hogwarts was covered in soft white blankets, the steps up to the Owlery were dangerously icy. Thankfully, the only things on the steps were your boots and the occasional fluttering orange leaf.

Once you reached the top, you breathed a sigh of relief. The thoughts of you becoming the new Seeker came back to you and you were able to celebrate a little bit again. Before you could fully imagine yourself flying around the Quidditch pitch in search of the shiny Golden Snitch, you were interrupted suddenly by none other than Draco Malfoy’s taunting words.

“Well, well, well. Who do we have here? Y/L/N?”

You froze. In all the times you had been to the Owlery at night, this was the first time you had company. And his company at that. His voice seemed strong and almost amused. Before you could give him a response, he kept going.

“You’re the new Y/H Seeker, aren’t you? Maybe this year I’ll have some actual competition, though I doubt it.”

You felt your face heat up in rage, a feeling you rarely expressed. The Firewhiskey must’ve brought it out of me, you thought with a sigh. You knew you wouldn’t want to say something you’d regret, especially to your new Slytherin rival.

“I think you might be pleasantly surprised, Malfoy. I’ve been training all summer.”

Draco didn’t deserve to know that you had been practicing all summer, and the summer before that, but you inexplicably felt the need to prove yourself to him. He always seemed to be one step ahead of you, though.

“And I’ve been training for Quidditch since I could walk, Y/N. You’re not special.”

His comment stung a little. But you knew you deserved to be Seeker, and you could prove that to him next match.

“What brings you up here so late anyways?”

“That, Y/L/N, is none of your concern. I could, however, ask you the same thing.”

“Just getting away from the crowd is all. The Common Room’s loud as all hell.” Why did you tell him that? He didn’t need to know anything about you or your common room.

Draco pulled up the sleeve of his black blazer, presumably looking at his watch. You didn’t notice how Draco’s platinum blond hair shined so handsomely in the moonlight until he pushed himself off of the wall he was so casually leaning on to walk towards you.

“It’s past curfew, Y/N. I could so easily tell my Slytherin prefects that I found you out so late at night, especially after a loud night in the Common Room…” The smirk on his face as he looked up into your eyes was so charming but mischievous.

“You wouldn’t da-” you muttered, before quickly getting cut off.

“I won’t tell them, though, only because I plan on crushing you next game. The look on your face as I hold the Snitch will be priceless.”

You desperately tried to find some way to rebut what he said, but his words it seemed, took the air from your lungs. You watched him, stunned, as he casually handed a black envelope to what you assumed was his owl. As the owl flew out of the window and into the pitch-black sky, he walked towards the doorway, which you happened to still be standing in.

He purposely brushed your shoulder as he walked past you and down the stairs. Without even looking back, he simply said, “I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

You stood there, almost breathless. That had quite possibly been the strangest and most unexpected interaction you’ve ever had. You’d always seen Draco as some stereotypical bully, but you never realized how truly witty and quick-on-his-feet he was. He would be a tough opponent, both on the field and off.

----

Quidditch practice these past few weeks has been very tiring but helpful. Every time you mounted your broom it made you feel that much more confident, which was good because you needed as much of that as you could get if you wanted to even stand a chance against Draco. By the time the first match came around, you felt as though you could easily beat the green-jerseyed players.

The practice room pep-talk before the game was finally the moment your confidence was cemented. As your captain stood on the bench, yelling and inspiring, you were on top of the world. You could see Malfoy zooming on his broom far behind you as you reached for the Snitch, its shiny metal now covered up with your worn leather gloves. You could hear the crowd cheering your name as Draco sat in awe of you.

That daydream was short-lived however when everyone got up from the benches to grab their brooms and fly into the stadium. As you proudly mounted your broom, a sudden spike of anxiety hit your chest. Of all the times nerves had to hit, did it have to be two seconds before the match began?

The stadium was filled to the brim with students from each of the four houses. The large pillars of red, yellow, blue, and green emitted cheers as your team glided on the field, doing a fun formation along with it. Not long after, the green and silver-clad team swooped onto the field. They flew around the oval-shaped pitch in the shape of a very coordinated V. It was more intimidating than you’d like to admit.

As the Slytherins settled down and hovered in the air, ready for the match to start, you saw Malfoy send you an intimidating glare. You rolled your eyes in return before the referee shouted a loud, “brooms up!”

With those simple two words, you darted off towards the top of the pitch. You gripped the broom as if your life depended on it, which it might. Your eyes scanned the field for any signs of the snitch before you saw a flash of blonde next to you.

“Scared, Y/L/N?” Draco spat, clearly trying to tease you.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You smirked, your gaze reaching his enticing silver eyes. He cocked his eyebrow at you, playfully, before you sped off, the air from the tail of your broom blowing his pale locks over his eyes.

The Golden Snitch had caught your eye while you hovered up with Malfoy, and now you surely had the advantage. You were mere feet away from the golden snitch, with the blonde Seeker trailing behind you. The crowd sat captivated, wondering who would reach the snitch first. Just as your fingers brushed the golden sphere, it shot straight up, out of your grasp. You both wasted no time shooting upwards on your brooms. He was now at your side, both your arms reached up to the sky.

Suddenly, you felt the metal of the snitch in the palm of your gloves. But you also felt something else, and you almost fell off your broom at the sight of Draco’s fingers intertwined with yours, both of your palms wrapped around the snitch.

Without hesitation, you both recoiled from each other, your interwoven hands breaking apart, which sent the snitch flying. Your face got red and hot with embarrassment, and by the expression and color of Draco’s face, he felt the same. He managed to mime himself gagging before he swooped in the opposite direction in search of the snitch once again.

----

As you stepped through the painting guarding your common room, you could already hear the screams and cheers. Some people chanted your name, some people talked about the highlights from the match, and there was loud music blaring in the background. Your close victory that afternoon definitely produced some happy house-mates.

You weren’t in much of partying mood tonight though. The match had worn you out, and you were ready to lay down. You did have a lot to think about, after all. The way you and Draco’s hands fit together perfectly around the snitch, or the way his face contorted into a frown when the Slytherins accepted defeat. Or even the way, when your team picked you up in celebration,, a smile pricked at the sides of his mouth, barely noticeable.

You didn’t know why you couldn’t get Draco out of your mind. You guys were rivals, but the way his image played back in your mind, you didn’t feel hatred. You didn’t feel a big success by proving what he said in the Owlery wrong.

You finally came to the conclusion that maybe it was because you thought he was handsome. Just a little bit, of course. The way his blonde hair blew in the wind was attractive, sure, but you didn’t like him or anything. You’d never even talked to him before the night at the Owlery. He was just the Slytherin Seeker, as you were just the Y/H Seeker to him. Simple.

Except, you didn’t know that he also thought the same about you. The way you smiled in victory after his (very close) loss made it sting just a little bit less. The disapproving stares from his fellow green-wearing peers didn't hurt his pride as much when he remembered you two’s hands together around the snitch.

It’s only because she’s my rival, he thought to himself, but he couldn’t even fool himself with that lie. All he really knew was, he had to talk to you tomorrow.

----

“Congrats on the win yesterday, Y/N. But don’t think next time I won’t hesitate to push you off that cheap broom of yours.” Draco spat. He never really had a way with words, especially with people he took interest in. He really did try to make it as nice as he could.

You merely smirked at his comment as you sat down at your table in the Great Hall. “It’s okay, Draco. I know you just can't accept that you got beat.” He huffed a bit at your comment, but his expression quickly changed to that of a sarcastic smile.

He reached across the table and grabbed a goblet of pumpkin juice, much to your surprise. Just as quickly, he sat down next to you. You finally got a good look, and smell, of him for the first time. His silver eyes and blonde hair looked as alluring as ever, and he smelled really good, like green apples and cologne.

Just as you were about to ask why he decided to sit with you, of all people, he stated, “It’s rude to stare, you know?”

“Sorry, it’s just weird seeing someone in those green robes of yours sitting at our table.” You replied sheepishly, snapping out of your trance.

He only let out a small chuckle before grabbing a green apple from the middle of the table. He gave it a small toss before looking back at you. You glanced into his eyes, which apparently you like to get lost in, but you couldn’t read what emotion ran through them.

“Why did you decide to sit here, by the way? Don’t you have some first years to hex?” You asked, partially defensive and partially curious.

Your friends, and some other fellow house-mates, all watched in anticipation for his response, but instead he said, “If my prescence bothers you that much, I can just go back to my table. My ego won’t be too hurt.” He gave his signature smirk at the end of the sentence, clearly not taking it seriously.

“I didn’t mean it like that, okay? I don’t mind the Slytherin prince sitting at our table for one day. Two may be pushing it.” He didn’t answer your question though, about why he wanted to sit here. It did seem a little odd, but you weren’t complaining.

“Very funny. Well, I’m afraid I can’t stay much longer. I have more pressing matters, like preparing to absolutely crush you next Quidditch match.”

He left just as fast as he had come, still grasping the green apple in his hand. Once he was back to his throne at the Slytherin table, you glanced down to where he was previously sitting, only to find a shiny black envelope resting on the bench. It had your initials written down in silver ink, the same shade as his eyes. You quickly shoved it beneath your robes, so your friends wouldn’t see.

Once you were safely out of the field of vision of the Great Hall, you broke the emerald green seal of the envelope. You pulled out a crisp, white piece of parchment. Your eyes read the inked black text, which read:

That’s strange, you thought, he’s top of the class for potions. Why would he need my notes? You quickly brushed it off as you just overthinking. Clearly, he only sat at our table and wrote me this letter because of stupid Potions class. Right?

I need your Potions notes from last class. Meet me at the astronomy tower at 11.

D.M.

Eleven o’clock came around faster than you expected, and you were rushing out of your dorm in order to make it. Luckily all your dormmates were still up, gossiping the night away. Much to your surprise, they didn’t question where you were going, besides knowing that you had to give a friend some homework. You didn’t blame them, it did seem like a lame way to spend your after-curfew hours.

By the time you had finally gotten to the top, Draco stood with his back to you, his chisled hands holding onto the cold railing. You walked up to him quietly, your Potions homework fluttering in the wind. His eyes weren’t focused on you or your notes though; instead they were pointed at the crystal-clear sky. The moonlight bounced magnificently off of his platinum blonde hair once again, just like it did at the Owlery.

The air was colder than it was last time you had seen him against the inky-black sky, and you started to shiver. All you wanted was to be back within the walls of your cozy dorm. You let a signaling cough emerge from your throat as you leaned against the rail.

Instead of asking about the Potions notes, he asked, “Aren’t you cold? Why didn’t you bring a jacket?”

His eyes still seemed glued to the shining stars, but you did notice his hand sliding down the rail, closer to you. Your eyebrows furrowed as you grumbled, “Yes. I’m freezing!”

He let out a small chuckle as a response before his eyes finally moved to you. “I’ll only be a minute… unless you want to stay longer.”

Despite the uncomfortably cold temperature outside, you felt your cheeks get warmer. You kept telling yourself it was only because he did seem a bit good-looking tonight, dressed in his signature black turtleneck, with a matching long black peacoat on top. Suddenly, the cold didn’t feel so bad.

“Likely, Malfoy. Here’s the Potions notes you asked for.” You slowly handed over the ruffled papers. For a second you thought you saw a look of confusion flash onto his face, but a small grateful smile covered it up almost instantly.

You continued to shiver, and your nose started turning pink. Draco almost felt bad for dragging you up here, for the Potions notes of course, so he sent an enticing offer your way.

“You look absolutely miserable, Y/N. I think if we can sneak into the kitchens, I could make you some tea. Though I do expect a favor from you in return, of course.”

Your eyes lit up at the idea of a warm cup of tea, especially made by none other than Draco Malfoy, who was supposed to be your Quidditch rival. Even you couldn’t come up with an excuse about enjoying his company this time.

----

Draco stood one of the many kitchen counters, swirling an ornate sliver spoon in your warm tea. Once it was stirred to his satisfaction, he handed the steaming cup to you with a warm and genuine smile, one rarely seen by anyone. You smiled back thankfully, before taking a large sip. The tea tasted nearly perfect, which surprised you. Someone who was raised with house elves doing everything for them had made a delicious tea.

“I must say, I’m impressed, Draco. I never pegged you to be a tea expert.”

“What can I say? I’m a man of many talents.” His sarcastic and slightly cocky attitude was back once again, though you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it.

After the evidence of your late-night tea making had been erased, he leaned against the counter, a content smile on the corners of his lips. Your shivering was long gone, replaced by a cozy warmth from the tea.

Comfortable silence filled the room for many minutes before he simply said, “You know, Y/N, I’d like to get to know you better. I don’t think we have to be Quidditch rivals, off the field at least.”

“I feel the same. Though don’t get your feelings hurt when I absolutely beat you again.”

“I bet I could get the snitch years before you, with my eyes closed!”

“Like you did the other day, right?” He put up a sarcasticly angry face on, but you could see the fire of determination in his eyes. He really would try to get you next match. But you would never let him.

After a night full of talking with the dashing Slytherin, you soon grew too tired to continue. The tea must’ve made you extra sleepy because soon enough you could barely think straight. You held onto poor Draco for dear life as he carefully walked you back to your common room.

He put on his classic face of annoyance, but underneath you saw that his mind was filled with nothing but admiration. As you finally reached the painting, you withdrew your hand from his shoulder. Since you were so sleepy, he thought you wouldnt notice the loving look on his face as you walked through the doorway. You waved him goodnight.

“Night, love. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he smiled.

And that was the start of something wonderful.

You can read Part 2 here!

#draco fanfiction #dating draco malfoy #draco #draco fluff #draco malfoy #draco malfoy fanfic #draco fuckingmalfoy #draco lucius malfoy #draco imagine #draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco x y/n #draco x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy fluff #hogwarts #harry potter fanfiction

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alrighty-anubis · 3 years

Text

I miss him (tech&hunter&crosshair)

No warnings apply

Tech's emotions over flow after going unsaid for too long. Hunter realises his brother needs some support and that forgetting about Crosshair isn't good for any of them. Omega is the perfect younger sister.

Find it on my AO3

As the Havoc-Marauder settled into hyperspace, the tension in the ship dispersed and was replaced by the friendly familiarity between the members. Hunter had a hand on Omega’s shoulder as she excitedly rattled off her and Wrecker’s accomplishments on their side, Wrecker interrupting with his own equally excited comments whilst echo (who had spun round in the co-pilot’s seat) nodded along trying and failing to cover up the fact he was scanning them all for injuries. Tech didn’t face them, eyes set on the blur of stars before them, fiddling absentmindedly with a clump of wires he had picked up and had no plan for.

“And then I shot the droid with my bow” “Right in the head, kid’s got perfect aim” “And that’s when Crosshair arri-”

Omega was interrupted by a sharp clang from the pilot’ seat. They all turned to face Tech whose cheeks flushed as he picked up the wires before turning away from them without so much as a glance in their direction.

“Hey, Tech, you alright?” Hunter’s concerned voice broke the silence.

“Affirmative, I have sustained no injuries. Neither has the ship. I apologize for the interruption”

Hunter kept his eyes trained on Tech’s back but didn’t probe him any further, a squeeze to Omega’s shoulder signalling her to carry on.

“Crosshair arrived and started shooting at us and his aim was so good but luckily Wrecker threw a crate at him so we had time to run around the corner.” “You know how delicate Cross can be - took him minutes to get up again” “And then we made it to you and had that whole stand off”

That’s when Echo interrupted, providing his ARC interpretation and analysis on their efforts. Hunter tended to forget how much experience the man had, working so closely with Rex and found himself nodding along with him. The conversation soon got thrown off into a tangent about the new TK soldiers and other developments the Empire were making from the GAR.

Hunter found himself pausing and waiting for Tech’s interjections; he was so animated when they first discovered the changes with the Commandos. But Tech sat silently at the Cockpit’s control desk. As he drowned out the surrounding conversation to take note of the Pilot’s tense shoulders and un-Tech-like lack of precision while handling the wires he felt his concern grow.

He pulled himself back to Echo and Wrecker’s conversation, intending to send them away so he could talk with Tech and figure out what was wrong.

“Yeah, we could’a used a sniper,” Wrecker vigorously announced. “I will admit, Crosshair being a traitor’s kind'a inconvenient. Don’t see him coming and suddenly you're being shot at.” “What’s not inconvenient is not having an attitude!” Wrecker laughed.

“Shut up!” Tech suddenly stood up, his wires thrown to the ground and the chair spinning from the force he left it with. “Shut up shut up!”

He flung his helmet across the cockpit and smashed into the wall with a loud crash. Omega startled and hurried out of the room.

Hunter took a step back and resisted the urge to cover his ears. He felt his stomach lurch at the sight of tears streaking from behind Tech’s goggles. Wrecker and Echo were frozen, mouths still open.

“He’s not a traitor!

“Tech, he’s literally hunting us down for the Empire,” Echo stated whilst Wrecker shouted: “If he wasn’t a traitor he would be with us now.”

“Hunting us down? What like you did to Omega, Wrecker?”

Wrecker physically flinched back, tears welling in his eyes whilst they started to freely stream down Tech’s face.

“It’s not him. It’s not. It wasn’t you trying to shoot Omega in the face. Cross wouldn’t betray us. And you’ve abandoned him. None of you care - none of you did. He got left behind. We left him behind and none of you care or feel bad,” tremors began to wrack through his body violently, “We left him behind. We are the traitors. He’s all alone - the Empire doing maker knows what to him - and we aren’t saving him because none of you care!”

“Tech-” Hunter slowly stepped forward, hands raised in a placating manner.

“What? You're the one who made us leave him. You’re our sergeant, you’re meant to keep us together and you didn’t”.

“Tech-” He signalled for the others to leave, “We did what we could, but we couldn’t get out of their alive and save him.”

“Bullshit - that’s just what you tell yourself.”

“Maybe you’re right-” Hunter considered his options.

It was rare for Tech to feel emotions strongly, let alone let them out. When Tech had breakdowns like this it would be after something had been building for weeks. Hunter cursed himself for not having noticed the signs: taking the night shift so he didn't have to sleep in front of them because of nightmares; not eating’ overworking so he didn't have to think about it. Crosshair was usually the one who helped Tech in these situations, he was the only one Tech felt comfortable speaking to about these matters actually, the both of them not feeling as strongly as Hunter, Wrecker or Echo. He should have seen this coming with Tech’s closest brother being unavailable.

“Tech, tell me, was there a way for us to get out alive with Crosshair? Think.” He commanded, hoping that giving Tech the puzzle would help his analytical mind ease the onslaught of emotions so Hunter could begin to help him with them.

“No.” Tech's voice was strained and croaky from shouting. He slumped forward with resignation at the admission.

Hunter stepped forward and laid a hand on his back. Tech flinched away for a second before falling into his brother’s chest. Hunter wrapped his arms around the slender man and realised this was the first time he had hugged Tech. A pang of guilt made its way through his body as he wondered whether it was more than their similarity that had Tech heading to Crosshair for comfort. Hunter found Tech’s constant babble exhausting and incomprehensible, sometimes leading him to be a bit short with the others.

“What brought this on?” He asked.

“They talk about him as if he’s no different than Rampart or Bane or Tarkin. But he is. He’s our brother. And then they don’t talk about him at all. No one’s mentioned that he’s gone.”

They had all been so concerned with Omega’s safety they hadn’t had time to mourn Crosshair’s separation and Tech, finding emotions as confusing and illogical as he does, had never felt confident to bring him up - not with Wrecker often ignoring what he said assuming he won't understand and other more urgent situations ongoing.

“Do you want to talk about it - him now?”

“I miss him.”

“So do we.”

“Really.” Tech deadpanned, “”It surely gives that impression when you all spend hours insulting him”.

“Perhaps convincing ourselves we weren't as close to him saves us the pain from his absence.”

Tech stayed silent.

“I will talk to the others. And Tech,” he waited until his eyes met his younger brother’s. “We will get him back. I promise.”

Tech sobbed into Hunter’s chest in response. They stood like that for a while, until they heard the door open behind them. Omega poked her head in the cockpit, concern worrying about her face.

“Tech, are you okay?”

“I will be.” He pulled away from Hunter, his cold exterior returning quicker than Hunter would have liked, “I apologise for scarring you.”

Omega reached down and picked up his wires, handing them back to him, “It’s okay,” she smiled, “We’ll get him back.”

The rest of the group filtered back in, they cast Tech concerned glances which he pretended to not notice. The atmosphere was awkward, the conversation choppy as they tried to stick to light subjects. But Omega’s game with her Bad Batcher doll drew them all in.

Tech tapped Omega on the shoulder and passed her a small toy bow he had made with the wires.

“This is so cool, she matches me now!” Omega lurched forward and hugged her older brother.

_____

1351 words

Also I’d love to be sent some requests :)

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ava-candide · 3 years

Text

Poldark’s Aidan Turner on playing Leonardo da Vinci

The newly married heart-throb actor learnt to paint left-handed for his new role, and he’s still daubing now, he tells Ed Potton

Aidan Turner takes on the role of Renaissance polymath Leonardo

I’m trying to work out where Aidan Turner is Zooming from. Is it London, where he moved to in 2017 after his Ross Poldark became the drooled-over king of Sunday-night television? Dublin, where he grew up, trained as an actor and returned to spend the first lockdown with his parents? Or Rome, where he shot his new series, Leonardo, in which he plays a young Leonardo da Vinci?

“None of the above!” Turner says. “I’m in Toronto.” The enigmatic charm, feline eyes and gleaming locks that he deployed so mercilessly in Poldark, The Hobbit films and Being Human are all there. “My missus is working here,” he explains, and so is he. That’s the American actress Caitlin FitzGerald, his partner of three years, whom he met when they starred in the 2018 film The Man Who Killed Hitler and Then the Bigfoot. At first I assume the “missus” is laddish affectation but it turns out that it’s official: Turner and FitzGerald, both 37, got married in secret in Italy in August after filming finished on Leonardo. You can almost hear the sighs of disappointment ripple around the world.

Turner won’t say any more — he is famously guarded about his personal life — but he looks insanely happy in the couple’s rented apartment. FitzGerald — whose grandfather Desmond was a CIA agent and organised several plots to assassinate Fidel Castro — is shooting a series, Station Eleven, in Toronto while her husband works on another project that he’s not allowed to talk about. In their downtime they’ve been watching I’ll Be Gone in the Dark, an HBO documentary series about the Golden State Killer, and, on a lighter note, Ottolenghi and the Cakes of Versailles. They share the apartment with Charlie, an ebullient Norfolk terrier that Turner has to eject from the room halfway through our interview when he starts yapping. “I’m surprised he behaved for so long,” he says

Eight-part series Leonardo has been criticised for warping history

Like many of his fellow thesps, Turner has been doing a great deal of lockdown painting. “We have a roof garden here and the light has been really good,” he says. “I probably shouldn’t be saying this because I don’t know if the landlord knows. It’s not messy work anyway!” Unlike some of his peers — I’m looking at you, Pierce Brosnan — he has yet to unleash his daubings on the world. How would he describe his style? “I struggle to say abstract, but I haven’t quite figured out what it is yet.” Did it help with playing Leonardo? “I don’t know. If you saw my paintings, you’d assume very much not,” Turner says. He has a studied line in self-effacement, honed after years of “sexiest man on TV” questions.

Leonardo premiered in Italy last month and was watched by seven million, many of them doubtless keen to see Turner brooding in a succession of smocks. The eight-part series has been criticised for warping history, having the artist accused of murder and featuring an apparently fictional muse, Caterina da Cremona, played by Matilda De Angelis from The Undoing. Luca Bernabei, the chief executive of Lux Vide who produced the series, defended it stoutly. “Matilda De Angelis’s character did exist. She was a model Leonardo asked to paint,” he said. “We have been really careful in our research. But this is not a documentary, we are not historians and this is not a university history lecture.”

And if the history pedants are spluttering, the art pedants should be happier — the series goes to considerable lengths to make the painting look authentic. Each episode is themed around a different masterpiece, from the portrait of Ginevra de’ Benci to The Last Supper to the Mona Lisa, and the candlelit cinematography is often sumptuous. Turner’s research included a private view of a Leonardo exhibition. “I spent some time alone with the actual paintings, which was brilliant,” he says. “They’re just like high-definition photographs. I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that a human had done this.”

Aidan Turner attended an artist’s boot camp before filming started

The series opens in Florence in the 1460s, with Leonardo a pupil of Verrocchio, played by the veteran Italian actor Giancarlo Giannini. Before the shoot Turner and his co-stars went on an artists’ boot camp (brush camp?) supervised by professionals. He says the hardest part was learning to paint, as Leonardo did, with his left hand. He compares it to learning to ride a horse for Poldark, which he pretended he knew how to do before going on a crash course when he got the part.

Brushwork was the same, he says. “I realised I had to get good quite quickly and look like I knew what I was doing with my left hand, which is more difficult than you would think. It’s keeping it steady — you find it just moves around a lot. Leonardo was very slow and precise — I think I got it down. After a few weeks you start picking up the brush with your left hand, it becomes natural.”

Leonardo was a vegetarian, Turner tells me, “and apparently later in life opened some sort of vegetarian restaurant”. He was also gay, something that, despite reports, the series does not shy away from. Was this Turner’s first time kissing a man on screen? He laughs. “Of all the things I was expecting you to ask next, that wasn’t one of them! In a lot of ways it was just another love scene. The fact that the gender was different — that was never a thing. No, it felt right. It didn’t feel any different at all. But yeah, to answer your question, that was the first time, which I’d never really thought of until now.”

What did feel weird, he says, were the Covid protocols. “Suddenly people are wearing masks and shields and hazmat suits. We had a big sanitisation machine as we walked in that would spray us. You take off the mask when you shoot the scene and it’s a bit strange for a second. Then you realise it’s the first time you’ve seen your co-star’s face that day. It’s not conducive to a very creative environment, for sure. But we made it work and nobody got sick.”

Turner spends a chunk of the first episode painting De Angelis, and both actors know what it’s like to be ogled. She has been asked endlessly about her naked locker-room sequence in The Undoing, just as he has been reminded of his shirtless scything scene in Poldark. Before that there was his lusted-after vampire in Being Human and his sexy dwarf in The Hobbit — branded a “dwilf” in some quarters — although that “definitely wasn’t the intention”, he says. “I think I just had less prosthetics on my face. My make-up call was 20 minutes and everyone else was sitting in the chair in the morning for three and a half hours. It wasn’t good to be around the other dwarfs in the mornings, that’s for sure.

“I get why people are interested,” he says of the ogling. “It’s just when it keeps coming up.”

We move on. According to a recent survey Cornwall has overtaken London as the most desirable place to live in Britain. Does he think Poldark played a part in that? He laughs. “Maybe we nudged a few people in the right direction. I think people forgot how beautiful that side of the world is. One of the first reviews of Poldark we read was like: ‘We can’t believe that this is our country, it looks like the south of France.’”

Could Poldark return, and would Turner be in it? If they stuck to the chronology of Winston Graham’s books they would have to leap ahead a few years. Maybe he could play an aged-up Ross Poldark in latex and fake paunch? “I don’t know if I’d be keen on the ageing-up thing,” he says. “It never really works. I don’t know whether they need to be too strict with that gap anyway. There’s the possibility someday, maybe. I enjoyed working with everybody on Poldark, from the writers right down to all the cast and crew. It really is like a family. So I’d be open to chat about it. But not for a while.”

Before that he will appear as the apostle Andrew in The Last Planet, the forthcoming biblical epic from Terrence Malick, revered creator of The Thin Red Line and The Tree of Life. Well, he doesn’t know for sure if he will appear. Actors of the calibre of Rachel Weisz, Mickey Rourke and Jessica Chastain have seen their performances in Malick films vanish during editing.

“You want what’s best for the film. And if you don’t fit into it, you don’t fit into it,” Turner says in the tone of hair-shirt devotion that actors tend to use when talking about Malick. With a cast including Ben Kingsley and Mark Rylance as Satan, the movie is meant to tell the story of Jesus through a series of parables. Turner doesn’t really have a clue, though.

“You don’t necessarily know what you’re signing up to. You’re signing up to Terrence Malick,” he says. The director has “a great way of working. Everything is around ‘where is the sun’ at this particular time. That’s our natural light and it’s all we use. So things happen fast. There’s no trailers, hair, make-up, we’re just all together. You don’t know from day to day what you’ll be doing. It’s quite renegade stuff. That’s the way I always wanted to work.”

It’s closer to the immediacy of the theatre, which is where Turner started out. The son of an electrician, Pearse, and an accountant, Eileen, he represented Ireland at ballroom dancing before falling into acting. After studying at the Gaiety School of Acting in Dublin he acted in plays for five years and in 2018 he returned to the stage to rave reviews in Martin McDonagh’s The Lieutenant of Inishmore in the West End. Rave being the operative word — his performance was bracingly unhinged. “I can’t wait to get back to the theatre,” he says. “That’s what we’re looking at probably next.”

Turner’s character in The Lieutenant of Inishmore was an Irish freedom fighter, but he is reluctant to talk about the prospect of Irish reunification (“So I don’t get shot when I get home,” he told one interviewer). Culture is safer ground, and his native country is going through a purple patch with Sally Rooney in literature, Fontaines DC in music and the likes of McDonagh, Jessie Buckley and Denise Gough in drama. “It tends to happen in waves,” Turner says. “Coming out of drama school, Colin Farrell was such a big thing. When these actors really make it you can feel some of their light begin to shine on the industry back home.”

Like Farrell, Turner is an international star, although it has mainly been in period roles: Poldark, Leonardo, Andrew and his breakout turn as the 19th-century poet Dante Gabriel Rossetti in the 2009 series Desperate Romantics. It must be something about the hair.

That could be about to change, though. Toronto often stands in for New York, which suggests that his current mystery project has a contemporary setting. Does he yearn to act in jeans? “Yeah, you’re right,” he says with a laugh. “After Leonardo, I think tights and knee-length boots are out for a while.” Many would beg him to reconsider.

#aidanpics

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captain-ross-poldark · 3 years

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Poldark’s Aidan Turner on playing Leonardo da Vinci

Ed Potton

Friday 2 April 2021

Aidan Turner takes on the role of Renaissance polymath LeonardoJUSTIN SUTCLIFFE/EYEVIN

Eight-part series Leonardo has been criticised for warping historyPA

Aidan Turner attended an artist’s boot camp before filming startedVITTORIA FENATI MORACE

With his wife, the American actress Caitlin FitzGeraldREX FEATURES

“I get why people are interested,” he says of the ogling. “It’s just when it keeps coming up.”

Turner with Eleanor Tomlinson in PoldarkMIKE HOGAN

Before that he will appear as the apostle Andrew in The Last Planet, the forthcoming biblical epic from Terrence Malick, revered creator ofThe Thin Red Line and The Tree of Life. Well, he doesn’t know for sure if he will appear. Actors of the calibre of Rachel Weisz, Mickey Rourke and Jessica Chastain have seen their performances in Malick films vanish during editing.

All episodes of Leonardo will be on Amazon from April 16

https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/poldarks-aidan-turner-on-playing-leonardo-da-vinci-wnmqhxqxr

#Sunday times #aidan turner #Leonardo

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angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

Text

Elizabeth Debicki - Gorgeous

A/N & WC - Back again with Elizabeth and Taylor Swift. Reputation is my favourite album currently, with evermore as a close second. Two incredible women in one yes please. Listen to 'Gorgeous' while reading for the feel of it. 2.8k exactly.

Warnings - Legal alcohol consumption, mild cursing once.

Summary - Elizabeth is gorgeous, just look at her, the world can see it. A drunken night leads to some tipsy confessions, but does Elizabeth feel the same?

“YOU'RE SO GORGEOUS…”

“What was that?” Elizabeth swiftly cuts in.

Your eyes grow wide in an instant, looking down intensely at the black table, sticky with spilt drinks, and turn your attention away.

“Nothing…” you trail off. Frankly, you hadn’t realised you were thinking aloud, but if you said what you were thinking, then tonight's girls night out with your best friend is gonna be a whole lot harder.

“So as I was saying, this guy from Bumble, he comes and he looks nothing like his profile picture, right?” Her eyes are so animated when she speaks, her jaw agog in a remembering shock, she taps at her glass with ebony painted fingernails. “Like his picture was a solid eight outta ten, but in person, not even a four. But there was something about him, you know? That little twinkle in his eye, so I gave him more of a fair shot than I do other catfishes.” You hum noncommittally, not necessarily listening to the words, but the soft undulating animation in her beautiful accent is worth listening to any day, even if just hearing about her going on a date with someone riles you up intensely. “No personality,” she gapes, smacking her lissom hands down on the table with a slight thump, causing some of her wine to spill. “Absolutely none! It was like talking to a brick wall for half an hour. Can you believe it? And he asked what part of Australia I was from, and when I said Melbourne, you know what he said? ‘Is that in New Zealand.’”

She scoffs, and downs the last of her wine. Her magnetic field is so strong, so alluring, you can’t help but feel drawn to her even more. She really should think about the consequences of her charisma or else you might snog her and ruin everything before the nights even over.

“What a dick,” you play along.

“Ugh, I know. Refill?”

“Please. Whiskey—”

“On ice. I know, hon.”

She smirks, shooting you a wink before standing up and practically gliding across the room to the bar. Your eyes twinkle with hope, with sinful want, as you watch her, and you’re sure that with your wistful expression and flushed cheeks and the way your mouth suddenly goes dry the second she says or does anything that could be construed in the least bit flirtatious that she knows how much you like her. Your whole body tingles, your words and sense swallowed up by an intense fire the second she touches you, it’s beginning to make you furious that she’s able to make you feel this way and still acts so coy about it if she even does have the first clue how utterly besotted you are with everything she does.

Over at the bar, Liz has to hunch to lean her forearms on the countertop, kicking her feet back a little, her short dress showing off her long, shapely legs with grace. She looks so sultry, with her leather jacket shrugged so casually over her pale shoulders. But your mind and illicit thoughts plummet and die the second you peer around her and capture a look at the bartender she’s talking to. Tall and that muscular build of slim that only comes from years of sport, a pinched waist and full chest, tanned skin—perhaps of Filipina descent, dark inky hair falling in tendrils from her work ponytail, no makeup and she still looks stunning. And exactly like Shay Mitchell. And she's flirting with your Elizabeth. Not that she’s yours or anything, that would be absurd, unless…

This woman is gorgeous, and you’re already jealous of her, of the attention she’s receiving from Elizabeth; the suggestive touches, the coy laughs, the revealing tug of her dress, the tentative tilt of her head, the run of her slender hand through her choppy blonde locks. But because Liz is single, it’s actually worse, because she’s been a lot more open and experimental with her sexuality recently, not labelling it but trying more out, trying more partners out. And you don’t fault her for that for even a moment, but why she can’t experiment with you, a raging queer, is beyond your grasp. It’s almost undoubted that she’s going to be taking this incredibly scorching hot bartender home at the end of the night, and if you weren’t out with Elizabeth, you’d be making the same move. But Liz… she desperately needs to think of the consequences of her touching this romans hand in a darkened room. That should be you.

You can’t get too possessive, though, as Liz has done her fair amount of touching you all night on this signature girls pub crawl, but it’s not the same, it’s not… enough. She’s been holding your hand, hooking her arm through yours to do shots, hugging you with her lithe arm around your waist as you totter down the high street in heels too high. It’s all been too friendly, though. And now it’s getting late, your final destination of the night. You’re practically the only patrons with a conscience at this point. You’ll be turning in soon, the bar will be closing soon, it’s inevitable. Liz will have a warm bed, and you’ll be left to go home alone to your cats. She’s so gorgeous, you can't blame the bartender, but she can’t blame you wither; love made you crazy.

You’re busy brooding over the ice slowly melting at the bottom of your glass, condensation forming in droplets on the rim when Liz casts a glance over her shoulder, a bright beaming smile etched upon her face, every line drawn up to match her glee. She points a long raven-painted digit at you, and prompts you to smile back, which you do—without even half as much fervour—and ensure you incline your head towards the bartender, whose dark hazel eyes are now fixed on you, before turning back, pretending to have found something of interest on the table.

“That’s y/n,” she says in a happy, furtive whisper, “my best friend.”

With her ocean blue eyes looking in yours, your mind is all scrambled, and with the intense feeling you might sink and drown and die, you know you need to get it in order before she returns, so you push your own stool out and head to stand in the doorway, fresh air hitting you like a brick wall.

The smell of the city instantly prevents it being worthwhile.

The sun set long ago, and you can see vines crawling up the building across the road from you, even in the dim street light and shadows. Even in a tucked away corner of the city, down back streets in a quiet quarter, the incessant incense of exhaust fumes and chippy food and pigeon shit never quite leaves one alone.

Everything’s winding down, quietening, muffled by an indelible blanket of night. A soft mist fills the air, an impending storm infiltrating your senses, roiling you a little. The walk home will be made worse by the rain soon to fall, ire digging at you for more reasons than one.

Elizabeth… She can make you so happy with one simple look that it turns back to sadness the moment you see the flicker of friendliness in her eyes, never anything more, never anything deeper, not once. What can you say? She’s gorgeous, she’s everyone else's for the taking, whoever she deems rakish enough to take home for the night.

The silence of the night, of your thoughts, is hewn by a sharp siren whizzing past you, so you push your pain away, and sidle back through the doors, shutting the slow drizzle of rain out as you close the door behind you.

Once you return inside, your thoughts slightly more reordered, you see her back at the table, fiddling idly with the hem of her dress, her cheeks tinted a soft red.

“So?”

“I got her number,” she confesses, barely able to bite back a smile, even as her perfect white teeth graze her lower lip. “She gets off shift in an hour.”

You were right, then.

“That’s nice. She’s hot.”

“I know,” she replies dreamily, “and looks exactly like Shay Mitchell, can you believe it? I fancied her so much when Pretty Little Liars first came out.”

“Yeah, I did too.” you admit quietly, clasping your hands around your fresh whiskey.

“You okay? It’s getting late, we can head off now.”

“Nope, absolutely fine. In fact, I think I’ll have another. Tell me something.”

“But we haven’t talked about you all night, I wanna know how your life is going. Love life too.” she protests.

What, your life with the monotonous job and the zero romantic prospects so you spend all your free time sitting at home reading and the nights with your vibrator and Liz in your head? How the hell are you supposed to tell her that.

You simply shrug, and keep a mask of cold, hard resolve in place. “You know my life. I’m interested in yours. Go on.”

So she does. And you do order another whiskey after your first, to the point where you’re verging on the highest restraints of merely tipsy and if you have another you’re heading fast for straight out drunk, which you shan’t do. But you’re merry, and Liz’s words all sound weird, slurred a little from the alcohol, her Australian accent bending to accommodate the vowel sounds she’s making with the occasional slip of a Polish or French word in there. She gets like this when she’s drinking, and it’s one of her most endearing qualities very few are able to see.

“Your voice sounds really weird,” you chuckle, leaning back in your chair, “you’re talkin’ all funny.”

“No I’m not!”

“You are.”

“Am so not!” She’s persistent, she never did back down easy.

You half heartedly shrug, knocking your glasses into one another on the table. You tug your jacket further around you, and purse your lips readying for battle.

“You know, you really should take it as a compliment that I’ve got drunk and I’m making fun of the way you talk.”

She allows her precisely plucked brows to dance over her face in surprise, though quickly schools her features into a plain mask.

“Alright, what’s up?”

“Nothing, Liz. I’m fine.” you say adamantly, and take another swig from your drink, savouring the tang on your tongue. Your glass makes another thud when you slam it down with unplanned and unnecessary force.

“You see, your mouth says that, but your… mouth is telling me something else?”

Before you can help it, your fingers are clutching the edge of the table, your cheeks heating softly, “I haven’t kissed you yet, how can that be?”

A chill slithers down your skin as her eyes grow wide, her pale skin blanching a shade further. “I didn’t mean, um, what? I—” she breaks off with a cough. “I ju— just meant that, um, you’re… sulking.”

“Oh.”

You can’t ignore the way your stomach plummets into the core of the earth, embarrassment taking over every other rational thought within your mind and body. Your soul is already brittle, but this? Your pride has certainly taken a knock enough for you to down the rest of your whiskey in one gulp.

“I’m gonna take off,” you say at last, across the curious blanket of silence, ignoring the way her angular face—limned with hope—falls a fraction.

“Please stay.”

You don’t think you hear her correctly, if at all. For all you know, her words could just be a whisper in the blustering breeze beating outside, the storm you predicted arriving early. In the dim bar, you’re away from it all, sage, until the bartender gets off shift and snatches Liz away for yet another night.

“Beg pardon?”

“Please stay,” she repeats, louder this time, but her blue eyes don’t meet yours across the table. “Tell me what’s up.”

She’s not backing down, so you brace yourself, allowing brazenness to fill you with courage, allowing your alcohol to eddie around you, summoning the words at long last.

“Nothing…” you say at first, because really, it is nothing, but she cocks her head at you that authoritative way. God, she should be a teacher with her assertive glances. “Just that you‘re so gorgeous I can’t say anything to your face…” you snatch her cup across the table, and take a deep swallow before shrugging and casting your gaze outside to spare yourself the mortification of being rejected. “Sober at least.”

You’re met with a beat of silence, “Why?”

“Look at your face!” you shout, utterly exasperated. You’ve got a good mind to pull a compact mirror to remind her how drop-dead stunning she is. “I’m so furious at you for making me feel this way.”

“Why, baby? What way?” she croons.

Too caught up in your momentary lapse of judgement and rant, you fail to notice her edging closer to you, moving your glasses out the way, letting her forearms rest on the sticky table just so she can watch the way you lick your lips with nerves.

“Crazy, because you’re so gorgeous it actually hurts.”

“R—really?” she stammers.

You turn back to her, all thoughts evaporating with her ocean blue eyes looking in yours, driving you insane. Her pretty lips are all parted and awaiting, how much you want to kiss her… So instead, you pout, and begin to throw a strop in your tipsy state.

“Tell me more.”

“No.”

“C’mon,” she teases, a smirk toying at her mouth, giving her cheeks subtle dimples. “Don’t leave me hanging. “Tell me what you really think. How I make you feel. I wanna hear,” her voice drops to a purr, leaning over the table to husk in your ear, “every little thing.”

“Ok then,” you concede. “You're so cool, it makes me hate you so much.”

“I don’t see how,” she snorts, “but continue.”

Her attention never once fails you or turns away, enamoured with your every mere breath.

“You’re gorgeous. Your magnetic field is too strong for me to cope. Your energy draws me in. You’re all I want.”

“More.” she coaxes, a single word, but a whisper, and yet it stokes the embers of desire in the pit of your stomach, your forehead creasing to attempt to draw some concentration back from the depths of your mind where your fantasies about her saying that exact word in that exact breathy way linger.

Perhaps your adulation is excessive, but you don't miss the sparkle in her eyes at each compliment you dole. This is your final card, though, and you’re going to play it right, so you forget about the consequences of touching her hand in a darkness room, and simply intertwine your fingers, drawing your noses to meet over the table.

“You've ruined my life, by not being mine,” you profess, ensuring that your hot breath fans over her lips. You can feel her shudder. “And you know there’s nothing I hate more than what I can’t have.”

“I’m all yours if you’ll have me.”

And just like that, the world stops turning around you. Your heart lilts, your mind prattles on about all you want to say, all you want to do. But then it stops. And all of a sudden, you’re intrepid, desperate to ravish her and ruin her for all other women, eager to kiss her voraciously until you can scarcely breathe, yearning to feel her words of reassurance wrap around you, if only she agrees to your proposal over that of the hot bartender.

“Well, I’ve told you what's up, so I guess I'll just stumble on home to my cats. Alone... unless you wanna come along.”

You push away from the table and stand with a slight shrug, turning your back on her, making strides for the door and the storm bristling outside. Only, you barely make it to the door before Liz’s slender hand is wrapped around your arm, and is turning you back to her, tugging you closer, chest to chest, nose to nose.

“Fuck yes, księżniczka. After that, of course I’m coming.”

Your lips meet in a fiery kiss, a desperate battle of will, and her tongue slides over the seam of your lips. You grant her entry with an open mouth, heat skittering over your skin as she holds you tighter, closer, with a deeper urgency you don’t hesitate to match.

Her crystal eyes simmer as she withdraws, her forehead on yours. Her lips brush yours as she breathes, and she grabs your hand, heading out into the night with Liz, at long last.

“For the record, you’re gorgeous and perfect and drive me crazy too. Everything you said tonight, I echo. What can I say?”

You’re gorgeous.

#elizabeth debicki #elizabeth debicki x reader #elizabeth debicki imagine #jed roper #jed night manager #elizabeth debicki tom hiddleston #liz debicki #elizabeth debicki fic #elizabeth debicki smut #elizabeth debicki fluff #elizabeth debicki angst #wlw fluff #Spotify

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bluecloudious · 3 years

Text

Kinda angst I guess (but it has Zanaz so take that with a grain of salt)

Trying out writing a story this time.

I mean, yeah, I wrote for the comics, but not long dialog.

So yea, as per both the funni boys mature content warning. (There's no canoodling, there is talk of it tho.)

Also there's quite a bit of text (8 pages worth on Word)

So ye:

“Get up, I have some juicy gossip for you.”

...What?

I open my eyes and the world around me is blinding. It’s so bright that it takes a second to adjust to it. There’s nothing around me other than vast white and empty space.

This definitely isn’t Nevada anymore. (Unless Hank managed to ruin everything even further somehow.)

“Get up now, I know you heard me.”

I get up and look around. Who the hell is talking? There’s literally nothing but white for miles.

“I’m in your head, pretty boy.”

Uh, that…

“I’m holding my eyes closed, don’t worry. I regret ever having them open in here, in fact.”

Welp, that answers that. Now for the other question.

“Who I am is not important. What info I have, may be of interest, though.”

Alright?

“There’s a deal attached to this knowledge, Zanaz. Hear me out before you start fidgeting.”

I’ll sure try.

“You know Kits, right?”

No duh, he’s my best friend.

“Excellent. He’s going to die soon.”

…

What?! Wha, when, how, uh--

“Calm down, jitterbug. There’s nothing you can do to stop his fate, so don’t try. If he doesn’t die one way, another thing will go wrong. Understand?”

I-- NO! What the fuck?! Are you gonna kill him?!

“No, not me. I’m just sharing the news.”

Yeah, right, sure. Fucking… When then?

“Soon.”

How soon? In a month, week or a few days?

“Hm… A month then, give or take.”

...Fuck… How?

“Depends on what leads up to it.”

So, there are a lot of different ways it can happen, right?

“Indeed there are.”

...Do I die with him?

“No.”

NO?! In none of the different variations, I don’t die by his side?

“Oh, you can be by his side, of course. But death isn’t after you.”

What if I try to block a bullet, but it goes through both of us.

“Oddly specific. You’ll still survive.”

What if I block it with my head?!

“Brain damage, possible vegetable state. Will still survive though.”

What if Hank slices us with one of his multiple katanas?!

“People have lived through being sliced in half before.”

WHAT.

“This world has zombie clowns with god like powers and the AAHW is lead by a man consisting of black fire.”

...Ugh, fair enough. So… Wait those are all possible deaths for him?

“If you do everything in your power for it to happen, then yes.”

I… I can kill him before his time?

“Of course! You have free will, don’t you? It’s more of a question if you want to.”

Of course I fucking don’t! I care about him!

“I saw. You daydream about him an uncomfortable amount.”

He’s the main person I’m around, give me a break!

“Have you ever considered not being horny?”

Until I’m castrated, there’ll be nothing of the sorts.

“You’re not even fertile! None of the clones are!”

You think I’m tryna get anyone pregnant at this sausage fest? Besides, that has not stopped me before.

“I refuse to believe that any of those scenes I saw play out in your head happened for real.”

You’d be surprised then.

“WHICH?!?”

Those are for me to treasure.

“...You’re pulling my leg.”

Believe what you want.

“Augh, never mind, TMI. Back onto the topic at hand.”

Oh, yeah, right. Kit… Dying…

Could you for real not give me a date?

“If it depends on the circumstances beforehand, then there’s no possible way to tell which one belongs to this timeline.”

And that means…?

“I don’t know how this Kits dies.”

Can I at least warn him?

“Well, there’s where the other side of the deal comes in. If you tell him, then the effect kicks in immediately.”

What effect? Death?

“Precisely.”

...Ah. Wait, so if I don’t tell him, he dies in a month but if I do, he dies immediately? Of what?

“Stroke, heart attack or brain aneurysm. Chosen at random. Oh, also sneak assassination. That’s also a valid option.”

...This feels set up.

“Mh?”

This feels like either you or whoever sent you here set this up so I’d suffer. You enjoy the pain of others, don’t you?

“I’m only the messen--”

Yeah, yeah, Messenger Bullshit. Then whoever decided this is probably a reality tv producer, who is jacking off to someone pushing in the soft part of a baby’s skull as we speak. You encourage such behaviour by working with them, ya know.

“...Do you think you sound smart?”

I know for a fact I’m not, so no. I’m pretty sure I’m on the money with this one though.

“If I wasn’t here then Kits’ death would come as a surprise to you though!”

I’d prefer that, actually! Now I have to deal with knowing that he… He… Won’t be here anymore soon.

“Well, knowing how overwhelmingly perverted you are, wouldn’t you wanna grab this opportunity?”

...What?

“Shoot your shot, ask him out. Not like you could do it with a corpse… …Right…?”

I may be horny, but I’m not messed up.

“Had to make sure.”

Ugh, you’re just making fun of me, aren’t you?

“Which instance are you referring to?”

Kit would never date me.

“And why exactly do you think that?”

He has standards?

“You’re a decently handsome fellow. You also get along with him just fine.”

That… That’s not a determinant of shit like that. There’s way better out there for him.

“He won’t meet em then. Only a month to live, remember?”

I… It’s not worth it.

“What isn’t?”

I know he’ll say no, there’s no point in trying.

“How do you know for sure until you actually ask?”

Cause it’s obvious! He’s actually got a brain in his noggin and he knows me way too well! He’d be fucking disgusted, man! We’re just friends and that’s that.

“Do you not want to then?”

...Why do you assume I do? How do you know that those aren’t just blissful fantasies like the rest of them?

“He’s the only one that you dream of in a non-perverted way. I see no other person in this graphic landscape that you want to hold hands with. (Also, I am closing my eyes again now, Jebus Christoff.)”

...Ffffuck.

“Well, did hit the nail on the head?”

Y-You’re stupid and gay!

“I’m rubber, you’re glue.”

That doesn’t affect me, I’m already openly gay and stupid!

“I guess we’re both such then.”

Dammit.

“So, you gonna give him a month to remember or not?”

…Eh?

“Come on, how much romance could a member of the A.A.H.W. really experience throughout their lifetime? If you’d make this month worth his and your own time, perhaps it would be less painful to see him go? At least he died happy?”

THAT WOULD BE EXTRA PAINFUL FOR ME, THOUGH!

“Oop, Zanaz selfish, you heard it here first, folks.”

That’s not what I meant. I’d already be upset over losing my best friend, imagine how fucking devastating losing a sweetheart would be.

“…I dunno, still sounds selfish to me. Does his happiness not mean anything to you?”

Who says he’d be happy with me?

“I know you want to make him happy, at least. You dream about his smile.”

STOP FUCKING LOOKING THOUGH MY THOUGHTS!!

“I’m not looking anymore, I just memorized the ones I already saw. (I wish I couldn’t.)”

I- You- Fucking-- UggHHH! It’s not worth it!

“What exactly do you imagine will happen if you tell him how you feel, huh? World combusts?”

I already told you, he already knows way too much about me! He’d be fucking grossed out and we’ll… We’ll stop being friends.

He’d quicken his pace whenever we’d have to pass each other in one of the halls. He’d desperately keep his glance away from me. He’d… I’d stop being the main person he talks and comes to company for a-and I can’t fucking have that, man!

I-I wouldn’t be able to handle it. He means too much to me.

“…I had no idea you were this insecure.”

FUCK OFF! It’s a bitter reality that I’ve come to accept!

“You haven’t even given it a shot!”

You don’t need to get crushed by a piano to know you’d die on impact!

“Those two things don’t correlate even remotely!”

It’s a metaphor!

“I know that, I’m saying that Kits has a thing for you too!”

…He what?

“He has major league crush on you! The things you say when play-flirting excite him! He’s gotten off to the thought of you touching him up! The works! (Why did I word it like that?)”

Whuh-- How the fuck do you know this??

“While you were monologuing, I visited his subconscious and confirmed it for myself.”

You can do that??

“You don’t even know my name.”

...Fair nuff. So, wait, he’s actually gotten off thinking about me?

“I don’t even need to open my eyes to already know you’re imagining it. Short answer, yes. He’s into you, Zanaz.”

Augh, I dunno what to do with this info. It’s kinda... Overwhelming in a way.

Actually, wait, how do I know you haven’t been lying to me this whole time?

“I’m an incorporeal voice in your head that’s having a back and forth with you in a white void.”

Yeah, and?

“…I’m supernatural?”

Yeah, and?

“Come on! I just know, okay?!”

Sounds fake, not gonna lie.

“The part where I knew that Kits was gonna die was convincing, but the moment I mention that he might have a thing for you, you question the validity of my claims thus far??”

One sounds way more far-fetched than the other, you gotta admit.

“NO IT DOESN’T?!?!”

For you maybe! I’ve known him since I’ve been out the cloning tube! We became agents together! I think I’d know what kinda stuff is off the table for him, buddy.

“Well, not only are you wrong, you’re in denial.”

I am not!

“Then try it! Just attempt asking him out! In the very least, you’ll remain friends after. I promise you. Cross my heart and all that jazz.”

…

…You’re absolutely positive? You are also the person that told me he’d die in a month’s time.

“A hundred percent positive. I have never been more sure of anything in my life.”

You have a life?

“Unfortunately. So, you’ll do it?”

Why’re you so adamant about me fucking Kits?

“Affgdgfdgfg, it’s not about you fucking him, it’s you making his last living month worthwhile!”

Okay, so, why do you want me to do that?

“…Do you not??”

I mean, I guess that sounds worth my time. But you didn’t answer my question.

“Sorry for assuming that you want the person you’re madly in love with to be happy, I guess??”

Apology accepted. Now, how do I get outta here?

“Ugh, just wake up.”

Whu--

And I’m sitting up in my own mat, back at the facility. The clock shows that it’s early morning.

What the fuck do I make of what I just saw? Or heard, for that matter? It clearly wasn’t a normal dream, I never remember those. Plus the topic tends to blur together usually.

I gotta tell-- Wait, I can’t do that, fuck.

…

It’s way to early for shit like this, man!!

Augh…

#It's got pictures <:)#OC #Madness combat #I took my time with this one and like how it came out #Augh I had to even edit the text and shit on Tumblr...#I be like *gives Zanaz even more personality*#KitZan

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batarella · 4 years

Text

The Commander - Part 1 (Arkham Knight x Reader)

I hope you all enjoy this. You are all awesome. When I said I was back, I meant it.

WORDS: 1378 WARNINGS: THE START OF A HEART-WRENCHING AFFAIR

MASTERLIST

THE COMMANDER - MASTERLIST

-----

One. Two. Three.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

The bullets landed on the bullseye, and they formed a nice pyramid even. Like she did it on purpose. Except, she actually did. The bullets’ every move is to her will.

“Nice job commander.”

“Tell me when someone’s shot those three exact bullet holes, Sergeant. Make it an assignment,” she said, placing the pistol onto the table. “Then I’ll come back.”

It wasn’t much of a shooting range as it was the length of a race track. 50 feet. With a small pistol. Not too bad. Y/N left the range.

“The Knight calls you.”

She gave Lieutenant Gray her goggles. “Is Slade with us?”

“Just Slade. Crane is in Gotham.”

“Good.” They had two weeks left. Fifteen days exactly. Her men needed just that time to be ready.

The Knight wasn’t happy the last time he came. One of Slade’s drones exploded before it was even deployed, and their intelligence hadn’t figured out how to automatically send a support in after one would be destroyed. They’d fixed that since then.

But another screaming from the Knight and she’ll go ballistic.

She knocked at the door, heard the Knight’s voice, then stepped inside.

“Commander Y/LN,” the Arkham Knight greeted her.

“Knight.”

“Crane sent me here,” Slade said from across the table. “I didn’t come all the way here to Venezuela to send reports of a drone working as it should.”

“We’ve decided on a base under Killinger's Department Store. It will be easy to infiltrate that night after Scarecrow releases his call.”

The voice under his visor was sour and cold. Like it wasn’t even a man. Slade looked at the commander.

“The Cloudburst,” he said. “I’m here for our star.”

“It’s ready. Scarecrow’s given us enough of his toxin to cover the whole of Gotham.”

“Then what are we waiting fifteen days for,” Slade said, leaning back against the chair. “Deploy it tomorrow.”

“The Cloudburst is underground. You can send as many photos of it as you can to Crane. But we wait until the thirty-first.”

The Commander watched the two bicker. Eventually the two stopped and Slade stood from his chair. She didn’t even listen to what he had to say.

“Crane should be satisfied,” he said. “And I’ll give these men ten days worth of training in one.”

“Be my guest.”

Deathstroke left, and the commander was left with the Knight.

“Anything happen today?”

“None.”

“With Sergeants John and Morrow?”

Ah. The two. Caught in the shower together in a compromising situation after a day’s long training.

“Reprimanded.”

“There is a time and place for that,” The Knight sighed. “The shower is not.”

She smirked. Her men had needs.

“Is that all?”

“Yes,” The Knight leaned against his chair. “You can go.”

The commander stood, saluted, and turned for the door. The Knight didn’t move. He was stiff.

“You need a smoke.”

The Knight turned to her. “You have one?”

She nodded, pulling out a box from her pocket and handing it over to the Knight. But she hadn’t thought he’d raise his visor before getting the cigarette from her hands.

It was the first time she saw his face. And he didn’t look half bad.

Not bad at all.

He had dark hair, a J burned onto his skin, and bushy eyebrows. His eyes were a bright blue, and they were piercing. The Knight placed the cigarette into his mouth, then the commander lit it up. He breathed in, held the smoke for a while, before exhaling.

“Those men can't keep it in their pants for a second.”

“We’ve been here for months, and they’ve had no contact with anyone else outside of the barracks.”

“Of course not,” the Knight said. “I don’t trust them not to rat us out.”

“They won't, sir. John’s wife has no idea where he even is.”

The Knight took the smoke out with his fingers. “Fuck it. Stop wasting time with those men. Just make sure we don’t delay.”

“Understood,” she shrugged, stuffing the lighter in her pocket. He stood up.

“How’s the combat training?”

“Gray is on it right now.”

“Let’s go.” He then walked out the room and came to the combat grounds. The commander followed closely behind him and watched on.

A sparring session came to a close. A few of their men were watching as the much larger man pinned the other to the ground, counting to three before he released.

“Fight him,” the Knight said.

The commander looked at him, then at the brute. He was twice her size.

“I don’t want to embarrass him.”

The Knight chuckled under his visor. But the commander didn’t need to be told twice. She took off her jacket and walked to the front of the victorious thug. His name was Headley. He looked at her, up and down. “Heads up, big guy,” she said. Then she stood at a fighting stance a yard away from her opponent. He nodded, switched to his form, and paused.

Headley swung his arm, and Y/N narrowly missed it. Swiftly, she grabbed his arm, twisted his wrist, and pounced at his head with her knee.

He backed up, wiping his mouth as he eyed her next move. He wasn’t thinking. That was his mistake. He charged for her and just as quickly, Y/N knocked him off his feet with a swing of her leg.

She was fast, really fast. And precise. It was the same for every charge, with her landing a stronger blow to his weak spots at every other turn. Headley was on the ground, and Y/N was holding his arm, stretching it with her own legs. He tapped out, and she quickly released him.

It wasn’t the same for every man. A lot of them bested her. But with the larger ones, they thought of their movements less. Strengthened themselves more. It was where she would pounce.

She swept her hair off her face and turned to the Knight, watching over her like a hawk.

He was watching her the same way he always did when she sparred, or trained at the firing range. Now that she knew just how pretty the Knight was behind his visor, she strutted with her chest pushed out just a bit more. She could see him through the visor, watching more than just her face or limbs.

She threw a towel over her shoulder, drained her water bottle and walked over to the Knight.

“I told you. It wouldn’t be good for his ego.”

She walked out the door, turned down the hall. She heard footsteps behind her. Y/N turned just as the Knight caught up.

“You want me to beat you up, too?”

The Knight walked to her side. He was without his visor. “What are you doing?” he whispered.

She shook her head. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“You were the one staring way too much, Knight.”

The Knight narrowed his eyes. They heard a voice coming from the end of the hall. The Knight pushed her around the next corner.

She didn’t know who kissed who first. It just happened. It’s been meaning to happen. When his voice sounded softer when he talked to her, when everything about him seemed softer.

“You know we both want this. You have needs. I have needs. This doesn’t have to happen again,” he said.

She nodded, then kissed him.

-----

THE COMMANDER - MASTERLIST

-----

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sirowsky · 3 years

Text

The Flowers Always Know

Description: When a mad scientist uses you as an experiment while you’re on holiday, the Heroics only just manage to save you. And in your recovery you become very close to the leader of the group. (Slow burn)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Language + severe triggerwarning for victims of domestic abuse.

Link to Masterlist

Comment: House-hunting, mole-hunting and Anita-hunting (sort of). And this chapter is like 95% conversation.

Chapter 32

“Are you serious?”

“What?”

“That is way too big… What would we even do with all that?”

“Hermosa, we fill the space we have. That’s not a euphemism, just a fact. If we have four rooms, we’ll fill those, and if we have twelve, we’ll fill those too.”

“Who the fuck needs twelve rooms?”

“It only has eight rooms.”

“And there are only four of us.”

“So, that’s it? No room to grow further?”

“Honey, just how much are you anticipating this little family to grow? That’s a totally serious question, by the way. How many kids would you actually like to have?”

“If your weird-ass body permits – like… four.”

“Hey, who are you calling w…… did you just say four?”

“Yup.”

“What… including Missy, or… an additional four?”

“I’m not picky. If we end up with just the two little miracles we have, I’ll still be the happiest man alive, but I wouldn’t mind having a bunch. Five, six, however many our love can create, I’ll be more than happy to nurture and raise and love all of them unconditionally, even when they inevitably pee on me.”

You had no idea how to answer that, so you just stared at him. But he knew how ambivalent you were about all things concerning family, so he didn’t pose the question back to you, and instead just smiled while he watched the cogs in your mind struggle to fit together.

“S-six… you’d be okay with another… six kids?”

“Mhm.”

“Fuck, Marcus, I’m struggling to even get it into my head that we’re gonna be joined by a tiny fragile infant in about 7 months, how are you already contemplating another five?!”

“Relax, preciosa, I’m not actively contemplating it, I’m just answering a question. Saying I wouldn’t mind something, doesn’t mean I’m aiming for it.”

“But you’re looking at houses with eight rooms…”

“Like I said: we fill the space we have. Rooms have endless usages, it’s not like we have to make all of them bedrooms. We can have home-offices, a separate play-room, a separate dining room.”

“Yeah, I get all that, it just seems excessive.”

“Sweetheart, all I’m saying is, we’re looking for a home for life. If our family grows more, I don’t want to have to move again. I want the place we pick to be one that can take anything we weirdo’s throw at it.”

“Okay, fine, I’ll look at the big-ass house.”

“Thank you.”

He handed you the phone and you scrolled through the different images, seeing things you liked and things you didn’t. But when you got to the master bedroom, your eyebrows shot up. The room looked ordinary at first glance, but when you took a closer look, you noticed that it had some special features.

“Marcus… is this why you’re so interested in this house?”

“It’s not the only reason…”

“Who the fuck owns this place - Stormy Daniels?”

“No, just some accountant.”

“The bedroom is soundproofed.”

“Which is convenient and useful for all kinds of people, but especially parents.”

“Hard pass.”

“We could just go and look at it before you dismiss it completely.”

“Nope. Not happening. Move on.”

“Why? Seriously, what’s so bad about it? Missy wouldn’t have to wear headphones every other night, and we wouldn’t have to worry about her overhearing stuff.”

“Yes, those are good points. But: what if something happens to one of us, and the other needs to shout for help? What if something happens to Missy, and she tries to shout for help and we can’t hear her? What if someone breaks into the house, and we don’t hear it? I mean, I’m pretty sure you have super-hearing, but I don’t, and you’re not home every second of every day. I want to live in a house that speaks to me. You know, the way our house used to creak in the mornings when the sun warmed it, and settle again in the evenings, when it cooled. And if we are gonna have a bunch of kids, I sure as shit wanna be able to hear every little thing they get up to.”

He looked ridiculously pleased at how you’d thought that through.

“Got it, hard pass on all soundproofing. But can I ask you another serious question? One you might not have such a clear answer for?”

“Sure.”

“Our house… why did you send the whole thing over there? Why not just Prince and his machines?”

“There wasn’t any thought involved with that, just instinct, and at the time, the house didn’t feel safe. I walked in and it was like entering a tomb. And I honestly don’t know if I could’ve ever walked in to that house again without having that feeling.”

“I can understand that, mi amor. And I hope you know that I’m not asking because I’m in any way upset with you. I saw the look in your eyes in those moments, and I know how scared you were. To be able to utilise your abilities with that kind of precision and delicacy right then, was down-right miraculous.”

“Let’s just hope I never have to try and repeat that miracle. Now, what’s next on your list?”

He tapped away on his phone, blinking a few times at the wetness in his eyes, before handing it back to you.

“Wow… this is even bigger.”

“Same number of rooms, just a bigger kitchen and more garage-space.”

“Oh, I like the yard.”

“Check out the backyard.”

“Holy… that’s huge! And a pool. We’d need guardrails around that, or I’d be perpetually terrified for the baby to fall in. Are those trees on the property as well?”

“Yes. That whole little patch of woods is.”

“Really? I mean, a pair of swings in those trees…”

You were so engrossed in the phone that you didn’t see Marcus smile wider as he watched you fall in love with the place.

“Oh, I love the kitchen. And there’s a fireplace! Those are beautiful floors. Holy shit – I could swim in that bathtub…”

“Sooo…… you like it?”

“I do.”

“Enough to go have a look?”

“Definitely. But Missy has to come too.”

He beamed. You’d had a few long conversations about the house-hunting before you actually started, and after a meeting at the bank, you’d found out that your credit was basically more than big enough for anything you might want, which was an odd thing to try and get your head around. Not that you wanted a life of luxury, but it was sort of strange to realise that you actually could have practically any kind of life you chose, in terms of housing. The two of you had settled on a firmly planted roof of expense that you were willing to extend to the purchase. And even though this house was huge and renovated to the nines with modern upgrades, that still managed to float seamlessly into the older stem and feel of the house, it wasn’t really particularly near that roof.

“I’ll call the realtor and see if they can fit us in later this week.”

“It’s a nice area. A little out of the way, but a good neighbourhood, and Missy wouldn’t have to change schools. Our commute to work would be a bit longer, but on quieter roads. And there’s a fence around the property. We could get a dog, or two. Or even a frickin’ pony with the size of that backyard.”

Marcus just stared at you with that giddy smile firmly planted in his whole frame, while you rambled on, completely lost in your own thoughts, until his silence eventually made you snap out of it and look at him.

“Oh, crap. I’m already moving in, aren’t I…?”

He just laughed and hugged you.

“I’m definitely on board with the dogs. But I’m gonna need my phone back if I’m gonna be able to call the realtor.”

You quickly handed it back to him, just as there was a careful knock on the door. You were in Marcus’s office, sitting in one of the sofas, perfectly naturally just sitting next to each other, for once. It had only been a week since you were released from medical, and he was still a little worried about getting you worked up, so you hadn’t been together yet, and it was creating something of a space between you. Not a wall, nothing that exclusive, just a little void that was a bit hard to reach across. He called for the person to enter, and Will stepped in, immediately shooting an apologetic glance at Marcus. He still hadn’t quite recovered from seeing Cujo that time, even though Marcus had apologized for scaring him.

“Hi, sorry, I was told I could find you here.”

You smiled warmly at him to ease his discomfort.

“What’s up, Will?”

“Uh, Miss. Timmons is looking for you, she needs your help.”

Oh, for fucks sake…

“Let me guess; she screwed up her paperwork, again?”

“Looks like it.”

“Damned it, Izzy. Wait, why’d she send you to get me, you’re not an errand-boy, she couldn’t have picked up the phone?”

“She did go looking for you in your office, but when you weren’t there, she got a little… desperate. She knows that she’s messed up too many times already, and I think she’s genuinely scared that you’re gonna fire her. She started crying outside your office and I was just passing by, so I offered to go find you for her.”

“If I had the authority to fire her, I would’ve already done it.”

You sighed and got up to leave, but Marcus caught your elbow.

“You’re not gonna go back to work, right? We talked about that.”

“If I know Izzy, this won’t be solved by correcting a few clerical errors.”

“So, let someone else do it.”

“No one else can, honey. That’s why I still have my job despite the number of sick-days I have.”

“Preciosa… it’s dangerous. Prince’s people are in this building, and if he was obsessed with you, or us, then so are they. None of us can afford to be distracted right now.”

“I know, but we still have to live. We’re still the same people, and neither one of us are the type of person that’s just gonna stand by when someone needs help. If the team needs you, I expect you to go and help them, not just because that’s your job, but because that’s who you are.”

“Just don’t let yourself get too engrossed. Stay alert at all times. We have no idea who’s a friend and who isn’t.”

“I’ll check in with you every hour, okay?”

“Every half-hour. And just until you’ve sorted this mess out, then you come back and find me, you don’t start on another three problems you discover along the way.”

“Are you giving me orders now, Team Leader?”

He grabbed your hips and pulled you in close, so that your bodies were only millimetres apart and his nose was brushing against yours. It was more than enough to heat you up after six weeks of inactivity, but the tremble of emotion in his voice when he spoke next, pushed the desire aside, to make way for compassion.

“I can’t lose you again. I’ll do anything…”

You closed your eyes and rested your forehead against his. How many times had you lost each other already? Your ability made it so easy for you to feel like it was your job to save others, like it was what you were put in this world to do, and especially where your family was concerned. So, you had to start reminding yourself that while you would probably always be able to absorb anything bad that happened to them – you’d also always hurt them by doing that. Your ability came with a terrible price, and you were only lucky to have survived everything you’d been through thus far. Marcus was right, you had to be more careful. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and nestled your nose into his neck. His arms closed around your waist and held you to him, strong and sure, and you felt like you could just stand there for the rest of the day.

“I promise I’ll be careful, and not take any risks. I love you.”

“Te amo, querida.”

Will had moved to stand outside the door after Marcus started talking to you, but he fell in behind you when you walked past him.

“So, where is she, and what has she done?”

It felt really good to get back into something familiar and achievable again. To do something that generated an immediate response and result, and within fifteen minutes you suddenly understood why Marcus had been so worried. You got lost in the task in no time at all. You sent him a text while you waited for a lawyer to call you back.

[You’re right, I’m already cheating.]

[How bad?]

[Two other issues already solved, while I’m waiting to work out Izzy’s.]

[Why are you waiting?]

[Because lawyers always have something better to do.]

[Fine. But as soon as it’s dealt with, you come back to me. I’ll be at the control centre.]

[Promise. What’s going on?]

[Just two small countries deciding to go to war over the quality of their chocolate.]

[Well… I suppose there are worse things.]

[They’re hurling missiles at each other over fucking candy…]

[Wow… Where’s Máma when you need her?]

[Don’t you worry, she’s right here, so this should be sorted out by the time you get here.]

[Oh, in that case, I am so calling her Chocoreno from now on.]

[Please don’t…]

[Only if she doesn’t solve it.]

[*sigh*]

After another eight phone calls and a lot of grovelling to people you really didn’t like, you finally managed to set things straight, and went to find Izzy to give her a piece of your mind - again. But when you got to her office, she was on the phone and turned away from the door, so she didn’t see you come in, and you accidentally overheard the end of her conversation.

“No, of course not, I’ll be straight home from work. Why would I make any stops? --- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you… --- No, baby, don’t… I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. --- Anything you want, name it. --- Yeah, that sounds.. nice. I’ll be home soon.”

Shit.

She turned around, looking absolutely terrified, and then she saw you by the door and quickly tried to adapt a neutral expression. She was good at it too, within half a second there was no trace of fear in her face. You only got that good at hiding your feelings if you knew that showing them meant terrible pain.

“So, everything’s taken care of, no harm done.”

“Really? Oh, thank you. I’m so sorry, I swear I don’t mean to mess up the papers, it just gets to be too much sometimes.”

“Izzy, if I ask you a personal question, will you answer me honestly?”

A trace of fear re-emerged in her features, but she nodded carefully.

“Is it work that gets to be too much… or is it home?”

You could see the internal struggle. The need to be free of the fear and the pain, and that same fear making it almost impossible. All the irritation and frustration fell away from you with the realisation that she wasn’t incompetent at all. She was being smothered. How many times had you added to her stress and general feeling of inadequacy, by barking at her for constantly missing or screwing up doing things? Why hadn’t you seen the signs sooner, you knew every single one of them?

“I’ve been where you are, Izzy. I should have seen this. I’m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, honestly, I’m fine.”

“Show me your arms and your stomach. If they aren’t bruised, I might believe you.”

She squirmed where she stood, and her head dropped in defeat.

“When was the last time you didn’t have an injury somewhere? When was the last time you could move without feeling pain somewhere?”

She just kept staring at the floor, shaking her head, trying to will it not to be true, so you walked up to her, pushed your energy around her, and healed her. The amount of energy that it drained from you, told you everything you needed to know about how injured she was, and you quickly reached into your back pocket to retrieve a pill from the small box you kept with you at all times these days. Izzy stared wide-eyed at you, while you fumbled with a paper-cup at her water-cooler, hands shaking with the sudden loss of strength. Then she suddenly sprung to life and came to help you fill the cup and down the pill.

“Jesus Christ, girl, how were you even standing with all that damage?”

“I… got used to it over time. He didn’t… start out that bad.”

“They never do.”

“Thank you. So much.”

“Thank me by letting me beat the living hell out of that guy.”

“You’d better not. But… maybe… you could ask one of the guys on the team to… talk to him?”

“Are you serious? You wanna stay with him? No, honey, no amount of talking is gonna fix him.”

“No, I meant like… talk him into not killing me for leaving him.”

“Oh… Yeah. That I could probably do. Just give me his name and address.”

You downed another pill, and started feeling better, while Izzy scribbled on a note for you. You took it and read it, and stuffed it down your other back pocket.

“You should stay here tonight, just in case he decides to try anything. And call me if you need anything, Marcus and I are still living here, so we’re close, okay?”

She seemed to hesitate about something.

“What is it?”

“Um… do you know Jack Daven?”

“Who?”

“He’s a kid who interns at the science division.”

“Oh, Jackie. Yeah, unfortunately I do know who he is.”

He was the kid you threw head-first into a wall.

“I just… I think he might have something to do with your mole situation.”

“What? Why would you think that?”

“A while back, he came to me saying that science had sent him with some paperwork that needed to be signed, but when I looked at it, I realised that it was actually for research, and I told him that. And he laughed it off saying that he’d just made a mistake, but that didn’t seem very likely, because the forms he had were for release of testing materials. They wouldn’t send an errand-boy to retrieve those, they’re too dangerous. At the time I figured that maybe he’d been sent with an escort, for learning purposes, and that I just never saw them. But, now with the investigation, I think there might have been more to it than that. I was just too scared to... I didn’t know who to trust with it.”

“You can always trust me. Thank you, Izzy, I’m so sorry that I ever thought of you as incompetent.”

“Forgive me and I’ll forgive you.”

“Done.”

You ran full speed back to Ops, and almost collided with the automatic door to the control centre. Marcus was working at a station to the left, and smiled without looking up as he heard you. Anita was at the centre console, with her back to you.

“Damned it, why do all automatic doors move so fucking slowly?”

“Ah, I hear my future daughter-in-law has entered the premises.”

“Shut it, Chocoreno.”

“What did you just call me?”

“Choco-reno, the clue’s in the name, máma.”

“Ay, loco, today’s not a good day to test me.”

“Why, does máma need a hug?”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Fine. How about some nice chocolate instead? I hear there might be some steep discounts on a couple of brands.”

“Mujer… did you burst in here for a reason? Because if not, I’ll burst you right back out.”

“Hah, I’d like to see you try.”

She huffed.

“As you wish.”

You caught a glimpse of Marcus’ expression as it shifted from bemused to genuinely worried, when Anita turned and came towards you.

“Mooom…”

She ignored him and tried to grab you, but your ghost hands caught hers before she could make contact, and they were much stronger than your physical hands. She definitely had super-strength, that much was obvious right away, and she wasn’t holding back. You could feel your strength begin to drain, so you changed tactics. You flooded the room with energy, and then drew it back to compact it all around yourself, creating that same kind of barrier that the Inventor hadn’t been able to break through, despite his genius belt-modification. And then you just stood there, perfectly still to conserve energy, while she tried in vain to push you out of the room.

“Mom, stop it, right now!”

As her focus momentarily shifted towards Marcus, you saw the smile that played in her features. She was just having fun, testing your strength and flexing her own, whilst getting some frustration out of her system, knowing full well that you could take it. Feeling certain she wouldn’t kill you for it, you grabbed the opportunity. You let the wall of energy disappear as she was leaning against it with all her might, and as the barrier fell, so did Anita – right into your arms. It was a bit like trying to catch a running bull, and the impact was certainly painful, but you ignored it and just hugged her to you. She scrambled out of your grip, but you just smiled at her, because you knew she enjoyed every moment of it.

“I have to say, I’ve never had to fight my way into a hug before.”

“That wasn’t a hug, loco.”

“Yes, it was, and you know it. Do you feel better now, or do you need another?”

She was actually contemplating another round, which prompted Marcus to step in between you.

“Do I have to remind both of you that you’re pregnant, hermosa? Playful or not, you’re not fighting each other again, now, tell me why you were moving so fast that the doors were too slow for you?”

Oh, for fucks sake, why where you so easily distracted?

“Right… We should probably talk in private. Considering the fact that it’s only been two hours since we sat in your office looking at houses – a hell of a lot’s happened.”

He led the way towards the door, and you shot a look at Anita, over your shoulder.

“Raincheck on that hug?”

“I’ll boogie with you anytime, loco.”

“That’s how you boogie? And you call me ‘loco’.”

“Oh, yes. You’ve earned that one, many times over.”

Authors’ Note: I love criticism, don’t be shy to let me know if there’s anything you like/don’t like/have questions about.

@blueeyesatnight @farfromjustordinary @allmyspideys @hrk-fic-recs @strawberryperegrine @lucrezia-thoughts @computeringturtle @sarahjkl82-blog

#marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno fic #we can be heroes #we can be heroes fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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benedictscanvas · 4 years

Text

all the wrong places [5/7] - spencer reid x reader

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: 2k

Summary: It only takes a moment for Spencer to realise that he doesn’t just want to marry you someday, he wants to marry you as soon as he possibly can. But since he can’t come up with a solid plan, he turns to his BAU family for help in planning the most important day of his life so far. Is that a mistake? Most definitely.

Warnings: Series probably aren’t meant to be exclusively fluffy, but this one practically is! I need some fluff in my life, damn it! There may be some mention of regular Criminal Minds things, some language but mostly just good ol’ Spence lovin’

a chapter every day for seven days! (20-26th July 2020) so please drop an ask if you’d like to be tagged <3

---

Chapter Five - Heat of the Moment

There hadn’t been anymore meddling in his relationship with you since that day on the jet. You’d been on a case the whole time, so there was little opportunity for them to do so, but Spencer got the feeling it was more than that. All of them had started feeling too guilty about all their previous meddling to do anymore.

That, and Spencer was pretty sure JJ had taken everyone aside and put her foot down about it. No more bets were placed, no more money exchanged hands. Spencer was ridiculously relieved. The case was still tough, but at least he could pour all his focus into it rather than being worried what the team might spill at any moment.

“The geographical profile is all over the place,” he told you from his spot at the board, looking back at you over his shoulder. You were sat cross-legged on top of the conference table, files splayed out all around you, eyes tired and slightly wild. Everyone had been up for hours without sleep, but it affected everyone differently. You and Spencer were both the type to keep working without breaks, running solely on adrenaline and copious caffeine and then crash completely as soon as everything was over.

“I know,” you murmured, “Come look at this.”

You didn’t need to ask twice as he made his way over and perched on the tiny scrap of table he could find uncovered by paper. You pointed to one of the files to your left and he had to hold onto your knee as he leaned over to read it.

“That’s interesting.”

‘Yeah I thought so too, but then I thought I was probably wrong.”

“I don’t think you’re wrong,” he said absentmindedly, picking up the file and dropping it into his lap to read in more depth. You sat quietly beside him, allowing him to digest what you’d been trying to make sense of for an hour.

“Let’s take this to Hotch, see what he makes of it,” he said eventually, hopping down from the table with the file clutched tightly in one hand, “Good work, Y/L/N.”

“Means a lot coming from you, Doctor Reid,” you chuckled, taking his outstretched hand to help you down from the table. You smoothed out the wrinkles in your shirt and then quickly reached out to pull his cardigan up where it had fallen from his shoulder, before heading out of the room.

Hotch was talking to a few officers when the two of you presented what you had found. A guy in the system who had previous convictions that made him a perfect candidate for the bomber you’d been trying to stop for over a week now. A call to Garcia to look into his recent purchases all but confirmed your suspicions.

“We need to go,” Hotch said, mostly to the officers, once his phone had beeped to indicate Garcia having sent the address. You and Spencer were already grabbing your jackets and vests, strapping them on.

And then there were gunshots, Hotch was pulling you down onto the ground, you were pulling Spencer with you and all you could see was a pair of old, worn boots across the precinct from your position behind the desk. When the gunshots had stopped, the three of you slowly rose your heads above the desk, met with the face that lay in a file strewn across the floor a metre or so away from you.

There was a bomb strapped to his chest, which almost made you roll your eyes at just how obvious this next move had been and how none of you managed to see it coming. You scanned the room for the victims of the gunshots, but found only one body near the door, a young officer with a positivity that you had thought he would lose with time. He’d never get the chance. The rest of the shots seemed to be in the ceiling, if the chunks of plaster were any indicator.

Hotch was already stood up, hands out in front of him, moving forward towards the guy, Clive, you remembered, with slow steps and soft words. You looked to Spencer beside you, silently asking if the two of you should be doing something, standing up with him or pulling your guns. He shook his head, though only slightly, then he looked down and tightened your vest. No words. You did the same for him almost instantly, before the two fo you turned back to Hotch. Hands were poised on guns, but there was no use shooting the guy if it would detonate that bomb. It was enough to decimate the room, at least.

Heart pounding. Mouth dry. It was impossible to tell whether Hotch was getting anywhere. He was still getting closer, but Clive still had that rage burning behind his eyes that told you that Hotch wasn’t there yet.

When Clive suddenly took the final step towards Hotch that left his gun resting on Hotch’s forehead, you bobbed further up from behind the desk instinctually, and he turned to you. So did his gun. Spencer only just pulled you back behind the desk in time before another round of gunfire started up, this time directed at you. You crouched beside Spencer, eyes screwed shut as you clung to each other.

The gunfire stopped abruptly with a shout, but neither of you moved. Spencer’s arms were wrapped all the way around you, head on top of yours, with your hand on top of his head pulling it down as far as you could.

“You two okay?” JJ said frantically as she rounded the desk and rested a hand on each of your shoulders. You finally let up your embrace, checking each other over with military precision. No injuries.

“We’re good. Everyone else?”

“All fine,” JJ said through a sigh, helping you up with two hands and a squeeze to your right, “Morgan and I returned from our interviews just as Hotch was talking the guy down, and when he turned on you guys, we got our opportunity to bust in and wrestle the detonator from him.”

“Pretty badass, JJ,” you smirked at her, pushing at her shoulder and she shook her head at you, trying not to smile. She was off to check on Morgan without another word, who was already working with the bomb squad to take care of the bomb, but by the way he was laughing a little with one of the guys you guessed this must be a pretty easy one to sort out. Hotch had Clive cuffed and was taking him away. Rossi and Emily must still be out at the M.E. and you were glad they’d managed to avoid this.

Spencer beside you seemed to be surveying the scene as you were, but his hand was rubbing his shoulder with a grimace. Your eyes narrowed.

“Turn around, Spence,” you ordered him suddenly and he looked at you surprised, but turned around anyway. Your soft little gasp couldn’t be contained. There was a bullet lodged in his vest, just above his shoulder blade, “Oh fuck, get this off, Spence, get it off.”

You were quick to unstrap it, although still careful even if you were hardly thinking straight. When you finally lifted it from his head and stared at the spot where the bullet had been, there was no mark. No blood. You let out an uneven breath. There would be bruising, no doubt, but the vest had done its job.

“You know, I think I would’ve know if I’d been shot,” he said, slightly teasing despite the fact you had tears in your eyes, “And taking my vest off would’ve been the least helpful thing to do if I had, too.”

You were looking at your feet. Spencer winced. He had no idea you were actually that worried, but he could see you biting your lip and changed his course immediately.

“Shit, sorry,” you mumbled, but he was already scooping you into his arms and holding you tight, allowing you to cry, if only just a little bit. You hadn’t slept, no one had, so you figured you could get away with it this once.

“We’re alright, angel,” he whispered reassuringly, rubbing your back, your hair with insistent hands, “Everything’s alright, it’s done. We can go home.”

There was an extra little whimper at the mention of home, but also a resolve. You pulled away from him, wiping your face roughly until any trace of tears had vanished. He tilted his head as he looked at you.

“Sorry,” you said sheepishly, a small smile, “Just love you a bit, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. Love you a bit, too.”

He pulled you in by the back of your neck, gentle, a kiss placed to your temple and then another for luck. When he pulled away, you gave him another look and a ‘just gimme a second’, before disappearing away to the precinct’s bathroom. He figured you might have a few tears to cry in private, and while it made his heart ache, he understood. He might have some to cry later too, when the shock wore off and he was left with the ‘what if’s.

“You okay, kid?” Rossi was the one to come over next, even though Spencer had no idea he and Emily had made it back, “Made it out unscathed.”

“Almost,” Spencer was rubbing his shoulder again, because it actually really hurt and so had hugging you, but that didn’t matter. He saw the worry on Dave’s face, “It’ll just be a bruise. Don’t tell Y/N I complained about it.”

“Don’t want her to think you’re weak?” Rossi said jokingly and Spencer barked out a laugh.

“You and I both know I just don’t want her to treat me like a piece of glass for a month,” he said with a small groan, “You remember when I was shot in the knee right?”

“I do. Maybe she was a little over the top,” Rossi agreed, with Spencer nodding along. It had made him love you more than ever, but it had also been beyond frustrating, “She’s pretty enamoured with you, huh?”

Spencer paused for a second, looking over to the bathroom to make sure you hadn’t returned.

“No one’s more surprised about that fact than me, Rossi.”

“I’m not surprised. What surprises me, is that you haven’t put that ring on her yet.”

Spencer sighed. And it returned.

“Look-”

“I’m not having a go, kid. I’m just saying I think you should go for it. And I don’t think that woman-” he pointed discreetly towards the bathroom as you emerged, eyes puffier than they had been, “-is going to care how you do it. The woman who’s currently beside herself over your wellbeing even though you didn’t even get shot, is just going to be over the moon that she gets to marry you. Trust me.”

The pep talk had tears in Spencer’s eyes again. He kept his gaze on you as you walked over to Emily for a hug and the two of you talked. Rossi had said everything he needed to hear. He turned to the man with a grateful smile.

“Thanks Rossi. Seriously.”

He began to march towards you, even though the ring was in his satchel in the conference room, ready to confess every bit of how much he loved you. Ready to ask you to marry him right the fuck now, because no other time would be soon enough.

A hand on the back of his shirt pulled him backwards with force enough to make him stumble.

“Christ, Reid, I didn’t mean right now! We’re in a dirty police precinct, dumbass.”

“But you just said-”

“Yeah, I know what I said. But not here.”

Spencer frowned as Rossi walked off, shaking his head. At the back of his mind, he wondered whether this would count as his fifth proposal attempt gone wrong, or if he was only on his fourth.

Either way, he was turning out to be shockingly bad at this.

---

taglist (ily all <3)

@mrs-dr-reid @soda610 @alexxcorona113 @thupidalethea @may-beforejune-afterapril @ilovesupersoldiers @hurricanejjareau @stardream14 @mortallythoughtfulgurl @aperrywilliams @saranyx @anotherspencerreidblog @thegayestdestielshipper @burkgolden @reidsmyhusband-emilysmymistress @zozoleesi @baumindss @sargent-barnes @halseysunset

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

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riversofmars · 3 years

Text

Hello Fam! Time for another update on this epic, we're heading for a big confrontation!! Thank you everyone so much for your lovely comments <3 Enjoy!

Chapter 10: Familiar Faces

Edinburgh, 2021

“He’s due to give an address right now, should finish soon.“ Jack explained as they walked up to the convention centre.

“Let’s hope it goes differently to the last one…“ Ryan winced at the memory of it. They had very nearly all been turned into braindead data storage.

“Martha and Gwen will be in the auditorium, Mickey and I will stay outside, we've got you backstage passes.“ He handed them lanyards with laminated passes. They would get them through some doors, though perhaps not all of them. “You approach him after the speech, push his buttons.“

“That should not be difficult.“ Graham said, which was a fair assumption. They had no way of knowing how he would respond to seeing them again but it wouldn’t be pleasant. They had been surprised to find he was even still giving speeches. His spin doctors had had a tough time explaining everything away as a media stunt but that was a while ago now, and VOR still held a ridiculous amount of power in the world.

“We got you covered.“ Jack reassured them. “Just stay in contact.“ He tapped his ear to remind them of the surveillance equipment they were wearing.

“He’s just wrapping up, better get in here.“ Gwen’s voice came over the radio and they nodded.

“Let’s do this.“ Graham agreed and Ryan answered Gwen:

“We’re on our way.“

“Good men!“ Jack grinned. “We will make Torchwood agents of you yet!“

——

Demon’s Run, 52nd Century

“Keep running scans.“ Vastra advised Dorium over the intercom as they made their way to the airlock one deck below the bridge. They had found a good spot underneath the asteroid, where they could access a seemingly empty section of the space station.

“They haven’t detected us yet, no life signs anywhere nearby.“ Dorium reported. He had remained back on the bridge and Yaz couldn’t be persuaded to stay behind this time around. There would be no need to operate a teleport so Vastra’s excuses didn’t work. She had given in eventually.

“Mr. Strax, if you please.“ Vastra nodded towards the airlock as the others kept back.

“With pleasure.“ Strax grinned and engaged his helmet. He stepped on the other side of the heavy door and the airlock closed. It was hard to make out what was happening through the small window in the door but they gathered around to watch their friend. Strax attached himself to a tether so he wouldn’t be dragged into space as the airlock opened into space on the other side. He leaned out and with two precise shots of his rifle he took out the force field generators that powered the shields in this section. There was a gap between the ship and the space station as there was no docking bay on the other side but they had no need for it. Not when Strax threw a small grenade across the distance to the metal hull of the space station. The explosion wasn’t particularly loud as it wasn’t about the force of it, but it was big enough to douse the area in powerful acid. Strax gave them a thumbs up, and Vastra and Jenny returned the gesture.

“He’s not been as happy as this in months.“ Jenny observed with a chuckle as they watched Strax wheel out an air corridor towards the hull breach on the other side.

“Very efficient.“ Yaz commented, impressed at the effectiveness of the plan. She could only assume that this was something Sontarans were very good at.

“I have no idea what we’re going to find when we get onto that space station.“ Vastra turned to Yaz, making sure she understood what she was letting herself in for. She would much rather she stayed behind but Yaz wasn’t having it.

“Hopefully we will find the Thirteen and work out what they’re up to and save the Professor. Easy, right?“ Yaz asked and checked the charge pack on the blaster Strax has supplied her with.

“Sounds about right.“ Jenny smiled and looked to her wife with a proud smile, Yaz had certainly found a firm place amongst them.

“Keep your guard up, don’t do anything stupid, we can’t take any risks with the professor’s consciousness at stake.“ Vastra implored them as she placed her hand on the hilt of her sword. The airlock opened, safe to cross, as Strax waited for them on the other side, rifle at the ready.

——

Edinburgh, 2021

“Sorry, we’re looking for Mr. Barton, he should have finished his address by now?“ Ryan stepped up to a porter, flashing his ID.

“Backstage area is through there.“ The young man gestured to a door at the far side of the room. “I’m not sure he’s keen on visitors though…“ He frowned.

“He’ll make an exception for us, old friends.“ Graham smiled and before the porter could protest, they marched to the door.

“We’re backstage.“ Ryan informed the others on the radio as they made their way through a long corridor, the hustle and bustle of the main area falling away.

“Here we go…“ Graham elbowed his grandson, spotting Barton up ahead. “Mr. Barton!“ He called out, and they picked up the pace before he could disappear into a dressing room.

“Oh no…“ Barton recognised them immediately.

“Long time no see. Sorry, didn’t catch the speech, fascinating I’m sure.“ Graham said a little out of breath as they came to a halt in front of him, baring his way.

“Who let you in here?“ Barton asked curtly, then called: “SECURITY!“

“Nah, we got backstage passes, mate, it’s all good.“ Ryan grinned holding up his lanyard. “Surprised they’re letting you out in public again after what happened last time.“

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.“ Barton tried to push past them but they wouldn’t let him.

“Sure you do.“ Graham said. “What have you been up to lately? 'Cause there’s some really weird stuff going on, people being experimented upon, people dying? Sound like someone you know?“

“SECURITY?“ Barton called again and this time two burly looking men came stalking down the corridor. “Get these men out of here.“ The VOR founder gestured to them.

“Sorry, actually, we’re Scotland Yard.“ Ryan announced and pulled his psychic paper from his pocket, flicking it at the security officers as he’d seen the Doctor do so often. “This is a homicide investigation.“

“You’re not Scotland Yard, you’re…“ Barton started to protest but Graham held his psychic paper out to him in turn.

“Check the paper, Mate.“ He grinned and the security officers kept their distance, unsure of what to do.

“Fine, I’ll be going then.“ Barton snapped. “Have my car brought around!“ He shouted to the security guards and started back in the direction he’d come from. His men hurried after him.

“He’s on his way out.“ Ryan tapped his ear to give the other’s the heads up. “We will have a look around his dressing room.“

“Well done, we got it from here.“ Jack’s voice came through the radio, and Ryan and Graham high-fived before walking into the dressing room.

——

Demon’s Run, 52nd Century

“This way.“ Jenny indicated for them to turn right. She was holding a scanner, charting the way up ahead.

“It’s eerily quiet…“ Yaz observed looking around. They hadn’t encountered anyone yet.

“This place is big, fifty people would barely fill a deck…“ Vastra mused but she had to agree, she didn’t like the quiet either.

“They seem to be gathered on the main deck…“ Jenny explained, interpreting the scanner readings.

“Then that’s where we’re heading.“ Vastra decided. It was their best bet.

“Right into the lion’s mouth for glorious battle.“ Strax sounded extremely pleased with the course of action.

“It’s our best chance of finding the Thirteen and in turn, Professor Song…“ Vastra explained upon seeing Yaz’s doubtful expression.

“Do you not think it’s strange?“ Yaz asked as it wasn’t the direction she was unsure about.

“What is?“ Jenny retorted.

“That no-one had noticed us yet…“ Yaz looked around the empty corridors. “I mean, I know this place is big but Strax knocked through their shields… punched a hole in their wall… loss of air pressure, surely they should have had alarms for those things…“ She carried on explaining, and none of them could argue.

“The lad is right, it’s too easy.“ Strax grinned excited at the prospect of a dangerous situation.

“All we can do is be on guard, we will have to face them eventually, whether it’s with the element of surprise or not.“ Vastra decided that it was too late to worry about it now. They were all more than capable of defending themselves, they would be fine. “Now, which way to the main deck?“

——

Glasgow, 2021

“His car is being brought around.“ Jack’s voice filled the Torchwood Two hub where Kate and the Osgoods were watching a video feed of what Jack and Mickey were seeing. “He’s taking off…“ Jack carried on and they watched Barton head towards a black car. “And he’s making a phone call!“

“See if you can get a trace on that call.“ Kate turned to the Osgoods who were already working the controls. One was zooming in on Barton while the other attempted to hack the phone call.

“Yes, Ma’am.“ They retorted in unison and there was a crackling noise until finally Barton’s voice echoed through the hub:

“I thought you said there was no way of things getting back to me.“ Barton was growling while slamming the door shut on his car.

“What are you talking about, Mr. Barton.“ The voice on the other end of the call was male, and none of them recognised them.

“The Doctor! Her friends are here, asking all sorts of questions. Now, I have no idea what exactly you’re doing and frankly I don’t want to know. Plausible deniability, do you even know what that is?“ Barton barked, clearly unsettled. They had done a good job of rattling him. “Do not contact me until you have results. You have your resources, the facilities, everything else is up to you!“

“Get a tracker on that car!“ Kate instructed quickly as the car started up and Mickey was quick to shoot a transponder to the back of it as it was driving off.

“What did they say?“ The voice of Barton’s contact was still loud and clear in the Torchwood hub.

“What?“ Barton snapped back.

“The Doctor’s friends, what did they say?“ The other man pressed on.

“They know about the experiments.“ Barton growled, his voice low and angry.

“Is that all?“

“I didn't exactly stop to chat.“ Barton sounded exasperated now. “Don’t contact me until you’re ready.“ The call ended abruptly without another response from the other side.

——

Demon’s Run, 52nd Century

“What’s that noise?“ Strax stopped dead in his tracks and the others halted as well, nearly running into him.

“Oh yeah, I can hear it, too.“ Jenny agreed listening out. There was a faint clicking noise, like bottle caps being opened somewhere far off.

“Let’s move along, I don’t have a good feeling about this…“ Vastra urged them on, looking up and down the corridor. Something wasn’t right. There was a change in the air, it suddenly grew stale and heavy. “The air circulation…“ Vastra realised what it was and glanced anxiously ahead to the end of the corridor where a large bulkhead was just rolling shut.

“What’s happening?“ Yaz asked, unsettled by the sudden stillness around them.

“Run. To the bulkhead, we need to open it up!“ Vastra exclaimed, they didn’t have a moment to lose and without questions that would have delayed them, they sprinted forward. An ear piercing alarm sounded and emergency lights started flashing along their way.

“Evacuate this section, the deck will be vented in t-minus two minutes.“ A computer voice announced across the intercom.

“The bulkhead is sealed shut.“ Jenny announced and Strax took a couple of shots at it for good measure. It didn’t budge.

“What’s happening?“ Yaz asked.

“They’re about to vent this entire section into space.“ Vastra explained quickly. “We need to get out of here, otherwise we will be sucked into the vacuum.“

“Well, well, well, what have we here, uninvited guests.“ A voice boomed over the intercom.

“I know that voice…“ Yaz breathed in disbelief, shuddering involuntarily. They all looked around. Yaz was first to spot the camera directed at the bulkhead they were standing in front of.

“The Doctor’s merry men, I presume? Or merry women? He does like to surround himself with the fairer sex, doesn’t he. No, offence, Sontaran.“ The voice carried on with some amusement. “Is he here, too? Oh I really hope he is…“

“It’s the Master.“ Yaz exclaimed, shaking off the initial shock.

“What?“ Vastra frowned as they all looked to Yaz in surprise. The Master was the last person they would have expected to find here. They had presumed him to be on Gallifrey still. Perhaps Dorium’s memory of who had saved him from the Transept had been correct and it had been the Master after all.

“I’d know that voice anywhere, it’s him alright!“ Yaz squared her jaw.

“Is he working with the Thirteen?“ Jenny asked and Vastra replied:

“Wouldn’t surprise me.“

“Now, would you stop talking, that’s just plain rude! Did you really think you could break in and no-one would notice you?“ The voice boomed across the speakers again, he seemed to be able to hear them.

“Kill them now! I want to see them floating through the airlock.“ There was another voice too.

“Patience, the countdown is so much more dramatic. Also, I have questions! How did you find us? Why are you here? And where is the Doctor?“ The first voice carried on.

“The Doctor knows we’re here!“ Yaz exclaimed. It was a bluff of course but perhaps it would make him think twice about killing them.

“Release Professor Song to us!“ Vastra demanded turning glaring at the surveillance camera to whoever was sitting on the other side of it.

“The only thing I’m going to release is you… into space.“ The voice snickered in amusement.

“Ma’am.“ Jenny mumbled, catching her wife’s attention and Vastra looked around, following her wife’s eyes to a maintenance panel on the wall. Yaz noticed it too and without a moment’s hesitation, she raised her gun and shot the surveillance camera above their heads.

“Now that’s not very nice of you!“ The voice snarled.

“Quickly now!“ Vastra urged and Jenny quickly pushed her sword behind the panelling to wedge it open.

“Whatever you’re planning, it won’t work!“ The voice carried on. “You will be dead in a few minutes!“

“Get in!“ Vastra gave her wife a leg up to the maintenance shaft. Strax refused her help and launched himself up with surprising force, nearly getting stuck in the small shaft but Yaz, who followed after, pushed him on.

“Fine, let’s get this over with, if you’re not going to play…“ The air was sucked out of the corridor and Vastra gasped, grabbing hold of the edge of the shaft as the force of the outside vacuum tried to rip her away. Yaz was quick to grab her arms and pull her inside as the air continued to get sucked out. Vastra turned quickly and closed the panel, keeping the vacuum at bay for the time being.

“That was close…“ Yaz leaned against the side of the shaft to catch her breath. It was wide enough to move around in and turn but only if they stayed crouched down.

“We have to be careful now that they know we’re here. We have to find the Professor and quickly.“ Vastra said as they climbed along the shaft. “Chances are, the Thirteen will have the data stick, or whatever he’s using to store her consciousness, with him…“

“You’re sure that was the Master, Yaz?“ Jenny asked, looking behind herself to make sure the others were close behind.

“I’d know that voice anywhere.“ Yaz nodded.

“Then we are facing even greater odds than anticipated.“ Vastra mused, concerned. Perhaps they were out of their depth without the Doctor with them, particularly now that they had lost the element of surprise.

“It will be a glorious battle. I’ve not had as much fun as this in years!“ Strax didn’t seem to mind at all and Yaz nearly bumped into him when he stopped crawling as Jenny had done up ahead.

“Which way?“ Jenny asked, as the shaft split in two directions.

“We ought to split up, cover more ground. We will be harder to track that way as well.“ Vastra said after brief consideration. “Jenny, you and Strax go left, Yaz and I will go right.“ She decided.

“Are you sure about that?“ Jenny asked, sounding insecure for a moment as Strax moved to her side and allowed Yaz and Vastra to pass through to the right.

“It will be fine, my love.“ Vastra gave her wife a soft smile and reached for her hand. “We will rendezvous back at the ship. If you run into trouble, just get back there.“ She leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

“Okay.“ Jenny smiled, gathering her courage. “Be careful.“ She gave her wife a stern look, and Vastra nodded.

“Come on, lad!“ Strax called out, already halfway down the left hand shaft.

“Look after her, Strax.“ Vastra called after him and got a “Yes Ma’am…“ for an answer.

“More like, I look after him.“ Jenny chuckled. “You be careful too, both of you.

——

Demon’s Run Holding Cells, 52nd Century

“The Doctor’s merry men, I presume? Or merry women? He does like to surround himself with the fairer sex, doesn’t he. No, offence, Sontaran.“ The Thirteen’s voice carried through all of Demon’s Run, echoing through empty corridors and to the cell River was being held in. “Is he here too? Oh I really hope he is…“

River tried her best to stay calm, not get her hopes up but there were only so many people she could think of that would steal aboard Demon’s Run with a Sontaran in tow. Someone had noticed that she had been taken from the Library, and they were coming for her, they had to be. He had to be.

“I wouldn't get my hopes up. We’re just venting the entire section into space.“ Kovarian snarled, stepping up to the forcefield that kept them separate.

River hugged her son to her chest, running her fingers through his short fluffy curls that had grown a little longer since she had last seen him. They must have taken him maybe a couple of weeks after she had dropped him off at Paternoster Row, and now it seemed her dear friends had come to their rescue.

“Do you think Daddy might be coming to get us out of here?“ She hummed to the infant and pressed a kiss to his head. “He’s going to be terribly cross when he finds out about you… but not as cross as he’s going to be with them .“

“The Doctor isn’t here.“ Kovarian retorted and River gave her a condescending smile.

“As far as you know.“ She retorted, returning her attention to her son. She had missed him so much. She had had no idea of the danger he had been in, but for now, she was just grateful to have him back in her arms. Her time in the Library had felt like an eternity and she had missed him every second of it.

Kovarian turned away from the cell and pressed her hand to her ear, seemingly receiving a message.

“I’m on my way.“ She announced and turned back to River. “Don’t go anywhere, Melody, dear. Not that you could.“ She snarled and River smirked.

“Better run and hide, Madame Kovarian. A storm is coming for you.“ River stepped up close to the forcefield, regarding the other woman with nothing but distaste and pity. “There are no Gods, no force in the universe, that will save you when my husband finds out what you’ve done.“

Kovarian lingered for a moment, seemingly considering her response. River was sure there was a little bit of something in her eye, the one without the eye drive anyway. Something akin to a flicker of fear. Kovarian turned and marched away without another word before River had the chance to point it out.

“Right then, dear, time for mummy to get to work.“ River hummed when Kovarian had departed and she walked up to where the control panel for the force field was. “Your daddy is good but so am I, let’s make our own way…“

——

Demon’s Run Main Hanger, 52nd Century

“Ah, there we are…“ The Master stepped out of the TARDIS first upon the Doctor’s request, just in case he was taking them somewhere dangerous on purpose. He knocked against a large computer console and the Doctor realised immediately that it was a TARDIS with a functioning chameleon circuit.

“I know this place…“ The Doctor realised as she looked away from the TARDIS at the surrounding area and a feeling of overwhelming dread took hold of her.

“Oh?“ The Master looked around as well but waited for her explanation.

“This is Demon’s Run.“ The Doctor said and she was sure of it. The battle of Demon’s Run still stuck in her bones despite numerous regenerations.

“Oh I see, I’ve never been but I heard it was quite the party.“ The Master pushed his hands into his pockets as he had a look around. “Where is everyone?“ He asked, then called: “HELLO! ANYONE HOME?“

“Will you shut up?!“ The Doctor slapped her hand to his mouth, shutting him up. “We have the element of surprise here!“

“You really don’t, you know.“ A voice called from the other end of the hanger.

“What…“ The Doctor was at a loss for words. She looked to the Master next to her, then back to the person advancing towards them. Same frame, same dark hair, same face. They even wore the same purple suit.

“Now this is a surprise.“ The other man grinned, proving that their voice was the same too.

“Maybe you were right, Doctor, maybe I’m not as innocent as I anticipated.“ The Master hummed, sounding intrigued as he sized up the man in front of them who, for all intents and purposes, appeared to be him. “Now, my loyalties might get a little… conflicted.“

The same mad smirk played on both their faces as the Doctor stood stunned, looking in between the two Masters.

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mshermia · 3 years

Text

Occupational Hazard - Webpril 04: Stuck Under A Building

summary: Peter helps out Doctor Strange. As they chase down Karl Mordo, Peter gets lost in one of the portal.

Or: Tony is furious with Strange for losing his kid and furious with his kid for getting lost.

read on AO3

###

Magic sucked.

Peter was 100% clear on that now. No matter how cool it had seemed before, he'd been wrong. Now, he knew better. Magic sucked, especially when the other side could do magic too.

"Shit," he panted, dodging an explosion on his side, bricks catapulted in his very direction before he spun around, shooting a couple of webs up to the ceiling. "Doctor Wizard? A little help?" he called out a bit louder.

Orange sparks opened up a portal in the very direction he was swinging, transporting him right to a spot behind the evil wizard dude. With as much momentum as Peter could generate, he shot towards the guy, feet first, and hit him squarely between the shoulders.

With a grunt, Voldemort crashed to the ground.

Not that that was his name, but Peter had no idea what the dude was called. His nose looked too normal for it to actually be Voldemort, plus Voldemort was a fictional character, but then, until not too recently, Peter had thought that magic wasn't real either and now look at him. He was practically jumping from one continent to the next as their chase of the evil wizard dude took them through portal after portal.

"On your right," Strange called out.

Just in time, Peter did a backflip, effectively avoiding a magical rope that had been heading for him. His feet had barely touched the ground when he fired another series of webs to catch the evil bastard. Just like before, he aimed for the portal that Strange had opened up for him to jump through, but unlike last time, he didn't end up jumping the main dude. What had looked like the dude suddenly shifted, Peter's senses screaming at him.

In a last-minute effort, Peter balled himself up, shooting a string of webs to his left trying to pull himself away from the blast.

Tony's feet landed on the sidewalk with a heavy clunk, splitting the stone plate underneath him in two, but he didn't give a fuck. He didn't give a fuck about the people who had pulled out their cell phones and filmed his landing either. With fast long strides, Tony pushed himself to hurry up the stairs of 177A Bleeker Street.

"Subtle as always," Strange mumbled under his breath as Tony pushed the doors open to his study.

"If you know what's good for you, you better not try to fuck with me right now, Strange," Tony growled. "Where the fuck is my Spider-kid?"

Strange was staring at a glowing ball of orange energy, hovering in the middle of the room. It was turning quickly, his eyes darting back and forth across the surface. "I told you. That's what I'm trying to figure out."

Tony's hands were pressed flat against his thighs to keep them from shaking. "I tweaked every system to find the suit but it's dead. None of the trackers, nothing works. I didn't even get a beacon."

"Yeah, I thought as much," Strange mumbled. "The spell acts like an electromagnetic pulse, resulting in a complete failure of any electronic appliances in its immediate vicinity."

"I know what an EPM is, jackass," Tony hissed. "What I want to know is where Peter is!"

"Well, if you'd let me work—"

"Just give me an estimate where I should be looking," Tony interjected.

Strange shook his head. "I can't. He can be anywhere."

Tony's stomach turned. He had to hold onto the table in front of him, feeling a little faint. "A-anywhere? How do you not know where he is?!"

"I can't control Mordo, Stark. That was the whole point of the mission."

With three long steps, Tony was next Strange. His hands tangled in his wizard tunic, Tony pushed him to the side, away from the spinning ball, shaking him. "And you think you could pull my kid in there?"

Before Tony knew what was happening, he was halfway across the room. Strange's rug was wrapped around his middle, pinning him against the wall.

"If you want me to find him, you'll have to let me work."

His tone was calm, lecturing. It made Tony's blood boil.

"Just..." Strange blew out a sigh. "Whatever you can think of to pin down Peter's location or... I guess any tech he has on him. Anything to narrow it down on your end. Do that."

As the rug let go of him, Tony's anger was quickly fading, replaced by dread. "What... what happened out there?"

"Mordo tricked him. He pulled open a portal that Peter must have thought was mine." Strange shook his head. "Peter was too fast. I couldn't stop him in time before the portal closed and the spell Mordo threw after him, it would have decimated anything in close proximity."

A cold chill went down Tony's back, threatening to bring him to his knees. "He's still... he's still here, right," Tony breathed.

Strange pursed his lips. "I think so but we need to find him, Tony," he pressed out. "We need to find him fast."

His mind was racing, hands shaking, as Tony sat on the thick carpet of the Sanctum floor. He had detached the control unit from his prosthetic arm and placed it in front of him on the ground. With the trackers of the suit silent, there was only one thing that might lead them to the kid. The signature vibration of the nanites Peter's suit was made of.

In 2024, Tony was not the only one who worked with nanobots, not anymore, but it was the only way he might be able to limit the scope of the search. Reading out their radiation, then eliminating everything that couldn't be Peter.

"872 locations detected, boss."

"Alright," Tony mumbled. "Let's start with the obvious ones."

He was quick to cross off every one of his own and SI's locations and research facilities. Then followed competing tech companies, car manufacturers, larger government facilities for technology and space, universities, and military facilities.

"Alright, girl, let's..." Tony he heart stuttered in his chest. There were still so many locations left. There was no way to eliminate enough of them. No way to know which one of them was Peter. There had to be something he could do to distinguish the amount of— Tony froze. He was such an idiot. "FRIDAY, calculate the exact signal strength that the amount of nanites stored in Peter's housing units would emanate. Reckon in buffered transmission."

His heart was racing as he watched the numbers roll on the projection until FRIDAY's process reached 100%, rendering every highlighted location on the map red, with four exception.

"Strange!"

He was by Tony's side before Tony had even made it back to his feet. "Brazil, Mexico, China, and—" Strange hesitated, gritting his teeth. "Fucking asshole," he mumbled. "Be ready, Stark. There'll be debris."

With a circular gesture of his hand, Strange opened a portal right in the middle of the room. Just in time, Tony had engaged the nanites on his arm as pieces of brick and concrete came crumbling through the portal onto the carpet.

"Shit," Tony cursed.

Quickly, he directed nanites to catch the falling bricks, then stabilize the pile that threatened to crumble even further into itself. His own hands were shaking, trying to hold up piece of wall.

"Pete," Tony yelled. "Peter!"

Strange's hands were gesturing wildly, swiping away the remnants of the fallen building, replacing them with orange glowing barriers on both sides and above him. Finally, among all the grey powder of crushed cement and stone, Tony saw something flash that resembled the blue and red of Peter's suit.

"He's right there!" Tony wanted to scream it but his voice broke.

Peter didn't move at all. He was hardly distinguishable from his surroundings. His face was covered in a thick coat of grey, dark lines running from his eyes along his face down to his neck, smudge trails of tears or... Tony pressed his lips shut, to keep the sob to himself. Tears of blood.

With practiced precision, Strange opened another portal. It moved with his hands, covering Peter entirely till he was simply gone.

The breath in Tony's throat threatened to choke him. "What... Where—"

Just as quickly, Strange had moved back into the room, debris, and bricks collapsing behind him. The portal hadn't even closed, allowing dust and pieces of the building to crumble further onto the carpet when Strange opened a second portal.

"The Compound," he said calmly. "Go on."

There was something warm on his face. Warm light. It didn't quite feel like home, but it felt like comfort. His mind felt a bit fuzzy but that was okay. Things around him were soft and cushy. Safe.

"Come on, sleepyhead. Come on back to me."

A chill went down his back, tingling along his arms into the very tip of his fingers. He knew that voice. That voice was home.

"Petey-pie, I waited long enough. I can see your face twitching."

He did? Peter tried to think, tried to remember what was going on, but then cringed at the throbbing pain in his skull. It was like someone had spent a night tap-dancing on his forehead. Slowly, he blinked his eyes open, a little at first, then a bit more. The very first thing he saw was Tony, sitting in a chair just next to his bed.

"Impeccable timing as always, kid." He leaned closer, his warm hand squeezing Peter's lower arm. "Pepper just made May get something to eat. She will be pissed."

Peter frowned. A blinding pain pierced his head at the motion. His hand shot up, pressing against his head, hoping that might stop the throbbing pain.

"You... you told May?" That wasn't their deal. The deal was not to worry May unless absolutely necessary.

"As opposed to what, hide you for a week?" Tony took a hold of his wrist and dragged it away from his forehead. Instead, he placed his own fingers on Peter's temple and rubbed soft circles into his skin.

Peter groaned at the sensation of the pain dispersing before he remembered what Tony had just said.

"A week?" He tried to get some weight on his arms, to sit up but everything was a little numb and there was something on his chest weighing him down.

"Hey, take it easy..." Tony's hand moved to his shoulder, pushing him back into the bed. "Here, drink some of that."

He angled a straw at Peter's mouth, but as his lips closed around it, Peter flinched back, then prodded the spot with his tongue. There was a large split on his lower lip.

"Yeah, you got banged up pretty good out there. Careful now." Tony moved the water a little closer, mindful to angle the straw away from Peter's injury. "There you go..."

Tony's own lips were pressed flat, non of the signature sparkle in his eyes.

"I've been here a week?"

"No..." Tony's features softened just slightly, one hand moving Peter's hair out of his face so he could place a hand on his forehead. "You'll need some time to heal though."

Peter grunted at that.

"How's the pain?"

The question was friendly enough but he knew Tony. He had probably been sitting there, thinking of what to ask Peter for a long time. Likely all night and most of the day.

"How much pain meds did they already give me?"

One of Tony's eyebrows twitched. "I asked you first."

They had given him a lot then. Possibly more than Tony left was good for him. Maybe that's why he had slept so long.

"I'm good," Peter mumbled. "Maybe... a 5..."

Tony's mouth twitched before he pressed his lips together a little firmer.

"Or maybe... maybe a 4?" Peter added hastily.

Irritation non-withstanding, the lines on Tony's face went a little softer. "I didn't ask you what you think I want to hear, buddy."

"I'm good. I'm fine," Peter mumbled again.

To prove his point, he tried to shuffle up the bed a bit once again, tried to sit up, but something was wearing him down. This time, he had the presence of mind to check and found a curled-up Morgan Stark lying on top of his covers. Like a reflex, his hand shot towards her, the brown hair silky soft under his fingers.

"She assured May that she's going to make sure you're fine while she gets something to eat."

"How long... how long was I out for?"

"Well, it's almost 5 pm now, so that'd be about 15 hours."

Slowly, he took his eyes off Morgan and turned them on Tony instead. "What... what happened?"

The crease between Tony's eyebrows deepened. "How much do you remember?"

In thought, Peter bit his lip, then flinched as the cut right in the middle of it split open once again, filling with mouth with the taste of iron.

"Jeezes, kid... Can you please just—" Tony pressed his lips shut with a huff, his tone far from relaxed. "Here, take this."

He pressed a tissue into Peter's hand, eyes never straying from his face. Peter didn't bother to hide his discomfort this time, dabbing at his lip, trying to remember.

"Strange need help and..." Memories flash in front of his eyes. Portals. The evil wizard. Then everything went black. "Strange... he okay?"

Tony's eyes hardened pressing his hand and tissue back against his Peter's. "Alright, I want you to forget that you ever even heard that name."

"Come on..." he mumbled.

"I mean it. This... all this magical bullshit. This is not for you. Not your pay grade. Next time the wizard comes knocking, you punch him in the face."

"Tony... don't be like that." Peter's other hand was still in Morgan's hair, absentmindedly, coming through it, as he stared into space, wrecking his mind for what had gone wrong. "We were chasing this evil dude and we did the thing we did when... you know..." Peter swallowed hard. "With the Guardians. So I was jumping him, trying to pin the evil wizard guy and web him up and but then..." Peter stopped himself just in time before he bit down on his lip again. "Something happened... I don't..."

"Well, the evil dude can do portals too."

"Oh..." Peter blinked a few times, not sure what to make of it.

"So you jumped through one of his instead of Strange's, then he sent some kind of detonation spell after you, closed the portal, and left you there."

"Oh," Peter said again.

Tony crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. "Yeah, oh..."

"Where was I?"

"Harlem."

Peter gave his head a tiny shake. "Harlem?"

"Yeah. Harlem." Tony's fingers drummed against the bed frame. "Apparently, the asshole sent you to a basement of a block the city has started demolishing this week."

"Oh..." A sudden snort rolled off his tongue, much to Tony's clear annoyance. "Sorry, it's just... Mount Morris Park, right? The Historic District? I was there, last week at a protest with MJ. Should have made more signs maybe?"

The expression on Tony's face looked pained, obviously not appreciating the irony. "Well, I guess You-Know-Who knew about it too."

Peter's lips stretched into a smile, that made his lip sting. "It's fine, Tony. You can say his name."

With a shake of his head, Tony rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. "Either way, the spell he sent after you blasted out enough of the interior that it knocked you out, it seems, and buried you there. We're lucky we found you when we did." Tony rubbed a hand across his face. "Buried under a building. Again. Only you..."

"Come on, like you never had a building drop on you. It's more of an occupational hazard..." Peter cringed at the mix of horror and despair on his face. "I'm sorry, Tony..."

Those were the magic words and they worked, 87,5% of the time, this time included.

With a sigh, Tony bent forward and pressed a kiss into his hair. "You better save those 'sorry's for your aunt, buddy."

Peter groaned. "Maybe we could just pretend I died or something?"

Tony's eyes gleamed dangerously.

"Or..." Peter quickly added, cheeks heating up. He tried to think but with no luck.

"If you want to be all grown up and jump into trouble like that, you'll have to be grown up enough to stick it out at home, Pete." Tony ruffled his hair, eyes flickering up to the ceiling. "FRI, let May know he's up and talking."

Silently resigning to his fate, Peter handed over the blood soak tissue for Tony to bin, bracing himself for the agony of pampering, kisses, and scolding he would be in for for the foreseeable future.

#webpril 2021 day 4 #hurt/comfort #peter parker fic #tony stark lives #tony stark fanfiction #irondad #IRON DAD AND SPIDER SON #iron dad fic #webpril #webpril 2021 #stephen strange #doctor strange #stuck under a building

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deathonyourtongue · 4 years

Note

Care Taking Ideas : “Person A giving person B an injection” with Henry or one of his characters sounds adventurous😂💓

Title: Evasion Word count: 1446 Warnings: Needles, tears, anxiety? It’s fluff, don’t worry.

I had to do this with Sy, ‘cause I legit could not figure out how else to work out a non-medical person giving a shot. :P Also as someone who has ZERO fear of needles of any sort (I legit ask them which arm they wanna poke if I have to get bloodwork done), I hope I did the fear of needles justice.

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You know you’re due, but you hide out in your office anyway. With all the commotion and paperwork that comes with a tour change, you hope to ride out the last day and have him forget that you’re in need of a shot.

Though you’ve got a full sleeve of tattoos and a chest piece to boot, the mere thought of getting an actual injection makes you queasy. Rolling your neck to rid yourself of the urge to throw up, you guzzle down half your beer and silently focus all your energy into willing the ‘lights out’ call to come sooner.

The door opening breaks your focus, but before you can even move to bar him, Syverson is in and has the door locked behind him. His smile makes it clear he’s up to no good, and though you can’t see a syringe in his hand, you know damn well there’s no other reason for him to be here, so close to the end of his shift.

“Evenin’, sweetheart,” he grins nervously, his eyes scanning the top of your desk for any weapons, finding none.

“I will shoot you in the face, Sy, so help me God.” He laughs, holding both hands up as though surrendering, allowing you to see the bottle of whiskey in his hand for the first time since he entered.

“Easy, doll. Just wanna enjoy a drink with the prettiest woman on base, that’s all.”

“You’re a shit liar and it’s not happening.” You answer, stonefaced as you turn up the metal you’ve been listening to try and calm your nerves.

“What, the drinking, or the fun that comes after?” He asks, taking a seat across from you and reaching to the top of your mini-fridge for two glasses. Pouring expertly, he gives you the fuller glass, making it clear he’s got ulterior motives.

You and Sy have been dating for nearly five years, maintaining the lowest of profiles solely so that you two aren’t shipped off to different corners of the world. Although drinking after lights out is routine for both of you, it’s rare that you’re doing it while still wearing your uniform; usually, you’re both naked in Sy’s room, enjoying the privacy his higher rank brings.

Taking the offered drink, you down it in one go, steeling yourself for what you know is about to happen and vowing that Sy’s not gonna get laid for a week out of spite. Sy watches you shoot the alcohol, his face a mix of sympathy and awe that you can still drink like coed despite having long passed your 20’s. Eyes locking with yours, he gives you that puppy-dog-eyed, crooked grin of his, his chin tilted down for maximum effect. Damn him and his blue eyes.

“C’mere, gorgeous.” He pats his lap and despite your better judgment, you find yourself standing and moving around the desk, pouting as you move.

Sy wraps you up in a bear hug the moment you sit down, his strong arms holding you close as he nuzzles his nose against your cheek, his way of asking for a kiss. Tipping your head down, your lips meet his with petulant reluctance, making him smile as he kisses you back fondly. When he pulls away, he’s smiling ear to ear and you can’t help but melt a little as he gazes up at you with the utmost affection. Your eyes close as his hand cups your cheek and you lean into the touch, feeling the stress of the day dissipate, forgetting the real reason he’s here for a moment.

“Watching you out there today, putting those boys in line and scaring the shit out of the ‘em, was so sexy,” he growls, and you can’t help the soft sound that escapes your lips as he kisses your neck slowly, ‘lovin’ up’ on you as he so often calls it. His lips press against yours once more before he pulls away, his eyes kind despite what you know is an impending betrayal.

“You know I love you very much, right, darlin’?” You let your head fall back while groaning, unwilling to accept that he isn’t just here for you.

“And you know I wouldn’t do this to ya if I didn’t have to, right?” Your head snaps back up and you look at him with narrowed eyes and a lifted eyebrow.

“You don’t have to do anything. You could just let Doc do it.” You counter, poking at one of his pecs accusingly.

“Yeah, well, Doc bruised you last time he gave you a shot, and you passed out and fell off the table ‘cause he didn’t believe you, so...I’m gonna be more gentle, and this time you won’t end up with a concussion. Besides, there’s a treat in it for ya if you hold still and let me do it quick.”

“That’s what she said,” you respond flatly, still not convinced. Sy chuckles, both hands moving up to roll up the sleeve opposite of him.

“Please, Sy, no. Can’t we just wait until...I don’t know, until I cut myself?”

“Out here? Absolutely not. If we were back home, maybe. But I’m not taking any chances with this stuff out here, sweetheart.” He tells you softly, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek even as he fishes the pre-filled syringe and the alcohol swab from one of the many pockets in his pants.

“Hey, look at me, mama. Deep breath.” Sy tells you seriously, his free hand framing your chin as he inhales deeply and lets it out again in a slow rhythmic pattern. Keeping your attention, his eyes never leave yours as he swabs your upper arm, forcing you to keep breathing deeply.

Tears fill your eyes as the smell of the alcohol hits your nose, and the nauseous feeling rises up again just as Sy tucks you in close. Holding your head against his chest, he covers your eyes gently with his fingers, uncapping the syringe with his mouth and quickly moving the needle out of sight. Certain you can’t see it, he wraps his free arm around you tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Hold onto me, darlin’. Squeeze tight,” he encourages, and you do as he says, crying softly into his favorite shirt, panicking.

“Deep breath. Hold it.” Sy’s voice is soft and patient, a stark contrast from how he normally speaks around others, especially new recruits.

You squeak and cry a little harder as Sy pushes the syringe into your upper arm, hitting the mark with precision and gentility. A flurry of kisses are pressed to your face as he pushes down the plunger, injecting the Tetanus compound deep into your arm. Pulling the needle out as quickly as it went in, Sy presses a fresh patch of gauze to the sight, his hand pulsing gently to ease the sting and burn of the shot.

“‘Atta girl. All done.” He murmurs, recapping the needle before shooting it and the rest of the waste into the garbage can by your desk. His face falls as he lifts your chin and sees that you’re still crying.

“Well, that just won’t do,” he whispers, more to himself than anyone else as he shifts you so that you’re facing him, Sy wrapping your legs around his waist as he stands up. You don’t hesitate to loop your arms around his neck, unable to actually be mad at him, knowing he has your best interests at heart. With one hand under you, the other runs laps up and down your back, comforting you in the best way he knows how.

Taking you back to your room, he sits down on the bed and just holds you, knowing the tears aren’t just from the shot, but from all the anxiety you’ve built up throughout the day to deal with it. Rocking gently back and forth, he lets you cry it out, knowing you need the release. His lips press kisses anywhere they can reach, and after a few moments, you settle, resting your head on his muscular shoulder, hiccuping.

You feel his smile even before you hear it in his voice, Sy’s tone warm and full of love.

“You’re adorable, y’know that? My beautiful, adorable, tough-as-nails sunflower. Relax now, mama, it’s all over.” Sighing softly, you squeeze him gently, a silent thank you for doing everything with such care and regard for your very-real fear.

“What’s my treat?” You ask after a moment, pulling back to look into those gorgeous baby blues of his. His smile turns impish and he kisses your sternum before resting his chin there.

“Gotta be naked to get it, darlin’.”

#henry cavill #captain syverson x reader #captain syverson #captain syverson fic #fic #fluff #deathonyourtongueoriginals

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maomao-words · 4 years

Text

Inspiration hit me a few days ago and all I felt like doing was write for the MLQC fandom! (=・ω・=)

So here I am! I will hopefully post some of my other writings soon too!

But for now, I hope you enjoy these (●'◡'●)ﾉ

MLQC Boys as Bodyguards: (Victor, Lucien, Kiro and Gavin)

Victor:

Weapons: A handgun equipped with a silencer and a katana which has your initials engraved on its black handle.

Background: Victor is the top ranked bodyguard known in the high society. Your family had to go through a prolonged battle of wits and money with numerous other important figures just to be able to hire Victor as your bodyguard. Dominating and commanding, Victor’s distinct aura screams authority and power for all who lay their eyes on him. Just his name is enough to deter countless of those who were planning to harm you. Those stupid enough to still risk attacking with Victor at your side simply dug their own graves and were not even able to get any information on your whereabouts, let alone spill your blood.

Fighting style: Victor does not mess around. His words are the law and the law you shall follow. He has been handed the duty of protecting you and he has no intention of wasting his time on indulging you in your risky adventures and whimsical decisions. He gets to decide everything that concerns your safety and all you have to do, in order to continue surviving, is to obey his orders. An advice? Do not attempt to rebel against him. It will only result in him convincing your father to leave you in charge of several business-related projects that will bound you to your office for no less than six months.

With his intricate network of acquaintances and allies of important and powerful figures, it is only rarely that Victor gets to fight directly in order to protect you. Victor is highly skilled in predicting threats and eliminating them before they even fully manifest. In those scarce moments where an enemy is powerful enough to get near you, Victor is considered as the last and ultimate defense line. He likes to execute his attacks silently and calmly. One shot to the heart will quickly seal the deal, save Victor’s efforts and protect you from needless scenes of blood and violence. Many enemies have mistaken the handgun as Victor’s main weapon, disregarding the katana as a mere ornament, and focused most of their manpower on disarming him. This mistake is what usually leads to their complete annihilation. Victor’s katana which he carries with him at all times is in fact his cherished lifeline as it is efficient, practical and does not run out of lethality.

Off duty: Victor’s off duty routine is not that far from his day to day habitual activities. He remains in full control of all things and does not seem to recognize the real meaning of being off the clock. The one thing that does change, however, is that Victor gets sweeter and gentler with you. If you have been an obedient master for the past few days, Victor will make sure to reward you with a taste of his cooking which you absolutely love.

With Victor at your side, just sit back and relax since danger is no longer a possible happening in your world. I do hope however that you are ready to pay the “price” of this absolute safety as Victor is not cheap by all means.

Lucien:

Weapons: A sniper rifle with a high-precision for ranged attacks and a handgun for close combat.

Background: Lucien is the bodyguard you cannot read most. At days, you even wonder whether he is really on your side or simply lurking in your shadows to eventually kill you. His eyes betray none of his thoughts and his hands, cold yet tender as they wrap around your waist to guide you through dangerous situations, seem to be always covered in blood yet somehow still feel as gentle as a feather on your skin. Lucien is a riddle that you are ready to spend your whole life solving, even if the chances of winning are close to none.

Fighting Style: Lucien mostly prefers to situate himself in the shadows of the roof a tall building and strike the enemy with one shot of his rifle from a distance. Lucien is known to dislike close combat; a fact several of your enemies sought to exploit only to discover that Lucien is as merciless with his fists as he is with his rifle. He just dislikes getting blood on his suit and would prefer to avoid that.

Mysterious and charming, you will not be able to get your eyes off of Lucien no matter how much his actions scream treason and suspicion. Because no matter how much his plots and schemes seem to be leading you to death, he will always appear at the very last second and gets you out of harm’s way, with a gorgeous smile in tow. Lucien’s existence is like a deadly poison to you, and you are just addicted to him.

Off duty: Lucien’s role in your life extends from a talented bodyguard and assassin to your own personal butler. He takes care of delivering and managing all the important papers and documents sent to you and even offers his own advice on different business-related matters. He also manages your personal schedule and private affairs, from meals and sleeping times to clothing choices and hairdresser appointments. Lucien is a highly qualified aid so do listen carefully to him. You will not regret following the plans he draw. Despite it all, however, there are also moments where Lucien seems to open up to you, moments where his eyes, usually two bottomless voids of blackness, suddenly clear up and his smile gets softer as he gazes at you cooking or playfully petting his cat. Those moments, although scarce and rare, are your most cherished possessions and you won’t exchange them for the world.

With Lucien by your side, you must get used to courting danger. Just never question why you are enjoying hell as you keep on dancing with the devil.

Kiro:

Weapons: A mini laptop and a dagger with a golden handle with your initials engraved on it. He also carries a handgun in case of emergencies.

Background: Kiro seems to be your best friend who just happens to also be your bodyguard. Right from the start, Kiro seemed to win your heart in a blink of an eye and you formed an inseparable duo ever since. Thanks to his bubbly personality and sunshine-like smile, you just can’t help but smile and giggle whenever you are around Kiro. Nevertheless, despite the numerous years you spent by his side, you are still startled by the drastic changes Kiro display when it is necessary for him to activate his bodyguard mode and discard his tender smile and gentle touches.

Fighting style: Don’t be tempted. Kiro’s lovely smile and gorgeous looks are nothing but a deadly trap for those who wish you harm. Kiro will not hesitate to use them to his benefit, attracting them before slicing their throats with a cold smile on his face. He usually takes care of all threats as soon as they start to bud and before they even reach the range of a kilometer close to you. With his trusty laptop in hand, Kiro will manipulate, hack and destroy whatever he deems dangerous. Your villa’s top notch security is also established and managed by Kiro, so rest assured, no intruder will be able to set foot into your backyard without being shot or electrified to death.

Off duty: Once his job is finished, Kiro will turn back to his sunshine self in a blink of an eye and will turn to you with his twinkling eyes and jumps on you, asking for a bear hug. Kiro’s off duty routine mostly consists in eating unhealthy snacks, watching hero movies with you and challenging you in silly video games. If the coast is safe enough for you to leave the house, Kiro will definitely accompany you to movies, to attraction parks, to zoos and to basically wherever you wish to go. If there is any sign of danger, Kiro will coop up with you at home and keep you entertained all the while keeping an eye out on you and making sure the threat that is forbidding you both from having your usual dates is dead and buried before the 12 hours mark even passes.

I hope you like sugar and fluffy sweets because that’s how life will taste like with Kiro by your side. Ah, but don’t forget! Even teddy bears have sharp claws!

Gavin:

Weapons: A handgun and a mercenary knife with a silver handle that you personally picked for him.

Background: Gavin seems as the calm, collected and detached type of bodyguard at the start. When he first started working for your family, he simply performed his duties to a perfection, protected you to the best of his abilities and then completely detached himself from you as soon as he was off duty. You initially thought that he was uninterested in building an actual relationship with you and respected the distance he drew between you. But as time went by, you discovered that, contrary to your assumptions, Gavin was just too clumsy in his attempt to get close to you and ended up cutting you off instead of bringing you to him. This awkward yet sincere confession came from a very red-faced Gavin as he lay on top of you trying to shield you from bullets. His clumsiness managed to win you heart and your relationship started to change for the better ever since.

Fighting style: Gavin is a proficient all-rounded soldier. He is perfectly capable of tracking and hunting down enemies, leading and coordinating between security teams as well as shielding and protecting allies. Gavin is sure to secure the safety of his client regardless of the threat he faces. He prefers close combat as he is highly competent in hand to hand battles as well as street brawls. He is also extremely skillful with his gun, using it mostly to secure an escape route for you in cases of ambushes and, in extreme situations, shoot down any threat on the spot. Gavin does not kill until he deems the situation necessary. He values human life and continuously encourage you not to hold grudges and not to consider the world as a mere violent and bloody realm.

Off duty: Off duty, Gavin’s more laid back and boyish charms come to the surface. He likes exercising in his free time and welcomes you with open arms if you come to him for private self-defense lessons. Gavin also enjoys playing video games with you and does not hesitate to let you win just to receive one of your hugs as a reward. When it comes to his butler skills, however, he is at the same low level of Kiro. He once attempted to bake a cake for you, ended up burning half of the kitchen’s ceiling and was banned from getting close to a stove for the rest of his life by you.

Just get used to the feeling of safety because Gavin is willing to risk his life for you. So let him spoil you.

#mlqc #mr love queen's choice #mlqc hcs #mr love victor #mr love lucien #mr love kiro #mr love gavin

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