#almost exactly on my three year anniversary of starting the first book as well!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ethanesimp · 3 years

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AMAMI PER SEMPRE // E.T.

Pairing: Ethan Torchio x Fem! Reader

Summary: Ethan isn’t the brightest—or the best—when it comes to surprises, so his attempt at proposing to you causes a few misunderstandings...

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Swearing, a tiny tiny mention of death, some angst, other than that it’s pure fluff and me projecting my obsession with old books onto the reader.

Request: Ethan planning to propose and acting super nervous and strange (a bit angsty bc the reader doesn’t know what’s happening) and ending in pure fluff.

Masterlist // Taglist link in bio

A/N: After more than a year of stepping foot into a bookstore for *cough* obvious reasons, I got to go to one yesterday. While looking at some second-hand books I had an idea that I decided to combine with @kawaiiwxnnabe’s lovely request to bring you this. I hope you enjoy! <3

Ethan had been mindlessly listening to Damiano sing Amandoti when the thought of marrying you first seriously crossed his mind. It had been a thing he’d thought of countless times ever since he started dating you, but it had never remained with as much intensity as it had that time.

Damiano, who had noticed his friend’s face illuminate all of a sudden, had a talk with him that once and for all convinced Ethan that it was the right time and you were the right person. He didn’t sleep at all that night because he couldn’t stop thinking about what would be the perfect way to propose to you. It was no secret to him—or anyone who knew you—that you were a hopeless romantic.

There was nothing that made you happier than simple and small details that came from the heart. That was the reason why you had developed an affinity towards old books. Not only did they have a particular and special scent that reminded you of vanilla and chocolate, but some had the luck—as you liked to call it—of being embellished by notes on margins or dedications on covers. Whether they were about love, sorrow, or maybe even hate, they still showed a small glimpse into the life of the person who had once owned it. Those notes told a story that would prevail even long after they were gone from the earth.

Ever since he had noticed that small obsession of yours, Ethan had tried to help you expand your treasured collection by bringing you back books he found at antique stores from every country the band played in.

During a visit to Spain after he initially had his stirring thought, Ethan took the chance to visit one of the second-hand shops he’d found during a night stroll with Victoria, who had disappeared into a bakery. His main goal was to find something different from the usual books he brought back for you.

After he walked into the store and vaguely told the old lady at the counter about his idea in the best Spanish he could muster, she smiled warmly at him and guided him to the very back of the tiny shop where a beautiful and worn out bookshelf sat in all its glory, filled with as many books as it could hold.

He immediately started searching around for the perfect book, but it proved to be harder than he initially thought it’d be. After searching around for more than an hour, all he had found was a collection of Edgar Allan Poe’s tales and poems with a heartbreaking note to someone’s dead lover. While it had almost brought him to tears and was a special thing he’d buy to give to you later, it wasn’t exactly the best thing to help him carry out his plan.

Victoria walked into the shop when he was about to give up and, fully aware of his plan, started looking around without saying a word to him. They both searched around the messy piles of books for something. It didn’t take long for her to stumble across three books held together by a lilac satin ribbon.

Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë, Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, and Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë. All three contained a note on the very first page right under the title, but the last one stood out above the other two because, according to his basic knowledge of Spanish, it ended with the very question he wanted to ask ¿Quieres casarte conmigo? Or ‘Will you marry me?’. He bought all three of them after a huge smile and a thumbs up from Victoria.

What he hadn’t expected was for them to remain hidden in a drawer he knew you never opened underneath piles of clothes. Ever since he came back from their small trip to Spain, Ethan had tried to ask the question about six times, but always ended up choking on his words and saying something else. In fact, the first time he ever tried, Ethan chickened out at the last second and ended up giving you the Edgar Allan Poe anthology instead.

You were still none the wiser to his plan even after he’d asked about your opinion on marriage a few times. Anyone would’ve probably caught up with what was going on already, but you were always so busy with things happening around you that you didn’t connect his awkward and nervous attitude with his questions.

You didn’t start giving his actions a second thought until one night… You had been cooped up in your office all day working on a new project you were supposed to present to your boss by the end of the week when you suddenly felt the urge to get up and walk around the house.

Ethan was casually sitting on the couch as he whispered unintelligible words into his phone. You supposed he was on a call with a friend or maybe his manager and was trying to be quiet to avoid disturbing you, but then he hung up the call with a panicked expression the moment he noticed you. After that, you started thinking back on the way he had been behaving ever since he returned and it all raised the suspicion that there was something strange going on.

It didn’t get any better when he kept on acting weird. Simple things that he had allowed you to do, like using his phone to take pictures because it had a better camera than yours, now seemed to make him almost mad. He’d even snapped at you once when you tried to grab it to take a picture with him. Even if Ethan had apologized right away, it still didn’t calm you down, especially because he had gone as far as to change the password on it.

It almost felt like he was walking on eggshells around you and you didn’t like it one bit. Your relationship had always been about honesty and worked because of constant communication. Everything was just so strange that your mind couldn’t help but think of the worst.

You were an imaginative person who never had any difficulties when it came to envisioning things clearly. Unfortunately, that also applied to every negative thought that crossed your mind, so it wasn’t hard for you to start coming up with the worst explanations as to why he was acting so suspicious. It didn’t help much that he had been busier than normal because the band was wrapping up on their latest album, so you hadn’t had the opportunity to sit down and voice all your concerns, to ask if something was going on and if there was a way to fix it.

The morning of your anniversary, you’d finally had enough. You had woken up, expecting to feel Ethan’s arm tightly wrapped around your waist and to receive a shower of kisses the moment he noticed you were awake, but no. There was no Ethan and the side of his bed was already neatly made.

Your disappointment only grew when he wasn’t in the kitchen or his small studio where he had his drums. You doubted he was in the house at all.

It was a thing that wouldn’t have affected you much had he done it any other time, but with everything that had been going on as of late, you could only fear the worst. So, without being able to control yourself, you started making the worst conclusions. You’d always been fully aware that he loved you, but all the signs undoubtedly pointed at him meeting someone new… And maybe he was going to leave you for them as well… during your anniversary.

That was all you needed to break into tears. You climbed back into bed and cried for what seemed to be hours. Even since you got together, you had thought of him as your person, your forever. The thought of him leaving you broke your heart into tiny pieces.

Ethan arrived home only a few minutes after you’d buried yourself underneath all the blankets and cried out all your worries. When he was about to open the door to your bedroom, he stopped. Were you crying?

He stood there in complete silence for a few seconds until he was more than sure that you were, in fact, crying. Ethan rushed inside and he felt his heart break at the sight of you looking so heartbroken, and it didn’t get any better when he heard a whimper come out of your mouth at the sight of him. You cuddled deeper into the bedsheets and turned away from him.

Ethan sat on your side of the bed and, as delicately as possible, he cupped your face into his warm hands and wiped your tears with his thumbs, “Amore,” He said in a quiet voice, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

You tried to turn away from him, but his grip on your face stopped you from doing so. You placed one of your hands on top of his and gave it a firm squeeze. No part of you was ready to have that conversation with him because that was going to be it and you were going to have to watch him leave…

So, with a lot of courage, you spoke the first words that came to mind, “You know, i-it’s okay if you’ve found someone else,” You caressed his cheek softly as more tears started spilling down your face, “You can tell me if you have.”

His eyebrows furrowed at your words and the only thing he could do was shake his head no, “What? Found someone else? What would make you say such a thing dolcezza?”

Then, before you could even answer, realization hit him like a ton of bricks and he felt like the stupidest living being on the face of the Earth. He pinched his nose and sighed, annoyed at himself.

“Fuck… I’m so fucking stupid. Please don’t ever think of something like that. I was just… I-I,” Clueless as to what to say, Ethan pressed his lips against yours to kiss you slowly, hoping it spoke more than his words ever could. He could still taste a trace of the salty tears that had fallen on your lips and he couldn’t help but shed a few of his own at the thought that he’d been the one to make you cry.

After pulling away, Ethan pressed his forehead to yours and brushed his nose against yours while his arms held you as close as possible, “Will you close your eyes for just a second, amore mio? I promise everything will make so much sense soon.”

You nodded and kept your eyes closed as you felt him get up from the bed. You heard him open and close a few drawers, and look around for something for a while before he sat back on the bed. Ethan grabbed your hands in his and slowly slipped the three small books into your grasp.

You opened his eyes after a small sound of approval from him and smiled when you saw the three old books held together by a ribbon and the pretty pink rose that had been carefully been slipped into the first book and the ribbon.

You gently removed the flower and placed it on your side. Then you undid the simple knot and picked up the first book, “Wuthering Heights?” You questioned.

He nodded, “Yeah… At least I think that’s it. I hope I didn’t bring back some sketchy book or some shit,” Ethan scratched his neck and you giggled as you opened it on the first page. Your fingers brushed over the letters neatly written down in fountain pen.

After clearing your throat, you started reading the first dedication out loud. Since your Spanish wasn’t exactly the best either, you had to pause every once in a while to translate all the words, “May 17, 1850… My dearest Helena, I hope this book reaches you in great condition, being apart from you is one of the hardest challenges I have ever had to face, one of the most painful as well. I hope you can find me in between these pages as you read and remember how much I love you, remember how much I long to be back in your arms and kiss your lips. Sincerely, Alejandro.”

You closed it and placed it back on the bed before opening the second book and doing the same thing with the third, “January 24, 1855. Carolina, nothing I’ve ever experienced has gotten close to being as terrible as not having you in my arms. Apologies are overdue… long overdue. Words have never been my strongest suit, yet I still hope I can coherently express just how much I love you, all of you. I’m afraid I’m already too late since you will soon be betrothed to someone else and there will be nothing I can do by then.

“Still, I hope with everything in my being that this arrives sooner so you’re aware of how sorry I am. I hope you remember that I would do anything you asked without a single complaint just to watch that lovely smile I adore so much appear on your face. If you ever come back to me, I promise with every fiber of my being, and I’ll be dammed if I don’t keep my promise, that I will leave everything behind and escape with you. Anywhere, any time. So with that, I ask a question that will hopefully have a yes as an answer. Will you marry me? With love, Javier.”

Before you could close it, Ethan stopped you and timidly asked for you to open the book on the very last page. You did it and looked back at him with confusion at the sight of his writing on the page, “Read this one out loud for me. Will you Y/N?” You nodded and mumbled a small ‘of course’ before clearing your throat to get rid of the knot that had formed.

“October 21, 2025… Y/N, my one true love, I’ve always hoped to make a gesture that will remind you of your treasured books. I’ve never been one great with words spoken out loud, so I sought inspiration from those before me who were just as in love with someone as I am with you. Ever since I met you I dreamt of one day settling down with you, of having our small home in the countryside as you’ve always dreamed of. Maybe even doing some of those cloying gestures people seem to do in fiction and dedicate to you the most beautiful love poems I lay eyes on.

“I’ve wondered for a while how I could ever take the step that would bring me closer to that goal, yet every time I try, words seem to get stuck in my throat with no way out and I end up in square one all over again. It is with this note that I hope to finally take a step in the right direction because I know you’re it for me. You’re my person, my forever, and there’s nothing I would love more than to share my life with you. Sei la mia migliore amica e il mio unico vero amore. Ti chiedo di accettare il mio amore, il mio nome e tutto quello che sono.” (You are my best friend and my one true love. I ask you to accept my love, my name, and everything I am.)

When your eyes spotted the four words that followed, you slowly lowered the book, “Will you marry me?” You both said at the same time, although yours sounded more like an unintelligible mumble. Only then did you notice him down on one knee right in front of you. He held a velvet box with one of the most beautiful rings sitting inside of it

A hand went to cover your mouth as tears started falling down your face. This time, happy and free of worry. You could only nod repeatedly, overcome with pure joy as your heart swelled with love.

He slowly slid the ring into your finger and grabbed your face to kiss you once again, “I’m so sorry I made you think something else was going on. I just kept backtracking every time I tried to tell you. Not because I was regretting the decision but because I didn’t want to lose you.”

You shook your head as a silent way of saying it was alright and brushed his hair back with your fingers, “The important thing is that you’ve done it and you’re not going to lose me, no matter how hard you try. I’ll always be right here because I love you and I’ll always be yours.”

#ethan torchio x reader #ethan torchio x you #ethan torchio x y/n #ethan torchio fanfiction #maneskin x reader #maneskin fanfiction

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darkacademicfrom2021 · 3 years

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Moving day

Based on @lucywrites02's writing challenge, with the prompts "1. You're family" and "8. I have a surprise for you". I wish you a very happy birthday, Lucy!

Pairing: Loki x fem!reader (Tony Stark's daughter, not Morgan)

Word count: 3.2 K

Warnings: fluff and pregnancy :) This was very adorable to write.

Taglist: @lucywrites02, @louieboo87,@jesuswasnotawhiteman, @geekwritersworld, @whatafuckingdumbass, @mysticunicorn7, @toe-vind-ek-jou, @t00-pi, @selfship-mishaps, @sallymagnoliaposts, @deadgirl88, @enderslove

Gif: @moonrainbow

It had surprised Thor greatly how quickly and intensely his brother had fallen for you. He was as committed and truthful as he has never been in his long, long life. He looked at you softly, in comparison with everyone else. As soon as you walked in a room, he followed you with his gaze and invited you to his conversation. It wasn’t a surprise that after a few months of this very silent flirting (that very few noticed, because it mainly consisted in batting eyelashes and repressing subtle smiles when the other was around) you’d come out of the shell and admit you started dating. Thor was ecstatic.

Tony, on the other hand, was not amused. Not amused at all; in fact, he hated the idea of you going around with that God. He said, explicitly “if you ever get in trouble because of him, you solve it yourself. Nothing of coming for daddy to help, clear?”. Pepper had told him to cut some slack, and observe at how happy you were together, but he, stubborn to the bone, had to take a few months more before accepting the fact that his little girl was in love with the God of Mischief.

But the months passed by; almost a year, and you grew closer and closer. You hated to sneak into his room every night, and get interrupted all the time by every single soul in the compound, or mocked to death every time you cuddled on the sofa, watched a movie or read a book together. So, it all boiled down to the same conversation:

“I don’t think he’s ready”, you said while pouring some milk on your cereal. Nat rolled her eyes.

“He’s even readier than you”, insisted Wanda. They were exhausted from having the same conversation over and over, but you couldn’t bring yourself to actually do something about it. “He’s lived much longer, if any of you two were to be unready, that’d be you”.

“Do you think I’m not ready?”, you doubted yourself.

“God, Wanda. You’re planting unnecessary seeds here. The girl’s already anxious enough”.

“I just think… I want him to be with me for the rest of my life. I don’t know if he feels the same”.

“He totally does”.

“Yeah. No doubt about that. Just look at how he looks at you. What are you even waiting for?”.

“I don’t know, a signal?”.

“Of what? You’re impossible. Unless God themself comes down the sky and tells you textually just move in with him, you wouldn’t consider it a ‘signal’”, bitched Nat. But she was right. Commitment was not exactly your thing, even though you were as in love as you could be.

You heard an oncoming scream approaching the room. In silence, you three observed cautiously, and moved away from the middle. The screaming increased its loudness, until a body shattered the roof and fell to the floor violently. Loki laid still among the dusted debris until a second screaming started sounding from the sky.

“Oh, fuck”, he said, managing to get up quickly and making himself as a shield for you three. Thor landed on his feet over the same spot Loki had fallen. Dust flew everywhere and the floor cracked a bit more. “Don’t”, he alerted, pointing at his brother menacingly.

“I’m tired of your whinings, brother. Do something or I’ll do it myself”, spat Thor, grabbing Mjölnir and leaving the room. Loki sighed and sat on the couch, cleaning the remains with his magic. Wanda sighed and put it all back together.

“And what was that about?”, asked Nat, eating a candybar, still on the same spot as earlier. It wasn’t an unusual scene.

“I…”, said Loki, but desisted. You sat on the couch by his side and he laid, using your lap as a pillow. You took out a tissue and started carefully cleaning the blood off his cuts. He smiled softly. “We just had a fight”.

“I can see that. What did you fight about?”.

“He wants me to… well, talk to you”, he struggled to say.

“Well, we’re talking now”.

“Yes. No, wait, no. Like, talk talk”, he clarified, and Nat and Wanda nodded, leaving the room. You could still hear their chattery from the door.

Loki sat up and grabbed both of your hands, making direct eye contact. He was nervous, which only made you even more unsettled. He was never nervous. He was always calm, even in life or death situations. He was unfazed in everything and with almost everyone. Almost.

“What do you want to talk talk about?”, you joked, and he chuckled, releasing some tension.

“I want you to move in with me”.

“Oh. Wait. What?”.

“Like, move out. But with me”.

“To your room?”.

“Out of the Compound”.

“To an apartment?”.

“Yes”.

“Here?”.

“In Midgard, yes”.

“But like, in New York?”.

“Wherever you want, actually”.

You stayed silent for a few seconds, and Loki grew nervous again. You couldn’t help but laugh. He looked at you quizzically, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that… a God just fell down the sky and told me to move in with you”, you clarified, which didn’t actually clarify anything.

“You… what?”.

“Yes, I’d love to move in with you, love”.

And in no time you were already packing things up and going together on apartment huntings.

Tony insisted on helping you out himself, which was hilarious, given the repulsion he had for the idea in the first place. So, you’d go to an apartment by yourself, check it out and talk to the owner for a bit; Loki would arrive later, tensing things up (the owners would usually recognize him, but after a little chat they’d find out he’s a fine man), and then, just after you’d be all calm and good, the owners would see in the papers you’re a Stark, and tense up even more. Easier to say, it wasn’t a normal neighborhood chat.

You had finally decided on a small but very cozy apartment near Central Park; far enough from the Stark Tower, but you could get there pretty quickly for every mission.

You found the place advertised on the papers, and when you showed it to Loki, in sickness and all, you insisted on going to visit it that same day.

“My love, my dearest… you need to rest. I’m afraid you might faint again”, he cooed, trying to get you back to bed.

“A little fever won’t do anything to me, really, I’m f…”, you said, but you felt like vomiting, so you stopped your words and sat on the floor. Loki sat by your side and rubbed your back.

“If you feel better tomorrow, we go, yes? Now, come on, I’m gonna call Banner and you wait on your bed”.

“No, but they might take it, we need to go to make sure…”.

“What about I go, call you on one of those animated images, and you can see it from here?”, he proposed, helping you up. He meant a video call.

“That… sounds about right”.

But you had no actual time to have that video call, for when he was in the apartment, Banner was delivering some more important news.

You’ve been to the examination’s room of the compound before. But this time it seemed brighter. The lights shone so strongly, you had to close your eyes a little.

“What would you like to do about it?”, asked Banner. You were sobbing and trembling.

“I… I don’t know, I’m sure Loki will leave me”.

“What? No, don’t base your decision on that guy’s opinion”.

“Well, I don’t want the kid to not have a father, you know?”, you said as he gave you a tissue. “I want to have it, I’ve always wanted a kid. I think I’m… ready? I’m probably not. Not by myself, and I can’t do this alone. He’ll leave me, won’t he? Why would he want to have a kid with a mortal? We’d die as fast as he blinks”.

“Look, I’m no one to talk about it, but this sounds more like your anxiety and less like something he would do. He really loves you, he has for like at least a year, and I don’t see that going away anytime soon”.

“I know. You might be right”.

“You’re allowed to doubt everything. This is a huge thing, y/n. Think this through, talk to people, talk to your friends, or your parents. Don’t let this eat you”.

“Thanks, Bruce. You’re really… you’re being really nice, I appreciate it”, you sobbed. He handed you another tissue as he rubbed your shoulder.

“This is your call, okay? You have time to think. Text me later how you’re feeling, and have bed rest now. And if you feel too bad, take this”, he handed you some pills, “it should be innocuous for the baby”.

One of those days, that same week, you had decided to make it the official moving day. So, you put every box in the van and drove through the city, to your new home. You haven’t told Loki yet what you knew, and you were terrified he’d get even more upset because you didn’t tell him before the moving. But, to be fair, you didn’t think he’d actually leave.

You had told no one about it, despite Banner’s indications. But it wasn’t eating you. You were enjoying it silently. You were glad; you had your doubts, fears… Hell, you were terrified. But you knew, if Loki wasn’t going to be a part of that, you could do it yourself. You hoped he’d wanted to, though.

Loki and you had started taking the boxes inside, all by hand (to be honest, he was a little scared of the neighbours watching him do things with magic and kicking you two out). You laughed through it, and played races to see who’d finish their boxes first. He was wearing one of those midgardians shirts and pants that melted you completely. He wore that for your anniversary dinner the week before that day, and he noticed how much you loved it on him, so he started wearing fancy casual clothes more often than not.

After about two hours, you were done and completely exhausted. You laid in the middle of the wooden floor, surrounded by boxes and a strong smell of floorwax and fresh paint, and looked at each other fondly.

“Welcome home”, you said, and he showed you the biggest smile he’s ever done.

“I think this place is perfect. It’s away, but not exactly far from your family for whenever you’d want to be with them”.

“Yes, it’s perfect”, you said, getting up and helping him up. “You know, I have a surprise for you”.

“Really? What is it?”.

“Tonight at dinner, shall we? In the meantime, what about we get something to drink before unpacking?”.

“Can’t wait for tonight, then. Would you like some tea?”, he said, surrounding your waist with his arms. You played gently with his hair.

“Yes”.

“I love you”, he said, giving you a small peck over your smile.

“And I love…”, you started saying, but the entrance got filled with noisy people, interrupting you. Four of your friends were already filling the place, giving you an idea of how a small party would fit in there. “... you”.

“Oh my God! This place is so well illuminated!”, said Wanda, marveled.

“And what’s that smell? Have you been cooking something weird?”, said Nat, less enthusiastic, but equally curious. Sam and Bucky were still on the door, and Sam seemed to have brought food. Like a cake, or something similar. Wanda and Natasha were quick to invade the place without further notice.

“Oh, you got one of those hidden drawers! What are you hiding in there?”.

“Probably sex toys”, guessed Nat.

“I’d say drugs. But, like, alien drugs. You know, from his town”, apported Bucky, now making his way in and leaving the cake over the counter.

“I thought drawers were supposed to be for clothes”, said Sam, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, but hidden drawers? Sexy clothes”.

“Actually, I’m saving my daggers in there”, finally said Loki, kissing your cheek before pulling away from you, and appearing a cup of tea in each guest with a movement of his wrist.

“Boring”.

“So, guys, what do you think?”, you said as you started opening one of the boxes.

“I think it’s small”, said Tony, as he walked in. Pepper rolled her eyes behind him.

“Don’t listen to him, you guys chose perfectly. This place will look very nice once you paint it and decorate it”.

“It’s already painted”.

“Oh. Well, it… it looks nice”.

“Thanks mom”, you chuckled. “It’s small but we don’t need it to be big”.

“You better be actually saving daggers in here”, Tony peeped inside the hidden drawer. “Now that is not so hidden. I wouldn’t like to open it up someday and find a…”.

“Dad, please”, you rolled your eyes and went to Loki’s side. “Don’t worry, you won’t find anything weird. Just the daggers and knives of my very innocent boyfriend”.

“Well, you’ll have to think further about having knives so close to the floor, you know”, he muttered. Loki furrowed his eyebrows.

“Why?”.

Tony ignored him and walked to you earnestly, with the most serious face expression you’ve ever seen, and everyone observed quietly. He grabbed you by the shoulders, and inhaled a deep breath. All of the sudden, his eyes got watery, and you realized Banner had told him about the pregnancy. Your heart beat so fast you thought you’d faint again, right there. The corners of his lips formed a tiny smile, and he hugged you tightly. Loki was certainly confused now. As far as he knew, Tony didn’t like him, and why would he be so happy about you moving out? It’s not like you were his only child, either.

“I’m so proud of you”, he whispered, and then Loki had the feeling he wasn’t talking about the new apartment, but didn’t ask any further.

That night you managed to cook something special, even though you still hadn’t gotten the gas installed. You cooked together, and laughed at every minor inconvenience the house could give you. The doors of the countertop cabinets were the perfect height for Loki’s 6’4” ass to stump his head every time he tried to open it.

After some time of silent cooking, absorbed on each’s thoughts, Loki asked about your dad’s pride.

“Oh, he’s… well, he just, gets very emotional with these things”. He chuckled at your very obvious lie.

“No, he doesn’t. Certainly not with me”.

“Come on, he likes you now. He likes anyone I love, because you make me happy, and because he has no other choice”.

“Well… I thought he’d be less amused”, he admitted. “Hasn’t he? Other choice, I mean”.

“I don’t think so. He’d have to deal. Family is family”.

“Oh, do I know about that”, he said, cutting a carrot more strongly than before. You laughed.

“I meant it in a good way”.

“Well, your family is one thing, mine is another… I can’t push yours to like me, as much as I would like to. They’re very nice, and I wish I had a family like that, but I don’t”.

“Love, family is built”, you said, this time a little more serious. He repressed a smile, still looking at the vegetables. “You’re part of this, too, you know?”.

“Of this?”.

“You’re family”.

He didn’t repress the smile this time.

“You’re right. You’re my family, too, my love”.

“You…”, you took a deep breath. It was the perfect moment. “Do you ever imagine us in the future?”.

“Why yes, of course”.

“Really?”.

“I want to spend all your life with you. I didn’t want to rush into things because… I don’t know, scaring you out of anything, but I…”, he said, and the alarm on your phone went off, to take the rice from the fridge. You two laughed at how mundane this conversation seemed. “But I love you, and I want you by my side”.

“Okay. Well I do too. That’s good, right? That’s good”.

“Yes, of course it’s good, why so doubtful?”, he laughed, grabbing a tomato and stabbing it.

“Because I’m pregnant”.

“Yeah”, he chuckled, without actually realizing what you just said. And then, he fell. “Hold on, what did you just say?”.

“I’m… I’m having a baby. Yours, of course”, you clarified. You felt like you had to, but it wasn’t actually necessary. Silence filled the kitchen.

“Oh dear” he paused. He left the knife over the counter and looked at you, looking for any trace of a joke. You weren’t joking, and you grew nervous as he let time pass by without saying a word. “How could you not tell me this before moving in?”, he muttered, still in a bit of a shock.

“Oh. Well… I…”.

“I wouldn’t have let you carry those heavy boxes, love, I’m so sorry”, he said, and cupped your cheeks. “Are you really…?”. You sighed in relief. For a moment you thought of the worse.

“Yes, I am”.

His arms embraced you completely, hugging you as tight as he allowed himself to. He muttered how much he loved you, and how happy you had just made him, for the rest of his life.

Later that night, as you laid in bed, he cuddled you from behind with his hands on your tummy and his lips on your bare shoulder. You could feel his soft breathing grazing your skin, and his warmth keeping you safe.

“Loki”, you whispered, checking if he was still awake. You couldn’t sleep.

“Yes, love?”, he whispered back.

“Are you sure you want to be a daddy? With me?”.

He turned you around, and lowered his head to your abdomen. He sank his face and kissed all around your stomach and hips, leaving a trace of kisses up to your neck, and then your lips.

“How could I not?”, he whispered in a low voice. Burying his nose in the crook of your neck, teased “besides, the word daddy comes out so well from your lips”.

You laughed softly, and after some more silence that was fairly filled with loving stares, a thought crossed his head and you saw the light of his eyes turn to dark.

“What is it, love?”, you put a strand of his hair behind an ear.

“I… I’m just realizing something bad”, he said, and you nodded. “I’m a Frost Giant”.

“Why is it bad?”.

“My actual form is bigger than this. And… colder. And if the baby were Jötun too...”.

“You think the baby might hurt me?”.

“They might. I don’t know. Oh no, what if they hurts you?”, he began to panic, and you shushed him, kissing his temples.

“Don’t worry, Lokes. If that’s the case, we’ll figure it out”, you reassured him. “And maybe it’s not. And we’ll have a little and very healthy half-Jötun running around this small apartment. When have we not solved our issues? We’re good at that bit”.

“You’re right. You’re right, my dear”. He sighed, and then chuckled. “Should we have gotten a bigger place?”.

“We’ll be a very close family”, you laughed.

“We already are”, he whispered, cuddling back to you. “We are a very close family”.

#loki #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki headcanon #loki odinson #loki fic #lucywrites19 #loki x fem!reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki x y/n stark

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

Text

Rock N Roll People In A Disco World

Part 5- Nobody Dance On A Sad Disco

Intro: Paul doesn’t react well when your logical and practical side suggests you postpone your wedding…

Pairing: Paul Diskant x Reader

Warnings: Bad language, Smut (NSFW, 18+)

Word Count: 7k

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar the reader and any other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Rock ‘n’ Roll People Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Part 4

"I just don't understand why you think this is such a big frickin' deal, Paul." You said with exasperation. This argument had been carrying on for a good twenty minutes and so far, the only thing you'd accomplished was going in circles like a NASCAR driver.

“You don’t understand?” He scoffed, hands on his hips, “seriously? You don’t see why I’m slightly pissed off you wanna postpone our wedding?” "You can't continue to tell me that not pushing everything back a few months makes the most sense right now. In a month’s time we were supposed to be going away for our stags, and since..... since... you.... This is just what's better for..."

"Y/N, you do still want to get married don't you?" He interrupted. The strain in his voice was evident from both use and emotion.

"What kind of fucking question is that?" Now you were raging. The absolute audacity of him to even ask that. “Well it's non-rhetorical.” “Of course I still want to get married, you fucking moron!” You growled. "Then explain to me wh.." his voice cracked out and he breathed harshly through his nose. “That!” You gestured to him. “That is why!” "So it hurts a little, it's fine. For fucks sakes, I'm fine," his voice was entirely strained from arguing, his chords stretch to their limit. “No, you’re not.” You shook your head before you took a deep breath and pinched your nose. “Paul, I want our wedding to be a day we both look back on in years, decades even, to come and still love every minute of it...” "And we will!" “Right, okay, so your voice fails during our vows or your speech and you’re gonna be okay with that, huh?” You put your hands to your hips and waited for his reply. "No. I mean, I don't know." "My point exactly." You flung a hand up in his direction. “But it’s another eight weeks off, plenty of time, I might be fine.” He shrugged you off like he could make it happen. You knew it wasn't possible. It had only been a week since he'd said your sweet nickname as clear as day and while more and more words were stronger and phrases longer and more clear, you knew him better than that and you knew he wasn't ready no matter how much he wanted to pissingly argue with you that the two of you could move forward as if his shooting were nothing.

"Might. Key word." You sighed, clearly frustrated to the point of tears as they welled and stung your eyes. “Okay, fine.” His hands flew out to his side. “Have it your way, call the venue and cancel.” Gritting your teeth, you replied, “I don’t want to fucking cancel, Paul, I just want to move it!” “You know how long in advance we had to book that place, Y/N, it could be another year before they have an opening again.” “Then we wait another year!” You sighed dramatically, “in the grand scheme of things what does it matter? Today, tomorrow, twelve months, it all amounts to the same thing.” "It matters to me, Y/N." “Okay... fine. Let’s keep the date.” She shrugs. “Let’s just go for it and when you can’t speak and start to get frustrated we’ll write our vows on a pad of paper. Or, better still how about we learn sign language?” “You’re a sarcastic bitch.” “Yeah? And you’re a stubborn asshole.”

There was a long, angry pause between the two of you, harsh jabs and insults now floating painfully in the air. The two of you glared at one another. Both of you furrowing your brows and chewing on the insides of your mouths. Then, you sighed, again with a harsh tone. "God damned it, I hate this. I hate that we’re even having to have this conversation but we are. You were shot! You were moments from death and-“ "And now it's my fault?" He shrieked at a higher pitch than his voice typically was. “Oh for the love of- I didn’t say that!” You balled your hands into fists, your body visibly shaking. “So what are you saying?” “I’m saying that given everything that’s happened, pushing the second biggest day of my life back is the least of my fucking concerns, Paul.” Now you were tearfully arguing, your eyes red as was the tip of your nose. You blinked hard to attempt to show your strength, not wanting to back down. “Second biggest?” “Yes, the second. Because when you...I mean the...” you swallowed back the sob that threatened to scream from you, so you choked in it. “The first was when they told me you were going to live.”

At your words, Paul blinked a little, his mouth opening before it snapped shut again and you shook your head, continuing to talk. “I know you’re hurting and struggling with all of this and it isn’t what you want but it hasn’t been easy for me, either.” You sniffed, the tears now falling from your eyes. “I might not have been the one that took a bullet to the neck but I had to sit there and watch you, barely able to live but fight so hard to stay and all I could think about was the fact I might have to live without you and for that reason alone I’d have changed places with you in a fucking heartbeat.” Your face scrunched up with heavy emotion that you'd held onto for weeks.

“Y/N....” he tried to take a step toward you, but the damage was done for the night. You were done. “Seeing you there, in that bed, wondering if you were gonna make it or not, it was the worse time of my life. So, yeah, frankly I don’t care when we say I do, but it can't happen the way we want it to right now. You’re alive. That’s enough for me. And right now, well it should be for you too.”

You turned on your heel and quickly left the living room. You slammed the bedroom door shut and leaned your back against it whilst you allowed your exterior to fully collapse. You buried your face in your hands as you sobbed. This wasn't what you wanted, you'd expected a better reaction from him as you'd hoped he'd have seen things the same way as you, but you were wrong.

Now, all that was left was to go to bed. You had no fight left, no drive and right now, you didn't want to make up.

Eventually, you crawled into bed and moved no further. Sleep weighing on you heavily.

****

When he'd watched her go, Paul was floored. The things she'd said to him had gone unspoken since he'd been home from the hospital. He knew it had been hard on her, the both of them, what he'd gone through but he'd never imagined how she'd have felt given she was always such a strong woman and that was one of the things he adored most about her.

In frustration, he rubbed his hands over his face and decided he needed a walk. He walked around the neighborhood and back, taking in the cool air, realizing the fall weather was upon them. Shit, fall, the holidays were creeping up on them and he'd hadn't even given it a thought.

It didn't matter, what mattered was the incessant need to push their wedding back another year, was his best guess, and that killed him. It wrecked him and he found himself getting angry all over again. He wanted to marry her now, drag her down to the Justice of the Peace and take her as his bride the minute the courthouse opened. So now, why, all of a sudden did she not want to do even so much as that. Was it cold feet? Was it him? What had happened to him? Was she ashamed of him being unable to speak? She said it was nothing of the sort but it didn't stop the thoughts from weighing on him.

When he got back to their apartment, he found Y/N fast asleep in their bed, her back to his side of the bed. He hated that they were going to bed like this. He didn't believe in it, and if he was honest with himself, this was the first time this had ever happened in the span of their relationship. He was a firm believer in his parents golden rule, never go to bed angry and always kiss each other goodnight. Tonight he didn't get to do either.

With a sigh, he pulled off his T-shirt and tossed it in the direction of the hamper in the corner of the room but it didn’t quite make it. Instead, it dropped about a foot or so away, ironically right on the spot where he’d dropped to one knee that November evening almost three years ago…

She'd stood in the bathroom across the hall getting ready for their dinner date, listening to him chatter on in their bedroom about whatever it was as he dressed for the night. It was mid-week and they'd both managed to be off in time for a dinner date. Paul had wanted to make it fancy, something special.

"Do you know what today is?" He asked as he tied his tie in the mirror that stood in the corner of their room.

"Er, Wednesday," she replied, loud enough for her voice to carry.

"Of course, but try again," there was a hint of humor to his voice, sarcasm at best.

"Date night," she giggled.

"Nope." He breathed out a nervous, shaky breath. A full two strides and he stood in front of their chest of drawers, pulling open his sock drawer, reaching for the small box in the back.

"I give up."

He chuckled anxiously and closed the drawer. "Our anniversary." He took a knee, opening up the small box and waited.

"What? No, that's not for a few more months," she said with a smile as she walked across the hall and into the doorway of their room. Her hands were at her ear, adjusting her earring.

She gasped seeing him on one knee, his eyes smiling but his hands shaking as he held out the ring box. The lid open to show her what he was asking.

"Also true, but no. At exactly this minute, twenty-one months ago," he checked his watch, "I responded to a call for backup and my life changed forever. I met this woman who I just couldn't let go and that same woman took her time in giving me a chance. But I knew from the moment she kissed me that nothing would ever be the same. I fell in love that night, and I knew I wanted to make her mine, to keep on loving her forever. That is, if you'll have me forever?"

He watched as her eyes began to pool with tears as her own shaky hands covered her mouth as he spoke, a nervous silence crossing the room as she seemingly processed everything he'd said.

Tearfully, she replied, "yes, absolutely, yes!"

Tears welled up in his beautiful blue eyes as he stood, and pulled the ring from its box, slipping it on with jittery fingers over the knuckles of her ring finger before he crashed his lips into hers for a deep, happy kiss. "I love you so much, Sugar."

With their foreheads pressed sweetly together, they both cried a little.

"Tell me about it, Stud." She smiled.

They were late to dinner that night, both of them showing up glowing. But his surprises hadn't ended there, no. He'd had both their parents waiting on them for their eight o'clock dinner reservations to celebrate their new good fortune. It was a night he'd never forget, not ever.

Paul glanced down at the ring on his girl’s finger as she slept. Her left hand just close enough to her face so it wasn't obscured as she still lay with her back to him while her right lay tucked up under her pillow. The five raw cut diamonds were set in white gold, a center stone with two diamonds on each side. The center cut wasn't gargantuan and it didn't need to be. She knew how hard he'd worked to buy her the simple design with the small stones it held.

He'd wanted to upgrade it the month he'd solved his first case as a detective but she'd denied him, explaining that it didn't matter how big or fancy it was, the first one was special because of all the thought and effort he'd put forth to even consider her as his wife.

With a sigh he bowed his head and turned to go wash up, before he climbed into bed, Y/N’s back still facing him and he lay awake, looking at the ceiling until finally, an hour or so later, sleep finally took him.

**** The next morning your alarm went off for the first time in weeks. With a groan you hit the button to silence it and cracked open a sore, tear swollen eye, it was still dark outside. You rose, heading on auto-pilot to the bathroom and showered quickly before you wrapped in a robe and headed in to make yourself some breakfast. Just as you were finishing up, Paul walked into the kitchen and you stood up and left the room, not speaking a word to him, you had nothing else to say.

Unfortunately, your bad mood soured what should have been a happy return to work, a sign that your life was getting back to some form of normalcy. Instead, you were off your game, and it didn’t go unnoticed.

"Yo, Panny, you come to work or just fucking off?" Rodriguez hollered from behind you as an entire clip of used bullets lay at your feet, still hot from firing. You slammed your hand against the button that brought your target to you, all but four shots missing the target. "Fuck off, Ro." "Y/L/N!" Captain Rogers shouted from the doorway. "Outside, now." With a grumble, you rolled your eyes and holstered your weapon, but not before changing out the empty clip for a new one. The tone of his voice was not comforting. "You got your ass handed to you on the mats in hand to hand, you couldn't even shoot a decent hand at sniper poker, and now my ace shot, a skilled and decorated marksman, can't sink a suspect in range." Your tongue poked the inside of your cheek as you drew a deep breath. “Sorry Cap, must be a little rusty.” He sighed and shook his head as it dropped disappointingly to his chest. "You're not ready, go home Y/N." "Steve...." "I pushed you too far. Go home, chill the fuck out, take the weekend." You groaned, “I don’t wanna go home.” The petulance evident both in your tone and body language as you folded your arms across your chest. “I'm fine. It's just a rough start." "Go the fuck home, Y/N. Or I'll send the Mrs. after you." You couldn't stand his wife and given your relationship with Steve, it was a credible threat. Karen Rogers was as green as Elphaba, the Wicked Witch of the West. "I'd call you an asshole but you're my sup so...." "Now, Y/N." “Fine.” You shrugged. “I’ll go back home. Wonderful.” "I didn't miss the sarcasm," Steve called out to your back.

You flipped him the bird as you kept walking.

**** Paul slammed the door to his mom and dad’s house, storming into the kitchen. It had been a shitty morning, with Y/N not speaking to him and then that damned fucking speech and physical therapy he had to endure twice a damned week.

“Who pissed in your cornflakes?” Big Jim looked at him, frowning a little. Paul ignored him and headed straight to the fridge, pulling out a soda.

“Paul, honey, what’s got into you?” Dot asked gently and he sighed, turning to face both his parents who were sat at the bar top, the remnants of a brunch on their plates in front of them. “Y/n wants to postpone the wedding.”

“Ah.” His dad leaned back in his chair. “And let me guess, you don’t?”

“Fuck, no.”

“Language.” His mother chastised and Paul rolled his eyes, as he paced slightly across the kitchen.

“And, you clearly discussed this in your usual, calm and rational manner?” His dad arched an eyebrow. Paul paused for a moment to eye his dad, before he resumed his movements.

With a sigh his mom spoke. “Paul, sit down for a second, quit pacing my kitchen floor.”

“I don’t want to sit down.” He shot back, petulantly.

“Paul Christopher Diskant, you sit your grown butt down, now.” His mother’s tone was sharp and with a groan he pulled a seat out from the breakfast bar, opposite his parents, and flopped down.

“Now, out with it, from the beginning.” His mother instructed and Paul let out another growl of frustration.

“I just told you. She wants to postpone the wedding. I don’t. There’s nothing else to tell you.”

“Don’t sass me!”

“I’m not sassing you, you’re just not fucking listening.”

“Hey, cut the shit. Don't talk to your mother like that.” Big Jim pointed at him, his voice stern. “You might be a grown man but I'll still kick your ass into next week, you little shit.”

Paul took a deep breath, his head hanging slightly. “Sorry Mom. It's been a really crappy couple of days.” At that he snorted. “Crappy couple of weeks one way or another.”

“Oh, Paul. I know it's not been easy.” Dot gave him a gentle smile. “But you're here with us and that's really all we care about.”

“I just feel like Y/N is getting cold feet. And that really sucks.”

“Don't be a dick.” Dot scoffed at his admission of feelings. “That girl has stood by you while you knocked on death's door.” “Mom, did you just call me a dick?” Paul looked at her, his brow raised and she nodded.

“Yes.”

“She’s not wrong.” His dad interjected.

“What is this gang up on Paul day?”

“You’re acting like a spoiled child who just had his best toy taken away.” Big Jim looked at him. “Son, she wants to postpone, not cancel!”

“Well it didn't feel that way last night or this morning. She stormed out for her first day back at work all pissed off I wasn't agreeing with her.”

“And I refer back to my previous observation. Maybe you should have attempted to discuss the issue in a calm and rational manner as opposed to shouting and getting all pissy.” Big Jim observed.

"I’m not pissy, I’m just... look, we've waited twice as long as we wanted to because she loved the venue so much, hell, I loved the venue. That place means a lot to us and it's so perfect. Everything has been perfect until now." He sighed, his voice again weak.

"What was her reasoning?" Dot pressed.

"Me." He said sadly, frustration clearly featured on his face.

"Paul, I highly doubt it's just you."

"She doesn't think I'm ready. Healthy enough. Healed enough. There's till eight weeks, Mom. Eight weeks, I can be so much better by then."

Dot reached across the granite for his hand. He took it, and held tight, like a boy needing his mother.

"My sweet, love sick boy," she softly smirked at him and he rolled his eyes .”Y/N is only thinking about you. She knows how frustrated you get when you struggle to talk and how would you feel if that happened during the vows or speeches? Look, Sweetheart, you’ve waited years for this, what’s another couple of months?”

“Mom, it won’t be a couple of months, there’s no way that place won’t be booked up for at least another year. I just... Is it so bad that I want to marry her right now as we planned?" His voice breaking and cracking. Too much talking.

“No, Son, it's not.” Jim cut in. “But listen to yourself, your struggling to talk now after this conversation. Y/N just wants to have the wedding you both have dreamed of, and spent so much time planning. Don't take that from her or yourself. You'll look back and think, I should have waited, when I was at full strength.”

Diskant looked at his father before he sighed and his shoulders sagged a little. “Seems like I’m out voted.”

"Not out voted, just...." Big Jim couldn't come up with a reasonable example.

But Dot interrupted, "We just think you need to think about this a little more and be open to what's going on."

"Open to what? The fact I’m now not gonna get married for another year coz some asshole shot me in the neck?"

"Paul..."

He shrugged, "Whatever. Guess, I have some rearranging to do."

Automatically, he looked down at his phone and saw that Tom Ludlow was calling. If there were any better time to get off this hamster wheel of an argument it were now. "I gotta take this."

He stepped outside and took his call. An hour later, he was meeting Ludlow at their apartment, fresh bottles of beer in the fridge and two on the coffee table between them.

Ludlow filled him in on exactly what happened after he'd left the scene and Paul behind. He talked about how Biggs was using Ludlow to get to Wander, how Tom had killed his entire unit out of self-defence and in turn discovered all the corrupt shit Captain Wander had on Tom, the unit, multiple officers, judges, councilmen and other local politicians and prominent community leaders. He told Diskant about the stolen money, hidden in the walls of Wander's home and he explained how important Biggs seemed to think Tom was for IA and the department.

It didn't surprise Diskant in the slightest that Ludlow's department was dirty. In fact, he'd half expected it and the realization hit moments before he was shot. The rest of Tom's story however was just insane, insane enough that he joked a movie could be made about it.

That said, Paul trusted Ludlow from the start. And he’d clearly been right about the guy, even if helping him had resulted in him being moments from death. Painful memories aside, it was nice to see him too. They’d been through a lot, but Paul wasn’t dumb enough to figure this was a purely social call. He knew Ludlow felt guilty about what had gone down and that was partly the reason for his visit. But it was misplaced guilt, one Disco was happy to absolve him of.

"Listen, Paul, with what happened, I..."

"Hey, it's okay. Shit happens. I'm alive. I knew what I was getting into, the risks involved. You gave me an out and I didn't take it." His voice rasped a little.

"Felt like I took a kid to a gun fight." Tom sighed, tossed back some of his beer and shook his head with a slight shrug. "But you're one helluva kid. A fucking fighter. You're a good cop, even better detective and I'm sorry I pushed you so far."

“No hard feelings, man.” Disco took a slug of his beer and shook his head as Ludlow made to speak. “I mean it. I knew what I was signing up for the second the call came in. Our jobs are shady as fuck and twice as dangerous.”

“You can say that again.” Ludlow sighed. “Still, what happened was rough, I’m glad you’re through it.”

Disco gave him a smile as they clinked bottles and Ludlow’s eyes scanned the small living room, stopping on the photo on the small shelf above the television. Paul glanced at it, looking at his and Y/N’s smiling faces as they stood in his parent’s back yard, both dressed in casual jeans and t-shirts, taken a few months before he’d been shot. A time when everything had been simpler and his life on track.

“How's the Missus?” Ludlow asked and Paul took a deep breath.

"She's, uh, she's good,” he answered, deciding not to burden Ludlow with details of their argument, “first day back today, getting her ass kicked I'm sure. Rogers told her it was training day."

"That's rough. Rogers is a hard ass.” Ludlow mused before his eyes flicked down to the beer bottle in his hand. “She er, she due back any time soon?"

Paul shrugged, “I wouldn’t expect so. Why you ask?”

“Because I don’t intend to be here when she returns.” Ludlow replied. “She wasn’t very happy to see me last time.”

At that, Paul frowned. “Last time?”

“Did no one tell you I came by the hospital?”

“Well, yeah they mentioned it but-“

“Well your girl packs a mean right hook.” Ludlow ran a hand over his jaw, almost as if he was recalling the punch he was talking about.

“Wait, what? She hit you?” Paul leaned forward, deeply concerned and slightly proud.

Tom nodded, "then said that if you died, I was next."

“Dammed, she’s vicious.” Paul couldn’t help the smirk which flicked onto his face at the thought of his girl landing one on the man sat next on the small armchair opposite him.

But the grin soon faded as it sunk in just how downright upset and distraught she must have been to do that. For all his jokes about her being a hard ass, she wasn’t one to throw punches around for no reason, in fact, given her job, she often did everything she could to avoid altercations in any shape, stating she saw enough of it at work without seeing it in her personal life too.

"Yeah, she is and frightening. But she's got good intentions. I don't fault her. I'd have popped me one too." Ludlow shrugged.

Paul took a deep breath as he pondered what Ludlow had said. His girl had that stupid nickname “Panny” for a reason, nothing much phased her. So for her to be rattled enough to sock Ludlow in the face just goes to show exactly how distraught she had been.

None of that was news to Paul, he knew all of this, and it had been pointed out to him again earlier that day by his parents. And then, in a moment of clarity, he realised that he might be being slightly unreasonable. Whilst logically, a compromise would be to perhaps cancel their current venue and forgo the huge day they had planned and book something smaller and less flashy for a few months down the line, Paul understood that she wanted this to be the best day it could possibly be for both of them. They had fallen in love with the Shutters on the Beach from the start, and had booked it with enough time to save for their dream day, even though they could have done something smaller and been married by now.

But that was a decision they had taken together, and hadn’t taken lightly, understanding that it would mean a long wait until they said “I do”, but that wait would be worth it. So, in the grand scheme of things, whilst he might not completely agree, she was right. Another year or however long made fuck all difference, even if he didn’t necessarily want to postpone, he understood.

And damned, now he felt like a right jerk.

*****

You pulled up to the curb to your duplex and frowned as an unfamiliar black car was parked outside, one you couldn’t recall seeing before. Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes, resting your head back against the seat as you gave yourself a moment, trying to rid yourself of the frustration of the day.

Rogers was right, you weren't ready to come back. Not yet. Or at least not after the argument you’d had. It frustrated you entirely that this one small thing had spiralled so much as to affect your job. Never, since you'd joined the force, not even since you'd been on S.W.A.T., had you been sent home for misconduct of your behavior. That angered and frustrated you more. And right now, that frustration was leveled firmly at Paul.

You knew he was angry and upset, but so were you. You were thinking logically, wanting your wedding day to be as perfect as it could be for you both, but Paul was blinded by emotion. You understood. Of course you did, it wasn’t like you wanted to postpone, hell you wanted nothing more than to become his wife but it wasn’t worth rushing if it meant that when the time came you could both make those declarations to one another without either of you worrying his voice would give out.

And it irritated you that he couldn’t see that.

Growling out loud and slamming your palms against the wheel, you shook your head. That was when you saw him, you saw the one person you unadmittedly blamed for your mood, your position and your current situation.

"What the... That mother fu..." you stopped yourself, downright pissed at seeing Tom Ludlow leaving your residence.

You waited until Ludlow pulled away before exiting your car, slinging your 'go bag' over your shoulder from the back seat. You didn't miss your fiancé tossing what appeared to be bottles into the recycling bin at the side of the duplex.

He saw you and smiled, but you did nothing to acknowledge his gesture, allowing the screen door to slam behind you.

“Babe?” Paul’s voice called after you as he followed you in. “Sugar, look, I’m sorry-“

“What the fuck was he doing here?” You dropped your bag to the floor of the small hallway and wheeled round to face him.

"What?"

“Don’t play dumb with me! Ludlow, why was he here?” Paul sighed, "He called me while I was at my parents, wanted to come by. We talked for a bit, had a couple of beers and clearly you saw him just leave." There was a pause between you. "Which by the way I heard all about how you decked him in the hospital lobby." "The fucker deserved it. He's lucky you pulled through or I would have killed him. It would have been a clean shot too, non-traceable round. I'm not a marksman for nothing." Paul rolled his eyes, “you’re being ridiculous, this-“ he gestured to his scar, “- was not his fault.” "It was and you know it was. This is all because he didn't think you could do your job on your own." “Bullshit Y/N!” Paul shot back. "He gave me an out and I said no. He told me to go home, but I told him I knew what I was doing." You could see him flush with anger and, at his surprising admission, you were shaking in it. "He what?" "You heard me." "You fucking asshole. You stupid, stupid son of a..." you couldn't bring yourself to talk about Dot like that so you carried on, your anger raging as you railed into him. “How dare you throw that at me? You had every fucking chance to come home and let him take the fuck up on his own and you still went. You still stepped right into the fucking madness when, Tom fucking Ludlow of all the people in the entire fucking department, gave you a chance to come back to me?"

“Stop it Y/N! You know as well as I do, you don't take up the badge and go 'you know what, I might die today, imma sit this one out'!”

He had you there, he wasn't wrong. You literally growled at him, your chest rumbling. Paul sighed, and swallowed, looking down at the floor before he raised his head and licked his lips as he glanced over your shoulder for a moment before meeting your eyes.

“Listen, about the wedding-“

You groaned, “I can’t do this now.”

“Just listen to me, will you?”

“Why? So you can tell me again how you don’t want to change our wedding date? Because of your pride and..."

At that something flashed in his eyes and he took a sharp inhale through his nose.

"My pride?” His voice his voice strained harshly, "Okay, how about we discuss why you do want to change the date because you’re embarrassed. You're embarrassed of me."

His comment floored you momentarily and you frowned. “Is that what you really think? That I’m ashamed of you?”

"Feels like it."

"Pull your God damn head outta your ass, Paul."

“The only person round here with anything up their ass is you, a big fucking stick about Tom Ludlow paying me a visit.” He croaked back. “What, you want me to be sat at home, helpless, waiting for you to come back? Does that fit with the narrative of why you wanna call the wedding off? Poor Paul, he can’t manage much at the moment so-“

“Fuck you!” You screamed back. “Fucking fuck you!”

Your chest heaved, your nostrils flared. You. Were. Done. You moved to leave, but as you made towards the door, his arm shot out and his hand wrapped around your upper arm.

“Where are you going?”

“Anywhere you’re not!” You spat, wrenching your arm from his grasp.

He grabbed you again, this time by the waist and pinned you to the near-by wall. It wasn't painful or abusive, it was just enough roughness to keep your attention.

“Get off me.” You hissed, attempting once more to rid yourself from his grip.

“Fucking calm down!” He instructed, his hands pinned yours to the wall, his chest lifting away from your body. It reminded you of how he'd treat a suspect, enough force to maintain control but not to hurt.

His words were said through clenched teeth, his own hot breath from his nose flicking your hair a touch, he was so close. His blue eyes, full of fire, blazed into yours as the two of you stood still, chests heaving from the exertion of the shouting and anger.

He was the one to break first as he slammed his lips into yours. It stole your breath as he kept you pinned against the wall.

Eventually he pulled back and you glared at him. “Prick.”

“Shut the fuck up.” He hissed again, his voice breaking before his lips crashed back to yours. His hips ground into yours, keeping you pinned to the wall and it didn’t escape your notice that he was hard. The fucker was turned on.

But, in all honesty, no matter how pathetic it was, his display of dominance had you fluttering slightly but you were damned if you we’re going to show him that.

You felt him release your arms as his hands quickly moved to your work cargos. Your utility belt and flies were no match for his swift movements and you felt the release of their hold on you as the material flew open.

His chest and kiss kept you pinned to the wall as he undid the zipper to his denim and you quickly felt the head of his cock slip between your folds. “Seriously?” You whispered, making no attempt to stop him. “You think a fuck is gonna sort this out?”

He rutted up into you, stuffing himself right inside and jolting your body up the textured paint. The burn and stretch took your breath away, you weren’t as prepared as usual but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

"I said shut up." He growled as your arms swooped around his neck, trying to find purchase to grab and your fingers found the collar of his shirt. You gave a tug, no doubt stretching the collar but you didn't care. He thrust upward and used his hips to keep you in place as he leaned back enough to slip his shirt off, his built chest and less defined abs now on display, that necklace bouncing off his chest from the speed of his disrobing.

His eyes still blazed as you caught them in your own gaze. He looked down right feral, his skin flushed with anger. His hands flew to the hem of your navy uniform tee and in a wrench he had that over your head, his lips dropping to your collar bone and he nipped along the line, stinging bites that would no doubt leave their marks.

“Not so fucking mouthy now, are you Sugar?”

Your only reply was the 'fuck' that escaped your lips at a whimper as he spoke. The rasp of his injury mixed with the deep tone lust did to him had you fluttering in all the right places.

You weren't sure how he'd done it but your boots were unlaced and falling to the floor at his feet with a thud. You barely registered the way his fingers slipped under the hem at the leg of your cargos and slipped your socks away. He was rutting into you with such hard measure, his tongue aggressively and passionately dancing with your own. You felt a rawness against your back from the wall. He stopped kissing and fucking you long enough to tear down your pants and panties the rest of the way, leaving you in your sports bra, your nipples rock hard poking into the material. All whilst his body still pressed hard against you.

With a yelp, he lifted you and carried you the few short steps to the couch, dropping you on your ass and turning you to your knees. You caught just a glimpse of how he looked, chest naked and heaving, tattoos glistening with sweat, that look still raging in his eyes. You wagered you looked about the same because he looked how you felt. His cock glistened with your slick as he slipped right behind you, a knee on the cushion of the couch, the other boot planted into the carpet.

Without a word his hands grabbed your hips, unceremoniously repositioning you before he slammed straight back inside, jolting you forward a little as you cried out, your hands curling round the arm of the sofa, elbows locking to prevent you from falling face first into the cushions.

The angle change along your swollen walls filled you with a deep, rough pleasure and you groaned loudly as his hips rotated in a dirty grind as he bottomed out on one of his thrusts.

"Oh my... fuck..." you stuttered and behind you Paul gave a moan of his own.

“That all you got to say?” He panted, his voice cracking slightly, punctuated by his pants.

“Asshole.” You managed to whisper and with that, Paul grabbed that ponytail you sported and held tight, arching you head back towards him.

“Jesus Christ you just can’t stop can you?” His lips crashed to yours in a sloppy, filthy, tongue filled kiss before splaying his chest over your back, his hot breath against your ear as he made the most pleasurable grunts and moans, his hips pounding back and forth in a relentless rhythm.

He was close, you could feel it in the subtle rhythm change of his hips, his hand on your hip squeezing your skin, bruising it no doubt later.

"Do. It." You punctuated.

“Oh, baby girl , you should know by now,” he growled as his right hand moved from your hip, slipping around your belly and down between your legs, “not. before. you.” In no time at all his fingers had teased you to relief, your back arched as you cried out loudly, the heat and surge of your orgasm washing over you, the world spinning as you crashed over the edge.

He growled your name as he came, filling you but not stopping his relentless thrusts as if he couldn't help the automated way his body had taken over, taken you. You felt how warm your insides were at his spend, no doubt absorbing most of it. You fell forward onto the couch, his body lightly crushing you into the cushions.

As the two of you worked at recovering, his lips brushed over your skin in super soft kisses; along your shoulder, the back of your neck.

The only sound in the room were the two of you breathing heavily, a stark contrast to the screaming match you shared for the last two days. Then you felt his weight shift and a sweet kiss to the back of your neck.

"About the wedding...."

You groaned, after everything you just threw at each other and the most ridiculously, satisfying angry sex you had ever had, he wanted to start back up again. "Please don't. I don't want to argue."

He hushed you and your walls squeezed against him. He let out a low chuckle mixed with a moan. "I’m not." He kissed your shoulder. "Before you came in before like a buck shot grizzly bear, I was gonna say you were right."

You stilled and turned your head to look at Him. “I’m sorry, say that again?” You teased

He smiled and nipped at your neck, "don't be a dick."

He pulled out of you and sat down on the sofa. Your body was jello but you couldn't miss the chance to seize an opportunity to slip him back inside you and simply sit on his lap. He gave a grunt as you kissed him, soft at first, then lolled your tongue over his lips. "I'm sorry too."

“I never said I was sorry.” He playfully chuckled and this time you nipped at him, teeth grazing his jaw.

“Don’t be a dick.”

His hands moved to your hips and then up your back, pulling you against his tacky damp chest.

“Disco?”

“Sugar?”

“You don’t really think I’m ashamed of you, do you?”

"It'd crossed my mind."

"Look at me," you sat up and held his jaw in your palms. "Never, in my entire life will I ever be ashamed of you. You are the absolute strongest, bravest person I know."

"Okay."

You kissed those sweet little moles on his right cheek by his nose and just below his bottom lashes. "I love you like no other, Paul Diskant."

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and that gorgeous soft smile spread across his lips. Then you wrapped your arms around his neck and placed a kiss where you knew he'd feel and understand what you meant, what you felt. It was covered by a still healing scar, but he felt everything.

“I only want us to have the day we want, the day we deserve.” You whispered, sniffing a little as you blinked back tears.

"I'll call Shutters tomorrow. See what they can do." He whispered into your hair as he kissed your head.

“Thank you.” You lay your head on back his shoulder, his arms holding you close.

***** Part 6.1

#rock n roll people in a disco world #paul diskant #paul diskant x reader #paul diskant x you #reader insert #paul diskant fan fiction #street kings #chris evans #chris evans characters

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legends-live-in-memories · 3 years

Text

Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century

AYO! Day 2 of MGI Trope Tussle! Team Enemies-to-Lovers for the win. I bring you another oneshot. but this time i used 3 prompts like a dumbass.

Fics Masterlist

Daminette Oneshot 4.3K words (no warnings except slight cursing)

Summary:

“Marinette is invited to the Super-Rockin' Wedding of the Century and she needs a date. Alya is both her best and worst wingman.”

Day 2 of MGI Trope Tussle, I used 3 prompts to make this thing: 1. "You don't have to like me, you just need to pretend you do." 2. "I like your costume. You look very cute." "Are you making fun of me?" 3. 'Write about a very unusual wedding proposal.' this is the culmination of all my efforts.

without further ado:

It was the biggest news on the internet. Global sensation, international rockstar, Jagged Stone, was officially engaged to childhood friend turned manager, Penny Rolling. Memes and fan theories stormed every corner of the web. Trending topics including #rockstar_wedding and #RollingStone permeated every social media platform. Guest lists were speculated, dress designers were tagged in every post that even mentioned the words ‘wedding’ or ‘bride’. It was total mayhem but none felt it worse than up-and-coming Parisian designer, M. D. Cheng, privately known as Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

The young adult was up to her neck in design templates, and was drowning in half-baked ideas and sketches. While the internet has only heard about the proposal for a solid two weeks at this point, Marinette was in the know for six months. Jagged Stone had contacted her in advance because he needed her help with the proposal itself.

And what a proposal it was.

Jagged had outlined his idea in simple terms but it was still so mind-boggling that Marinette needed him to draw some visual aids to completely convey his idea. Initially it sounded simple enough but the more the man spoke, the more Marinette felt her brain fry at the mental picture. It first involved recreating a scene from Penny’s favourite movie. Which sounded rather romantic, if you ignored the fact that her favourite movie was Bride of Chucky. Then it involved Jagged dressed as the Tinman from Wizard of Oz. Oh, and the proposal had to happen on Halloween because that was the anniversary of their first date apparently, and based on everything else this plan entailed it might as well have been. Marinette’s role in all of this was to simply re-make the white wedding dress Chucky’s bride, Tiffany, wore because Penny already had the leather jacket to match. Of course she did. She didn’t even want to know how Jagged acquired the Tinman suit. Not her barrel of monkeys.

While many thought Jagged was the eccentric one of the pair, due to his loud personality and being an actual rockstar, the more Marinette worked for the two of them over the years, the more she learned how absolutely wrong they all were. It turned out it was Penny’s idea for Jagged to dye his hair purple, and she was the one to ask him out on Halloween all those faithful years ago. Her calm and collected demeanor was an impressive cover for the absolute weirdo she actually was. And Jagged had planned a proposal that was undoubtedly perfect for her. Regardless of how abso-fucking-lutely bizarre it was.

To each their own and let’s move on.

The set-up for the proposal started with Jagged, dressed as the Tinman, playing the part of Chucky, who begins the body-switching chant from the movie. Everything from that point on was resting on Penny’s love for the movie. Without hesitating, Penny, dressed as Tiffany, and playing her part, knew the lines by heart and immediately began reenacting the scene with Jagged. Her lines involved telling ‘Chucky’ to kiss her while she reaches for a knife that’s supposed to be in his pocket. Instead, as Jagged was still dressed as the Tinman, Penny pulled out a slip of paper. On said paper, the words ‘All the Tinman wanted was a heart’ were written in Jagged’s almost illegible chicken scratch. When Penny was distracted with the piece of paper, Jagged had gotten down on one knee and pulled out the engagement ring. The actual words of his proposal were never actually said because, upon seeing the ring, Penny flung herself into the man, clipping her chin into his metal-plated shoulder, but she wasn’t complaining.

So that was how the proposal went.

Wedding planning started almost immediately since the newly engaged had already picked a theme. And this is where Marinette began to regret every life choice she has made since she was thirteen; starting with opening the mysterious box she found on her desk and ending with agreeing to being the main designer for the Rockin’ Wedding of the Century. One thing that wasn’t well-known but not a secret about Jagged was that he was a superhero fan. He grew up enjoying the fictional ones in his childhood comic books and he adored the real ones he witnessed in his adult life. His song that he dedicated to the teenage Ladybug was only one part of his… appreciation. His hero-worship went so far as to beieve that a hero-themed wedding was appropriate. Or he didn’t, but also didn’t care about adhering to societal propriety and went with that theme anyways. So the Rockin’ Wedding of the Century was now the Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century. And twenty-three year old Marinette was incharge of the entire wedding party’s outfits.

Perfect.

As a small mercy from some god, both the bride and groom to-be had a rather short list of people in their parties. Marinette was also able to design appropriate hero-themed outfits for all of them and scheduled them for fittings in the coming weeks. That, surprisingly, was the easy part as there were plenty of heroes to draw inspiration from. However, that wasn’t the cause of her current crisis right now.

No. Marinette was up to her neck in unnecessary designs and ideas because she’s been avoiding one particular contingency in her acceptance of the wedding invitation.

She needed a date.

She needed a date because she had promised Penny that she wasn’t overworking herself and to prove it, she would bring a date to the wedding. Rather than call any of the people who expressed interest in her at some point in time, she designated herself to wallow in her situation and distract herself with designs. In the midst of her one person pity party, her phone rang under the sea of ripped out pages. She scoured for the device and hastily answered before she could accidently send the caller to voicemail.

“Hello?” She didn’t check the caller ID and was delighted at the sound of her best friend answering her.

“Marinette! How’s it going over there?” Alya’s voice was mixed in with the busy street life of Metropolis. She had moved there immediately after high school, snatching an internship with the Daily Planet and attending the local community college. She and Marinette don’t call often due to time differences, but when they do it’s like they’ve never parted. She always looked forward to her calls.

“It’s going great, Als,” if she ignored her current dilemma, then yeah, everything was perfect. “But you wouldn’t happen to have an available bachelor willing to be my date to the ‘Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century’ in your back pocket, would you?”

Alya’s answering laugh was both comforting and teasing and Marinette felt herself missing her even more. What she said next, however, took Marinette by surprise.

“Actually I do.”

“Pardon?”

“Well,” she took a pause to build suspense. “I know a guy who knows a guy. But it’s nothing shady, I swear.”

“That’s not comforting.” Oh god. What has she unintentionally signed herself up for?

“You know my coworker, Jon? The guy who does the photography for all my field work?” Alya had met Jon as soon as she had started her internship. Both of his parents were top journalists at the Daily Planet so he volunteered to act as tour guide for all the new interns. He and Alya, from the exasperated stories Marinette has heard from Nino, got along like a house on fire. If he was involved, Marinette was starting to doubt even further that this was going to end well for her.

“Yes, I know Jon. How is he by the way?”

“He’s fine, but I remember him telling me how he tried to set up his best friend on several dates over the years and how they all ended poorly. He’s as approachable as a brick wall; not just a prick but the whole damn cactus. Or so Jon says.” How does that sound like someone Marinette wanted to bring along with her to the wedding? “But he’s totally your type so I could ask Jon to wrap him up in bubblewrap and send him your way whenever you want.”

“How,” and Marinette said this with a lot of feeling, “is he my type exactly?”

“Green eyes with daddy issues.”

“ALYA!” Marinette was absolutely floored at her bluntness. She wasn’t even sorry about shouting into the receiver.

“Am I wrong? You have a type and he fits that type. Jon mentioned how this guy and his dad hit several roadblocks when they first met. And I’ve seen pictures of him so ‘green eyes’ checks too.”

“That is not my type of guy.” She can’t believe this was how this conversation was going.

“Adrien.”

“I didn’t even know who his father was at the time, Alya.”

“Felix.”

“His dad is dead! That doesn’t count as ‘daddy issues.’” She can feel her cheeks flaming as the call went on. Any hotter and she was going to set her sketchbooks on fire. “Besides, I dated Luka so he doesn’t fit the criteria.”

“He’s an outlier and that’s only because his eyes are blue.” Okay, fine she had a type. “And besides, you don’t even have to date the guy. You only need him to accompany you to the wedding and you both go your separate ways after. No harm, no foul.”

Right. That was true. No strings attached. She could do that.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but,” she held her breath and let it out loudly, ignoring Alya’s chuckle at her dramatics.” Give Jon my number to give this guy. And send his number to me.”

“Wahoo! Look at you, girl,” Alya was hooting and hollering over the speaker and Marinette found herself going along with the theatrics. “Okay, I will. But I gotta go, my cab is here. Bye!”

“Bye! Stay safe. Oh before you go, what’s Jon’s friend’s name anyways?”

“Uh, Damian, I think.” The call ended before Marinette could respond, but it was okay she mused. Tossing her phone onto her couch, she flopped down onto her floor and stared at her ceiling contemplatively.

What could go wrong?

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

When Alya had described this Damian guy as ‘not just a prick but the whole damn cactus,’ she was right. Marinette had been texting back and forth with Damian for a month, and the guy was making this idea seem less and less worth it by the day. Whenever Marinette tried to learn more about the guy, he would ghost her for days on end before replying with a half-assed response at best. She knew nothing about him other than that his first name was Damian and that he was from Gotham. She had no idea how the ball of life that was Jon was even friends with someone like Damian. She asked as much to Alya in their most recent call.

“How did they even meet?” She was pacing the floor plan of her apartment, ready to tear her hair out. “Did Damian bully him in school or something?”

“Apparently their dads knew each other and introduced them,” Alya sounded half awake, stifling a yawn; probably because Marinette had called her at 1 am, Metropolis’s time. “Their brothers being friends also forced them to get along.”

“And that’s another thing!” Marinette had paused in her pacing and was now staring intently at a potted plant in the corner of her living room. Any more rage in her glare and the plant would have wilted and died. “He doesn’t tell me anything about him. I don’t need to know all his personal information, but if he’s going to be flying out to Paris on my behalf, I think I at least deserve to know his last name.”

“Hey, M,” another yawn echoed through the speaker, “I love you, truly, but maybe this could wait for holier day time hours?”

“I guess,” a vindictive part of Marinette felt like this was payback for all those inopportune calls when Marinette was busy with clients. “Sorry for interrupting your sleep.”

“It’s no big deal. But have you tried talking to him about it? If he’s ghosting your texts, try calling him. If he ignores you then too then maybe you should try finding another person to be your plus one.”

“The wedding is in two weeks, Alya!” Marinette partially regrets waiting so long to vent her frustration about the situation but she had tried to tough it out. “I would have much preferred if you were my plus one. You sure there’s no way to convince your parents to skip out on the family trip?”

“Sorry, M. Once the news about the proposal hit the internet, I tried everything. I even tried to use work, saying that I could cover the ceremony for the newspaper. My folks won’t budge though. My dad’s aunt is important to him and he wants us all at the funeral.”

“Right, right, I forgot about that.” Now she felt like an ass. “Send you dad my condolences when you see him again.”

“Will do. Good morning, Marinette. And don’t worry too much about the guy. Everything will turn up great. I can feel it.”

“Thanks, Alya. Good night, get some sleep.”

The line went dead and Marinette let out a rather weary exhale. She had no idea how this was going to work. She pulled up her contacts and searched for what she had Damian saved as.

‘Douche’ flashed on her screen and she hit the call button without remorse. She didn’t care that it was also currently 1 am in Gotham. He didn’t deserve that much consideration from her.

“What?” His voice was gravely and deep. And also really pissed if his clipped tone was anything to go by.

“Damian? Hi, this is Marinette, the girl you’re accompanying to the wedding in two weeks?” Her voice was pitched as if she was dealing with an irritating customer. Fake and polite.

“I know who you are. Why are you calling me at this unreasonable hour?” Fair, but Marinette was still aggravated at him so she wouldn’t concede.

“I’m calling because we need to talk.” She heard him scoff over the line and she felt her blood boil even hotter. She took several calming breaths to reign her temper in. “Don’t hang up.”

“Look,” She didn’t give him a chance to refuse and kept talking, getting everything off her chest. “This wedding is important to me and I promised the bride I would bring a date. After that you can delete my number and we never have to speak to each other ever. You don’t have to like me, you just need to pretend you do.”

“Whatever,” he sounded less annoyed from when he first answered the phone. “I will act as cordial as the situation requires, and nothing more. I also have my attire secured for the wedding and accommodations in Paris already prepared. I will see you at the wedding.”

“Than—” The sound of the call ending interrupted her and her frustration was back tenfold. With a cry in anguish she flung her phone onto her couch and stomped into her kitchen to channel her rage into baking.

Three loaves of bread and a dozen eclairs later, Marinette felt calm enough to finish the final touches on her outfit for the wedding.

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

It was the day of the Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century. The Rolling-Stone’s, as they were asking to be called, had kept the ceremony small. Relatively. Only two hundred invited guests, few of which were asked to bring a plus one. Marinette was over the moon at the array of outfits people were sporting. Some chose full-on cosplay while others, like herself, went for more subtle nods to the heroes. In honour of a previous Ladybug, Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, Marinette based her outfit off of Wonder Woman’s uniform, Hippolyta’s daughter. A navy blue sequined halter top bodice that flows into a blood red A-line skirt. She paired it with a thick silver belt, silver gladiator heels rather than boots and broad silver arm cuffs. It was simple but effective. Besides, all attention should be on the bride and groom today.

A tap on her shoulder caught her attention and she turned only to come face first with red with black spots. Ladybug. Someone chose her as inspiration. How flattering. Looking up to see who was wearing the Ladybug-themed suit jacket, she stared at a pair of deep forest green eyes and a sneer to ruin that ridiculously handsome face. She recognized him from the photo Alya had sent some time ago. Damian.

“Hi, Damian,” at least one of them had to be civil and Marinette knew it was going to be her. But the idea that of all the heroes for him to choose from he chose her sent her into poorly stifled fits of giggling. Images of him going ‘Lucky Charm’ and ‘Miraculous Ladybug’ were almost too much to bear.

“I don’t know what’s so amusing about my choice of attire,” his face was starting to flush in similar shades to his jacket and that made Marinette laugh harder. “Ladybug is a well respected heroine and I thought it appropriate to pay homage while in her home city.”

“No. No no. There is nothing wrong with it. I like your costume, you look very cute.”

“Are you making fun of me?” His irritation was rather cathartic for the still giggling woman.

“No, I just didn’t think you would have put that much thought into your outfit for today. You always gave me the impression that you were ready to back out at any time.”

“I made a commitment and I had all intentions to see it through the end.”

“Could have fooled me.” And her snark was back. Now was not the time to pick a fight with the guy, he did fly all the way to Paris on her behalf after all.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” and Marinette wanted to know how he managed to sound so condescending with that statement. “How did you even get an invitation to this wedding anyways? You’re not a celebrity and you don’t look like family either.”

“Actually,” she said it with more force than what was probably necessary but his slightly accusatory tone was just so irritating. “I am the lead designer for the wedding party,” her chest was swimming with confidence at the chance to talk about her job. “I’ve worked with the bride and groom for years; M. D. Cheng, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Marinette will deny to her grave the rush of satisfaction at the absolute gobsmacked look on Damian’s face. A real fish out of water. Mouth open wide ready to catch flies. She wished she could capture this moment forever.

The moment was over too soon because Damian was regaining his composure and slipping into his default stoic expression. He cleared his throat and fixed a look at Marinette. It was rather intense.

“I believe I owe you an apology then.” He looked put-out at admitting something so menial. “I believed you were nothing more than a socialite chain climber.”

“A what?”

“When Jon reached out to me saying that a friend of one of his coworkers needed a date for an event, and when that event turned out to be the wedding of someone of such popularity, I figured you were only trying to increase your own social status by showing up with me on your arm.”

“And you said ‘yes’ anyways?” Marinette was confused but pieces of the mystery that is Damian were starting to fit in place. But something else stuck out as odd to her. “Also, how would you being my date increase my social status anyhow?”

He scoffs before answering. Bitch.

“What? It wouldn’t be the first time one of Jon’s set-ups ended that way. Besides, we’ve had an agreement that I can’t turn down an offer until meeting the person face to face.” Weird deal but some friendships are just like, Marinette supposes. “And being seen with me is enough to make anyone more popular.”

“...And you are?”

“Damian… Wayne…” He spoke as if he was talking to a small child. As if it should be obvious who he was like he was some celeb— Oh shit.

A name had flashed into her mind. On the finalised guest list, Marinette had only seen it once in passing, there was a name that belonged to someone Jagged was rather excited to see. He said the friend was an old college buddy. She remembered that much. She had completely forgotten that ‘a billionaire playboy’ was also attached to the name. Damian was the son of Bruce Wayne. Suddenly everything in the past few months made perfect sense. The cold shoulder, the ghosting, and his prickly disposition. He was overly guarded because he had justified reasons to be. Now she felt like an ass.

“Oh.” Real intelligent, Marinette.

“Oh? What, you didn’t know?” He sounded incredulous at the notion and he had every right to be. Marinette could only shake her head. Words were failing her now, her brain trying to rewrite the memories of every interaction the two ever had.

She was saved from further mortification by a call for everyone to find their seats. The wedding was about to begin.

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

The ceremony was beautiful. Penny’s dress was a silver grey, tied back with a golden belt. Instead of a long train, Marinette had attached a black cape that shimmered in the right lighting. Penny wore a tiara with two peaks to imitate the ‘bat-ears.’ A Batman-themed wedding dress was not something she ever saw herself making, but she was proud at how beautiful and confident Penny looked in it. Jagged was adorn in a royal blue suit with bold red lapels. He also had a matching red cape. His hair was styled in the familiar sleek way Superman wears it. The two made quite the pair.

The reception was a lively affair. Jagged had dedicated several songs to his new wife and they dazzled the crowd on the dance floor. Marinette didn’t pay much attention to the speeches beyond a quick glance at Damian when his own father stepped up to the podium. He had buried his head in his hands, looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. A courtesy pat on the back was all Marinette gave to him.

The two hadn’t really spoken much since the revelation that they had completely misjudged each other. The awkward tension was almost palpable. As Marinette was gathering the courage to speak to him, to try and officially clear the air, she was being dragged by one of the bridesmaids onto the dancefloor. It was time for the bride to throw the bouquet. All the unmarried women were being corralled into a tight cluster and Marinette got swept up in the tide.

Marinette wasn’t focusing on the actual game, trying her hardest not to get trampled, when she saw something move in her periphery. Years of being Ladybug had left her with finely honed instincts so she could not be blamed when she immediately jumped and caught the incoming object. The bouquet. She had caught the bouquet. Oh that was just her luck. Deafening squeals of delight brought her out of her own head and she was suddenly being embraced in Penny’s arms. She returned the hug, sharing in her delight, before breaking away to sit down.

“Nice catch.” His voice had surprised her, she hadn’t expected him to speak to her for the rest of the night.

“Uh, thank you. Just lucky, I guess.” Damian didn’t get the chance to respond because he was being dragged by his own father to join all the bachelors in catching the garter. Marinette was equally uninterested in this spectacle and had let her mind wander to other things.

A loud uproar caught her attention again and her eyes zeroed in on Damian holding the tossed garter. He made his way back over to her, dropping himself into his seat gracelessly. The two sat in silence, contemplating the implications of them both catching the garter and bouquet. The games were done purely for tradition’s sake, with total disregard of what it was supposed to symbolise. Still. One’s mind couldn’t help but wander. Minutes ticked passed and Marinette was beginning to wonder if someone was going to talk about the elephant in the room.

“So,” Damian’s voice was slightly strained, like he wasn’t used to being this flustered. It was kind of endearing. Wait what?

“So.”

“While marriage seems far out of reach for right now,” Oh god. He was going to talk about it. “How does dinner sound, next Friday?”

“Wait,” he wanted to spend more time with her? After their disastrous first impressions? “Really?”

“Really. I believe we started off on the wrong foot,” he let out a soft chuckle, almost self-deprecating. “Which isn’t really new for me, but it’s not everyday I meet someone who doesn’t recognise me at first glance. I think you’re someone who I would like to get to know better. If that is something you are also interested in.”

“Yeah,” Marinette knows all about wanting to get acquainted with someone who she’s had a bad first impression of. Just look at her past relationships. Wow, she really does have a type. Damning thoughts for later. “Friday works for me. Seven pm?”

“Perfect. I’ll text you the details then.”

“Wonderful, I can’t wait.”

The rest of the evening was spent in companionable silence with small bouts of conversation in between. They shared a couple dances on the floor and parted ways at the end of the night with budding anticipation for Friday.

As Marinette was preparing for bed that night in the comfort of her apartment, she sent a text to Alya that her friend would see later in the day.

You were right, I do have a type :(

#maribat #daminette #maridami #mgi trope tussle #mgi- server event #enemies to lovers #speedrun #i #like a dumbass challenged myself to use three prompts and i delivered #i hope #i hope yall enjoy #tumblr do me a solid #dont hide my posts #please #im begging #ml x dc #mlb x dc #tumblr please stop hiding my posts #no beta this is tussle

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the-bau-quinjet · 3 years

Text

Anything for You

So, I got this idea in my head and I wrote it. This is not the first thing I’ve written, but the first that I finished. And the first that I’m posting. Sorry if it sucks. I hope someone out there likes it. Italics indicate past memories.

Summary: This takes place after Maeve. It sort of starts a month before Spencer goes back to work but then skips a year. Reader is the newest member of the BAU. Spencer lashes out when she tries to help him, but he doesn’t realize how much she can relate to his trauma.

warnings: angst but also a little fluff, typical CM violence (kidnapping, torture, death etc.), dark thoughts about dying, I think that’s it

Word Count: 6218

It is moments like this that make you rethink every decision that lead you here. You are on the jet on the way back to Quantico after a particularly rough case. The team managed to save the most recent victim, but only to discover three more hidden on the unsubs property. And to make it worse, they were children. Everyone on the team keeps shooting you concerned glances, worried that you might break. It’s only fair. You are still the newbie.

You started at the BAU one month ago to the day. Your previous position was a desk job, but you were ready to get back into field after two years of endless paperwork. Not that the entire team knows you had been in the field before. Only Hotch knows. You don’t like to talk about it. You had gone so far as to cut Hotch off to prevent him from bringing it up on your first day.

You are counting down the floors with each beep as the elevator rises to bring you to the floor that houses the Behavioral Analysis Unit. To say you aren’t nervous would be a lie, but that comes with the territory of starting a new job. Especially a job with one of the most elite units of the FBI. It’s hard not to be intimidated.

The elevator doors slide open, revealing the all too familiar glass doors that lead to the BAU. When you were trying to decide if switching career paths was the right decision, you found yourself staring at these doors far more than you’d care to admit.

You walk through the doors, immediately heading for Hotch’s office. He told you to meet him there first thing this morning. You knock on the open door to draw his attention.

“Agent L/N, please come in.” He looks up from the file he has open on his desk.

“Agent Hotchner, I would just like to thank you again for the position.” You have to stop yourself before you ramble on about how grateful you are for his taking a chance on you.

“Please, call me Hotch. You’re new ID was just dropped off.” He says, handing you the plastic card to put in your credentials. You take a moment to admire the way your name looks just above the words “Behavioral Analysis Unit” before sliding it into the wallet.

“I wish we had time for a more thorough welcoming, but we just got a case. I’ll introduce you to the team in the conference room.” He rises from his desk, you following behind him to a room already full of profilers. Of course, you already know of them all, but the introductions are nice nonetheless.

“L/N, these are SSAs Emily Prentiss, David Rossi, Derek Morgan, and Jennifer Jureau and our technical analyst Penelope Garcia.” You shake hands with each member of the team as there name is called. “Team, this is SSA Y/N L/N. She transferred from violent crimes-” You know he is going to bring up your previous field work, so you cut him off.

“It’s an honor to meet you all.” You smiled at Hotch, trying your best to get him to move on. Thankfully, you can see in his eye that he understands why you don’t want to relieve your past field experience.

“Actually, that’s not all. Dr. Reid is on leave at the moment, but you’ll meet him when he returns.” You nod, taking a seat next to Derek. “Garcia, you can start now.”

The memory fades and you try to ignore the concerned glances from everyone on the jet. Yes, you were the one to find the children in the back shed, but you have techniques to handle this. You’ve always been good at compartmentalizing. It comes with the territory of undercover work.

You are more concerned with the wellbeing of one Dr. Reid. This is the first case you’ve worked with him, but it still feels like something’s off. Granted, you don’t know why he was on leave or how long it lasted.

After everyone else is asleep, barring Hotch who is too focused on his reports to pay you any attention, you slide down into the seat across from Spencer. He doesn’t even glance up from his book.

“Dr. Reid?” You can tell he’s stopped reading at the sound of your voice, but it takes him a moment to actually look up at you. When he does, you can see the sadness in his eyes.

“L/N. Are you okay?” Of course he would ask you that. You’ve known him for all of 72 hours, but he’s still concerned about you’re wellbeing. The way your heart flutters at the sentiment catches you off guard.

“Oh, um, I’m fine. I actually wanted to check on you.” He looks startled at that, but you just push forward. “I know we only just met, and I have no idea what you’re going through, but I just thought maybe I could help.” You can see the instant you finished talking that it was a mistake. He is clearly not ready to talk about his demons, especially with a near stranger.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-“ “No, you shouldn’t have.” His words are defensive more than anything. The words of someone who just went through unbelievable pain “You couldn’t possibly help me. Unless, of course, you’ve been kidnapped, tortured, and drugged, shot multiple times, and witnessed the love of your life being murdered in front of you just to name a few. I’m sure you have plenty of experience with that given your work in violent crimes.” The sarcasm is obvious, with violent crimes being a desk job. He mistakes the tears that spring to your eyes as pity rather than understanding. He scoffs, going back to his book while you wander back to your previous seat, trying to control your emotions.

Spencer doesn’t know about your time undercover. He doesn’t know you experienced all of those things. He doesn’t know about the scars that line your torso or the more prevalent scars on your heart. You try not to take it personally. You’ve had years to deal with your trauma. His is clearly newer. You tell yourself over and over that he’s not angry with you, but with the world. You just happened to be the first available outlet.

When the others wake up, they assume your red eyes are due to the case. That you are finally breaking down after a month on the job. They offer words of encouragement and promises to be there if you need to talk. They stress how you aren’t alone. They all know how you feel. You simply nod, gathering your things before heading home. You can’t help but think there is one of them who knows exactly what is going through your head. It’s the first time you’ve cried over Cameron in three months, the last time being the anniversary of his death.

-------

The next year at the BAU flies by. You actually feel like part of the family, knowing you could talk to any member of the team when you need a friend. Well, almost any member of the team. You and Spencer didn’t click the way everyone thought you would. Ever since the conversation on the plane, you hold back when you’re with him. It’s not that you two avoid each other. You’re just more like coworkers than family. You converse when you need to, but don’t seek each other out.

Nobody understands why. Hotch especially thought the two of you would become close. You can see why he would think so. From your brief encounters with Spencer, you can tell he’s been through hell. Hotch was probably hopeful the two of you might bond over shared trauma, act as an anchor for each other to know you aren’t alone. Of course that required you to share your trauma with the team, which definitely has not happened.

It’s not that you don’t trust them. It’s just that the moment hasn’t provided itself yet. First of all, you can’t just casually bring up being kidnapped and tortured for government secrets with your fiancé who was then murdered in front of you. Second of all, something in you says it would crush Spencer. You can tell he clearly still feels bad about what he said to you that day.

You two hadn’t talked about it. It was a year later, and you still hadn’t talked about it. You would think he forgot, but he does have a rather prolific memory. Everything was fine though. Mostly. He still seemed nervous around you. Or maybe you were projecting. There is something about Dr. Reid…

“Y/N, can I talk to you?” You were honestly surprised to hear Spencer’s voice saying those six words. Everyone else had already gone home, even Hotch. You just wanted to finish one more file.

“Of course, what’s up?” You try desperately to sound casual, to pretend like you weren’t just thinking about him. Despite not talking to Spencer all that often, you still have a massive amount of respect for him. Watching him work is incredible. You would expect most people with his intelligence to come off as cocky, but he is somehow still so humble.

“I just wanted to apologize. For what I said on the jet. I was in a bad place, and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have said those things, you were just trying to help me, and I threw it back in your face. Also, I’m sorry it took me so long to actually apologize. I just felt so awful, I didn’t know how to bring it up and the longer I waited the more nervous I became and” “Spencer,” he looked startled at the sound of his name. Granted, you normally call him Dr. Reid or Reid when you’re feeling more casual, but still. It’s his name, why is he so surprised you’re using it? “You didn’t do anything wrong. Trust me. You were dealing with an amount of grief nobody should have to go through. I shouldn’t have tried to step in without knowing more about the situation. I’m sorry.” This is your chance. Tell him what happened to you. Come clean about it all.

He just looks so… relieved. As if you had lifted a weight off his shoulder just by telling him you understood he didn’t mean it. Seeing the hope in his eyes, you couldn’t bring yourself to put any of that weight back on him. He had just freed himself, he doesn’t need your problems weighing him back down.

You can tell he still feels bad, but maybe now the two of you can try to move on. Maybe you’ll actually become friends. Telling him that you have indeed been through all of those things would just bring all that guilt back. For some reason, there is nothing you would rather do than protect Spencer Reid from pain.

So, you’ve resigned yourself to never telling anyone unless you absolutely had to. You convinced yourself it was a secret you could take to the grave. Nobody needed to know.

Until one day, they do. And that day happens to be tomorrow.

“Hello, crime fighters. This one is a doozey.” Penelope walked into the round table room and immediately jumped into the case. “Three heterosexual couples in Plano, Texas have been killed. The details are on your tablets. Be warned, it is not a pretty sight. All the victims were tortured. The men all died of blood loss. The women were drowned after multiple non fatal gunshot wounds and other various forms of torture.” You tensed ever so slightly at the description of the crimes. Hotch shot you a concerned glance, but you waved him off with a slight shake of your head. You zoned out for the rest of Garcia’s description, deciding instead to focus on every detail you could learn from the case files on your tablet.

“Wheels up in 20.” Hotch’s voice drew you from your focus on the files. “Y/N?” You looked at him from your seat at the table, realizing everyone else had already left. “If this is too much for you, everyone would understand.” You stand, plastering the fakest smile Hotch has ever seen on your face.

“I appreciate the concern, but there is a job to do. And I intend to do it.” There is no malice behind your words. Only a fierce determination to catch this unsub before he can hurt anyone else.

“Alright, but Y/N, please. Let me know if you need to talk about it. The whole team is here for you.” You features soften into a genuine smile before you respond.

“Thank you, Hotch.” And with that, you exit the room. You grab your go bag, meeting the other agents by the elevator.

The flight to Texas is long enough that the team’s discussion doesn’t prevent everyone from catching up on sleep. While everyone else is resting, preparing to start up again on the ground with fresh eyes, you are pouring over every detail again and again. You just need to know if it’s the same people. The same people who killed your fiancé. The same people who tortured you.

It was a day like any other. You had just gotten to the bar you were working at as a cover. Cameron was working security, you as a bartender. The mission was supposed to be simple.

There was a domestic terrorist cell operating just outside of Plano in Addison, TX. The leader was believed to own the very bar you had gotten a job in. You were supposed to gather intelligence, and report back. You weren’t supposed to engage with the terrorist cell. It was a simple mission.

That day, the day you could never forget, started exactly how you expected it to. The leader was supposed to be meeting with his right hand. You were supposed to learn who or what they were planning to target. You still can’t pinpoint the moment you knew something was wrong.

Everything was normal when you clocked in. Everything was normal when you served you first few customers. Everything as normal when you walked up to the table hosting the meeting and asked if you could get them anything. Everything was normal until it wasn’t.

You remember waking up in a warehouse. Cameron was tied to a chair across from you. He was injured, bleeding from a cut in his side. It didn’t look that bad, but there was so much blood. How could such a small cut produce so much blood?

You had a million questions, but couldn’t form the words to ask them. You’re mouth felt like it was full of cotton. Cameron looked at you as if he knew something you didn’t. You suppose he did, given that he was awake before you. But that’s not what concerned you the most. No, it was the look of pure terror in his eyes. Pure terror, mixed with… resignation? That doesn’t make sense. Why would he be giving up?

Finally gathering enough strength to speak, you mumble “What happened?”

“Y/N… they know who we are. I don’t know how they figured it out, but they did. They are going to hurt me to get to you. You can’t let them, okay? Stay strong. Everything will be fine.” His words are rushed. You have a hard time following them, as if the words drift into the air, only to enter your head in a different order.

Before you have a chance to ask any more questions, you hear a door swing open behind you. You can hear the footsteps, but can’t turn around enough to see who they belong to.

“Do it.” You know that voice. You know you know it, but you can’t place it.

A man appears from your left. He stands in front of you, a mask covering his face so you can only see his eyes. “Let’s have some fun.” You’re ready for him to hit you. Or cut you. Or hurt you in any way. What you’re not ready for is him pulling a knife only to walk over to Cameron.

“No” The word is barely there. You aren’t even sure you said it out loud.

“Y/N, don’t tell them anything. Okay? I’ll be fine.” Cameron is looking at you with pleading eyes. You both know he’s lying.

“Your fiancé here is a liar.” The man sneers, dragging his knife down Cameron’s arm. “He will most certainly not be fine.” With that, the man plunges the knife into Cameron’s stomach. A gut wrenching scream leaves his mouth as the man moves the knife around inside his body. You try to control your reaction, but tears instantly spring to your eyes.

“Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll leave your man alone.” There’s no point. Cameron would never forgive you if you gave up information to the enemy. He’s always been a loyal soldier. Either way, deep down you know he won’t live much longer. He’s lost too much blood. You are going to have to watch the man you love die. He’s going to bleed out in front of you. And there’s nothing you can do about it.

You are shaken back to reality after the jet has landed. You slowly come to, realizing you must have fallen asleep while you were looking at the files. You can’t get the eyes out of your head now. The last time you had a nightmare was 6 months ago. Although, this was more of a memory than the usual nightmares you have.

“Y/N/N? You good?” Morgan is looking at you with concern that hasn’t been there since your first month on the job.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just groggy.” You try to laugh it off, walking past him and jumping into an SUV. You’re supposed to go with Hotch to the precinct to set up, so you can avoid the rest of the team’s questions for now.

You bury your head in the files again, trying to discern if anything feels off or if it is all too similar to be a coincidence.

“Just answer the question. This will all be over.” Cameron is dead. You are staring at his lifeless body as the man tries to torture you to get the answers he wants.

With all the strength you can muster up, you spit at him. “I didn’t break before and I won’t break now. Do what you want to me. You’ll never get your answers.” “Oh everyone’s got a breaking point. I’ll find yours.” With that, he storms passed you and out of the room.

You try to inventory the damage he’s done, but it’s hard because he typically drugs you when he leaves. You’re too disoriented to remember everything. You haven’t heard anything else from the first voice, but you finally realized it was the owner of the bar.

You are just about to drift back into unconsciousness when you hear a loud crash from somewhere in the building. You expect the masked man to come running back into the room, but instead you’re greeted with the face of the terrorist cell leader. He pulls you to your feet, mumbling about how this wasn’t part of the deal.

You don’t have the energy to protest as he pulls you down hallways and through doors. He bursts into a large open room. It smells like chlorine, but your eyes are too fuzzy to figure out why. The lights just got so much brighter, and you can’t see. You keep slipping on the floor. The third time, you fall to the ground. Everything is wet. He’s kicking you now. No, rolling you. It all feels distant. As if it’s not happening to you, but rather you are watching it happen to someone. Like a movie.

You hear the splash before you register the water surrounding you. You’re sinking. It’s actually quite warm. Like a comforting blanket tucking you into bed. The sounds of people yelling fade out as the water covers your head. You feel at peace as everything fades to black.

Suddenly, the peace is gone. You can hear voices. They sound loud, but still distant. Like you are swimming and someone is trying to talk to you from above the water. But the ground is hard now. There’s loud bangs too, but you can’t figure out what they are. There’s no pattern to them, but suddenly they stop. Maybe you’ll never know what they were, oh well. You just want to get back to the peaceful darkness.

Instead, you feel burning in your lungs and a pounding in your head. It feels like someone is punching you in the ribs. No. No. No. Where’s the peace?

All at once, the burning liquid is expelled from your lungs and your eyes fly open. You try to spin around, to see what’s happening, but everything hurts. Your lungs are trying to fill with air. Your eyes are trying to adjust to the lights. You head is begging everything to just stop making noise. Then, darkness. It’s not a peaceful transition this time. It’s sudden, as if someone turned everything off.

“Y/N?” The sound of your name draws you out of the memory again. You turn to see Hotch’s concerned expression. He’s parked the car outside of the station.

You take a few deep breaths before speaking, trying to prepare yourself for what you never wanted to have to do. “I have to tell them.” Hotch nods with a grim expression on his face.

“The team won’t judge you for keeping it a secret. We’ll all be there for you.” He tries to smile, but it’s more of a grimace. He’s too worried about you.

“I know. It’s not me I’m worried about.” For the first time since you met him, Aaron Hotchner looks confused. It’s actually kind of funny. Although, your laughing sounds more delirious than amused.

“Hotch, my first case with Spencer, do you remember it?” You shudder at the memory.

“Of course. It was hard on both of you.” Your smile feels weak, even to you.

“Well, I tried to check on him. I had only just met him, but he looked so sad. I wanted to take his pain away.” You can feel the tears coming, but you can’t figure out why. “He said unless I had been kidnapped, tortured, and drugged, shot multiple times, and witnessed the murder of the love of my life there was nothing I could do to help him.”

You can’t bring yourself to look at Hotch. His worrisome expression will just make you feel worse.

“You didn’t tell him.” The realization is evident in the lilt of his voice. Turning toward him, you try to explain, but he cuts you off. “He was listing trauma you’ve both experienced, and you didn’t tell him.”

“Of course not, he would’ve felt so guilty! He already feels so guilty and he has no idea. We talked it out, you know. We were actually becoming friends, although it was hard to see from an outside perspective.”

“You had me fooled. The two of you barely talk.” Hotch looks incredulous. You’ve never seen so many emotions on his face in one day, let alone one conversation.

“I know. It’s still new. Honestly, it happened yesterday.” Hotch actually chuckles at that. “I think he still feels bad that my first impression was him yelling at me. He’s going to feel so guilty, and I just wanted to keep that pain away from him. He doesn’t need my emotional baggage on top of his own.” You can’t read the expression on his face anymore. You can tell he’s thinking something, though he doesn’t intend to share.

“It’ll all work out in the end, Y/N. Reid is stronger than he looks. He’s been through a lot, but so have you. Let’s go catch this son of a bitch.” And the two of you exit the car as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred.

Your nerves build waiting for the rest of the team at the station. Spencer and Derek are last to arrive. You were hoping to have a few more minutes to figure out how to tell them all about the worst moments of your life, but alas the time has come.

Hotch clears his throat to get everyone’s attention. The conversations about theories die out as all eyes turn to him. “Y/N has a theory to share.”

That’s one way to put it. Before you can back out, you jump right in.

“The unsub was a for-hire torturer. I think he left the business and started killing for fun. A sadist. He enjoys the psychological torture of killing the one person you love more than anyone.” You can’t bring yourself to say another word. Spencer looks grief stricken. Everyone else is looking at you in confusion, except Hotch who is looking at you with sorrow. You can’t decide which is worse.

“What makes you say that?” Derek is the first one to speak. He clearly doesn’t understand why you came to that conclusion. Plus, he’s probably confused that Hotch had to introduce your theory rather than just include it in the brainstorming.

“Before I worked in violent crimes, I worked in the National Security division. I focused on domestic terrorism. We had a mission go wrong. It was supposed to be a simple, just gathering intel. Something went wrong and two agents were abducted.” You unconsciously decided to depersonalize the story. It’s something Hotch quickly caught on to, but what can he do about it? You just need to get the words out.

“They were a couple. Engaged. The man, he died from three precise wounds to the abdomen. He bled out while his fiancé was forced to watch.” You’re grateful when Emily interrupts.

“Did the woman drown?” The woman. You.

“No. Well, yes. She was dead for 3 minutes when they found her. The cell leader dumped her into a pool in the building she was being held in. They caught him trying to flee the building. When they questioned him about a partner, he said he hired someone to torture the couple to get information. He didn’t know where he went. I think that’s the unsub.”

Instantly, the team is theorizing. You stay quiet, listening. Where could he have hidden for this long? Were there more crimes in other states? Can Garcia look through unsolved double homicides that fit the signature? Before long, Derek asks the question you’ve been dreading.

“Can we interview the agent who survived?” You’re grateful that he’s looking at Hotch when he asks. Spencer, though, his eyes haven’t left you since you started speaking. He knows. You know he knows because you can see the weight bearing down on him. You tear your eyes away from him when Hotch clears his throat to get your attention.

“Y/N, can we interview the agent?” His tone is gentle. Hotch knows what he’s asking. Are you ready to tell them the truth? To share this pain with all of us?

“Yes. You can interview her.” You are visibly tense, but Morgan is just confused about the interaction. Why would Hotch need to ask you for permission? Why does he sound like someone just kicked his puppy?

“Great, when can she get here?” Of course, Morgan would ask the next logical question.

“She’s already here.” Your voice is quiet. He almost doesn’t hear you.

“What? Where?” He knows he’s missing something. It’ll only take him a few more seconds to put it together, but you save him the trouble.

“Right here.” You gesture to yourself, eyes flitting between Spencer’s and the ground. The rest of the team didn’t hear you. They were still working out theories as you, Morgan, Hotch, and Spencer converse in cryptic sentences and brief eye contact. Spencer is frozen in place. Hotch was stressed for you. It’s never easy to share past trauma, let alone when you feel like you don’t have a choice.

The realization hits Morgan so fast he almost falls to the ground. He rushes to you, pulling you into the tightest bear hug you have ever experienced. Morgan has become like an older brother to you. He always jokes about how he would beat up anyone who hurt you. You always joke right back about doing the same for him. He told you about Carl Buford a few months ago. It was also on a case. You would’ve told him everything then, but you didn’t want him to feel like you thought the two were comparable or that his trauma was somehow less important just because you’d been through some bad shit too.

His actions drew the attention of Rossi, JJ, and Emily though. You weren’t an overly emotional person usually. Undercover work made you good at compartmentalizing, so you never really sought out someone to comfort you. The sight of you in tears, wrapped in Morgan’s arms threw them for a loop. You normally waited until you got home to go through your routine to decompress. It was easier that way. But right now, the thought of even looking at Spencer was enough to bring tears to your eyes. You just couldn’t stop thinking about him. It felt weird, to be sharing such an intimate part of your life with everyone and still be thinking about him. You had moved on from it all though. You knew how to deal with it. Of course, you still love Cameron, but you talk about everything in therapy once a week so you won’t break down like this.

You see JJ look to Spencer for an explanation, but he’s too busy looking at you with more pain in his eyes than should be possible. He knows how it feels to see someone you love die right in front of you. He knows how it feels to try and move on from being drugged and tortured. He knows how it feels to be alone in it all. What he doesn’t know is how it feels to try and help someone through that grief only to have your own thrown back in your face. That’s what he did to you. Albeit, unintentionally but he did that. And it is so clear that he feels awful. You wish you could talk to him, but Morgan is pulling you into a different conference room for a cognitive interview that you somehow agreed to in your state of shock.

Hotch explains the situation to Rossi, Emily, and JJ. Spencer’s guilt only pushes further down on him when he hears it all again.

He stares at the room you’re in through the class doors of the conference room. He hasn’t moved in the ten minutes you’ve been gone. He expected JJ to talk to him first, but he was surprised to find Hotch instead.

“Y/N told me in the car that she was scared to share that story.” Hotch starts slow, trying to ease Spencer out of his own head.

“I would be too. It’s a painful memory to relive.” Spencer responds with a familiar tightness in his chest.

“She wasn’t worried about herself though.” Spencer’s head jerks up to meet Hotch’s stare.

“What do you mean? Who else would she be worried for?”

“You.” Hotch says it as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. You being worried about him when you share your darkest memories.

“Me?” Spencer practically falls out of his chair in an effort to sit up straighter. “Why would she worry about me?” Despite his genius IQ, he can’t fathom why you would worry about him in this scenario. If roles were reversed and he had to tell the story of watching Maeve die, he wouldn’t be worried about you. He slowly comes to the conclusion that he would be worried about you though. Now that he knows you’ve been through something similar, he would worry about you anytime it was brought up. Anytime anything remotely similar was brought up.

“She told me what you said to her on the jet after your first case together.” Spencer falls into himself at the memory, his guilt pushing his shoulders down. “She said you still feel guilty about it. That hearing the things she has been through would push all that guilt back to the surface. More than anything, she wanted to protect you from more pain.” Hotch seems to know more than he’s saying, but Spencer is too shocked to profile him.

“But, I, how would, but…” Spencer is muttering the beginning of every thought running through his head, but he can’t seem to form a complete sentence. “Why?”

“You’ll have to ask her.”

Between your cognitive interview and Garcia’s sleuthing, the team find the unsub rather quickly. You stay at the station when the team goes to catch him. You try to protest, but Hotch, Morgan, and Emily stare you down until you concede. Really though, it was the concerned look from Spencer that convinced you to sit down and wait. The case wraps up quickly after that. The masked man ended up being Kyle Beckett. A classic sadist.

It brings you more closure than you would have imagined to know he will be locked up for the rest of his life. You spent a lot of time in therapy trying to cope with the fact that he was never caught. And now, it’s over. You’re also extremely grateful you didn’t have to face him, although you would never admit that you were actually glad to stay behind. They can all tell though. They are profilers after all.

You can’t help but feel a sense of déjà vu at all the stares you’re getting on the jet. It’s as if time itself was rewound to a year ago. You feel like the newbie again. Getting ready to have a heart to heart with Spencer. You’d be blind not to notice the parallels of the two situations when Spencer slides into the seat next to you on the jet after everyone else falls asleep.

The silence is comforting at first, but quickly becomes unbearable.

“Hi” You have a sleepy smile on your face when you say it. You are unbelievably exhausted after everything that happened. Too tired to fully conceal the emotions you know you have been denying. You’re always happy when you talk to him, even if the occurrences are a bit far and few between compared to other members of the team. “You look sad.”

His mouth actually twitches upward at that statement, which you count as a win in your book. “You’ve been through hell on this case, and you’re still worried about me.” You can’t tell what he’s thinking. He’s too good at hiding his thoughts inside that big beautiful brain.

“I’ve always worried about you. Ever since I met you. You just looked so sad and I wanted to make it stop.” You aren’t thinking before you speak anymore. Probably why Spencer suddenly looks so surprised.

“Is that why you didn’t want to tell me?” Now it’s your turn to look confused. How did he know that? “I may have talked to Hotch earlier…” It takes longer than you’d care to admit for you to understand what exactly Hotch told him. But still, you’re too tired to be bothered.

“I’m sorry if that was weird for you. It’s just, after we talked about it I thought maybe we could eventually be friends or something. I didn’t want you to be sad again. I know what it feels like to be sad. I also know what it feels like to be sad again when you realize someone else is sad for that same reason.” You must actually be exhausted because it feels like you’re talking in riddles. “Sorry, that doesn’t make sense. I just mean, I didn’t want you to feel bad about it again. I didn’t want you to feel more pain” You’ve started leaning toward him, about ready to pass out.

“You’re incredible. You truly are amazing. I don’t think a day will go by where I don’t feel awful for what I said to you, but maybe with enough time I can make it up to you.”

“I would like that.” You smile brightly as you look into his eyes. They seem sad still, but there is a brightness there that wasn’t there before.

Spencer doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he lets you lay down in his lap as you drift off, the soothing feeling of his hands in your hair lulling you to sleep.

You wake up as the jet touches down. The memories of your conversation with Spencer bring a smile to your face. He looks down smiling when you shift in his lap.

“Thank you” You’re not surprised he still feels like he needs to thank you.

“I would do anything for you Spencer Reid.” You get up to collect your belongings, turning back only when you realize he hasn’t moved from his spot on the couch.

“Spence, let’s go.” Spence. He likes the sound of that. Maybe, just maybe the two of you will be okay.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #spencer #spencer reid one shot #mgg

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onlyfreds · 3 years

Text

Photo Album |F.W.

Title: Photo Album

Requested: Yes/No

Summary: After their daughter finds their old photo album, Fred and Y/N go on a little trip down memory lane.

A/N: Flashbacks are in italics

The sun shined through the windows, waking me up on a lazy Saturday morning.

My husband’s grip around my waist tightened as he pulled me closer to him.

I turned around to face him, burying my head into his chest, inhaling the faint scent of cinnamon of his shirt.

“I’ll never get tired of waking up next to you.” He said, his morning voice making me swoon over him like always.

“Neither will I.” I said, almost lulling myself back to sleep when something, or more like a particular someone, had jumped on top of me and Fred.

“Mummy! Daddy! Time to wake up!” Our four-year old daughter’s, Elise, excited voice filled the air.

“Already up princess?” Fred joked, lazily opening his eyes to look at his daughter, “It’s still early.”

“But daddy, the sun is already up so I’m already up.” She reasoned with her father, giving him her puppy dog eyes.

I chuckled, “We’re up sweetie, we’re up.”

The two of us sat up as Elise crawled in between us.

“What do you want to have for breakfast princess?” Fred asked, as he placed an arm around my shoulder.

Our daughter thought about it for a moment, “How about some pancakes with whipped cream and chocolate syrup.”

Fred and I laughed as he nudged me, “You heard our princess.”

I got out of bed as I lifted Elise out of Fred’s arms making a small giggle escape from her lips.

“And what the princess wants, the princess gets.” I said as I carried our daughter out of the room.

Fred scrambled out of bed, “Hey wait for me!”

“Run.” I told Elise, placing her down as the two of us ran to the kitchen.

But Fred still managed to catch up with us, grabbing me by the waist as he caught me and hurriedly scooping Elise up, our laughs echoing across the walls.

“So, you two thought that you could get away from me that easily huh?” He said, burying his head in the crook of my neck.

“Maybe?” I said in a playful tone.

Fred chuckled as he leaned forward and connected our lips together.

“Aaaw,” Elise cooed as she rested her head on Fred’s shoulder, “you and Daddy are so romantic!”

I pulled away from Fred and my daughter, walking over to the kitchen counter, “Well, let’s start making some breakfast now. I don’t want my princess and my king to starve now do I?”

After breakfast, Fred and I were busy washing the dishes while Elise was playing in the living room.

When were done, Elise suddenly came running to us, holding a brown leather book as she said, “Mummy! Daddy! Look what I found!”

Fred scooped her up, “What’s that you got there bub?”

“It’s full of pictures of you and Mummy!” She said happily, waving the book slightly.

I gently took the book out of her hands, “It’s our photo album Freddie.” I said, looking up at my husband with a small smile.

I flipped through, looking back fondly at the days when our main goal was to cause mayhem and mischief throughout the school.

“That’s you and daddy and Uncle Georgie!” Elise said excitedly, pointing to a picture that was taken during our second year.

Fred chuckled, “Even at the age of 12 your mum was a hot as hell.”

The three of us walked to the living room and sat down on the couch, Elise leaning against Fred’s chest as we placed the album on my lap.

We came across a picture of Fred and I during our first-year dating anniversary which we celebrated at Hogwarts.

“We exactly are you taking me Freddie?” I asked as Fred led me to who knows where with a blindfold over my eyes.

I heard him chuckle, “Well doll, if I told you, then it wouldn’t exactly be a surprise anymore.”

“Just a tiny hint.” I pleaded as best as I could, “Please!”

“Don’t worry doll. You’ll find out soon enough.” He said.

After a few more minutes of walking, we finally stopped.

My boyfriend leaned forward and whispered, “You ready for your surprise princess?”

I nodded, “Yes please.”

He slowly took off the blindfold revealing the sight in front of me.

A picnic blanket was laid on the grass together with a variety of food.

“Freddie.” I said, absolutely stunned and speechless, “You didn’t have to do this.”

He smiled, placing a kiss on my temple, “I know, but I wanted to. Besides, we’re celebrating our first year of dating. It had to be special.”

“You look so pretty there mummy!” Elise said, looking up at me.

Fred laughed, placing a kiss on the top of her head, “Your mum always looks gorgeous.”

I tapped her on the nose playfully, “Besides, your father is quite handsome as well.”

“See?” Fred said, giving our daughter a little wink, ‘Your she is still swooning over me.”

I rolled my eyes, “Am not.” I said before adding under my breath, “Yes, I am.”

“I heard that.” Fred said with a small smirk.

“Whatever.”

We scanned the rest of the page’s contents, until we stopped at a problem taken during the Yule Ball.

Elise gasped in awe, “You and daddy look like a prince and princess.”

“Smile you two.” Ginny said, as the flash of the camera went off.

“Thanks Ginny!” I thanked her as I took the camera and the picture from her.

“Have fun you two!” She said, giving a small but cheeky wink as she went off to find Neville.

Fred took my hand as he lifted it up to his lips and placed a kiss along my knuckles, “Can I have this dance mi ‘lady?”

I giggled at his antics, playing along as I gave him a small curtsy, “You may, my ginger in shining armor.”

He laughed, “I like the sound of that.”

We danced the night away like it would never happen again.

It was like something out of a fairytale, the usual black and house colored uniform attire was transformed into colorful gowns.

“Penny for your thoughts.” My boyfriend said, leaning forward and pressing a brief kiss on my lips.

I giggled, “You. You always seem to occupy my thoughts nowadays.”

He chuckled, pressing our foreheads together, “Can’t seem to get enough of me, can you?”

“Never.”

“That was one wonderful night.” I said with a content smile.

“What happened there?” Elise asked.

I giggled, ruffling her hair, “It was a ball honey.”

She looked up at me with wide eyes, “Like the ones princesses and princes attend?”

I nodded, “Exactly like the ones princesses and princes attend.”

She gasped, “So, daddy and you were a prince and princess?”

“Not exactly.” Fred answered her, “But in my eyes, your mother will always be my princess, or my queen rather.” He said, shooting me a wink.

“Can’t you go a minute without flirting with me?” I playfully scolded.

“Stop pretending that you don’t love it.” Fred fired back.

Elise giggled, placing her chin on her hand with her elbow resting on the side of her knee, “I think it’s cute.” She said, “That even after years of you two being in love. The both of you are still head over heels in love with each other.”

Fred and I laughed as he started tickling her, “I’m starting to think that we let you watch to many Disney movies.”

Elsie squealed as she wiggled out of her father’s grasp, climbing onto my lap, as she said, “But your love story is still my favorite.”

We continued going through the album, seeing a picture that was taken around our 7th year, but it was in front of the shop.

“You don’t have to come with us. I’m not forcing you to. You can stay and finish your education if you want to.” Fred insisted but I didn’t back down.

“I don’t care about my education anymore Freddie.” I said, placing both of my hands on either side of his cheek, “especially with that pink toad around. I don’t care anymore. All I care about is being with you.”

“But what if we crash and burn? What if everything goes downhill. If it comes to that point, I might not be able to give you the life I promised you baby.” He reasoned.

“I don’t care.” I repeated, pressing our foreheads together. “I don’t care if the joke shop is a success or not. I don’t care if we have to live at the Burrow for the rest of our lives. Whatever happens, whatever life throws at us, we can get through it, as long as we’re together. No matter what happens, I’ll always stay by your side.”

He pulled me closer to him, hugging me tightly as if his life depended on it, “Thank you.”

“That’s the shop right daddy?” Elise asked, pointing excitedly at the picture.

Fred stared fondly at the photo which had symbolized the start of a now very successful busines, “Yeah it is.”

“I remember how mad your Grandma Molly was when she found out that uncle Georgie, your mum and I dropped out of school. Well, she was mad at George and I, she could never get mad at your mum. She thought that your Uncle and I forced your mum to come with us.” Fred recounted.

“Why did you drop out of school?” Our daughter asked, her eyes shining brightly with curiosity.

“Because,” Fred continued, “There was a pink monster named Umbridge terrorizing the school. She had hurt me, Uncle Georgie, Uncle Harry and even your mum. When I saw what that monster did to her, we immediately left. Even your Grandma Molly was fuming when she found out about it.”

“What happened next?” Elise asked, silently begging her father to continue the story.

“Well, before we left, we lighted up fireworks all across the hall during the O.W.Ls exam and that scared the living daylights out of Umbridge. Then we started the joke shop and the rest is history.” He said.

Elise reached forward for the album as her little hands flipped through the rest of the pages, landing on the one with our wedding picture.

She traced her hands over the pictures, “That’s day when you married daddy.” She said, her voice barely above a whisper, but we could still hear what she was saying.

I smiled, “Yeah, that was the day I married my King.” I said, placing a finger under her chin, turning her head to look at me.

“And with the power invested in me, I now pronounce you, husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.” The minister said as Fred pulled me closer to him, kissing me passionately as our lips moved together in harmony.

The festivities continued on as Fred and I began our first dance as husband and wife. The song being our theme song since we first started dating.

When the song ended, Fred leaned forward and connected our lips together, causing everyone present the event to cheer.

He pressed our foreheads together, “I love you my gorgeous Queen.”

I giggled, pulling him in for another kiss, “I love you too my handsome King.”

Elise leaned against me as Fred wrapped an arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer to him.

“When I grow up, I want to have a love story just like you and daddy.” Elise said, a cute smile adorning her features.

I smiled, moving loose strays of her ginger hair out of her face, “I’m sure you’ll have one just like it.”

“But,” Fred said, “You have to make sure that your prince will take care of you just like how I take care of your mum. Promise?” He held his hand out, his pinky finger sticking out.

Elise looped her pinky with Fred’s, “Promise.”

I stared lovingly at my husband and my daughter, they are the best things that ever happened to me, and I couldn’t ask for anything more.

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

@lumosandnoxwriting @wand3ringr0s3 @famdomhideout @nova-darling @gaycatlord-stuff @pandaxnienke @escapingrealitybyreading (If you are crossed out, that means I can’t tag you)

#fredweasley #fred weasley fanfiction #fredweasleyimagines #fredweasleyfanfic #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley smut #fred weasley angst #dadfred #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x you

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evermoreholland · 3 years

Text

Paper Rings | Tom Holland

summary ❥ it’s your anniversary and you propose to tom with a song.

warnings ❥ fluff

word count ❥ 2,152

a/n ❥ you can listen to paper rings by taylor swift while reading this because this is obviously what it’s based off of lol. also, this was edited by my good friend @tefilovesreading!

Today is your second anniversary with your boyfriend, Tom. The past two years have been the best of your life by far. You have had your fair share of relationships, but Tom took you by surprise in his love for you. You were a singer and it was difficult for you to pursue relationships, but Tom understood you because he has gone through similar. You would often write songs about your experiences in relationships. You have been writing a song for Tom for a while now and you thought that today would be a perfect day to show him.

Tom knows that he wants to marry you. He can’t imagine a life without you in it. He has been thinking of how he was going to go about a proposal for months now and he realized that your second anniversary would be the perfect time to confess his never-ending love for you and his commitment to be yours forever.

Tom picked out a ring for you many months before today, without your knowledge. The two of you had talked about marriage before, so a proposal wouldn’t be out of the ordinary. Tom called your mother, sisters, and even got his own mother’s opinion about an engagement ring for you. He finally found the perfect ring to propose with.

Tom made dinner reservations at your favorite restaurant tonight. He planned to spoil you the entire day, making sure that you knew that you were his queen.

Tom rises early. He lifts the blankets off of himself and steps out of bed. He tucks you back under the cover gently, not making a sound. He tiptoes to the kitchen to make you a cup of your favorite tea. He fills the kettle with water and then places it on the stove. He turns to the refrigerator to take out some of your favorite fresh fruits as a part of breakfast. He prepares toast as well and then he sets it all up on a tray to bring to your shared bedroom. He walks to the room and finds you still sleeping peacefully. He places the tray on the bedside table beside you and then leans to kiss your forehead. You were a light sleeper so the action woke you up almost instantly. Your eyes open and you see your boyfriend preparing something besides the bed.

“Morning,” you whisper. You toss and turn until you eventually sit up. “What are you up to?”

“Happy anniversary, my love,” Tom says and sits on the foot of the bed. “I made you breakfast.”

“Thank you, love. Happy anniversary.” Tom hands you your mug of tea and you take a sip. This was exactly what you need to start your day, which a warm cuppa. “This is probably the best cuppa I’ve ever had.”

Tom giggles at your compliment and he blushes. You just have that charming effect on him. “Well you are my best girl, aren’t you?”

You smile at your lovely boyfriend. “I guess I am.”

You and Tom eat the rest of your breakfast in bed together. Tom insists on feeding you to be romantic and you hesitantly accept. After, you put on a sundress that Tom purchased for you for today; a pink flowy sundress with strawberries on it. You match it with a pair of cream color wedges.

“You look beautiful, Y/N,” Tom compliments when he sees you walk out of the bedroom into the living room where he was sitting on the sofa waiting for you. He’s wearing navy slacks with a light blue short-sleeve button-down shirt. His hair is gelled back, which you hated because you couldn’t run your fingers in his beautiful chestnut-colored locks. “Absolutely stunning.”

“You look gorgeous too.” You walk towards your boyfriend and take a seat beside him on the sofa. You take his hand in yours and you can feel how sweaty his hand was, but you decide not to comment on it. To be honest, you didn’t think much of it anyway. “What are our plans for the day? I have something for you, but I want to give it to you later.”

You wrote Tom a song in an attempt to propose to him, and you were hopeful that he’d say yes. Although you did like tradition, you want to pop the question to your boyfriend, and what better way to do it than what you know best; music.

“Oh, you do? What is it, love?” Tom was not a fan of surprises and for almost every occasion he would try to pry his present out of you.

“You know that I’m not going to tell you,” you reply.

“It was worth a try. I was thinking that we can try strawberry picking,” Tom says and then kisses your cheek. “How does that sound, darling?”

“Sounds wonderful, Tommy,” you mumble. You kiss him and then get up from the sofa. You hold your hand out for him and say, “Let’s go, baby.”

“Let’s do it.”

The drive to the strawberry field was full of giggles, music, and love. You get to the field and Tom opens the car door for you, as per usual. He grabs the basket from the backseat and he guides you to the field. Tom takes photos of you dancing through the field and picking strawberries. He didn’t want to forget this moment, he couldn’t forget how beautiful and ethereal you look in this moment.

You get back home and wash the strawberries that you picked. You cut some up for you and Tom to eat. You gather by the sofa once again while Tom turns on your favorite film. You pull out your phone to text your best friend, Natalie, to set up the backyard for the proposal. Natalie and Harrison knew about your plan to propose to Tom and set up a stage for your small performance.

Tom cuddles beside you after he presses play on the television. “Who were you texting?”

“Just Natalie,” you answer vaguely. You didn’t want Tom to catch on or possibly find out about your plan. “Just chatting.”

“Ok,” Tom says, not buying it completely but he didn’t push. “After the movie, we’ll go to dinner, yeah?”

“Gotta show you something first, baby.”

“Tell me what it is,” Tom groans. He nuzzles his face into your neck and kisses it. “Please spill.”

“That’s not going to work with me, Holland. Now, let’s watch the film, silly.”

“Fine,” he says.

The film passes by fairly quickly. You clean up the living room with Tom, and then you tell him to wait in your bedroom until you text him to come outside. “Why must I wait in our bedroom, darling?”

“I just want to make sure that everything is perfect first,” you reply as if it were obvious. “Please don’t peak.”

“I promise that I won’t, angel,” Tom says and then kisses you. You cup his cheek and pull him closer. Your lips linger on his for a moment before you pull away. “What was that for?”

“I just love you, alright?” You choke up a bit. Thinking about what you were about to do made you emotional. You have never been in love with someone like you were with Tom. “You mean the world to me, Tommy.”

“I love you too, darling. You’re my entire world.” Tom always knew what to say and he gives you the reassurance you need. You pull away from him and walk towards the yard.

You finish setting up everything for the proposal and set up the projector for the slideshow. As the song plays, you planned on showing a slideshow of photos of you and Tom. You send a quick text to Tom telling him to come to the backyard. You hear him come outside and soon enough, he is standing in front of you.

He notices your display. He notices the decorated deck mimicking a stage with flowers surrounding it, white roses to be exact. He notices your microphone and speaker. “What’s all this, love?”

“I wrote a song for you,” you began, but you pause to rub your hands against your dress. Nerves were building up. “For our anniversary. It explains how I’m feeling.”

You see Tom smile at your explanation. “Let’s hear it then, baby. Whenever you’re ready.”

You prerecorded the acoustics and harmonies, so you would simply just turn on the speaker to play the music. “The song is called Paper Rings. I hope you like it.”

You turn on the speaker a pop upbeat sound fills the air and you immediately feel at ease.

The moon is high Like your friends were the night that we first met Went home and tried to stalk you on the internet Now I've read all of the books beside your bed

As you were singing, you think about the memories that you and Tom share. You remember meeting him at an outdoor pub. You were first introduced to Harrison, Tom’s best mate. They were stoned, to say the least, but it was still probably one of the best nights of your life.

The wine is cold Like the shoulder that I gave you in the street Cat and mouse for a month or two or three Now I wake up in the night and watch you breathe

Kiss me once 'cause you know I had a long night (Oh!) Kiss me twice 'cause it's gonna be alright Three times 'cause I've waited my whole life (One, two, one two three four!)

Tom looks at you like you’re the only woman in the world, yet he doesn’t know what your next lyrics would be. He didn’t know that you want to marry him as much as he did.

I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings Uh huh, that's right Darling, you're the one I want, and I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this Uh huh, that's right Darling, you're the one I want In paper rings, in picture frames, in dirty dreams Oh, you're the one I want

He begins to pick up on what you’re telling him, and it warms his heart. His eyes begin to water as he watches perform for him. You look very gorgeous too.

In the winter, in the icy outdoor pool When you jumped in first, I went in too I'm with you even if it makes me blue Which takes me back To the color that we painted your brother's wall Honey, without all the exes, fights, and flaws We wouldn't be standing here so tall, so

Kiss you once 'cause I know you had a long night (Oh!) Kiss you twice 'cause it's gonna be alright Three times 'cause you waited your whole life (One, two, one two three four!)

I want to drive away with you I want your complications too I want your dreary Mondays Wrap your arms around me, baby boy

You wrap your arms around yourself for emphasis and Tom giggles gently. He is crying at this point and you feel yourself tearing up too.

I want to drive away with you I want your complications too I want your dreary Mondays Wrap your arms around me, baby boy Uh huh

You sing the chorus once more, and you begin dancing along with the music and Tom couldn’t help but smile at you.

You're the one I want, one I want

You finish off the song and you do a little bow as Tom claps for you. You walk towards him and he wraps his arms around you. “I loved that, baby,” he whispers in your ear.

You look at him and notice the tears streaming down his face. You wipe them away and say, “So?”

“So?” He repeats, not fully understanding where you’re getting at it.

“Will you marry me, baby?” You ask.

Tom smiles and instead of answering, Tom reaches for something in his back pocket. He pulls out a velvet ring box and gets down on one knee. Tom opens the box to reveal a beautiful diamond ring. “Does this answer your question?”

“Yes it does,” you giggle. “I guess that we both had the same idea.”

“It’s not a paper ring, though,” Tom says, referring to your song.

“Well, I do like shiny things,” you joke. “I’d be honored to marry you, Tom.”

Tom slips the ring on your finger and stands up to kiss you. This moment couldn’t be more perfect.

“Can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you, lover.”

Tagging: @canwekissforever-hazzy @storybookholland @petesrparker

#tumblr killed the quality of the photo omg #i hope you like this #tom holland x reader #tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland fluff #tom holland x y/n #i’m obsessed with taylor swift ok bye

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specialagentsergio · 3 years

Text

love, in ink

summary: Spencer wants to do something special to commemorate your relationship. (or, reader and spencer get a couples’ tattoo)

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

category: fluff

content warnings: tattoos & tattooing, one very light sexual reference bc i'm a hoe

a/n: i recently got my first tattoo and i’ve been absolutely obsessed with tattoos ever since, so here you go. location and design was purposefully left vague so you can imagine anything you want, but i do write reader as already having at least two tattoos.

word count: 2.9k

masterlist

Spencer’s been thinking about it for years.

Two years, eight months, and twenty days to be exact.

Looking back, four months and ten days was pretty early to be thinking of something so permanent. But he couldn’t help it—contrary to how he thinks people perceive him, he’s a romantic. A bit of a hopeless one, really.

In any case, he had been right. Almost three years after your first date, you’re still together and absolutely in love. You live together, your lives are inseparably entwined. Every day has been an affirmation of the conclusion he came to three months into your relationship—you’re the one he wants to spend the rest of his life with.

So really, four months and ten days wasn’t all that early to think of getting a tattoo with you.

He doesn’t have any, but you do, and he’s always loved them. He likes running his fingers over them, pressing kisses to them, rubbing moisturizer into them, and aiding you in making sure they’re all well covered in sunscreen before you’re going to be outside for a while.

He’d never really considered getting a tattoo until he saw how much you loved yours. It’s one of your favorite forms of self-expression, you’ve told him. You say the body art helps you feel more confident, comfortable, and at home in your body. Confidence in your body—that’s definitely something he could do with. But above everything, because it’s something you love, and Spencer loves you, it’s an experience he wants to share with you.

He brings up the idea over dinner forty-five days before your three-year anniversary. You’re reading while you eat—a common occurrence in your home for the both of you. He spins his fork in his hand a few times, then carefully sets it down and says your name.

You hold up a finger to ask him to wait; he watches your eyes move across the page as you finish the paragraph you’re on. Your attention is on him as soon as you’re finished. “What’s up?”

“I wanted to talk to you about something.” He’s nervous—he knows you love him, but what if you say no anyways? What if you don’t want to get a tattoo with him? They are permanent, after all. “It’s… I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he admits.

Your eyes widen when you pick up on his anxiety. “Oh god, are you breaking up with me?”

He nearly chokes on the water he’d nervously sipped. “Wha—no, no!” he rushes to assure. “I—I love you. I don’t—I don’t ever want that.”

You take in a deep breath, carefully putting your book aside. “Alright. Okay.”

“Why would you think I was breaking up with you?” he asks, concerned about the conclusion you’d jumped to. “Are… are you not happy? Are things not good between us, for you? I thought—well, think, they are. Maybe I’m wrong? I could be. I’ve never been the best at reading social clues. Have I missed something? I’m sorry if I have. I--”

“Spence, Spencer.” You interrupt his nervous rambling and reach across the table, placing your hand on top of his. “Things are great between us for me. I love you, too. You were just so serious when you said you wanted to talk, it caught me off guard. It’s… not an uncommon way for a conversation about breaking up to start.”

“Oh. Sorry. I—I didn’t realize it could come off like that,” he says quietly.

“It’s okay. As long as we’re not breaking up, I’m happy.” You give his hand a squeeze before leaning back in your chair. “So, what is it you want to talk about?”

“Right.” He squares his shoulders and wipes his damp palms on his pants. “Our three year anniversary is in forty-five days, and I was thinking to celebrate, maybe we could… get a tattoo together?”

Immediately you break into the most beautiful smile—he’s happy to have an eidetic memory when it comes to moments like this. “Really?” you ask, body tense with excitement.

“Yeah. Really,” he confirms. “I, um… I guess you’re on board, then?”

“Yes!” you exclaim. “Yes, yes, yes! Oh, Spencer this is so exciting! Your first tattoo!”

He doesn’t bother to correct you about calling it his first. He’s got no plans to get more, so this could very well be his only tattoo. But he doesn’t want to dampen the moment, so instead he says, “I don’t really have any ideas for it. I just want to do it with you.”

“Wait here.” You disappear into the bedroom and return with a folded piece of notebook paper. It’s worn and wrinkled, the edges curled in. He unfolds it carefully to find the page covered in your handwriting. Some of the writing looks more rushed than other parts. Some sections are in blue ink, some are in black. It’s clear you’ve been compiling this list for quite a while.

He reads it at his normal, rapid pace, but it takes him a few moments to understand it. “Is this a list of…?”

You nod. “Tattoo ideas.” He looks up at you in… well, in awe, and you shrug. “I don’t want to just get your name on me, as nice as it is.”

“How long have you been working on this?”

“Um.” The answer seems to embarrass you a little. “A… a couple of years.”

“Years?” he repeats. “But you never said anything.”

“I didn’t want you to feel pressured into getting a tattoo,” you say. “Since they are, you know, permanent.”

“Relatively.” He looks back to the paper, running his fingertips over the indents left by the pressure of the pen. “They naturally fade with age, and can age prematurely through sun exposure.”

“Yeah. Listen, it’s okay if you don’t like any of my ideas.”

Spencer shakes his head—he likes a lot of them, but he already knows which one he wants—he knew as soon as he read it. He points. “This one.”

You bend down to see it and smile. “I was hoping you’d pick that one.”

“It’s perfect,” he says, and presses a kiss to your cheek.

---

You handle pretty much everything, contacting one of your favorite artists and pitching the idea. You’ve been tattooed by her before—specifically, she did his favorite of your tattoos. So he’s happy to have her do this one, too, putting down the deposit without hesitation. The artwork she sends back is everything he pictured and more. She’s taken the idea and brought it to life better than he could ever hope to. A few tweaks here and there, then the date is set. You’ll be getting tattooed the Friday before your anniversary.

Yours will be done first, near the end of his work day—when he arrives, you should be just about done. It’s not exactly how he imagined it happening, but you said it would be better this way. If he sits and watches you get the entire thing done, you think he’ll end up psyching himself out about his own tattoo.

“Is it really that bad?” he had asked.

You shrug. “Well, it’s pain, so it’s obviously not super fun, but it’s tolerable. You overreacted when I stubbed my toe last week, so I think it’s probably best if you’re not there watching me the entire time.”

“I don’t like seeing you in pain,” he defends sheepishly.

“Exactly. I’ll keep you updated with texts and pictures, though, okay?”

He agrees, because honestly, you’re probably right.

Getting into bed with you the night before he asks, “What does it feel like? Besides it just hurting.”

“It’s different for everyone. It also depends on where you get it.” Spencer bumps your arm with his nose, silently requesting for you to adjust your position in a way that allows him to press as much of his body as he possibly can against yours. You place your hand in his hair once he’s settled, as usual, then continue. “It does kind of… vibrate. That’s something I didn’t expect going into my first tattoo.”

“Vibrate?” he repeats. “That’s… well, I guess it makes sense, considering how tattoo machines work.”

“Mm-hmm. But I wouldn’t worry about that part if I were you. Last time I checked, vibration isn’t a sensation that bothers you.” A very slight tug on his hair. “The opposite, actually.”

The squeak he makes is involuntary. “I, um… okay. I’ll—I’ll keep that in mind.”

He’s treated to a little laugh, but then your tone changes. “Seriously, though, Spencer. It’s okay if it ends up being too much, or just not for you, and you can’t finish the tattoo. Or if you just don’t want to finish it. I won’t be mad.”

He’s taken by surprise at first. It is a worry that he’s been harboring, that all the sensory input will be too much, but he’s never said anything about it, so how did you know?

Then again, it’s you. Of course you know. You always do.

“Okay,” he whispers. “Thank you.”

---

“Hey, how can I help you?”

Spencer looks up from his phone to the woman who’s just come into the front of the shop from the back. As promised, you’d kept him updated on your tattoo process with texts and pictures.

“Um, I—I have an appointment?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but he’s really nervous—you were definitely right to have him come in later than you so he doesn’t have enough time to get really worked up.

“Who’s it with?”

“Megan.”

She glances over her shoulder. “Megan is currently with someone. I can go ask her how long the wait will be.”

“No, it’s okay, she’s working on my partner. We’re—we’re getting tattoos together,” he explains.

“Oh, fun! I’ll lead you back, then.”

He follows her to an open doorway. Your body is still and unmoving; Megan is hunched over your skin. You smile when you see him. “Hi, Spencer.”

“Hey. Um, how’s it going?”

You sigh. “Well, to be honest, I think this is going to be my last tattoo.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Megan says without looking up.

The little angry huff you make before replying with “I know” makes him smile, and his nerves settle a little. “Why do I do this to myself?”

Spencer can tell it’s just a rhetorical question, asked in good humor, but he can’t stop himself from answering it regardless.

“There are many different reasons that could drive someone to get a tattoo despite the pain, including the adrenaline and endorphins the body produces in response to pain, stress relief, and the need for creative expression.”

“Stress relief?” you repeat. “I haven’t heard that one before.”

“It is a strange concept at face value. An example, though, would be getting a tattoo to mark the end of a difficult period in your life. Some people get them to symbolize personal difficulties or trauma, or to memorialize people they’ve lost. It can be a form of catharsis that helps them process painful emotions, memories, or other stressful feelings.”

Your head tilts as you take the information in. “That’s interesting.”

“Alright.” Megan leans back. “It’s done. Go take a look.”

Spencer follows you to the full length mirror. “Oh, wow,” you breathe out as soon as you see it. “It’s amazing. Thank you.”

“Of course.”

“Spencer.” You touch his arm. “What do you think?”

It takes him a few moments to answer because he’s been overcome with emotion. He’s overwhelmed with just how much you love and care for him to have permanently embedded a reminder of him into your skin. “It’s perfect,” he whispers.

“It is,” you agree.

You return to Megan and she takes a few photos of the tattoo, promising to text them to you, then gets started on the aftercare. “You know the drill,” she says, but still gives you the instructions for what to do as the artwork heals. He only barely registers what she’s saying—his eyes are glued to the tattoo.

“Okay, let me get everything switched out and cleaned up, and then we can start on yours, Spencer.”

“Hmm?” He tears his gaze away to find Megan looking at him. “Oh, right. Okay.” He sits off to the side with you while she disposes of supplies, replaces them with new, sterile ones, and wipes everything down.

She works fast—before he knows it, Megan has shaved and cleaned his skin, and has him in front of the mirror as she places the stencil. It takes a few tries to get it just right. He apologizes when she has to print the stencil again, but she waves him off. “It’s your tattoo and it’s going to be on you forever. I want you to be one-hundred percent happy with the placement.”

His nerves spike back up when he’s settled down and all ready to be tattooed. You sit in a chair on the opposite side of him than Megan, and when you offer your hand, he grabs it immediately.

“Breathe, baby,” you say gently. “Try not to tense up too much.”

He does try, but still jumps a little when Megan’s gloved hand touches him. “Sorry,” he says breathlessly. “I’m a little nervous.”

“Oh, no, you’re fine,” she reassures. “I won’t start until you’re ready.”

“I think I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Okay. I’ll start with just one small line.”

It’s a strange sensation, unlike anything he’s felt before, but it’s… not horrible. He’s been scratched by cats in the past, and it feels kind of like that, but hot. There’s the vibrating you had mentioned, too.

“How was that?” Megan asks.

“Not so bad,” he answers honestly.

“That’s great. I’ll keep going then. Settle in. Just let me know if you start feeling funny or if you need a break, alright?” At his nod, she goes to work, and he switches his attention to you. He knows he shouldn’t, that it’ll probably come back to bite him in the ass, but he can’t stop himself from teasing you.

“I don’t know why you were complaining earlier,” he says in his best innocent voice, with his best innocent expression. “It’s not that bad.”

The way your mouth drops open just a little bit is adorable, and so is the noise of disbelief that follows. “Yeah, okay. Tell me that again at the end.”

“I will,” he replies, mentally adding probably not to the sentence.

You roll your eyes and let go of his hand to sort through your things. You give him a lollipop when you find it.

“What’s this for?” Suckers aren’t really his favorite candy.

“Your adrenaline is probably going to drop now that the tattoo has started and I don’t want you to pass out,” you say. “The sugar will help prevent you from getting lightheaded.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

The tattoo goes well overall, he thinks. It’s definitely painful, but like you said, it’s tolerable. He’s certainly felt worse. Near the end, though, he really starts hurting, and a grimace slips across his face.

“She’s almost done,” you reassure. He hasn’t been looking at it, but you have. “Also, what was that you saying earlier?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles. “It’s not even the needle, you know. It’s the paper towels.”

“A lot of people say that,” Megan says. “Just a few more minutes left.”

He spends those last few minutes questioning every decision he’s made in his life that has led him to this moment, and swearing to himself that he’s never going to do this again. But then it’s over and he’s looking at in the mirror, and it’s suddenly like the past five minutes never happened.

Spencer loves it. He absolutely adores it. Not just the art itself, but how it looks on his body and how it’s making him feel.

“Penny for your thoughts?” you ask, making him jump a little. He’d been so fixated on the tattoo that he didn’t notice you joining him.

He ponders for a moment to find the right words. “I’m beginning to understand why you like doing this so much.”

You grin. “It’s great, huh?”

“It is, yeah. I kind of want to touch it; is that weird?”

“No, but don’t,” you reply. “It’s an open wound.”

“I know.” He looks back at Megan. “This is perfect. Thank you so much.”

“I’m glad you like it,” she says. “Thank you for trusting me with your first tattoo.”

When he drags himself away from the mirror, she goes over aftercare with him, and he listens more intently this time. A few things are going to be a little inconvenient, he thinks, but it’s more than worth the trade off.

You take his hand as you leave the shop. “I’m so happy that I got to do that with you.”

He squeezes your hand back. “Me too.”

You reach the car, but before he can move towards the passenger side, you pull him in close. “I love you.”

His free hand comes up to cradle your cheek. “I love you, too.”

You kiss him, soft and sweet. “Happy three years,” you say when you pull back.

“Here’s to three more?” he offers, a little nervous, but mostly hopeful.

Your smile leaves no room for doubt. “I like the sound of that.”

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

hit up my inbox if you wanna talk tattoos bc i fucking love them. what do you see spencer getting with his partner?

general taglist: @calm-and-doctor , @spencerreid9

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid #fluff #my fic #tattoos rlly are a rabbit hole for some of us like i already have an appointment for my second one lol

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jungshookz · 4 years

Note

cee cee i have an idea!!! what about Cool and Cultured bookshop owner! tae and dorky y/n walking past the store everyday and one day goes in and strikes a conversation about a fancy book like catcher in the rye and talks about the symbolism of rye in the book and tae's like :0 das wildly inaccurate but you're kinda cute so here's my number so we can talk more about rye and y/ns like :0

➺ pairing; kim taehyung x reader

➺ genre; wowowow handsome & well-read bookkeeper!taehyung, fluff!!!! the kind of fluff that makes you feel like you’re wrapped up in a warm blanket sipping on a mug of hot chocolate on a nice autumn’s day when the leaves are just starting to turn red and orange, y/n’s kind of a dummy but in a very loveable kind of way, featuring namjoon the (sort of) wingman

➺ wordcount; 6.2k

➺ summary; the catcher in the rye? oh, sure - of course you know that book! it’s about catching loaves of bread, right?

➺ what to expect; “i called it catch her in the eye, joon.”

➺ note; our (first??) drabble of the month as voted by you guys! i finished writing this the day after it was decided that bookkeeper!tae was the winner because that’s how excited i was about him >:-) enjoy!

»»————-　➴　————-««

“and… open your eyes!” you exclaim, throwing your arms up into the air excitedly as namjoon takes his hands away from his eyes

he blinks owlishly before looking up and-

“you brought me to a bookstore!” he gasps, a smile immediately spreading over his features as he claps his hands together, “oh, this is great! usually, you bring me to those awful rock-climbing places, or that horribly violent paintball gun place, and even when you brought me to the movie theatre the tickets were for that gory r-rated horror movie-”

“okay, let’s not get carried away-” you hold a finger out to shut namjoon up before he can list out moRe reasons as to why you seem more like you hate him instead of love him, “the point is: this time, i brought you to a bookstore!” you smile proudly before crossing your arms

not to toot your own horn or anything but you did a pretty good job with this surprise

you even did tons of research to find the best bookstores in the city!!

which was difficult because namjoon’s been to like.,,. EVERY bookstore in the city

but not this one!

to be fair, it was a long forty-five minute car ride to get here so you understand why he’s never come out here himself

“…this isn’t like… a weird bookstore or anything, right?” namjoon narrows his eyes in suspicion before taking a step back and looking up at the name of the store again

the secret garden

oh!!!!

like the book!!!!

how clever :D

“what do you mean?” you frown, placing your hands on your hips before glancing back up at the name as well

the secret garden

kind of a lame name for a bookstore

“like a…” namjoon trails off before clearing his throat, “you know, like a bookstore that’s actually a sex dungeon or something like that-”

“ew!” you immediately make a face before shaking your head quickly, “wha- why would you even say that?!”

“well, i don’t know!” namjoon holds his hands up in defence, “i’ve never been to this bookstore before-!”

“this is a regular ol’ bookstore, joon. i promise!” you clap your hands on his shoulders before giving him a squeeze, “just the way you like it! old, dusty, and full of nothing but boring books.”

namjoon beams

that’s exactly what he likes to hear

see, today is your seven year friendaversary with namjoon

you guys have known each other since middle school and noW the two of you are in your final year of university which is crazy

and so, for the past seven years, you’ve gone out on this day to celebrate your beautiful friendship because honestly you’ll take whatever excuse to go to a restaurant to try to get free dessert (“yeah, we’re celebrating our anniversary! so, i’ll take three orders of your chocolate lava cake-”)

you guys usually take turns where one year one of you will plan an entire day of fun activities for the other, and then the next year, the other person will do it because that seems like a relatively fair system

last year, namjoon took you to this cute pottery place and you ended up making these adorable matching friendship mugs

they’re both a little lopsided but that’s just part of their charm!!

namjoon painted his a beige-brown and you painted yours a BRIGHT purple and then you traded mugs (so that when he comes over to your apartment, he has his mug, and when you go over to his apartment, you have your mug!)

he also insisted that you guys carve your guys’ initials on the bottom of yours and draw a heart around it which you thought was a little much but you are… very fond of namjoon so you’d jump off a cliff if he asked you to

admittedly, most of the things that you’ve planned during your years have been catered to your own personal desires so you’ve been a little unfair but namjoon’s always been too much of a sweetheart to say anything about it

and for the most part, he’s a pretty good sport even though it’s blatantly obvious that he’d rather chop a toe off than spend the afternoon doing your chosen activity

the last time it was your turn two years ago, you took him to a go-cart track and spent the entire two hours practically driving circles around him because he was driving like ten kilometres an hour

the only reason why he wasn’t driving like one is supposed to drive on a go-cart track (i.e. like a maniac) is because he was worried that if he went too fast he’d get a ticket or something

and kim namjoon does not get speeding tickets

not on the real road and most certainly not on a man-made road either!

for the record, he definitely didn’t appreciate you calling him a slowpoke and telling him to eat my dust, bitch! and he still brings it up from time to time whenever he wants to guilt you into doing something with him (“i’m not switching muffins with you. it’s not my fault you don’t like yours!” “…hey, remember that time you called me a slowpoke and told me to-” “take the muffin.”)

anyways

he’s glad that this is just a normal bookstore and that he doesn’t have to worry about whether or not one of your activities is going to end in him losing a limb for the first time

what a wonderful way to end the day!!

actually, you guys still have to grab dinner after this where you’ll try to squeeze as many free desserts out of the restaurant as possible as per usual so this is a wonderful way to almost end the day

the little bell hanging above the door chimes as the two of you step in and almost immediately you’re greeted with the warm smell of what you’re pretty sure is hot chocolate??

“i love this place already.” namjoon breathes out, his jaw dropping in awe, “i wanna live here!”

“okay, keep it in your pants-” the door starts to shut and you nudge namjoon forward to keep from getting your butt nipped by the door

you don’t even get a chance to say anything else before namjoon suddenly darts off

so much for keeping it in his pants

you pause when you get a good look at the place

huh

for some reason you feel like a lot of instagram pictures have been taken here

it’s obviously an antique place but it’s like one of those trendy antique places

a brass chandelier hangs from the ceiling, the (fake) candles casting a golden glow over the entire store

there’s a spiral staircase that curls up to the second floor

the walls are covered with floor to ceiling shelves stacked with, duh, books, but even for what you thought would just be a dusty old bookstore… it’s pretty nice in here!

there’s even an archway in the centre of the place that leads to what looks like a pretty cozy reading space for customers which is a nice touch

and there are people sipping on mugs of hot chocolate too!!!

you can’t help but wonder if you need to be reading a book in order to get a mug of cocoa

you like the hot chocolate part but you’re not as excited about the reading part

“y/n, come on!” you look over to see namjoon - who already has three books cradled in his arms - waving you over enthusiastically, “check it out! it’s a vintage boxed set of the chronicle of narnia series! and they’re leatherbound-“ he practically moans before nudging you towards it, “help me take it out?”

“narnia?” you snort, tilting your head so you can look at the titles pressed into the spine of the book, “isn’t narnia, like… for kids?”

the last time you read the lion, the witch, and the wardrobe was when you had to read it for a book report in like the fourth grade

you glance over your shoulder to look at namjoon who now has an unimpressed frown on his face

“what??”

“…you insult me.” he sniffles, “just help!”

you roll your eyes playfully before turning back to pull the thick set out of the shelf and-

“hello!”

“-!”

the sudden sound of a stranger’s voice nearly makes you drop the set but you manage to prop the edge of the box back up onto the shelf before it falls and breaks all the bones in your foot

you turn to look at whoever-

oh my

hello indeed

“welcome to the secret garden.” he smiles kindly, tilting his head at you, “did you need any help with that, miss?”

oh good god

his voice makes you feel like you’re wading through a river of warm caramel

and you’d happily let yourself drown in that river

two seconds go by where you don’t respond at all and instead you continue staring at mr. caramel with very obvious hubba-hubba eyes

“i think we’re good, thank you!” namjoon clears his throat, elbowing your back gently before offering a smile of his own

“oh, alright! well, my name’s taehyung,” taehyung reaches up to adjust his glasses, “please let me know if you need assistance of any kind - i’ll just be up at the front. if you’re just here to relax and read, i’d be happy to whip up two mugs of hot chocolate for the two of you!”

“awesome! thank you.” namjoon nods all while you continue smiling at taehyung dazedly

he waits until taehyung disappears before turning back and looking at you

“…what’s wrong with you?”

“i’m good, thank you…” you whisper your very delayed response and namjoon moves his head so that he’s blocking your view when you lean back a little to try to look at taehyung sitting behind the front counter, “holy moly. i’d let him explore my secret garden-”

“oh, now look who can’t keep it in their pants-“

“hey, you should look at this as a good thing!” you grunt as you adjust the hefty box in your arms, “now i’ll willingly drive you back here… whenever you want.”

namjoon’s eyes immediately light up

»»————-　➴　————-««

you and namjoon end up returning to the bookstore about two weeks later

last time, namjoon wanted to stay longer (and so did you, honestly) buT you were pretty close to losing your dinner reservations and you weren’t about to give up your free chocolate lava cake just to stare at the cute bookkeeper from afar like a creep

so you had to leave!

namjoon ended up leaving with the boxed set and a couple other books so suffice to say, he was pretty happy

and when you suggested visiting the bookstore again this week… well, namjoon had to jump on that opportunity, didn’t he??

you?? offering to take him to a bookstore?? again??

you’re obviously only using him as an excuse to go into the bookstore so you can spend hours watching taehyung like a weirdo but he’ll take it

namjoon hums happily as he takes a sip of his hot chocolate before licking a little bit of whipped cream off his top lip

he wonders if taehyung would be willing to share the recipe to it because this is honestly the best hot chocolate he’s ever had

namjoon looks up from his book when he hears you let out a sigh for the tenth time in the last two minutes

oh god

look at you!

“oh… and he’s good with kids, too?” you sigh blissfully as you prop your elbow up on the arm of the sofa chair before leaning your cheek against your fist

you watch fondly as taehyung gets down on one knee, holding two fists out for a little girl

she taps his right hand shyly before quickly wrapping her arms back around her mom’s leg, peeking at him from behind it shyly

taehyung flips his wrist around and uncurls his fingers to reveal a single caramel, his face lighting up briefly as she takes it from his open palm into her little hand

“i don’t know why you can’t just go up and talk to him-” namjoon snorts at how lovestruck you look before peering around the corner of the archway to look at taehyung too, “it’s not a big deal. he’s really nice!”

“i can’t just go up and talk to him. are you kidding me?” you frown, shaking your head, “what am i supposed to say??”

“tell him you need help finding a book!” namjoon states as if it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world (because it is) before slapping the book on his lap shut, “just out of curiosity - what book would you ask him to help you find?”

you lean back against the sofa chair before twisting your lips in thought

book?

what book…

what was the last book you read…?

ooh!

“esio trot!” you perk up, namjoon’s eyebrows knitting together in confusion because he has no idea what just came out of your mouth-

“esio- oh my god, esio trot as in the roald dahl children’s novel??” namjoon frowns, “no! you can’t go up to taehyung and ask him to help you find esio friggin’ trot-”

“okay, you don’t see me making fun of you for buying what you bought last week, mr. chronicles of narnia-”

“you did make fun of me!” namjoon gawks, “in fact, you’re still making fun of me for it-” he waves his hand to cease the conversation, “listen to me. from the very few times that i’ve spoken to taehyung, it’s clear that he’s… cultured, you know?”

“cultured… like yogurt.” you joke, slapping your own knee gently, “get it?? because yogurt is cultured? cultured yogurt??”

namjoon resists the urge to roll his eyes

see?

this is exactly what he’s talking about

“…yes, y/n. i get it. anyways, as i was saying- taehyung is just very…” namjoon kisses his teeth as he tries to think of how to phrase his words, “…well-read… intelligent… scholarly… refined…”

you tilt your head in curiosity as namjoon continues listing out a bunch of snooty sounding adjectives

wait a minute

“are you-” you scoff, straightening up in your seat, “are you calling me dumb??”

hey!!

you’re not dumb!!!

it’s not like books are super complicated to figure out or anything

all you have to do is read what’s inside of it and you certainly know how to read!!!

and sure, sometimes you still don’t know if receive is spelt receive or recieve or if business is spelt buisness or biusness, but that doesn’t mean that you’re dumb!!

“no, no, i’m not calling you dumb!” namjoon shakes his head quickly, “i’m just saying that if you had a choice, you would choose a movie over a book-”

“well, yeah - obviously i would choose a movie over a book.” you snort, “why would i waste eight hours reading tiny little words on stiff white pages when i could be watching a movie that compresses the entire story in a convenient one hour and a half??”

“i’m your friend, and i don’t want to watch you make a fool of yourself!” namjoon argues, “because if you do, then you’ll be too embarrassed to ever come back here again, which means that i’ll never be able to come back here again-”

“what’s stopping you from coming here by yourself?”

“because every time i tell you that i’m going to the bookstore, you’re going to ask me a bunch of taehyung related questions when i get back-”

okay

that’s a fair point

that sounds like something you would do for sure

“alright, fine!” you huff before crossing your arms, “what book do you suggest i go up there and ask him to help me find?”

namjoon twists his lips in thought

hm…

“catch her in the eye!” you chirp, folding your hands behind you book as you smile brightly at taehyung

namjoon feels his own face flush at how confidently you just said that and he immediately slaps a hand over his mouth to keep himself from screaMING

he told you to ask taehyung to help you find the catcher in the rye

NOT CATCH HER IN THE EYE

“the catcher in the rye?” taehyung nods, “sure! of course i can help you find the catcher in the rye.” he returns a smile as he steps out from behind the counter, “follow me, please!”

you shoot namjoon a big thumbs up and a faT grin as you pass by the entrance of the archway and he gives you a weak one in return before turning back and slumping against the couch

oh boy

…he’s never going to come back to this beautiful bookstore, is he?

“you were here about two weeks ago, weren’t you?” taehyung asks as he looks over his shoulder, the two of you trotting up the spiral staircase, “with your… boyfriend, right? you guys bought the boxed narnia set.”

“hm? oh!” you let out a little laugh, “yes, that was us, but joon- namjoon’s just my friend. um, that day was actually our seven-year friendaversary and he’s a real dork for books so i thought it’d be nice to bring him here-”

it’s in that moment that you suddenly hear namjoon’s voice in your head reminding you that you’re supposed to act like yoU like reading too

“i mean-” you clear your throat, “i, too, really like books, so i- you know, it was a mutually pleasant experience for the both of us t-to be here-” you chuckle nervously

hopefully you were able to save your own ass there

that was a close call!!

you trail behind taehyung as the two of you weave in and out of the bookshelves

you didn’t get a chance to come up to the second floor last week

but it’s surprisingly nice up here!!

there’s a lone sofa chair in the corner with a little coffee table sitting next to it

very nice for customers who prefer to read alone

“ah, well, that’s very thoughtful of you!” taehyung nods before suddenly pausing, “i’m so sorry-” he spins around and you nearly bump into his chest but you manage to stop yourself just in time, “i just realised i never got your name.”

“y/n. i’m- i’m y/n.” you stick your hand out quickly for him to shake

you feel a little zap! travel from your fingertips to the rest of your body as soon as taehyung takes your hand in his

he gives you a gentle shake before squeezing your hand lightly and then letting go, “well, it’s very nice to meet you, y/n. now, give me a second to find the catcher in the rye for you…”

taehyung turns to thumb through the books on the shelf and you feel your heart flutter in your chest as how pretty he looks from the side

wowie

you can’t help but take your bottom lip in between your teeth as you continue to admire taehyung’s features from the soft swoosh of his hair to the rosy pink of his lips

how can one man be so pretty?

“ah- here we are!” taehyung pulls a book out of the shelf and you quickly snap yourself out of your daze, “the catcher in the rye… a novel by j.d. salinger.” he hands it to you and you take it before blinking down at the cover

…the catcher in the rye?

what happened to catch her in the eye???

“it’s a great book.” taehyung hums, “have you read it before?”

“oh, i… i have!” you scoff, making a face, “duh, of course i have. i mean, it’s… you know, it’s such a… um, a powerful novel…” you clear your throat before reaching up to scratch the back of your neck, “i mean, the last time i read it was actually in… high school… so… you know, i’ve forgotten most of the details but i figured it’d be nice to get a refresher, you know?”

(you never read this in high school.)

((you just made namjoon summarise the entire book to you in the form of a poorly drawn stickman comic and even then you still didn’t fully understand the story.))

“absolutely! there’s nothing wrong with revisiting old friend from the past,” taehyung chuckles lightly, “in fact, i was reading animal farm the other day- what kind of literature do you typically read?”

you press your lips together tightly

oh god

namjoon didn’t prepare you for additional questions

literature??

quick!

what kind of literature do you typically read??

…

tell him you read all kinds of literature!

that sounds like a legitimate answer, right?

“i... read… all-”

you’re cut off by the sound of a bell chiming from below and you let out a breath of relief when taehyung scurries past you to peer over the balcony

“i’ll be right there!” he holds a finger up at the customer waiting by the front counter before spinning around to face you again, “was there anything else you needed, y/n?”

“wha- i-” you stammer, unable to come up with a non-creepy reason to keep him up here with you, “no! no, this was-” you give the front cover a hearty slap, “this was all i needed-”

“perfect!” taehyung claps his hands together, “well, let me know. you know where i am!”

he disappears down the staircase before you even get a chance to thank him

the smell of his cologne lingers in the air as you make your way down the staircase and you can’t help but beat yourself up over how your interaction with taehyung went

it wasn’t a bad interaction or anything

in fact, you think you did a pretty good job at acting like a bookworm!!

it’s just that…

you don’t think it was a particularly memorable interaction for taehyung

that was just a typical customer interaction for him

you were supposed to charm him!!!

impress him!!

sweep him off his feet!!!

tickle his brain!!

“hey, buddy…” namjoon coos as you plop back down on the sofa chair, “how… did it go?”

he’s afraid to hear your answer because it certainly looks like it didn’t go super well

damnit

he knows this moment is about you but now he’s thinking about how he’ll probably never be able to taste this delicious hot chocolate ever again

“got the book.” you grumble, tossing it onto the coffee table before shaking your head, “i called it catch her in the eye, joon.”

“yeah, i… uh, i heard you.” namjoon nods understandingly, crossing one leg over the other before leaning back against the couch, “i don’t think he heard you say that, though! i mean, he knew what you were looking for right away.”

namjoon knows you well enough to see that you’re currently spiralling down a self-pity hole right now

oh boy

“hey, you know what’ll make you feel better?” he leans forward to give your knee a comforting squeeze

“what?”

“how about i buy this for you so you can read it and fully impress taehyung next time with your newfound knowledge-“ namjoon points to the book you’ve abandoned on the table, “and then we can go for chocolate lava cake!”

your eyes widen slightly

“free chocolate lava cake?”

“no, not free-“ namjoon snorts, getting up from the couch before reaching back to pick up his bag, “i mean, i’ll pay for it. my treat! so, yeah. i guess it’s kinda free for you.”

“that sounds nice!” your frown is almost instantaneously replaced by a grin, “if i get more free things from you just for being sad, i’m going to be sad more often-”

“what?? no! do not pretend to be sad just to get me to pay for things-”

taehyung glances over from the front counter when he hears a twinkly laugh and he can’t help but smile lightly at the sight of you giggling away in the sofa chair

your nose scrunches slightly as you let out a little snort and he presses his lips together to keep himself from beaming too wide

y/n, huh? cute.

»»————-　➴　————-««

(taehyung can’t stop thinking about you and your absurdly cute face.)

»»————-　➴　————-««

it’s another two weeks later that you come back to the secret garden - but this time, you come alone.

and to be honest, you… don’t know if this was a good idea or not

because joon was with you for the last two times and you were definitely using him as a security blanket so now you feel like you’re about to dive into the deep end of the pool without any floaties

you were going to ask if he wanted to come with you but you felt like this was something that you had to do alone

you swallow thickly as you tuck your car keys into your pocket

namjoon can’t be your bookworm wingman forever, right?

the store is almost suspiciously quiet as you step in, the little bell ringing above your head as per usual

your classes ended a little later today which is why you weren’t able to come in the afternoon

pluS you had to find a way to get namjoon to go home without you without raising any eyebrows so that sucked up a little more of your time

you were going to tell him that you were going to stay on campus to study at the library but even you couldn’t believe that

so you told him that you had a group project to work on which was why you couldn’t have dinner with him tonight!

you jump in surprise when the door suddenly slams shut behind you from the breeze

it’s a little chillier now that it’s november but it’s nice that you get to wear cozy cardigans and snuggly sweaters now

“i’ll be right there!”

you hear taehyung’s voice ring out from the second floor and you swallow your nerves as you stand up a little straighter

fake it till you make it, right?

i love books

i love books so much

i love books so much that i would fuck a book if i could!

...okay, maybe not that one.

you glance around the store - there doesn’t seem to be anyone else here

which makes sense because the sign says that the store closes at 7pm on weekdays and it’s…

6:50

wow

so you’RE the asshole who comes into the place ten minutes before closing time

good one!

“so sorry for the wait, i was just-” taehyung pauses on the steps, his face immediately lighting up when he sees you, “oh, y/n!”

“hi!” you chirp before reaching up to scratch the back of your neck, “sorry i came ten minutes before you’re supposed to close… i wanted to come earlier, but i had a thing…”

“oh, don’t even worry about it!” taehyung snorts, tossing the dirty rag over his shoulder, “i was just doing some dusting…”

you feel your mouth go drY as soon as you notice what he’s wearing

he’s wearing a henley tee (except all the buttons are undone and aLso he has his sleeves pushed up to his elbows), dark wash jeans, and a pair of tattered black converse sneakers

it’s just the casualness of it all that makes it so sexy

“so, what can i help you with tonight?” taehyung tosses the rag onto the counter before pushing his glasses back down from the top of his head

he adjusts them slightly before blinking at you and you find it awfully cute that his doe eyes now look a little bigger through the thick lenses

what can he help you with tonight?

…yeah, what can he help you with tonight?

the downside of not telling namjoon about your solo mission is the fact that namjoon’s usually the one who plans every little detail out for you

and you just came here on a whim

you don’t have a plan

you don’t have a plan at all!

your plan was to just come to the bookstore to see taehyung because you wanted to see taehyung

“i…”

“oh, by the way-” taehyung perks up suddenly, “how was your little trip down memory lane with the catcher in the rye?”

the catcher in the rye?

the catcher in the rye!!!

ah! yes!!

that’s definitely something to talk about!

…wait a second

you-

you didn’t read the book

oh god

you had two weeks to read the book and you didn’t read the book

almost immediately you feel your anxiety sPike back up and you can’t help but scold yourself for not bringing namjoon along with you

if namjoon was here, you’d just get him to say all the main points and you’d stand right next to him throwing in the occasional ‘yes, very good point!’ and ‘of course, i completely agree’ every now and then!

“the catcher in the rye!” you blurt out, suddenly aware that you haven’t spoken in like ten seconds, “i- yes! the book was- it was great. i thoroughly enjoyed it. i would definitely read it again!”

“hey, that’s great!” taehyung laughs lightly, “you know- i mean, i have to ask because i always ask this question to people who’ve read it- what do you think the main theme of it is?” taehyung hums, “because i’ve always thought it focused a lot on alienation, you know? i mean, a loss of innocence is obviously another theme, what, with holden wanting to be sheltered from the harshness of adult life- i really think it can actually be seen as some kind of social commentary… like a critique of the superficiality in society-”

“of course, i completely agree!” you nod furiously, “those are very good points-”

“i’m sorry, i’m probably sucking up all the oxygen in the room-” taehyung smiles sheepishly before shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, “so what do you think?”

if there was ever a moment for a black hole to appear in the floor and swallow you whole… you’d want for it to happen right now.

actually, you’d want it for it to happen whilst you were driving to the bookstore so that you wouldn’t have even gotten the chance to say hi to taehyung

“i think… well, i… first of all, i agree completely with everything that you just said about aliens and… you know, a loss of innocence and how hard adult life is…” you stumble over your words, your face beginning to flush from how idiotic you probably sound, “i just… i have to talk about my favourite part in the book! you know, the part where holden- holden, that’s the name that you just mentioned- he… he does such a great job at catching those loaves of bread. i thought that part was hilarious.”

you clear your throat at the end of your mini-review

taehyung’s eyes flicker slightly and for a second you think you’re in danger of being called out for obviously noT having read the book but…

he nods slowly and brings his hand up to stroke his chin thoughtfully, “i mean… yeah. i completely agree! that part always gets me! why don’t you go on? i’m interested in hearing more of your thoughts.”

oh!

hey, would you look at that??

phEW

maybe you’re better at improvising than you thought you were

now knowing that you’re on the right track gives you a booST of confidence and you give yourself a mental pat on the back

you can’t wait to tell namjoon about this

he’s going to be so proud of you!!

you grin before nodding enthusiastically, “of course! i have a lot of thoughts to share on the book. i mean, i personally think it was an interesting choice on the author’s part to choose rye as the main ingredient, because he had… so many other options that he could’ve gone with! and also - did he go with light rye or dark rye?? because throughout the entire novel, he never actually specifies what kind of rye bread he’s referring to-”

taehyung leans back against the counter and crosses his arms, smiling politely as he continues to listen to your rye bread rant

it’s obvious that you definitely didn’t read the book but he was genuinely curious as to what you would be able to pull out of your ass which was why he asked you to go on

he doesn’t think anyone’s ever gone into a full-blown ramble about how the catcher in the rye is actually a narrative on the benefits on rye bread for lil ol’ him before

but, for the record…

it’s really cute how much effort you’re putting into your analysis to try to impress him

“i’m sorry, i need to- i need to interrupt you-” taehyung giggles, cutting you off right as you’re about to dive into a discussion about the number of loaves holden caught in the novel, “as much as i would love to hear more… everything that’s coming out of your mouth is wildly inaccurate, y/n.”

what

...

oh my god.

“wh-” your throat goes dry and you choke a little, “what?”

“be honest- did you read the book?” taehyung asks flat-out and you feel your cheeks burning up again

uh-oh

“i…”

okay

forget it

you can’t do this anymore!

it’s too stressful!!!!

“…no.” you press your lips together before shooting taehyung a sheepish grin, “there’s no catching loaves of bread in the novel, is there?”

“not even one loaf.”

“oh, god-” you groan quietly, reaching up to cover your hot face with your hands at the realisation that you just very confidently ranted about the importance of rye bread in this novel for the past five minutes, “not even one?!”

mortifying!

absolutely mortifying!!!!

well

it’s time to tell namjoon to find a new favourite bookstore because you are nevER bringing him back here agai-

“hey, it’s totally fine!” taehyung laughs lightly, stepping closer to you so that he can pry your hands away from your flushed face, “i actually think it’s really impressive how long you can go talking about bread-”

“you let me- you knew that i hadn’t read the book yet you let me continue talking about bread-?!” you gawk, taehyung now bursting into a full-blown chortle as he throws his head back, “how could you??”

“i couldn’t help it!!” taehyung wheezes, reaching up to flick a stray tear away, “i’m sorry! i’m sorry, really, i am-”

even when he’s laughing at you, your stomach can’t help but feel fluttery

“you’re lucky you’re pretty-” you snort, shaking your head gently, “otherwise i would be way more mad at you…”

taehyung’s laughs dwindle down into light chuckles and you swallow thickly when he takes a small step closer

“you’re lucky you’re pretty.” he retorts playfully, reaching over to move a strand of hair away from your eyes with his pinky finger, “otherwise i wouldn’t have let you talk my ear off about bread for five whole minutes…”

...he thinks you’re pretty?

“oh yeah?” you challenge, reaching over to jab your finger into his chest

taehyung reaches up to wrap his fingers around your wrist before offering you a particularly boyish smirk, “mm, yeah.”

you don’t miss the way his eyes flicker down to your lips for a split second and you know it’s way too soon but you really want him to just lean down and kiss you…

“hey, do you like dessert?” taehyung pulls away suddenly before turning to make his way behind the counter

“de- dessert?” you ask dumbly, still a little dazed from... that

what was that?!

“mhm!” tae leans down slightly and flips a couple of switches underneath the counter, the chandelier light shutting off first before the other little lights begin to switch off as well, “there’s a little diner about a block away that makes really good strawberry cheesecakes.”

“i love dessert!” you nod, “and strawberry cheesecake sounds really yummy.”

“good! in that case, would you be interested in sharing a slice of cheesecake with me and perhaps delving deeper into your rye-based analysis?” taehyung teases as he grabs his coat off the back of his chair, his keys jingling in his hands

you snort lightly

“i would love to share a slice of cheesecake with you but i refuse to embarrass myself further, so we’re going to have to find something else to talk about-”

taehyung holds the door open for you and you immediately shiver as you step out, the chilly air a stark contrast from the warmth of tae’s cozy store

you jolt in surprise when taehyung reaches down and slips his fingers in between yours (which he later explains he only did because his hand was cold and definitely noT because he just really really wanted to hold your hand) before beginning to tug you along next to him

“well, we can talk about the fact that you thought the name of the book was catch her in the eye-”

“i knew you heard me! i knew it!!”

help me help you make your wishes come tru (aka send me a request)

why don’t you explore the rest of the library while you’re here?

or perhaps you want something shorter to read?

492 notes · View notes

aethelflaedladyofmercia · 3 years

Text

Twelve Months - Good Omens fanfic

Happy 31st Anniversary of Good Omens! :D

To celebrate this momentous occasion, I have posted a slightly-sad, slightly-sweet Wake the Snake fic on AO3, because our demon has been napping for a whole Twelve Months, and sometimes Angel gets a little lonely!

Thank you all for another fantastic year in this fandom!

Twelve months.

Aziraphale pushed open the door to Crowley’s flat, a simple shopping bag tucked under his arm.

The lights were still off, the curtains drawn in the awful empty room he called a study. Nothing had changed.

He passed through the enormous, rotating section of wall and into the solarium. This was still bright—many of the plants flourishing despite being unattended so long, despite clearly not having enough water. A few had started flowering. They waved their branches at him as he entered, perking up eagerly.

The angel waved back, but first he peeked into Crowley’s bedroom.

He was still where Aziraphale had left him, on his last visit a month before. Bright red hair spilled across black pillows, grown into a stringy mop. Duvet pulled up to his messily-bearded chin. One hand curled up beside him on the bed.

Still asleep.

With a sigh, Aziraphale crossed over to the plants, who greeted him excitedly, unfurling their newest leaves, a few vines hanging down to brush his face.

“Hello, my lovelies. How are you all doing? Look at you, grown at least a foot since I saw you, I’m sure. And you! What beautiful pink buds. Very impressive.”

He didn’t think Crowley would approve of how he spoke to the plants, but the poor things had been so distraught on his first visit, straining to keep upright, trying to hide their yellowing leaves. So much healthier now, much happier for just a bit of attention. He picked up the watering can and gave them all a quick splash. He didn’t know how much water each needed, but it didn’t seem to matter.

“You keep it up, dears. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Picking up his shopping bag again, Aziraphale headed down the hall to the kitchen. The kettle sat on the island where he’d left it, and he quickly refilled it and set it to boil. While he waited, he pulled his latest creations from the bag: a small pumpkin spice cake from a recipe he’d been perfecting since fall, a lemon coconut cake, and a few apple cinnamon muffins.

Two plates—a muffin for each, a slice of the coconut cake for himself and the pumpkin spice for Crowley.[1] The rest went into the refrigerator, where they would never go bad or stale.

Aziraphale put the plates onto a tray, along with forks and napkins. Next he found two mugs and pulled the little tin of his second-favorite tea out of the bag just as the kettle boiled.

For himself, a teaspoon of the expertly blended leaves, steeped for exactly three minutes, resulting in a pale brown tea with a slightly spicy aroma. For Crowley, he dropped a tea bag into boiling water and let it sit until it was almost black.[2]

He carried the tray back to the solarium and selected a bright red-and-gold tulip that was nearly vibrating in its eagerness to be noticed. A moment to assure the other plants that they were still doing fabulously—particularly a self-conscious little succulent that had rather drooped over the winter but was making a fine recovery—and he once more headed into Crowley’s bedroom.

Crowley had rolled over, and now sprawled on his back, sleeping soundly. He’d apparently kicked a bit, too, as the blanket had slid down past his stomach. Aziraphale smiled as he set the tray on the chair he’d brought in some months ago and got to work.

“It’s wonderful to see you again, dear,” he started cheerfully, carefully rearranging the objects on the little bedside table. “I have a few things for you again, I hope you don’t mind.” Just enough space to slide the mug and the little plate. Perfect.

“I received a package from Tadfield again. Everyone wrote a note and then gathered them all together, really quite clever. They’re all doing well, if a bit bored.” The table was nearly overflowing with little items now, brought in by Aziraphale to cheer the place up. Framed pictures of their human friends, quarantining with their families, clustered in one corner so tightly you could hardly see them anymore.

He pulled the latest out of the shopping bag. “Anathema has started a garden,” he explained, pausing to show the photograph to Crowley’s sleeping form. It showed the witch, kneeling outside her little cottage, working on growing several rows of herbs. “I got the impression she was off to a rough start, but she hopes to send us some mint in the next package. Although Newt warned me not to expect too much, as they’d already forgotten which patch is mint and which is oregano.” He set the picture with the others, and slid the potted tulip alongside it. “I’m sure she could use some advice from you, when you’re ready to share.”

“Nnnnh.” Aziraphale spun eagerly, but no, just Crowley shifting in his sleep again, rolling onto his side.

The angel paused to pull the duvet back up to Crowley’s chin, tugging it straight and smoothing a hand down his back. In a way, his friend was nearly unrecognizable, with that hair and ridiculous beard, but in another way looked the same as ever. That was always Crowley’s way, of course, constantly changing yet somehow always the same.

He lingered, taking in the shape of that face, leaning close, lips hovering above his cheekbone—

Aziraphale pulled back, quickly digging into his bag again. “Oh! Ah, the, um, the children have been making projects for their art class. This past month was sculpture, and they sent us some. Look!” He pulled out four little figures of oven-baked clay. “Ah, young Wensleydale has made a very clever model of a train car. Brian’s is…abstract.” He turned the next a few different ways. “And Pepper’s is, ah, either a very complex symbolic representation of the Patriarchy, or…a troll, I think.” They just fit on the edge of the table, all in a line, a very mismatched tableau. The fourth, on the end, was the best, in Aziraphale’s opinion. “Adam made a little Dog, and it’s very well done, don’t you think?” The canine figure posed with one leg raised and head cocked, ready to play, but the shadow it cast was just a little too large, too ominous, for such a small creature.

With a sigh, Aziraphale shifted the row this way and that. “I sent a letter to Warlock, over in America, but haven’t heard back since Christmas. I believe they’re very busy with something. Politics. You know how it is.” When the Dowlings had left England, they’d planned to return for a visit the following summer. A global pandemic had had other ideas.

“In any case, that just leaves Tracy and Shadwell. I understand he’s decided to hate the concept of literacy this month, so no word on how his war with the squirrels is going. And Tracy has declared she will spend the summer making a fairy garden. I thought her sketches looked very promising, and she promised to send us an update in June. I’m sure you’ll find it charming.”

“Hrrrrm.” Crowley sank under the duvet, nestling down a little deeper. Aziraphale smiled, settling into the chair with his plate and mug.

“Things are loosening up again,” he explained, taking a bite of cake. Delicious, if he said so himself. Sharp and not too sweet. “People are getting vaccinated, shops opening up. It’s really a lovely breath of fresh air, at least when you’re not wearing a mask.” A long sip from his mug, then he held it, fingers tapping. “It’s been nice walking through the park again, just in time for the baby ducks. And that record shop at the corner, they’ve had some wonderful new additions. Which reminds me.”

Putting aside his mug, Aziraphale dug through the bag again and pulled out a handful of square plastic cases. “They had a whole shipment of those little records the Bentley likes. Modern music. I picked out the ones with the rudest names. I’m sure you’ll enjoy them.” He pulled out the first disc and placed it atop Crowley’s phone. The device blinked in confusion a few times, then obediently copied all the music.

“Of course, it’s not all good news.” He stacked the rest of the discs atop the phone and returned to his tea. “Reopening means the customers are coming back. Yesterday, this one individual spent almost an hour browsing the same three shelves. And then he tried to make off with one of my books.” Another long sip. “Granted, he offered to pay, but still. What sort of establishment does he think I’m running?”

Aziraphale paused, waiting for Crowley to respond, not that he ever did. The demon’s eyelids moved a little, but no more.

Sighing, Aziraphale turned to his muffin. “You know, many times in the last year, I’ve wished you were there. Particularly during reopening phases. You could have posed as a customer, and then I’d be able to tell people I was at the capacity limit. Oh, and the people who would call to try and buy my rarest books. Collectors, or so they claimed, but then they just turn around and sell to anyone for twice the price! I’m sure you’d have some biting things to say about such people.” He smiled at Crowley’s sleeping face. “I’ve missed that, and your jokes. Rather more than I expected to.”

When his plate and tea were finished, Aziraphale set them on the floor and reached again into the bag. “Now, I have been attempting to teach my computer how to use the internet. I think it’s going quite well. Adam and his friends gave me a ‘homework assignment’ to find articles on recent news events, and I made the most wonderful discovery. Did you know that humans now share their news through humorous pictures? I printed out my favorites to show you.”[3]

He flicked through a few. “Ah, to start with, a few months ago there was this American politician with amusing mittens who showed up everywhere for a few days. It was extremely droll.” He leaned closer, holding them up for Crowley to see. “Ah, a few more from America. The murder hornets arrived, though by that point everyone had forgotten them. The election became increasingly confusing, and it all ended in a parking lot. For a little while everything was ‘This-or-That Total Landscaping,’ and before that everything was cake.” He showed a few extremely clever illusions. “I did try to make my own, but couldn’t manage it without miracles, which I felt was cheating.”

Really, leaning like this was starting to strain his back. Aziraphale shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, the better to share his pictures. “Ahhh. Also for a time everyone’s calendars were stuck on ‘March.’ And then earlier this year, a group of people learned how the stock market works, but sadly not how to spell it. The whole situation seemed very much like the sort of thing you’d be involved in. And…Oh, this angel from a television show was sent to Hell for…reasons.” He glanced at the shape beside him. Crowley had curled in slightly, pressing against Aziraphale’s back. “Yes. Various reasons. And then this musician, I suppose, went on his own. Both had many people extraordinarily upset.”

The next few images would really tickle Crowley, if he could actually see them. “The biggest news is that a large ship got stuck sideways in that canal in Egypt. Stopped half the world’s shipping for a few days while they dug it out! I’m sure you would have liked that very much. Exactly your sort of trouble. The humans were all very excited.”

The final photo was another of the ship, an image Aziraphale had made himself, printing out a blank version and writing on it in felt-tip pen. The hull of the enormous ship was labeled, “An eternity putting up with the tedious bureaucracy and frequently conflicting commands of my superiors until I begin to doubt my own judgement and sanity,”[4] while the small digger working steadily beside it was “Crowley.”

Aziraphale watched the demon beside him, not really expecting a reaction, certainly not getting one. He reached over, brushing brilliant hair back from Crowley’s forehead. “I think you’d have had rather a lot of fun last year. Or perhaps you’d have been upset you could only watch from a distance. Or…”

He’d leaned much closer than he’d intended, hovering just above Crowley’s forehead.

“Well!” Aziraphale stumbled to his feet. “I suppose that’s just about everything.” He picked up the tray from where he’d rested it on the floor, starting to re-load it with everything he’d brought in. Crowley’s cake and tea sat untouched, as always, but Aziraphale wouldn’t dream of skipping them. “We’re all very optimistic for the summer. Two months and everything should be just…just tickety-boo. Perhaps we can go for that picnic soon, if…yes…”

They’d made such plans for 2020. All the things they would do now they were free. Plans, and other thoughts carried in their minds, possibilities that would play out in their own time. Not too fast, just a slow, steady exploration of everything they could be…

“Well. Pleasant as that idea is, best not to—to plan too much, as the previous year made fools of us all. I just…” He turned away from the tray and watched Crowley sleep, hands clasped before him. “I miss you terribly. And I wish…very much…”

He picked up his shopping bag. One item still inside. The same one he’d been carrying for months, trying to find the courage to bring it out.

With a shaking hand, he reached in and drew forth a soft hand-made doll. He’d spent much of the winter on it. Simple white cotton for the head and body, wooly curls for the hair, and stiff white lace for the wings. Dressed in waistcoat and bowtie made from Aziraphale’s favorite tartan.

He still wasn’t sure why he brought it. He’d stitched several little toys, particularly a lovely black-and-red serpent with gold button eyes that had watched him from the sofa since November. But this, for reasons he couldn’t articulate, this one was for Crowley.

“I, ah…” He shuffled closer, doll clutched in both hands. “I made, um…” Back to the edge of the bed, one hand fumbling across the duvet. “…thought you might like…”

Crowley’s face stood out in stark contrast to the pillow, pale skin and bright hair. Aziraphale wanted to drink it in, memorize every detail, to hold him over until next month. The curve of his nose, the sharp angle of his cheekbones. His lashes flickering as his eyes moved. His lips, pursed ever so slightly…

“Bless it, Angel, are you going to kiss me or not?”

Aziraphale gasped, pulling back from the bright gaze of slit-pupil eyes. “You—you’re awake!”

“Nnnh. Half.” Crowley shifted, head moving across the pillow, eyes threatening to shut again. “Wouldn’t miss your visit.” One hand reached out, plucked the doll from Aziraphale’s unresisting fingers. “For me?”

The angel nodded. “If…if…you like it…or I could—I could just…”

Without a word, Crowley pulled the doll under the duvet and curled up, tucking it under his chin, a faint smile on his lips.

“If you were awake you—you should have said something! I’ve been going—going off like a fool all this—oh!” Aziraphale could feel his face turning hot as he recalled a few times his tongue had been a bit too loose for propriety.

“Mmmmmh.” The golden eyes were shut again.

“Crowley?” No response. “Crowley!” Aziraphale scowled. “Anthony J. Crowley, if you’ve fallen asleep again, I swear, I’ll—”

He’d do what? The angel fumed, but what could he really threaten? To stay away? Never.

“Alright then, I suppose I’ll see you in June. I’ve had several new requests for extremely rare manuscripts and I need to go pen some responses reprimanding these vultures for their cheek. I can—”

“You can stay.”

He spun around. Crowley had one eye barely cracked open. Gently, he pulled back the duvet, showing there was just enough space for Aziraphale beside him.

“I…I couldn’t.” But he stepped forward, not back. “I have business tomorrow, things to—”

“Just tonight then.”

His fingers brushed the mattress and pulled back as if burned. “You—you don’t really mean this, you’re just talking in your sleep.”

“Nah.” Crowley settled the doll by his pillow, making space. “Why else would I give you my key?”

“I…to…water the plants?”

“They take care of themselves.” Crowley held open his arms, eyes shut once more. “I missed you, too.”

Well. What could he say to that?

Aziraphale took off his shoes and slid into bed, into Crowley's arms. They wrapped around him gently as Crowley wriggled closer. “Mmmm. Y’r softer than the doll.”

“Oh.” He’d been called soft many times, generally as a way to imply he was a failure as an angel. But just this once, it made him feel rather pleased. “Soft is good?”

“Verrrry good.” Crowley twisted a bit, trying to find a comfortable way to rest his long limbs, and finally settled curled up against Aziraphale’s chest, tucked below the angel’s chin with a leg hooked over his knees.

The angel smiled. “And you’re…you’re noodlier than a stuffed snake. Err…”

A chuckle, just a stirring of breath across his throat. “Can’t wait to hear the story behind that.” Crowley nuzzled against his shoulder with a sigh. “Good night, Angel.”

Aziraphale swept the brilliant hair back again and bent down, pressing his lips to Crowley’s forehead. A soft, gentle kiss that made his friend smile a little more broadly. “Good night, my dear.”

Crowley drifted off again, burrowing close, as the angel continued to gently tease the back of his hair. Perhaps, he thought, perhaps tomorrow's work wasn't so very urgent. Perhaps a bit of rest would do him good. And perhaps...

Well. Don't plan too much. But for the first time, Aziraphale felt a bit of optimism about the coming summer and its possibilities.

“Sleep well, Crowley.”

[1] Crowley had invented pumpkin spice, and Aziraphale assumed he must like it. In truth, Crowley despised it, and regretted every autumn how it took over the entire world. He missed apple cider season. [2] Aziraphale had suspected since the early 1950s that Crowley secretly took his tea with several lumps of sugar, but would continue to pretend he didn’t know until Crowley confessed. Considering current circumstances, that was unlikely to be any time soon. [3] Aziraphale’s fax machine, revived after over three decades of disuse, had been somewhat confused to be asked to perform any task at all, much less to print memes onto photo paper with perfectly balanced color; but like the plants and Crowley’s phone, it couldn’t stand to disappoint the angel. [4] It was possible he hadn’t quite mastered this new form of communication.

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hetalia-has-a-secretary · 3 years

Note

how would they react if S / O would die? Plis?

Y'all- I'm not ready- I know I have answered a similar ask, but this will not stop me. These will be short unless my brain decides to go 50 MPH!

TW: Scenerios based around the death of a loved one.

Allies and Axis: Reaction to their S/O's death!

Allies:

America:

If it was a natural death, and a fulfilling relationship he'd have not only taken care of their graves, but decides to be their main caretaker as well.

He tries really hard not to cry, but he does, and is immediately searching for England for support.

He can't simply admit to how great the pain is, but how amazing and happy, and proud he is another thing.

Does nothing but talk about them in a good light.

And one talks badly about them, and they will get shit down.

Looking after their resting place has become very therapeutic.

He decorates their grave for any holiday

When their anniversary, birthday, or a major special event comes around, he makes sure to leave behind a small trinket he knows his S/O would love.

If his lover dies due to an unnatural event, he will be very agressive for a while.

Until one day he breaks down and just sobs In front of the others.

It will make everyone kind of uncomfortable, but England is there to take him away and tall him through it.

After that he slowly bounces back, not wanting his S/O to have the chance to see him break like that.

He does become a little wiser, and starts holding people's opinions and Requests with more respect as well.

England:

Natural death or not, he will get drunk, and sob for a few days.

France and America have to drag him out of the house, and he's just kind of miserable?

He only snaps out of it when France mentions how out of Character he is, and how he's surprised his S/O ever fell for him if he's like this.

Does a 180 in like, three days.

Makes monthly trips to their grave, and sometimes does so at night.

Has perfected a spell that summons their ghost, but it only works during a full moon.

And it only lasts for 5 minutes.

And it doesn't always work.

So even with his best efforts he hardly sees them anyway.

But he promised his beloved he would keep their Spirit alive in his waking life.

He becomes so much more calm, and patient after a year or so.

He's taken a lesson from this that everything is fleeting, and it's better to take in all the moments as they come.

He likes to bring a radio and book to the gravesight and just read to them.

He claims he can feel their smile when he does.

China:

He has an extremely long grieving period.

We're talking a couple of years for him to move on.

If it was a natural cause he tries his best but his home feels so empty without them.

Someone suggested putting up pictures of them in places he spends most, and it kind of works.

If anyone visits him, chances are they'll catch him talking to those pictures, and it's kind of sad. Like in a sobering way.

The main thing that helps him get over it is the stuff that was left behind.

Books, plushies, perfumes/cologne, anything he can use to immerse himself in them is kept and stored away.

He only ever looks at it when he really, really misses them. Even if he needs it for a good cry.

Their grave has Panda's and their favorite animal cuddling on the stone. A Request by his S/O.

If they pass from unnatural causes he's seeking out revenge in whatever form he can get.

Someone is really going to have to restrain him, so Russia is involved if anyone catches wind of his schemes.

He will barricade himself in his S/O's room, and refuse to leave, and will barely eat.

Japan is the only person he will talk to, and when he does it's not very much.

The only way to snap him out of it is to physically drag him out in public, and he can and will run off at the first sight of another couple.

Once he starts thinking about all the good memories he has, he starts to feel better and recover.

Russia:

He's surprisingly the most at peace of his S/O passes away naturally.

He's not exactly in pain over it, but he smiles and talks as if his S/O was there, and listening.

He actually has a Matryoshka of his S/O that has a wedding ring attached to it.

Even if his S/O didn't marry him he still wanted them to keep it, just because he felt they deserved to be reminded of just how much he loves them.

He's also calmed down significantly, and Pretty much vowed to love his life for his S/O.

The others originally thought he'd have snapped, but he's now magically everyone's therapist???

Turns out all the time he spent with his S/O wasn't meaningless fluffy feelings.

He was also proud of himself for allowing them in, and being able to take his walls down.

But if it was unnatural causes, that's when he snaps.

Best way to stop him?

"What would S/O think!?"

He'd get really depressed and dissapointed at that point.

He will spend a good couple weeks at their grave apologizing. Both for not being able to protect him, and losing his control, breaking an important Promise.

He gets over it after a couple months. It's best to just let him be until he does.

Axis:

Germany:

He was mostly in shock. More so if they dies from an unnatural cause.

He'd be more snappy towards everyone, but is quick to apologize.

The others understand and even when he snaps they know why, and feel mostly helpless.

He tends to storm out of the meetings when the others get too rowdy, and won't go back in until they settle down.

He works out more, and Russia could have sworn he saw Ludwig lip his car over one day.

Has many breakdowns

His brother literally has to slap it out of him and force him to realize how out of it he is.

He cries that night in his brothers shoulder.

Austria is second to the rescue, and help Germany find ways to cope.

The two of them together are successful at helping Germany find some inner peace over it, and he starts a small garden in honor of his lover.

Japan:

He is going to cry for the first couple of nights, but doesn't regret a single night spent with them.

He knew it was going to hurt, and he just let's it happen.

No shame, no overthinking, he just cries to get it out of his system, even if it's just a little.

He thinks of all the times his S/O got him out of his shell, and blushes at the times they made him feel most alive.

You can tell when he thinks of them by the peaceful smile on his face.

He dares not touch their room, and sometimes sleeps in it, simply because it helps him sleep at night.

He has dreams about them when he's in there.

Likes to think that's them saying hi from the afterlife, and if it is he doesn't want them to ever stop.

Any unnatural causes will make him seem cold for a few weeks, but Italy manages to get through to him.

Watching Italy prance around almost reminds him of how happy his S/O made him feel. They made him want to prance around, and he almost regrets not doing so.

Italy:

Another one who is surprisingly full of happy tears and smiles.

He knows they're in a good place, and is just to overwhelmed with pride and happiness to be sad.

It still hurts, but thinking about them makes him so giddy, and smile.

They were his drug, and his cure.

So it was only logical to keep marching on as the one thing his S/O loved the most. Himself!

Though if it was an unnatural cause, he won't be sleeping properly for a while.

Japan and Germany actually have to keep an eye on him, Because his exhausted state has almost caused a few accidents, involving himself, and sometimes those around him.

When he does manage to sleep finally (thank you Japan and China for teaching him guided meditations) He's out for almost a whole day.

Germany goes out of his way to make something Italy and his S/O ate a lot.

Italy winds up crying and frowning. Surprisingly became extremely withdrawn when Germany tried to comfort him

But he recovers after eating and is able to smile bit by bit.

So, turns out my brain did want to go 50 MPH and make these longer than planned! Yay-

#hetalia #aph #hws #hetalia world stars #hetalia american #hetalia england #hetalia france #hetalia china #hetalia russia #hetalia germany #hetalia japan #hetalia Italy #I made myself emotional ♥️

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natvrefairy · 3 years

Text

Friendship Anniversary (Red x Reader)

Requested: Nope, just thought I should give you all a taste of my writing first.

Reader Pronouns: She/her

Word Count: 1,390

A/N: So, I've recently started a new playthrough of Pokémon Blue, and I just love Red's character, so here we go. :)

C/W: Selective mutism, mainly fluff

Context: Set about six years after Pokémon Red and Blue. Red has been up on Mt. Silver for about three years, only coming down when necessary, or when (Y/N) has convinced him to fly down to her house with her (very rare). She visits him up there regularly to check on him and his team, and bring supplies. He's still got his selective mutism, but she learned sign language to communicate with him.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Six years. It had been six years since (Y/N) had left her home in Pallet Town to set off on her Pokémon journey. Although it was so long ago, sometimes it felt like only yesterday.

She was never as competitive as her childhood friends, Red and Blue, but she did love Pokémon just as much as them. It was a bit disappointing when her dream ended at the Pokémon League, but she was happy for Red, and they moved on quickly.

Red. He hasn't been the same for a while. It's hard to pinpoint when exactly it started, but as time went on throughout their journey, he started talking less and less, before suddenly, he just never spoke again. (Y/N) never found out why, but then again, she didn't want to be rude by asking. Instead, she poured all her efforts into learning sign language, desperate to show support for her best friend in any way she could. It was sometimes weird not physically talking like they used to as young children, but they never needed to talk constantly before anyway. They always had other ways to communicate, so maybe it wasn't too different after all.

For Blue on the other hand, it drove him mad. He never understood how (Y/N) and Red could spend hours just spending time together without uttering a single word. For him, it was a lot harder to understand Red's sudden silence. (Y/N) could tell Blue was trying his best to be there for support, but it was draining him as well. He wanted to support his friend, but didn't know how. Blue was never good at showing real emotions anyway. And now, he's so busy as a gym leader, he barely ever gets the time to go up to Mt. Silver. He's just grateful for (Y/N) for sticking around.

They're all 17 now, and today marks the day when Red and (Y/N) first became friends. Twelve years, it's been. Time really does just fly by.

Humming a soft tune, (Y/N) walks around her house, making sure everything is in place for her to leave. Considering it's their friend anniversary, she was planning on going up to Mt. Silver to visit Red. She even bought him a little present. It wasn't anything big; just a book on Pokémon. She didn’t feel the need to get anything too big, because she knows it just makes him feel bad. But she wanted to get him something, and anything on Pokémon, he'd definitely appreciate.

She looks down in confusion as her pokéball shakes, her trusty Jolteon popping out on his own accord. Shaking her head, she gives him an amused smile.

"What's wrong Jolteon? I only just sent you back. It won't be for long; we're just going to fly to Mt. Silver."

Her Jolteon is very similar to Red's Pikachu, in that he hates his pokéball. Although he does still reluctantly go into his ball when told, (Y/N) prefers to keep him out. She doesn't like seeing him upset, but sometimes it's necessary for him to be in his ball. Like to keep him safe when they're flying.

Jolteon shakes his head, his fur pricking up like static as he runs to the door. Running after him, she hesitates before opening the door, curious as to what he can sense.

"Pika! Pikachu!"

'Hello.'

"Red, Pikachu, what are you guys doing here?" (Y/N) asks, clearly in shock as Pikachu jumps off Red's shoulder and runs inside to play with Jolteon.

'It's our friend anniversary. We wanted to see you.' Red signs, smiling softly.

(Y/N)'s face lights up at the sight of that smile; the one he only ever shows around her or his Pokémon. Stepping to the side to let him in, she closes the door, freezing as she suddenly remembers his present.

Grabbing the messily wrapped present, she hands it to him, her face flushed in embarrassment.

'I got you something. Sorry about the wrapping.' She apologises, averting her gaze awkwardly, before leading him to the couch to unwrap it.

There was something almost terrifying about watching him open it. She knew there was nothing to worry about; she knew him better than anyone, after all. Except Pickachu, obviously. She knows what Red likes, and she knows he'll appreciate the gift, but for some reason, she can't help being nervous.

Feeling his hand being placed on top of her own, (Y/N) jumps slightly, looking up to meet Red's warm gaze. Looking into those perfect ruby eyes of his let loose a swarm of Butterfree in her stomach. Her mouth goes dry, so she just smiles back at him, understanding his gesture of thanks.

Confused when he suddenly grabs his bag, her eyes widen as he pulls out a perfectly wrapped present, handing it to her.

"Red... You shouldn't have."

He just shakes his head, gesturing for the girl to open it. Carefully unwrapping it, hands shaking slightly, she furrows her eyebrows to see a black box. Lifting the lid, her jaw drops to see the beautiful ruby necklace she'd been wanting for months. Tears welling in her eyes, she looks at him in confusion. She never mentioned it to him.

"How did you...?"

Red's cheeks heat up slightly as he signs a response, 'I may have asked Blue if there was anything you had your eye on.'

Gently taking it from her, he clasps it around her neck, grinning happily at the beauty in front of him. (Y/N) shakes her head in disbelief, a small chuckle escaping her lips.

'You really went above and beyond,' She signs to him, gently kissing him on the cheek before getting up, 'tell you what, how about we just have a movie day?'

----

Hours had passed, and Red and (Y/N) were still snuggled up on the sofa-bed watching movies, a blanket draped over them. They had stopped earlier for dinner, and Pikachu and Jolteon had already fallen asleep, so there was nothing stopping them from watching movies for the rest of the night.

Except, unfortunately, the tiredness slowly creeping its way in to (Y/N)'s body. Her eyes keep drifting shut, until Red grabs the remote, switching the TV off.

"What did you do that for?" (Y/N) asks, glancing up at him with half-shut eyes, earning a soft glare in response. She knew that look all too well. "But I don't want to sleep yet."

Red places a finger against her lip, silencing her and shaking his head. Planting a soft kiss on her temple, he pulls her closer; a sign that he's not taking no for an answer.

Sighing, (Y/N) moves closer to him, reluctantly closing her eyes. She knows how stubborn he can get, and just decided to leave it at that.

She had almost drifted off to sleep, when she felt a soft pair of lips against her head, and a quiet, hoarse voice break the silence.

"I love you."

(Y/N) freezes, slowly opening her tired eyes to look up at him. Those were the first words he had spoken in five and a half years.

"Red, did you just-?"

"I love you," he whispers again. It looked like a bit of a struggle to speak, but his face showed nothing but pure love and adoration for the girl in his arms.

(Y/N) leans up, pressing her lips against his in a gentle kiss. They were both still very tired, so it didn't last long, but they still had enough time to pour show the love they had held back for years. In those few short moments, it was like a spark rushing through their bodies. All those years of loving each other, all that time they held back, finally expressing their feelings.

When they pull away, (Y/N) buries her head in Red's chest, too embarrassed and tired to actually look him in the eyes. But before she falls asleep, Red does hear her mumble a response.

"I love you too."

Those were the last words she spoke that night. As Red gazes down at the girl sleeping peacefully in his arms; the one he loves with all his heart; he can't help but think about how lucky he is to have her in his life.

(Y/N) is the best thing that ever happened to him, and now they can finally celebrate the start of a beautiful relationship.

#pokemon #pokemon red #pokemon blue #trainer red #champion red #x reader #oneshot #pokemon oneshot #red x reader #red (pokemon)#blue (pokemon)#fluff #selective mutism #kanto

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joonkorre · 3 years

Text

(love) is a heartache

@drarrymicrofic prompt: hope is a heartache - léon

let it be known that harry goes through life purely on vibes. half of his reasons why for every decision at his big age are “idk imma just hope for the best”

ao3

People’s hearts twinge sometimes. For Draco, he can barely remember the last time he doesn’t have these twinges. It’s pretty normal at this point.

“No, it’s not,” Pansy says. She’s a Healer, so she’s probably right. But Draco prefers to ignore that.

“Leave it be,” Draco murmurs, lips against her scalp, “I’m fine. Say, are you free tomorrow?”

“Yeah. You want to go somewhere?”

“Mm. Sleep.”

They go out the next morning, Pansy in thick makeup and Draco practically drunk under nine layers of Charms. The air is a bit humid, which seems to get worse when the bustling street intensifies in volume into a roaring din. Pansy pulls him under an awning, yanking at his sleeve a bit to try out her disgusting sugary coffee. She always does this whenever she wants to take his attention away from something, which means he just has to look at exactly where she’s doesn’t want him to. As his lips wrap around her lipstick-stained straw, he glances up.

Across the street, a couple strolls through a gushing crowd. Fiery red hair, airy laughter, a pale arm wrapped around her fiancé’s waist. Curls of black, sleek spectacles, a protective palm on his fiancee’s shoulder. They make the perfect picture, a vibrant oil painting. Their existence is formed from bold strokes of sunlight and starburst kisses, with the focal point being a shock of phthalo green and cadmium lemon, two minute specks that make all the difference. As all good paintings do, they pin the viewer on the spot, as if the viewer himself is a thing to behold. Then they shift away.

The exhibit moves forward and out of sight. It’s closing time, the viewer has overstayed his welcome.

Something leaps in Draco’s chest and splatters on the floor of his stomach. Placing her hand over his heart, Pansy frowns at him. She doesn’t ask why Potter stared at someone who looked like a stranger to him. Only tells him to start finding answers.

Months later, on the most awaited day in recent Wizarding history, there’s a knock on Draco’s door.

He throws on a sweater, and a throw, too, for good measure. Ambling to the door, he checks the mail slot before peeking through the peephole. Nobody but a package is outside. Draco hums and unlocks his door, crouching down the moment it opens. What feels like soft satin brushes against his cheek, cool and smooth. With a flash, a pair of shiny dress shoes appear before him.

“Draco.”

Draco peers up as he rises, hands around the package. Potter has his maddening Invisibility Cloak slung over his arm, his roguish charm heightened by a perfectly fitted three-piece suit. A tiny posy is pinned on his left lapel, muted green hellebores with a few sprigs of privet berries. He’s dressed like a man in love.

Draco feels something he hasn’t felt in months at the sight. He’s trained himself to suppress it the moment it showed itself and has been relatively successful until now. The sting, without warning, bursts from within his chest, calling forth a slight wince. Potter’s brows furrow.

"How do you know where I live?"

“How long has this been going on?”

Draco frowns. “Pardon?”

“That,” Potter gestures at Draco’s chest. “The heartache.”

He rears back. What the hell is he supposed to say to that? At Potter’s unchanging expression, Draco shoves his hair out of his face with a quiet huff and puts a hand on the doorknob.

“It’s none of your business. Please leave.”

“It is, actually,” Potter stops the closing door with one arm.

“Excuse me? We haven't had a proper conversation in more than a decade and suddenly you want to act like we're friends? Leave, now.”

“Listen to me. How can it not be my business when I feel it, too?”

“Check with a Healer, then. If you can put past grudges aside, I can hand you Pansy Parkinson’s business card,” Draco grits through his teeth, pushing against the door with his entire body, his throw slipping to the ground.

“Draco, stop, I already know, stop.”

“Know what? No, I don't care. Leave at once, else I’d alert the Aurors.”

A rough slam sends Draco staggering back. Potter pants, hard lines on his face. His chest heaves under his crisp white shirt, its top two buttons unclasped, and he steps over the threshold, closing the door.

“You think they’d believe you?”

The pain shoots from his chest to the rest of his body, and for several seconds, his lungs wouldn’t work. He whips his head away from Potter, who groans and sags against the wall.

“I told you to leave.”

“I’m sorry, that was a shitty thing to say,” Potter says immediately, sweat dotting his temples.

After an uncomfortable pause, clearing his throat, he picks up the near-forgotten package from the carpet. His hand feels around the outline of the object within, rectangular and heavy. Glancing at Draco, he says hoarsely. “I know why you bought this book.”

“Know this, know that, you know nothing,” Draco lunges forward, only for Potter to twist out of the way and raise the package out of his reach.

“The Life-long Burden of Dark Curses: A Caution by Elise Arrowlane, limited edition,” he says, unbothered by Draco’s slackened jaw. “You ordered it from the new bookstore on Diagon months ago. You were small and old and grey, but I recognized you. I always could.”

“Okay,” Draco sneers, “so you’re a stalker. Old news. Anything else?”

“There’s no need to order one. I would’ve borrowed it from Hermione if you had only asked,” Potter says. “Instead, I got curious and read it for myself. That’s how I connected the dots about the heartache, how I realized we’ve both had it since that day years ago.”

“Oh, the day you slashed me into ribbons and almost cut through my heart?” Draco clenches his jaw.

Being able to shout this ugly kind of truth into the perpetrator’s face feels oddly liberating. That is, if liberation also comes with a specific kind of agony that makes Draco want to fall to his knees.

“Dark Magic leaves a mark on both the wizard and their victim, doesn’t it? No need for a book to tell us that,” Potter says, the harsh afternoon glow of him gentled by the soft lamplight in Draco’s hallway. “In certain cases, it even leaves a link. A connection.”

Draco bites the inside of his cheek and looks away. The only consequence from that horrid night was his fucked up heart and nothing else, nothing at all. Whatever Potter is insinuating, he hates it. He hates this. He hates him.

“How are you so sure there’s a connection.”

“I wasn’t,” Potter says. “The Healers said it’s a health thing I developed after the War and I just needed to avoid strenuous activity. I didn’t think much of it, but then I read the book and realized that it usually flared up whenever you watched me.”

Scoffing, Draco turns and stalks into the kitchen. Walking past the boiling kettle, he throws a cabinet door open and grabs a mug, his hand trembling.

“Interesting how my health suffers when I see the bastard who quite literally carved me open.”

“I was eating dinner when I thought I was going to die of a heart attack at 23,” Potter continues. Draco pulls the drawers out, unable to find a single bag of tea for several excruciating moments. “The next day, I was reading about your mother’s death on the Daily Prophet. That was the first sign.”

Grabbing a rag and wetting it, Draco wipes the countertop even as he’s just done so last night.

“When Ginny saw you on the street during our date and extended her hand toward you, you shook it. But your heart ached.

“I saw you looking at the picture of Ginny and I kissing on the front page of Witch Weekly. Your hair was brown and your back was curved, but I saw you. Your heart ached.

“When I announced my engagement to her on the Battle of Hogwarts’s 10th Anniversary, you were clapping along with everyone else. But your heart ached.”

Draco throws the rag on the counter. The kettle whistles, a piercing sound. “What’s your point? Are you here purely to flaunt your relationship and imply that I’m in love with Ginevra Weasley? If so, I got it. Thank you so very much, it’s been enlightening. Now get out.”

“The point is,” Potter says, lifting the kettle off the burner to pour it into Draco’s mug, placing his tea bag in, “unless the article about you being gay was wrong, Ginny isn’t the one you’re in love with.”

“What arti—” Draco stops. “That was years ago.”

His sexuality was leaked to some irrelevant gossip rag, not even making the front page. Nobody noticed, nothing changed, and it hasn’t entered his mind in what feels like forever until Potter reminds him.

“I remember.”

“You—” Draco frowns. His eyes strain on the cup of tea until they hurt. He squeezes them shut, sighing. “It doesn’t prove anything. Perhaps I’m jealous of my childhood nemesis having a better life than me, ever thought of that?”

“Yeah,” Potter says, “I’ve thought about this a lot. Which is why I’m here. To make sure.”

Draco takes it in, then, unable to help himself, curls his lips at Potter and his attire. At his artfully gelled hair, his hanging bow tie, the elegant boutonniere on the lapel of his dark blue suit. His empty ring finger.

“Couldn’t you have chosen a better date to make sure? Preferably before your wedding day?”

Potter steps closer. A respectable distance away, but closer.

“I could’ve, but I spent most of those days in denial. Then the dots connected and I couldn’t deny it anymore, so I decided to just go through with the wedding regardless, be with the woman I loved. Hoped that maybe the odd emotions I had would go away,” he shrugs, raising his eyes to meet Draco’s. “Saw Ginny at the end of the aisle and, well, I couldn’t stop thinking that it should’ve been someone else. All this time, I’ve thought that she didn’t feel… right in my arms, but I pushed it down. And there she was in that white dress.

“Seeing that today was the last straw. I had to leave.”

Draco’s breath catches in his throat. Swallowing it down, he grabs his mug, scooping out the tea bag just to have something to do. He takes a sip without blowing, ignoring its scalding heat.

“That was stupid.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re so fucking stupid,” Draco can feel a headache building. “That was a horrible decision. I never imagined you—you!—out of all people, could be this irresponsible. What the fuck.”

“You’re right.”

“Of course I am. Merlin, that poor fucking woman. If your purpose here is to make me feel bad for Ginevra and all 300 of her relatives for once in my life, you’ve succeeded, congratulations.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say that to me, say that to—oh, you’d do what you want no matter what I say, wouldn’t you?”

“Depends on the situation.”

“‘Depends on the situation,’ he says,” Draco mocks, getting a carton of milk from the fridge to save his bitter, bitter tea. Potter doesn’t reply. Stirring the milk in, Draco lets out a heavy sigh.

“What do you want me to do about this?” He says. “I didn’t make you run out of your own wedding. If you expect me to take the blame for your inane decisions, the first person I Floo wouldn’t be the Aurors, but Ginevra Weasley herself.”

A small smile graces Potter’s lips. “I don’t expect anything from you but honesty.”

Draco squints.

“And how will you know if what I say is a lie? Will you reject my genuine answer if it’s not what you want to hear?”

“That won’t be a problem,” Potter says. “I trust your heart will speak the truth for us both.”

There’s a pang in Draco’s chest, and judging from the twitch of Potter’s brow, he can feel it too. Not another word is said, the two men merely facing each other from across a tiny kitchen, considering. Draco can feel the warmth of sunlight beaming through the little window and coating his nape as he leans against the sink, earl grey on his tongue. Lovely citric notes of bergamot drift up his nose. He closes his eyes. What to do, what to do.

Weightless oxfords clack against the yellowed tiles, clear and bright in Draco’s ears. Fabric rustles as Potter slips a hand into his pocket only to retrieve it a second later. Draco lets himself be cornered, barely glancing at the wool-clad arms caging either side of his waist. A clink catches his attention, however, and he tilts his head to the left.

Millimeters beside Draco’s hand on the counter, glinting in the sun, is a wedding band. Draco knows Potter and Ginevra’s in and out, has examined the picture on that day’s issue of the Daily Prophet more times than he should have. He knows the marquise droplets of Ginevra’s gems and the chevron curve of her ring, the blankness of Potter’s own band a dream and a question in his mind.

The band that’s resting on the counter is different. Rustic gold and a fissure in the middle, the fertile earth splitting open to reveal a stream of diamonds, a sparkling river. Draco sets his mug to the side and holds the ring up close, his finger smoothing over the grooves of its texture.

“Did you make a stop at a jewelry store before breaking into my home?” He asks.

“No,” Harry murmurs. Draco looks at him in surprise. “I’ve had this with me for months.”

A pause.

“I thought you said you were in denial.”

“I was, but I knew, somewhat, that I wanted someone else,” Harry’s head lowers, slow and careful, until his forehead rests against Draco’s shoulder. “I told myself that I just liked the way it looked, had to get it in case I didn’t want the other ring anymore. But I got it a size smaller. Been carrying it in my pocket ever since.”

Draco’s heart throbs and throbs. Large hands circle his waist, bunching up the back of his sweater and pressing him close, chest to chest. A blanket of pure heat envelops his body as he breathes in the timeless saffron and neroli of cologne, half-lidded eyes pinned on the band he’s given. Oh, dear, he thinks, and again when it settles at the base of his ring finger with ease, as if it belongs there and never left. Oh, dear.

#drarrymicrofic #drarry #drarry fanfiction #drarry fanfic #harry potter #draco malfoy #yeah erm harry isn't the brightest bean in the pod or whatever that saying goes #they'll work it out i promise #draco's idea of a first date would be dragging harry over to the weasleys and forcing him to give ginny a formal apology #like ok he doesn't care about her at all but having this woman's unhappiness on his conscience is unbearable #also i really like the idea of the sectumsempra fucking up draco's bodily functions #the scars are really cool but i especially like it when the consequences are idk more visceral and clearly lower draco's quality of life #im not gonna get into the whole connection thing bc idk either #just know that whenever draco feels something intensely #like grief fear jealousy and ooooh heartbreak #his heart throbs and harry also feels it #in this fic harry's secretly happy that despite the whole shitty heart thing there's an unbreakable connection between the two #he needs some work in this fic but he means well i assure yall #draco seeing harry canoodling w ginny and feeling his heart hurt: that was weird haha #joonkorre writes

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thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch · 3 years

Text

A World-- Unsure

dabi / f.reader

genre: real world to parallel world au? (is that an au? it’ll make sense dw), angst, pinning, fools to lovers? (or dabi is stubborn/scared as all get out)

warning(s): blood, violence/bar fight, descriptions of injuries, cursing (dabi and i both have a potty mouth oops)

w.count: 9.4k

synopsis: You were someone in the middle. You had no mega praise for heros to speak of, but you also had no ill will towards villains either- you had seen both sides. After a few years running a hidden, underground medical base for villains who needed treatment beneath the bar that you ran and owned, you’ve met your fair share of villains. It was odd to think of them as good people, since you depended on them a lot if you got yourself into a pinch. In fact, a lot of your patients became bar regulars on the public downlow. It’s not a big shock that you end up meeting Dabi.

a/n: teehee, first time writing for dabi! I’m pretty excited not gonna lie, since this idea was pretty interesting to think about. this is the first part of A World -- a two part series! I’ll be working on the next part asap, so hopefully it won’t be a horribly long wait- but we’ll see how my time management is in the long run lol. (also, the draft was like 8.6k, i dunno how i added a whole 800 more words)

-x-x-x-

You stood behind the bar, shining glasses as you set up the counter and glanced at the clock hanging on the wall just above the entrance of the small pub. You sighed as you set the glass down before taking the rag you were using and throwing it over your shoulder. It was quiet in the open room filled with circular tabs, rectangular booths and metal rimmed chairs- quiet except for the footsteps of employees prepping for opening.

Your black jeans hung on your waist as your white button up was slightly wrinkled, the long sleeves rolled as best as possible up to your elbows. Your hair up and out of the way so you wouldn’t be constantly fighting it when the rush started. There was a small, pocket apron around your waist with a pocket for a receipt book, a pen, some napkins and pain medicine just in case another headache walked in the door tonight and a few other odds and ends. The only other thing on your person was the new pair of steel toed boots you had indulged yourself to.

“Hey, Boss Lady,” one of your employees called. You looked around, seeing the one who called you peeking their head around from inside the rec room. The room itself was probably one of the most expensive rooms you’ve ever put together. A pool table in the middle of the room, dart boards on either side of the room, a small little entertainment center, a sofa and another mini bar inside run by a trusted bargirl you hired when you opened your pub doors for the first time.

“What is it?”

“Is the rec room rented out for the night? I heard some of the others saying it was.”

That was something else that was different about your little hole in the wall. Since you weren’t all that popular or big enough for a special vip area or an area in general for occasions like birthdays or anniversaries, your patrons could call and make reservations and get the rec room rented out. However, you only let the room be rented on Fridays, Saturdays and Wednesdays. The other days, it was open for anyone to come and go as they please so long as nothing is damaged.

It was Friday night. You couldn’t think of anyone renting it out tonight, but there was a group coming in tomorrow so long as they don’t cancel on you.

You shook your head. “No. It’s tomorrow when it’s rented. You’re clear to leave the dividing ropes put away.”

“Right on,” they thumbs upped you before retreating back into the room to prep and clean before opening.

7:45, a quarter ‘till eight- opening time. You cupped one hand around your mouth. “Hurry up and get your final prepping all done. Quarter ‘till!” Your employees all made some sort of response or sound back to you, signaling that they understood.

Part of you always felt a little guilty each opening night since you knew it wasn’t just regular citizens or the occasional hero off duty who frequented your pub. You knew of the bad people who walk in the doors, stay for a drink and leave without causing a ruckus. You knew of them, because, unknown to your employees, you had a second job.

A second job that had a lot to do with the large, concrete basement of your pub that you refused to tell them about. It wouldn’t be a great business move if you just told people you let villains sneak into your pub to go into the basement where you had a large array of (stolen) medical equipment to treat their injuries.

-x-x-x-

It was well into the midnight rush of the night when the door opened again. The loud combination of everyone’s murmurs and the smell of every type of alcohol someone could name off filtered through the air and almost made you pull out your medicine. After three years running this place, one would think you’d become accustomed to the smells combined with the noise. To no avail.

You had stepped back away from the bar, your back close to the shelves behind you lined with bottles, cups, glasses, and a small old-style antenna radio that, despite being turned on, wasn’t heard over the ruckus.

Heading to the opposite side of the bar after being paged by some random man for a neat glass of whiskey. You snagged a glass, grabbing a bottle of the cheapest brand you could find- because this man’s lack of manners towards a lady, bargirl or not, didn’t impress you. Pouring the liquor into the glass like it was second nature, you reached under the bar to scoop out a sphere of ice to drop into the glass.

Sliding it over to the already tipsy looking man, you were called- more politely this time- from another patron for a bottle of beer. Smiling at him and signaling to him that you heard him, you trotted over to the mini fridge under the bar and grabbed the brand he requested.

As you carefully, and skillfully, popped the tab off with the bar’s edge, you placed the bottle on a coaster and slid it over to him, tapping the bar top with your hand and serving him with a smile. He thanked you, which you were appreciative of, before he turned to his friend next to him and continued conversing.

Moving back to the middle of the bar, you noticed a few empty glasses in front of empty bar stools with bills pinned under them. Taking the bills and pocketing them, you took the glasses and stashed them below the bar in a small tub you kept in a metal cart for easily putting dirty dishes for later.

As you wiped down the bar top, you saw another person, clad in a full black get-up slide into a bar stool that was recently left vacant. They weren’t far from you, just a few feet, but you could smell the scent of smoke on them. You sighed, knowing exactly who it was. Anyone would think that the man who just sat down was just a heavy smoker- and he was, but not so much recently so he claims- but you knew better.

He lifted his arm to rest his elbow on the bar, his chin resting in his palm as you felt him stare at you.

You didn’t say a thing to him, only got a glass off the shelf behind you, mixed some coke with some rum and added a scoop of ice, before placing the glass on some napkins and sliding it towards him.

“Like usual?” You asked, retracting your hand as he had already started to pick up the glass to sip on it.

“Like usual,” he confirmed. This particular man had a deep voice, always laced with a small rough sound- more rough when he’s tired or just plain exhausted. It was a side effect of the smoking and other smoke-like quirks of his personality. “You seem busy tonight.”

“We’re always busy on Fridays, nothing unusual about that. It’s the start of the weekend, everyone wants to drink.” You threw your cleaning rag over your shoulder, shouting to a call of another bar sitting patron as you felt the black, clad, mask covered man’s eyes on your. “You gonna stick around all night, or are you gonna drink and go this time?”

He pulled his mask down to uncover his mouth, dark scars showing under the hood of his jacket just long enough to take a sip, and pull it back over his face. Setting the glass down, he let out a breath and circled his finger along the rim.

“I think I’ll stick around, just to annoy you.” You could hear the smirk on his face as you held back an eye roll for professionalism’s sake.

“How courteous, thank you so very much.” He chuckled at your reply as you left your place in front of him to tend to others paging you left and right. He pushed his curled hand into his cheek as he watched you pad back and forth behind the long bar. You should be grateful he at least planned on paying tonight.

He remained on his barstool the next few hours, only shifting to look around, take a short spin on the stool, or stand to stretch his hunched body before sitting back down. Each time his glass was close to empty, you’d knock your knuckles on the bar top- a signal asking if he wanted a refill- and he'd either knock back or keep the glass away from you as a form of saying yes or no.

Though, it wouldn’t be a proper Friday night mid-shift without something going wrong.

You weren’t sure why, but when 2 am started rolling around, you always grew weary of your patrons. It was the prime time for tipsy, or smashed, people to start trouble. Whether with you, or with other paying customers, or even your employees. Out of all options, you wished they’d pester you so you don’t have to deal with someone else being harassed. Though, even when it did happen to you- which was often since your place was stuck behind a wooden, polished bar- you didn’t ever appreciate it.

You glanced around the filled room and saw a few familiar faces of villains you had treated before who decided to stay in your good graces.

Them being there did make you feel a bit better about you own safety since you knew if something were to happen, they’d jump up to throw down on your behalf, even if you could handle yourself plenty well.

You were once again wiping down the wood of your bar for the gazillionth time this evening when some scumbag, a smashed man who was well over your age, stumbled his way to the bar and slumped himself into a stool and leaned over the counter like some hunchbacked gargoyle.

He reached over the bar to start to fiddle with the beer spigots that lined the end of it. Before he could create a giant mess in the tray beneath them and onto the floor, you rushed over and slapped his hands away.

Instead of hissing at your stinging slaps, he whistled at your actions to keep your property away from him grime hands as you rolled your eyes.

“Sir, keep your hands off of the bar tools.” You reached over and grabbed the half empty bottle of beer from his hands before you poured the rest of the alcohol out of it and tossed it under the bar into the bin where it clinked together with the other beer bottles you’ve tossed tonight. “I’m cutting you off. Sober up, leave your payment and get out before I have you thrown out.”

From down the bar, you knew the scarred man in black was watching you. Whenever this kind of scene went down, you could feel his and all the other familiar eyes on you. For villains, they sure were people of action and debt. Made you feel bad for calling them villains- if you didn’t think about the crimes they most definitely committed on a day-to-day basis.

The drunk man slurred what you assumed was probably something close to reluctance at you cutting him off for the night and your swift decision to kick him out after he paid what he owed.

Persistently reaching over to try and yank on the spigots again, you once again slapped his hands away, going a step further and grabbing his wrists and tossing them away back over to his side of the bar.

“I won’t ask you again, sir.”

Your familiar scarred man set down his drink, the contents in it empty as the remaining, semi-melted ice cubes fell together in satisfying clinks against the glass.

It was times like now where you wished the quirk laws would allow you to use your quirk publicly without a permit or license because of riffraff like this oh-so-lovely hammered gentleman. You were one to break the rules anyways, so you would if push came to shove regardless and you knew that your customers would keep their mouths shut about it.

You’ve gone many a night with bar fights and tassels and not a single cop was called because you could handle the situation yourself, or your trusty villain’s had your back. Your little pub and you were a bend in the rules with a great camouflage jacket over your head and trustful patrons willing to keep a secret or get so drunk they don’t remember what happened. Either option suited you well.

You weren't a hero, nor a villain. You were in the middle- a civilian with some spare time and no interest in sharing what you did the time you're not running your pub.

The man stood from his stool the moment you turned your back to him and not only did he shove his arm against three different beer spigots in a clumsy fall against the bar, but he partly climbed over the bar, reached towards you and yanked you back by your shoulder just so he could get a solid slap on your ass.

The shriek you let out wasn’t loud, it was more of shock of what was happening, followed by instant disgust. Your rear stung at the strength the disgusting man used to slap it before he was drunkenly laughing, his gross breath wafting towards you from his half climbed over body.

Before you could take care of the situation yourself, he was yanked back off to his side of the bar onto his wobbly feet. The instant his feet hit the tile and his chin even twitched to look around to see what yanked him back, glass shattered across his face.

The scarred man who had silently kept you company tonight- and previous nights before that- had grabbed the back of the man’s shirt, yanked him back and away from you as you righted the beer spigots that had already created a big enough mess and smashed his empty, rum glass against the side of his head.

The drunk man hit the ground, grabbing and holding his head as blood dripped from the side of his face and ear. The scarred man looked down at him, shaking his hand about, the purple scars of his wrist showing as he shook the limb. The glass seemed to nick his palm a bit upon impact, but nothing compared to the nasty wound on the drunk’s face.

As the drunk lay on the ground, groaning and bleeding, your defender bent to riffle through his pocket and nabbed his wallet. Pulling out both a card and a wad of cash, he held both towards you.

“What’s his tab?” His rough voice was stern as you just sighed.

You plucked bills from his hand, a handful of twenties, before you put it into your pocket. You looked around, seeing a table from the corner lift a bill in his hand before he waved it at you. You nodded- they were signaling they had his bill. They then held up four fingers and then a fist. A four dollar tab. You decided that you’d keep the extra as a bonus and maybe tip your workers as well for his behavior.

“He’s good to go.” You said as the scarred man put the card back into his wallet and shoved it back into his jacket pocket. He then picked the drunk off the tile and shoved him out the doors before making his way back to the bar.

He stepped over his glass and ice mess as he toed at a larger piece of glass that used to be the bottom of it. He then looked at you with a shrug. You could practically seem the smirk on his face before he spoke.

“My bad.”

Instead of saying anything, you placed a small plastic tub on the bar top and slid it towards him. You flicked your eyes down and he just sighed. Squatting, he picked up his mess of glass and ice the best he could before he gave the tub back to you to throw away. You had already gotten a start on the beer mess that made your nose twitch at the stench.

You always hated the smell of beer.

“Smells like piss,” you muttered to yourself. The scarred man heard you loud and clear though and he stifled a laugh at your annoyance. Once you had it more or less cleaned, you glanced at the closed fist of the man’s cut up hand. You saw small beads of red drop onto your bar. You pushed a handful of napkins towards him to squeeze into his palm. “Come down when we close. We’ll get your hand properly cleaned up.”

He didn’t argue. Just chuckled as he took a sip out of his water bottle you had placed in front of him as he shut the napkins in his grip tightly.

“Sure thing, sweetheart.”

-x-x-x-

4 am: closing time. You sigh as you bid your final employee farewell before you locked the door behind them. You sighed as you walked back to the bar, untying your apron from your waist on the way. You emptied the pockets and placed whatever was inside on the bar top. There was only one person left in the bar, in the same stool he had been in all night.

You thumbed through the bills in your pockets, rounding to behind the bar and unlocking the always locked money drawer just under the far end of the counter where a small card swipe sat for patrons not paying with cash.

Tucking your cash safely away and locking the drawer shut you stashed the key on the keyring with all your other keys in the pocket of your jeans. You pulled your phone from your back pocket and checked the time. About half after now.

“Okay,” you spoke, the man already standing. “Come around the bar and we’ll head down.”

He followed your lead, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his large jacket with his hood still on even in the new found privacy. You walked back into the kitchen and beyond to a small landing that had an unlabeled door and then a separate staircase leading upward past a different doorframe. He looked up the stairs, knowing full well that beyond them lays your apartment.

Part of him was envious that you lived in your place of work. Technically, he could live in his, but he had his own separate place of peace away for breathers. He could only deal with his comrades for so long in a single span of time.

You unlocked the unlabeled door that you told everyone who asked was just a closet for your personal belongings that didn’t fit up in the apartment. Opening it, another set of stairs that lead down was beyond it.

Descending them, the man followed and shut the door behind him. He locked it when it was shut at his back. There was a different entrance to the basement he was descending into outside the bar anyways for the people who knew it was there and needed it.

At the bottom, you flipped on the lights to the large, open room. It wasn’t a giant space, but it was large enough to move around and there was a sofa, a work bench you used as a counter for coffee and random objects, tables and chairs for your patients waiting comfortably. There were two rooms off two of the left side of the main ‘waiting room’ and one to the right- all solitary rooms for overnight patients. The furthest back room had no door and just past the frame was a storage room of medicine, wraps, gauze, antiseptics, salves- just whatever you could get your hands on.

You’re even occasionally gifted treatment items from past clients in hopes to repay the debt they feel they may owe you.

You point towards the long, hard top operating table in the back as you make your way to one of the shelves on the wall. You kept all the basic first aid out in the open since they were easy to replace.

“Go sit,” you direct as the man flipped off his hood and unzipped his jacket. His white tank top was wrinkle from being inside the stuffy jacket all night and he adjusted his belt to sit comfortably and not pull on his belt loops to dig into his hips. Ruffling his black hair, he made his way to the table to lean against it.

You were soon in front of him, hand out towards him asking for his own to inspect.

“You’re always causing some sort of scene every time you come by. You realize it’s getting old, right Dabi?”

The face stapled, scarred pyro-villain just grinned down at you, chest jolting with a scoff of amusement as you pulled the blood beaded napkins he held in his hand since you gave it to him away. Then, you poked around with tweezers pulling small pieces of glass away from his skin.

“Don’t lie. You love when I come by. Besides, someone’s gotta keep you on your toes.”

“I don’t need to be ‘kept on my toes’,” you tutted, making sure there were no pieces of glass left in his palm. When there appeared to be none, you started dabbing the small cuts with antiseptic as he just kept leisurely leaning on your table. “If you keep coming here and just to get all cut up, I’m going to start charging you for not only your drinks, but all the patching up I do to you too.”

“Oh, you’d never,” he mused. He knew you all too well and he also knew that even if he were here daily for scratching his knee or getting a paper cut, you’d never have the heart to charge him anything when it came to treatment.

Maybe he took advantage of that, maybe he didn’t.

It didn’t help that he knew you had the hots for him- I mean, you did tell him about how you felt weeks ago; straight o his face no less. He just brushed it all off, knowing good and well that he and relationships in general just didn’t work out. Besides, he was someone the public knew the face of and he wasn’t just someone to pass on the street and forget the face of.

Dabi rejected you, you knew he would, but he let you down as easy as he could. You just simply wanted to put your feelings out there so nothing would be awkward in the future. It stung sure, but you felt more open with your feelings not bottled up in secrecy.

You wrapped his hand in gauze and called it good enough, placing all your things back where they were. Dabi looked at his hand, flipping it back and forth as he inspected how neatly you’ve gotten at wrapping bandages since the very first time.

“Not bad,” he hummed. The first time he heard of you and came to get treated, you had to treat a nasty gash on his leg and you were clumsily with your bandaging since he was already covered in scars. You were so confused on if you could cover them or not and if you did, if there was a special way. You leaved quickly though.

“Not like you could do any better. You don’t really need any more stitches or staples than you already have.”

“Don’t act like you don’t think they’re sexy,” he teased as he stood up straight, plunging his hands into his pants pockets as he began to follow you around the basement room to room like a dog. You soon left your basement, going back up the stairs, opening the door and leaving before going up the second set of stairs leading up to your apartment.

Dabi followed you the entire way with a shit eating grin on his face.

You sighed as you unlocked your apartment door and looked over your shoulder and down to the burnt man just behind you on lower stair steps.

“Do you need something?”

“Yeah. Inside.”

You cursed under your breath, going inside and him following knowing that you couldn’t argue him out of it. He often did this, getting treated and then going up to your apartment. In fact, there was a time when he would pick your lock and let himself in, so you ended up making him a copy so he could just stop doing it.

He may not be good in relationships and definitely not looking for one, on top of rejecting you, but he could very well enjoy his evenings pestering you instead. they were two distinctly different situations.

Kicking off his boots and fumbling with his jacket, he hung it on the coat wrack- not willing to be yelled at by you for making your home a mess with his junk again- and let himself in. He immediately made a beeline for your living room and plopped himself on your couch like he owned the place and paid your bills.

You had ventured to the kitchen before you went to the living room and tossed him something. Catching it, he saw a poptart in his hand, still wrapped in it’s aluminum wrapping.

“Eat. I’m taking a shower.” He shrugged as you turned and headed to shower as he flipped on your television and let himself finally relax.

It was odd, being around you and in your home. He didn’t even feel this relaxed and loose in his own apartment by himself. Where he lived was nothing fancy and it was cheap, but it was his and the location was kept on the downlow just like he needed. Spending time with the league was fine and dandy, but they could be so damned irritating sometimes, so he didn’t dare even try and nap at the base.

He let his head fall back against the couch and he took deep breaths.

On occasions like this, he did feel a bit guilty. It’s not like he was actually taking advantage of your feelings or your kindness to do what he wanted, you were just too nice for your own good and let him. Don’t get him wrong, you would scold him if he did something you didn’t like- like leaving his jacket on the floor- so it wasn’t like you didn’t want him here.

Dabi could hear your shower running just barely under the sound of the tv’s noise. Sometimes, he’d find himself thinking back to when you told him how you felt and how easily you accepted the fact he said no.

He was just coming back from another stupid league mission and had a pretty nasty cut behind his left shoulder. You were cleaning the blood off his skin, trying not to snag your rags in any staples before you were smearing something onto the wound, making him sigh in of relief of the cooling sensation.

It was when you were pasting a gauze pad on his shoulder and patching it on securely when you blurted out that you liked him. All he did when you said that was laugh at you, to which your silence that followed explained that you weren’t joking and were in fact serious. He looked at you with a face you hadn’t seen before, a look of vulnerability for just a moment, before it shifted to one of seriousness.

“I’m not interested. Sorry, doll.” You nodded at his quick rejection. Though you accepted it fairly easily, he could still see the slight furrow of your brow and dip in your lips with his rejection. You may have even seen his rejection coming, but hearing it still had to be a blow to your heart.

He was glad the relationship between you two hadn’t changed regardless of how you felt and how he said no. You still put up with his bullshit and he still hung around like a fly you couldn’t smash under a flyswatter because it kept evading the strikes. It was still comfortable here- in your place.

Dabi stood from the couch, moving to your window only to lean out when he pulled his cigarettes from his pocket and lit one. You had really gotten on his ass once when you caught him smoking in the middle of your living room without a window even open. You told him to smoke out a window, or go outside to contaminate his lungs claiming you dealt with the smell of smoke enough during bar hours.

Flicking a small, blue flame with his index finger, he lit the stick and huffed. Nicotine really accompanied his quirk- it was like he and cigarettes were just meant to be since he himself was a human-sized lighter.

He heard the door to your bathroom open and soon you stepped out with grey sweat and a cheap, cutoff shirt that just barely exposed your stomach on, towel drying your hair. You looked at him, water still barely dripping off your eyelashes and hair strands untouched by the towel.

“Glad to see you’re listening to me,” you told him as you nodded towards the smoke that he took a draw from. He puffed the smoke out the window as he turned around to lean against the open pane. His hand out the window to keep the crumbling ash from dropping inside.

“I can behave sometimes too, you know.”

You scoffed at him, turning to grab a water bottle from your fridge in the kitchen and returning to the living room. “Yeah, not likely.” You sat on the couch to mindlessly watch whatever channel the tv was on and once Dabi and finished smoking, he shut the window and rejoined you on the couch. His arm was resting on the back of the couch as you had pulled out your phone and began to scroll through apps and occasionally looking back up to the tv.

It was moments like this where the uncertainty really hit him.

It was this- these comfortable situations- that frightened him. He was a bad person, a person who’s done bad things and will continue to do bad things. He used to sit around your apartment and bug you with questions. Had you ever ratted anyone out? Were you really a completely secretive person when it came to your unofficial side job? Were you really someone to be trusted? Why did you do what you did in the first place?

Now, he didn’t ask anything anymore. He grimaced at himself. Maybe he was letting himself get too comfortable here.

“I’m going away for a while,” he suddenly blurted out. You glanced up at him from your phone.

“Have some big job or something coming up?”

“Yeah,” he lied, “some league stuff I gotta deal with.”

“Any idea how long you’ll be gone?”

“No idea. Probably a few weeks I bet.” Dabi couldn’t stop himself from lying to you and he got irritated at himself for feeling even the slightest bit bad for doing so. This was the only way though, the only way to try and get back to the rough, guarded villain he was supposed to always be.

Dabi had to get away from you for a while.

“Well,” you started, looking back down. He looked at you, seeing you frown just a bit- he bit his cheek. “Stay safe. If you need any patching up when you get back, you know where to find me.”

He lowered his chin, his eyes lidding as he hardened his resolve. His decision was final, and he had to follow through with it. He looked back to the tv, trying to bask in theses few final moments.

“Yeah, sure.”

-x-x-x-

Dabi’s irritated. He’s been irritated actually.

He’s sitting at the bar, not your bar, but the bar in the league’s headquarters. He sat slouched in a stool as Kurogiri- as usual- stood behind the bar. The glass of some brown liquor that Dabi had nursed for the past hour started to taste like static to him. He missed your bar’s liquor- the revelation made him more irritated.

The entire reason he’s avoided going to your pub and always looked around corners in the city to make sure you wouldn’t bump into him by accident was so he could squash whatever the fuck he was feeling when he was around you down into dust. Though, theses recent last couple days had proven that his plan was backfiring.

Instead of forgetting what it felt like to be comfortable and content and relaxed, he was missing it. He was missing the air of serene you always carried everywhere you went and he dared to say he yearned for it again.

Dabi clicked his tongue as he pushed his forehead into his palm when Shigiraki had walked into the bar from wherever he had been before. Seeing the hunched over excuse of a comrade, he groaned. The leader had often heard of your patchwork jobs for villains. He himself had even met with you once- not for any injuries he had sustained, but for a simple meeting to exchange greetings with potential allies. Anything helped for his cause.

Shigiraki also knew that Dabi often frequented your pub, and for whatever reason he hadn’t been recently. His sour mood as of late paired with his lack of attendance to your business and attention was too easy to put together.

“I’m really sick of you moping around here,” the leader complained. Dabi lifted his forehead from his palm and glared across the room to the leader who now took a seat one stool away from Dabi. “Go be a killjoy somewhere else.”

“Oh, piss off.”

His mood began to spiral rapidly when Toga and Twice had come into the bar as well, coming back from wherever the fuck they had been. Toga- trying her best to get on Dabi’s every nerve- was told by Kurogiri that his mood was unpleasant because he hadn’t been to a specific bar in town for some time now.

Dabi felt offended that Kurogiri connected his bad mood to the bar and not you.

“Maybe I should kick the crap outta you myself, so you can go back to what's-her-name and then maybe you’ll finally lose the attitude.” Okay, that one earned the hand-fetishist leader a growl from the pyromaniac. It only made Shigiraki scoff in a small victory, knowing that everyone around the league could see that his sour mood was solely revolving around you- or lack thereof.

Toga, ever on the hunt for new ‘friends’, immediately jumped at the idea of finally going to the mystery lady who heals everyone just because she has a kind heart. An idea that Dabi shut down without so much as batting an eyelash.

“But, why not!” Toga whined. Dabi rolled his eyes. Villain or not, Toga was just a high schooler with more than enough psychotic tendencies to warrant concern. If he had it his way- you’d never even get the chance to set your eyes on the blonde, twin-bunned psycho.

The constant chartering centering in on him and you began to grate on his nerves and before long he was stomping up to his feet and out the bar door. Shigiraki just scoffed as Toga pouted. Twice was simply mocking and jesting at the burned man who ‘just ran away’.

Dabi had had enough. He was going back to your pub- but it wasn’t going to be because he missed you. He just wanted a drink in peace and fucking quiet. At least away from those idiots.

-x-x-x-

Dabi had slithered his way into your bar- pushing his way in with a group so that when you shouted from your place behind the bar to greet them in and to tell them to just find a seat, you wouldn’t recognize him. He had stopped by his apartment before making his way here to change into clothes he hoped you wouldn’t recognize him in either.

The large, indigo tinted turtle neck he wore was way too large on his torso. The neck was horribly stretched out and pulled up as far as it could be to cover his jaw and mouth so that he didn’t have to wear the mask he knew you would recognize.. He traded his normal jacket with a different one he’d kept around for city crawling as he had it half way zipped up and the hood flipped up to hide his hair and scarred ears. Keeping his chin down, he used the shadow of his hood and the shadows the pub lights casted to keep the scars just under his eyes more or less out of sight.

He grumbled at himself. Why was he going to such lengths to make sure you didn’t see him in the first place? In the past, he wouldn’t have gone to the lengths to stay on the downlow in public like this; he would’ve just gone back home and crashed or drank alone or something of the sort. You probably weren’t even under the impression he was back from the mission you thought he was on.

He slid into a booth in the back corner where he could still see you working behind the bar. Pacing back and forth, talking and serving patrons and just doing your general work. It felt strange seeing you work from all the way in the back instead of in his usual barstool, front row seat. He bit his tongue when he caught himself almost missing his up close proximity to you.

He was soon slid a bottle of beer- even if he didn’t really like the taste- as he nursed it. He’d occasionally scan the bar to see what kind of business you had tonight. When he wasn’t, he was scrolling mindlessly on his phone with glances up to the bar every so often. He felt uneasy when you weren’t in his sights, even with you so close by.

An hour after he had entered the pub, the doors had opened roughly enough to make tables turn their heads or hush up their conversations to see who had just made the racket coming in. Dabi glanced, pulling his hood back just a bit to see past the fabric of it.

A group of three men had walked into the pub. Gruff looking fellas, but nothing all that special. They started scanning the pub area, looking from tables, to faces, to chairs, all the way to the bar. The flame user didn’t appreciate the snarl on the middle man’s face when his eyes landed on you busting the bar top with your rag.

Shutting the door behind them, the three of them split apart, one heading towards the rec room and another heading in Dabi’s side of the bar. The middle man marched up towards the bar and instead of taking a seat- opted to lean on the bar between two already seated patrons. They ended up leaving their bills and scurrying out of the joint.

You took their payment and bit your tongue to keep from telling the obviously trouble-looking newcomer off for running off your customers. In fact, you completely disregarded him.

Once your bills were collected and placed into your apron pocket, you looked at the middle man leaning on the bar square in the eyes. You held unamused eye contact with him for a beat before you shut your eyes and easily turned away from him.

Clearly unhappy with the attention he so desperately wanted, he reached over the bar and yanked on the back of your work button up. You let out a shocked, choked gasp as you dropped the glass you had in your hand. The sound of shattering glass echoed around the pub as it became completely silent.

Dabi jumped from his booth, standing at his table instead of leisurely sitting like he had been as he watched the man reach out for your shirt. He growled under his breath when he yanked you back towards him over the bar.

This trouble-seeker was new to your pub, you could tell this the moment he came in with his two buddies. He didn’t know of the amount of eyes on him now that he had gained the attention he wanted. And he didn’t know how many of those eyes were villains ready to take him out.

You coughed as he tried dragging you completely over the bar just by your shirt collar. Your lower back pushed painfully into the wooden edge of the bar as your heels came off the floor, your toes being the only leverage you had left on your side of the bar top.

You wanted to swing your elbow back and pop the son of a bitch in the nose, but you had to keep all ten of your fingers on the front of your collar to keep it from painfully pulling against your throat. You attempted to unbutton the top buttons for a window of breath, but you didn’t get the chance to before you were dropped.

“Hey!” A voice you had recognized from a past medical visit came from behind you and the man yanking on your shirt. He had groaned as he dropped you, your unsteady toes combined with your heels slamming back down to the floor and your spine dragging down the edge of the bar all made you drop to the floor. You hunched over on the floor, gagging as you pulled on your shirt’s fabric away from your neck- the hemming all stretched out and well ruined by now.

The bar felt like walls that encased around your slumped over body and you soon felt someone hop over the bar and rub your back. Looking up with teary eyes from your lack of breath, you recognized the female criminal you had treated a handful of times before. She soothed you behind the bar as it sounded like pure chaos erupted from beyond the bar.

The short screams and shouts of whatever customer didn’t feel like fighting and fleeing. you even heard your employees ducking out- as you instructed them to do when bar fights broke out. You did not want to feel out accident reports, so your rules of running when things get nasty was non-negotiable.

You were content to just stay sitting on the floor, catching your breath until the fighting was done. You knew those who were fighting against the law were already defending you and your pub- they would take care of it.

It was their safe space and these thugs had just tried disrupting that space.

It was only when a plume of fire shot out from what looked like to be the back corner of your pub did you jump to your feet. Leaning against the bar with the villainess at your side, holding you to make sure you didn’t tumble over, you saw Dabi.

“Dabi?!” You were shocked to see him. He hadn’t been around due to his work (so he told you), and you were confused on why he was here now. Why was he wearing clothes you hadn’t seen before and when did he get here?

He was quick to jump into the fray, mixing in with forces to drive the stupid thugs out of your pub, but not without beating them within an inch of their life first. Between tables being thrown, chairs knocked over, fire bursting then dispersing and fist and legs flying- it was hard to keep up with what was actually happening.

What you did see though, was from the rec room someone coming out and pointing their fingers out towards your villains- your allies. Their fingertips started to open and sharp, needle like tips were ready to be fired out of them.

You climbed over the bar, the villainess calling out to you to not get involved. You stumbled into a chair, holding yourself up as you shouted over the commotion.

“Hey! Get behind a wall or table!” You pointed to the man under the rec room doorway. “Don’t let whatever he’s gonna shoot out of his fingers hit you!” You were ready to duck back behind a table when you were shoved in the chest by the third man you saw enter with the thugs earlier. He just appeared from no where it seemed when he struck you.

Knocking you into a nearby table, you slid onto it before it tipped and you tumbled off of it when it fell. Groaning, you cursed under your breath. You were getting really fucking sick of being pushed around tonight. You got to your knees to get yourself back to your feet when you felt something push against your back and wrap around your shoulders, keeping you down.

Whatever was keeping you down and covered was warm. It covered your back and kept your shoulders encased. Reaching up, it was an arm that wrapped around your and it was someone’s chest that pushed against your back. Looking back you saw his scarred ears and neck before you saw his face. Not to mention the blast of burning blue that shot out opposite of his outstretched other arm.

“Dabi,” you gasped as you felt his body start to push more into yourself. You whined, his weight beginning to crush you. “Hey, get off me,” you huffed.

“Oh, you so owe me,” he chuckled before he fell against your completely. His arm dropped and the one that wrapped around you previous fell limp and released you. Rolling off to the side awkwardly to try and catch his fall to the tile, you saw a small needle sticking from his neck.

“Oh, shit” you muttered. Turning, you lifted a table to cover your back while the rest of the chaos kept going on behind you. Pushing him onto his back, he was out cold. Looking him over, you didn’t see any worrisome wounds on him- in fact he didn’t look wounded at all. It was only that needle in his neck. “No doubt from that guy’s quirk,” you mumbled as you inspected it.

Did he cover you so you didn’t get hit with the needle instead? You didn’t want to work yourself up into a frenzy at the thought of him taking a shot for you- but no matter how you looked at the situation, that was exactly what happened.

It was a small, thin like a sewing needle with a ball point on the back of it. Whatever this needle is coated in obviously knocked the pyro out. You peeked over the table to see the same man ready to shoot a second round from his fingertips.

“Take out the needle shooter! His needles will render you unconscious!” Your shouted leadership to take out one of the three low-level threats was clear and it was probably 20 minutes later when the three thugs were tied up and unconscious.

You sighed, finally feeling safe again in your busted and destroyed bar. You groaned for the umpteenth time knowing it was going to cost a fortune to get the tables repaired. Not to mention the seared wallpaper that peeled from the previous heat and broken glasses, frames and damaged light fixtures. You would have to close your doors for repairs for at least a month.

As you looked around, you moved from your sitting position to instead kneel at Dabi’s side.

“Can someone help me bring him downstairs? And lock the entrance.” Dabi was picked up and was soon being carried back behind the bar and through the doors, waiting for you to come unlock the way down as someone else had safely latched your pub doors shut. Your employees would understand if you just shot them a few texts.

Before you went into the back, you pointed at the unconscious needle shooter. “Also, bring him down too, but keep him tied up. I need to know what his quirk is so that I know exactly why he did and how to treat it. Anyone else who needs treatment, you can come down too.”

An hour later, you had Dabi’s unconscious body hooked up in one of your rooms to small machines to make sure he wasn’t dying. Whatever the needle was- you concluded that it at least wasn’t poisonous. You had taken it from his neck and had it run for tests. It wasn’t coated in anything, but the tip of it had released a sort of potion into his body from where he had been stores in the ball point end; but you weren’t sure what it was.

You moved away from your laptop on the small desk you had next to Dabi’s temporary bed. You leaned your elbow against the wood and stared at him.

“Until I figure out what exactly happened, I have no idea when he’ll wake up.” You frowned as worry began to churn in your stomach. It eased you that his life didn’t seem to be in danger, but that didn’t really help anything else. He was immobile and unresponsive until further notice as far as you knew.

You sighed getting up and searching for his phone. Finding it in his jacket pocket, you plucked it out and began to go through his contacts. You were glad you watched him punch in his lock code one day and held it in your memory.

Finding a contact under ‘Childish Leader’, you immediately began to ring it. You knew who Dabi worked under, and who this so called ‘childish leader’ was- you did meet with him one time after all. When the line picked up, you were greeted with a sigh.

“What,” a strained voice annoyingly greeted.

“You’ll want to come to the location I’m about to send you,” you started. You swore you heard the frown and confused brow drip on his face when it wasn’t Dabi’s voice that was on the phone. “Want to know what happened to Dabi? Then get your wrap quirked friend to get you over here, Shigaraki.”

You quickly ended the call, letting out a shaky breath and feeling your heart pound in your chest. Dabi only ever really complained about Shigaraki, and you had only met hi that one time for general introductions, so you didn’t know much about him. You hoped that just telling him what to do before sending him your coordinates would be enough to just get him to show up. You’d deal with the rest later.

You stood from your chair as you looked down at Dabi. He always looked quite peaceful sleeping- it was odd since he was always scowling when he was awake. He’d smirk and tease, sure, but you don’t think you’d ever seen a real smile on his face before.

You chuckled to yourself, touching his hair just once before you stopped- knowing he didn’t like you touching him like that. He wanted to keep you at arms length because of your feelings and you knew that- so unconscious or not, you had to keep his wants at the forefront of your mind.

A knock sounded at the door when you saw one of your allied villains come in. “Some guys are in the bar, asking for you. Some freak with a hand on his face and a gimp looking dude.” You almost laughed at the villain's description.

“Tell them I’ll be up in a moment.” The villain left as you looked once more at Dabi. You smiled down at him. “Thanks for the save, you reckless idiot.”

-x-x-x-

Dabi groaned as he rolled from his back to his side. He was only vaguely aware he was previously on his back ,which already annoyed him- he was not a back sleeper. He peeked his eyes open and stared at the ceiling above him.

That wasn’t his apartment ceiling? Sitting up, he rubbed his forehead, closing his eyes and taking a breath. His head pounded and he opened his eyes back up to see the room he was in. It wasn’t his apartment at all. He was in a bedroom, but he hadn’t seen this room before.

The last thing he remembered was jumping into a bar fight at your pub and then covering your back when that finger-freak tried shooting something out of his fingertip at you. He didn’t even realize his body moved until he felt the needle meant for you dart into his neck.

Rubbing at his neck, he felt no pain. Getting up, he looked around the room.

This room wasn’t yours- he’d seen it before- and it wasn’t anyone else’s he knew of. He wasn’t at the league HQ either, that run down place didn’t have rooms as well kept at this one. Surely you wouldn’t have pushed him off to some random villain until he woke up and this was some stranger’s room... right?

After a moment, he started getting nosy. As he opened more drawers and books and notepads, he got more and more confused. These were all things he was interested in. All the notebooks had his handwriting in them and his name was signed on papers and sticky notes scattered on a corkboard hanging on the wall. The phone on the bedside table and he unlocked with his passcode and started going through it- it was all his information just like normal, but something was off.

He felt off. He looked at his palms, the scars he’s had since he was younger still showing on his skin. Something nagged in the back of his head and he knew that he had to get answers and the best way to do that is to track you down.

Grabbing a jacket and zipping it up to his chin and placing sunglasses on his face, he left the room that was filled with, presumably his own things, but definitely not his things.

The roads and buildings all around were the same as he remembered. However, when he came to your pub’s building, it looked different. Shabby almost. Trying to go inside, the door was rusted and jammed. Jostling with the door wasn’t getting him anywhere and he knew if he tried to bust it down you’d have his ass on the wall for the damage.

Looking up, he saw the window that lead into the living room of your apartment. Walking around the building he started up the fire escape and carefully treaded the side of the building to the window before he shimmied it open from the outside and hopped inside.

“What the fuck?” The apartment that was once filled with your furniture and belongings was empty. Not just empty, but it was dusty, barren and isolated like no one had been in there for years. Jogging downstairs, he ran into the bar to find it the same way: empty.

No tables, no chairs, no booths. No bottles lining the dusty shelves and no frames of art or recreational items in the rec room. it even still had the old, tacky wallpaper instead of the wallpaper he remembered. The stench of dust filtered through his nose and made his throat burn- it was apparent that the place hadn’t been aired out in years.

Turning back, the door to the basement he had been in so many times wasn’t even there. When he left the building to go to the basement the backway, the backway in didn’t seem to exist either. It was like the basement he had spent so much time in with you patching him up was never there to begin with.

“This is fucking crazy,” he mumbled as he pulled his phone from his pocket. He wasn’t used to feeling whatever was bubbling in his chest. It was painful, like caltrops tearing apart his stomach and chest as he searching for your number in his contacts. He began to start walking back to where your apartment use to be, to go back inside the abandoned pub, when he dialed your phone. He was soon stuck in his tracks when he caught sight of his reflection in a window.

The window’s glass was cracked, barely held in place in the frame as he stared back at his reflection. Reaching up, he ran his scarred hand through his hair. His hair that wasn’t dyed black; his hair that was as white as his mothers.

“Where the fuck am I?” He breathed as he heard the monotone voice over the phone.

-I’m sorry, but the number you have dialed does not exist-

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