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oceanmusings · 2 years ago

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Arwen -♡- Spencer | ABC Fluff

(gif made by khat)

A - Admiration (what do they admire about each other?)

Arwen just melts whenever she can witness how deep Spencer cares about things. From his random rambles about the care he goes into learning, or just about people in general. And how he is ashamedly himself. It makes her sad to witness it change the more he goes through things, but she reminds him daily how proud she is of him.

Spencer loves seeing how strong Arwen is for everything she goes through, getting to watch how she can get back up. He feels honored when she allows him to be there too when she breaks down, getting to see all these sides of her.

B - Body (favorite body part?)

Arwen - his hands and chest

Spencer - her shoulders and chest

C - Cuddling (how do they like to cuddle?)

Very much needed, especially after bad cases. Spencer having a bad day or a case is getting to him? Arwen will hold him close to her and let him listen to her heartbeat. Or they would spoon with Arwen being the big spoon. Help him feel secure and safe.

when Arwen needs it Spencer is more than happy to hold her for however long she needs. And neither are allowed to leave the bed without some prime cuddling time.

D - Dates (ideal date?)

With their job it’s a little hard to find time to go on dates, most of it is after getting back home like going out for dinner, catching a movie, or even just finding somewhere quiet like the library or park. Occasionally it's ordering pizza while on a case and eating at the hotel.

E - Emotions (how do they express emotion?)

Spencer and Arwen are the king and queen of keeping shit in. Especially with negative emotions. It’s not until it becomes too much for either that they'll blow up with everything they are holding in. Both have had the talk of needing to tell each other stuff or when emotions are troubling either of them, but it hasn't stuck yet.

F - Family (do they want one? If they do, when? And what does this family look like?)

At some point, yes they have a family.

Arwen said for the longest time: "If Spencer can assure me I can't have twins, then we can have a baby genius." And Spencer never could, especially since Arwen does have twins run in her family so that increases their chance.

Fortunately when Arwen and Spencer do begin to start their family, they have only singleton pregnancies. And Arwen makes really sure that there is only one heartbeat so there isn't any surprises. They do decide to have at least 2 so their oldest wouldn't need to be alone.

They have 2 daughters before adding a "surprise" son to the mix.

- Clementine "Clem" Reid-Valentine

- Theodora "Thea" Reid-Valentine

- Leonardo "Leo" Reid-Valentine

G - Gifts (how do they feel about gift giving?)

They cherish anything either give to each other. Arwen's favorite part of giving Spencer anything is finding where he will put it, she thinks she's bad at gift giving because of how much thought Spencer puts into his own whenever he gives to her. Makes Arwen nervous to give him anything when she does, but he seems to like anything she can give him.

H - Holding Hands (when/how do they like to hold hands?)

Love holding hands, when on cases or at work they won't just to keep being professional. But when they can Spencer always grabs for her hands and interlock their fingers, and Arwen loves to play with Spencer's fingers and just trace them over them.

I - Injury (how would they act if either of them got hurt?)

Spencer is a mess if Arwen is hurt. He can't sit still and can't help but think of every possibility there is. Someone may need to help him come back to earth so he doesn't spiral too far.

For Arwen, she is a complete mess too. She starts preparing for the worse case scenario there is. Sometimes if the team are there they'll need to help her sit still and slow down her panic.

J - Jokes (do they like to joke around or play pranks? How does that play out?)

If Spencer is pushed to he will. Which Arwen will, not enough he'll be terribly mad but occasionally she will do harmless ones. She expects him to return the favor in some way. But it's not something they do a lot. Derek does it enough for her.

K - Kisses (how do they like to kiss?)

Almost kiss each other like it's the last time they can. Arwen always makes sure Spencer gets one at least once a day, if she isn't able she makes sure to give him two the next day, which doesn't happen often for how much either like to kiss each other.

They might have been late to briefing cause of it.

L - Love (how do they show/express their love?)

Both leave little things at their desk or bedside table. Arwen will sometimes leave little treats for him with a sticky note of some joke she looked for online, refilled his coffee or also left a water bottle for him.

Spencer lets her borrow his books, loving to listen to her talk about it with him, leave notes in her own romance books for her to find when they go on cases or on her desk when he goes in early in the morning.

M - Memory (favorite memory together?)

Arwen’s is when he first kissed her. He was so nervous and she couldn't figure out what was happening until he kissed her. His face was so red after he pulled away, her heart and stomach couldn't settle down, she kissed him again and it became more eager and not as nervous and shy anymore.

Spencer’s is when he was starting to ramble and when he realized he was doing it, he started to apologize and stop, but Arwen stopped him and made him continue. Genuinely looking interested instead of trying to be nice or anything.

N - Nicknames (what nicknames do they call each other?)

Arwen - Baby, Darling, Honey, Genius Man

Spencer - Baby, Honey, Sweetheart, My Love

O - Obvious (what’s it like when they fall in love? How is it for everyone else?)

Arwen became like a school girl with a crush when she realized how much she liked him, especially when someone caught on what was going on. Crashing into things, losing track what she was saying, and refusing to be alone with him for long. She denied it for a long time cause she broke her rule of not falling for her co-worker, but it was extremely obvious to everyone and they had to encourage her to say yes to Spencer when he did get the courage to ask her out.

P - PDA (How do they feel about pda? Are they shy or shameless?)

Spencer isn’t that big on pda, kinda shy but also wanting to keep it private. The most either will do in front of anyone is press a kiss to the cheek or hold hands. But Arwen is the one who will kiss him in front of the team when they are at work.

Q - Quality Time (how do they like to spend time together?)

Reading in the same room or to each other, watching shows or movies together, cuddling or kissing on the couch or bed. Just soaking up each other’s presence.

R - Rhythm (what song reminds you of them?)

Spotify playlist about Arwen and Spencer's relationship

S - Secrets (how open are they with each other?)

Like what I said in “emotions”, they are the king and queen of keeping stuff in. Neither says anything until one finds out, it becomes too much, and then they need to talk about it. It’s honestly the thing both constantly need to work on and the source of a lot of their arguments.

T - Time (how long did it take to get together?)

First time? A year and were together for 3 months before Arwen got scared of her feelings and broke up with Spencer.

Second time? It wasn’t until 2 years later she asked him out. Apologizing for how she treated him. Next time she got scared and Spencer noticed the pattern’s like last time they were together is when he stepped in and made her not give up on this, not let her fear take over.

U - Upset (how are they when either are upset?)

Arwen tries to be there for Spencer, listening to anything he needs to say or just hold him if he needs it. If he just wants to be alone she tries to listen to that one, but that's hardest for her to do cause she doesn't want him to shut her out.

Spencer tries to do the same thing and just be there for her. The best thing he does when she's having an anxiety attack is when she gives him a worry is he asks what the percentage of that worry happening and giving her statistics. That seems to work wonders for her.

V - Vaunt (do they show each other off? What are they proud of?)

With friends and family, absolutely. Love showing how much they love each other and talk about how proud they are with each other with everything. Despite any teasing thrown their way. With their job they have to be discrete, Arwen wears her engagement and wedding ring either in her pockets or as a necklace. Spencer keeps his in his pocket.

But either will take the chance to talk about how proud they are of each other.

W - Wild Card (random fluff headcanon)

Arwen has found the quickest way to get Spencer to go to sleep is to play with his hair. He will fall asleep in minutes. It's commonly seen on the couch on the jet, Arwen running her hand through his hair as he uses her lap as a pillow, completely passed out.

X - X-Ray (how well can they read each other?)

Fairly well, Arwen can tell when things are bothering him or when he’s excitedly holding something back and Spencer can too. Especially when Arwen is getting scared or an anxiety attack is coming.

It's the problem of getting out of either of them for what's bothering them.

Y - Yes (how would they propose?)

They both did it.

She felt ready for that step in their relationship, and felt they were in a space to do that. And they have talked about it in the past, to the point Arwen thought it was time they start making it a reality.

She got a ring and after a couple weeks of planning and getting up the courage to finally ask him. She decided after they got home from a case, not able to wait any longer when to ask him. And it was a happy thing to do to (hopefully) lift up both their spirits. So when Spencer sat down, she sat down with him, and started the speech she had been practicing.

Apparently Spencer had been planning the same and pulled out his own engagement ring for her. Arwen couldn't help but laugh, feeling good to laugh after not being able to for weeks. And both said yes to each other.

Z - Zen (what makes them feel calm?)

If they aren't together on a case they will call just to check in, settle any anxiety might be creeping in. Reaching for the other's hand and squeezing their hand. Watching comfort shows/movies or reading their favorite book to the other.

#arwen valentine #ABC fluff #criminal minds #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid #spencer reid x original female character #original female character #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fluff #tooth rotting fluff

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dreamkidddream · 4 years ago

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I’d like to request hc’s of the Brothers and Diavolo reacting to an MC that’s so cute, she could pass off as a doll. If she stands perfectly still, she could pass off as a full sized doll until she moves again. She has adorable doe eyes, wears cute clothes (Lolita fashion or just has an anime girl style), and even makes cute desserts. If the usual MC was weak and frail to them already, Doll!MC seems so dainty, precious, and fragile; these guys would ban paper if she ever got a paper cut.

Oooooo this is really interesting! I can just imagine Doll!MC just making everyone so scared every time she moves because they could probably hurt themselves just bumping into a wall because they look so fragile lol. These were short, so hope you enjoy!

Update: here’s part 2 with the other Undateables!

The Brothers and Diavolo Reacting to Doll!MC

Lucifer

...maybe he made a mistake in picking you for the exchange program after all

You just look so delicate, and just so pure.

You have definitely made cute little snacks and brought it to him while he locked himself in the office with paperwork

He lowkey highkey likes it no matter how he brushes it off with the usual thanks. Keep doing it, MC, he really appreciates it

When you get in trouble and he gives you the usual lectures, he can’t look into your eyes for long

Geez, he already can’t stay mad at you for long but now he can just feel his resolve cracking

If you get hurt oh Diavolo prepare for helicopter parent Lucifer

As soon as you accidently cut yourself in the kitchen (it would be the tiniest cut, barely noticeable), you’re no longer allowed in the kitchen unsupervised and can’t handle anything with a sharp end (whether its a butter knife or kid proof scissors that would be safe for Luke to use unsupervised)

“Let me do it for you, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Lucifer, thank you but I’ll be okay. It’s just a frosting spatula it’s not sharp-”

Will punish his brothers 10x worse and demons 100x more if he finds out you got hurt (doesn’t matter what the injury is, could be so much as a paper cut there will be hell to pay)

Constantly checks on you when he can’t see you in person

Handles you so lightly that you barely feel his touch

Move over Belphie, you’re the baby of the house now

Mammon

Protective x100000

Is still tsudere around you, but doesn’t insult you as much

Who are you kidding as soon as he looks into your cute doe eyes, he forgets what he’s saying

Complains about having to do stuff for you but doesn’t mind at all really. He loves it because it feels like you’re depending on him, and that makes him feel worth something.

“C’mon human, let the Great Mammon carry your books! You’re gonna hurt yourself and I don’t feel like hearing Lucifer’s mouth today!”

It was just your planner and a small recipe book that Luke gave you, and it weighed less than 10 pounds but okay. You don’t complain either when you see that he genuinely wants to help and do these things

Basically your loud guard dog and secret service agent rolled into one

He’s gotten into trouble more than once for “protecting you”. A student barely bumped your shoulder and Mammon already tackled him. Lucifer was not pleased (but he secretly understood)

He can’t help it that you’re weak and surrounded by hungry demons! It’s a pain to go through this much effort to just protect you, since you look so helpless

MC he’s just worried that you easily break if a demon so much as breathes on you but he likes that he can protect you because he knows that he can keep you safe. You’re just too cute and sweet okay??

Also stand in his room after watching a horror movie to freak him out and he’ll be sounding like Mariah Carey lmao

Leviathan

RURI-CHAN IS THAT YOU??!

Is for sure having an otaku/weaboo freakout moment

You blend in with figurines so well, every time you come into his room he asks you to stand next to them so he can feel that his collection is complete

He does it sometimes when he streams so people can think he has a rare limited-edition life sized doll that they can’t get. Makes him feel superior

DRESSING YOU UP IN COSPLAY 100%

You’re like an anime character but in real life and he does not know how to handle it

Can’t stare into your eyes, it makes them too flustered because he’s used to seeing it in his otome games and not from an actual person that he likes

Who needs maid cafes when he has you? You even dress and make anime themed desserts (once he built up the courage to ask you to make it for him)

Has to calm his beating heart every time he talks to you, you’re too precious for him MC!

Your like his very own idol, minus the singing and dancing. However, if you can sing and dance....

Levi.exe has stopped working

Satan

Thought you were a real doll until you introduced yourself

He really thought that someone brought you to life Pinocchio style

You looked like a princess from the many stories that he read, and he was smitten

Treated you so graceful and elegant like until he had his rage moments, which he told you to stay far, far, far away from him until he calmed down completely

Secretly placed a hex on you to where if someone tried to attack you or touch you with harmful intentions, they would be somehow be subjected to looking at their worst fear

You were wondering why that random stranger was just staring wide at you with extensive terror, but then you saw Satan grinning, so you left it alone. You thought it was just some weird demon thing

Loved when you made him cat-themed desserts

If you wore cat ears while doing it, he will turn extremely red

If you meow for him, he won’t know how to handle himself

Asmodeus

You are just the cutest thing he has ever laid his eyes on!!

Besides from himself of course, don’t get it twisted he’s still #1

He has most definitely had more than one photoshoot done with you both. And you guys have been trending on the Devilgram a couple of times already

Really you guys trend at least twice a month, and his fans love you!

They always ask where he got the doll from but he always laughs and says that “it’s a secret”

Imagine their shock when they see you walking and talking at RAD, some are amazed and some are downright scared

Fashion shows!

He lives for dressing you up in cute clothes. Your style already suited you and he had great tastes so the new outfits he got you were just *chef’s kiss*

The cute little desserts that you made for him, he always posted it on the Devilgram before he ate it. They were just so cute MC and he couldn’t not show his fans!

Is the most careful brother when it comes to keeping you out of danger. He refused to let his body or skin damaged, and he wasn’t about to let it happen to you either! You are both way too dainty and fragile to let anything happen

Also spa days and self-care nights weekly!

You’re the perfect match made just for him MC

He finally has someone that can understand his struggle of being beautiful, bless you MC

Beelzebub

Soft boy is scared of touching you :(

He towers over you, and he’s scared to even be near you

It takes some time, but he starts to warm up to you

Is always gentle with you, no matter the scenario

Holding hands? He is hardly gripping your hand, said hand fitting loosely in his

Getting hugs? He’s meagerly holding you, not wanting to crush you

You once complained to Beel that it wasn’t fair to get half done hugs (if you were hugging, you were getting a real hug, not a scared one).

He made you swear that if he was hurting you to let him know, so now you have your very own signal to use for him just in case

He was very tempted to wrap you in bubble wrap and just carry you around like that

He LOVES your sweets, even more than Luke’s and Barbatos’

No matter the size, he loves them, mainly because you made them and it was made with love, just for him

It always makes him feel so warm inside, and he doesn’t feel his appetite gnawing at him like usual

No one is dumb enough to try anything with you both in his presence and not, unless they want to end up either a: deep into the ground or b: into his stomach

You just make him feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and he just loves everything about you. He just loves you

Belphegor

Hm, you look cute

For a human

Acts like he doesn’t care, but you’ve caught him blushing before (he still does it too)

Won’t outright admit that you’re charming in your own little way, but he does in his sarcastic way like usual

“MC, you’re such a half-pint. You’re like my personal sized teddy bear.”

Has cuddled with you like you were his personal teddy bear (and still does, but you don’t complain at all)

Has a secret sweet tooth and eat your desserts whenever you make it just for him (and he doesn’t even share it with Beel, that monster)

Demons just have to look Belphie in the eyes, watch him flex his claws, and they all of a sudden forget about whatever they were planning. Good

He hates that you look so fragile, but at the same time he kinda likes it

You just look so soft, and you’re just so kind

It makes him feel like he’s protecting and caring for you, and that makes him feel calm and peaceful

Please make sure that he’s okay MC, he’s scared that he’s gonna mess up again

Diavolo

The Prince of Hell is both surprised and pleased at your appearance

Do all humans look this charming or is it just you??

If someone as soft as you can survive living and going to school with demons, then this is great

Knew that you weren’t a doll, but still liked to admire you like one

Has asked more than once for pictures, you are just too enchanting!

Wants to have a portrait painted of you so he can hang it up in the castle

LOVES you baking for him! Loves when Barbatos does it too (even though it is kinda part of his job), but it feels different with you. It feels...domestic in a sense. Makes him feel like Diavolo, your friend and very interested in being your boyfriend, instead of Lord Diavolo, the prince that will be residing over Hell in the future

No one would be foolish enough to hurt you. If someone was, they wouldn’t even get the chance to lift a finger before they were directly dealing with him. Don’t take his kindness for weakness, he still is a demon after all, the future King of Hell to be exact

Was scared of touching you at first, but quickly grew out of it! He can handle his own strength, and you guys also have a signal to use just in case he does squeeze a little too tight

Will want to dress you up in royal clothes (if you were okay with it). Nothing is wrong with your current style, as a matter of fact it suits you! He basically just wants to play a fancy game of dress up/have a fashion show with royal clothing

Will take 100s of photos, no exaggeration

Asmo will be jealous, so be warned

Plus, he wants to know how his future lover/ruler would look in a crown so he can start taking measurements. You can never be too ready, right MC?

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kurimiaki · 4 years ago

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T, R, N and P with Diluc please?

the uncrowned king of mondstadt, diluc ragnvindr.

yandere alphabet via dear-yandere! revisions i made are flaky so. my bad wwwww

cw: dark content, physical abuse, kidnapping, confinement, claustrophobia, extremely unhealthy relationship.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Just because Diluc may be attending to business elsewhere, does not mean you are free from his heady grasp. Distant yet coddling; his attentiveness is a curse just as much as it can be a blessing. You’re never without security, that much is true. Dawn Winery is his eyes and ears, every single servant wrapped around his finger, wrapping around and constricting you. Self isolation could never be a possibility, not when Adelinde ushers you out of bed without a minute left to spare, always in such a hurry, as if wallowing in utter boredom for days on end is anything of importance. From the very beginning, Diluc had made it a point to ensure your physical health was a top priority to those surrounding you; strict itineraries have maids silently mourning over their packed workload. A plethora of duties— take you on brief walks outside the winery, never longer than 15 minutes, feed and serve meals delicately planned and catered to your health, eyes and ears constantly watching, watching, watching. They keep you like a dog on a leash, no matter how pampered. They do so dutifully. They must. Who could possibly decline such a hefty pay at the expense of silence?

It would be a blatant lie to say your physical health had declined any whilst under his... care, however, the same cannot be said for your mental well being. He can’t, despite how much he hates his inability to do so, prevent your tears. And by the archons, do you cry. Diluc is unable to approach you some days, those days when the illusion of normalcy and domestic living he works so hard to put up simply melts away, when you can do little more than curl in on yourself and wretch into your silk sheets with a litany of tears flush in your eyes. He wills himself to allow you the mercy of a few hours alone, albeit with check ups and that blatant discomfort of his when you wail at the slightest touch to your shoulder. Of course, it’s a different case entirely when such cries are symptom of punishment— whereas Diluc will weakly attempt to comfort you with softened eyes when you work yourself up, flaky and visibly uncomfortable, his resolution is unflinching and unwavering should you choose to act out of turn. Wail, sob, beg and beg for mercy, for forgiveness, his mask of nonchalance will stay firm.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

No. Diluc is understanding that the situation he has thrust you into may not be ideal, he anticipates a lack of reciprocation and overall resistance, but he feels absolutely no guilt. In his eyes, this is for the best, the world is much too cruel— who better than him to make that judgement for you? Even if you do prove yourself to be capable of taking care of yourself, (with Diluc himself to measure up to) this Darknight Hero will find every minute, minuscule little thing to prove you otherwise. Just about every one of your shortcomings Diluc will try and use to his advantage, to put himself in a better light. Who else is as capable as he is, who else can prove themselves worthy of your companionship, your devotion, in the ways that he has? The longer you stay in his grasp, not that the possibility of leaving will come otherwise, the more difficult it becomes to prove him wrong. He feeds you with the utmost care, keeps you healthy, entertains you should you need conversation or otherwise, and provides, provides, provides. There may be a lack of freedom on your end, but really, do you have much room to complain? Without him, you may very well be dead. He ensures that point is driven straight to your heart, however many times is necessary until you grow compliant.

His will and rationality is fully reasonable, in his mind, hence why his wishes to keep you by his side shall forever remain solid. Perhaps it is the idea of you keeping close to him that entraptures Diluc so entirely, for he is a distant admirer. He would be contented growing old and without your touch, merely sharing your company for as long as life allows. All the same, he wishes to swallow you whole, skin, blood, guts and tears, if only to keep you with him. It is selfish, but he tells himself that is something of which he is deserving. He must.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Diluc is nothing if not dedicated to his goals, a driven man in everything he sets his mind to. In order to maintain the position he thrives in, he is forever alert, forever adapting, prepared for any strenuous situation thrown his way. Should you push past a line you are never meant to cross, jab at him a tad too harshly, well... it’s not as if he gives no thought as to how to keep you in line. Rarely are you knowing enough of his inner workings to be able to push him past the point of no return, a point where even you, his dearest, are not spared from his wrath. Emphasis on rare, for he is wholly tolerant and gentle with you, to an extent. Any person has a breaking point, and Diluc, despite his detached disposition and stoic attitude, can only withstand so much. He bottles up so much to remain composed, after all. When he snaps, he is unable to hold himself back any longer.

He is not one to take pleasure from the suffering of others. Lest they truly deserve it, is what he’ll tell himself, to at the very least maintain the illusion of normalcy. Sway not from the path of righteousness, forget not the splendor of dawn. His mind is able to concoct the most horrific scenarios he could possibly put you through, for he does the same with his enemies. In a way, when you act out of turn, an instinctual part of him, cultivated after years spent at the whims of the dangerous and unknown, sees you as just that— an enemy. He doesn’t often choose the more unsavory methods to keeping you in line, ie: beating or threatening you with his vision, further keeping true to said threats should you continue. Diluc is wholly capable of restraining the urge to simply slap the snark off of your face (he had done so regardless, once or twice), and much prefers isolating you on his own terms, away from everyone and everything, even himself. It’s a small room, not even on par with that of your shared bedroom, much more similar to a closet or crawlspace.

A room, but a cage all the same. Splintered wood floors, dank cobblestone surrounds you and few cracks in the stone leaves room for bugs of all nature to crawl through, allows the elements to rain hell upon you should you end up locked up during the harsher months. A lone maid, not even Adelinde, the head, attends to you, sparing meek glances should you call out when she gently places a meal of one roll, a piece of meat, and a few shoddily cut slabs of potato. No begging and weeping and screaming you may do will soften Diluc into coming back for you- again, his resolve is akin to that of steel, his will forever unyielding. He decides when you are thoroughly broken in, and when it is time to hold you in kind, he shines through like that of The Darknight Hero the people proclaim him to be. In the end, what is necessary is that he shows you how much better off you are when with him. He’s much too possessive and to a point, coddling, to ever consider discarding you into the wild and at the whims of hilichurl camps and abyss mages alike.

His hold is firm and grounding. Had he always been able to hold you with such ease? Had he ever truly held you in kind, as he does now? He’s warm. A familiar, comforting scent of smoke and acidic wine fills your senses and him, oh, him. He had left you, left you alone, all alone, in that room, not even a room, all alone, and yet you can do little more than gag and writhe and latch onto him with pleas of his name whispered hoarsely— ‘Diluc, Diluc, Diluc’. A cry of your savior.

He can’t look at you, won’t look at you. Won’t give you the mercy, but he couldn’t be angry. Not anymore. He holds you tighter and so flush to himself, with a ferocity narly shown to anyone but you, not in kind, not with this passion. You smell of dust, a husk of yourself. Faintly of his sheets, faintly of iron, of vomit, of filth.

Fresh memories of your betrayal burn hot in his mind. He’s contradicting himself. He cannot relent. It comes out as a whisper, barely even heard to himself, and he curses his very soul the moment it passes his lips.

“Strive to do better. Lest you want your time there to increase tenfold.”

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

He can bear with defiance and unwillingness on your part, to an extent. He can anticipate as much, for he is not delusional enough to fool himself into thinking your relationship is even somewhat typical to that of a normal couple, no matter how much he wishes that to be the case. No, for the initial few weeks of your captivity (he’s always gotten so mad when you refer to him as such, a captor) Diluc allows you to lash and sob and attempt to reason with him, attempt to soften him, attempt to hurt him. He’ll allow you to do so, but he himself remains impenetrable, unblinking, almost uncaring. He is prepared for about anything and everything, always expecting the worse possibilities as to save himself from further harm. For you, as well, he is constantly anticipating and observing. In hidden, minute little ways. It may even come as a shame to him if the fact that he enforces the maids to note down your every little move ever reaches your ears.

All in all, Diluc’s complete preparation for anything and everything you may throw his way makes him extremely patient, for better or for worse. Difficult to crack, impenetrable, almost— on one hand, the distance he keeps from you to accommodate for your lack of reciprocation may come as a blessing, but it makes it all too difficult to try and pester him into letting you go, to try and understand his goals and motivations in keeping you locked right away. Your complacency is inevitable, sooner or later, Diluc will begin approaching and weaseling his way into your routine in the smallest of ways, gradually and unconsciously causing you to grow fonder of his presence. It’s a slow process, one he had planned from the very moment his wishes of a domestic life with you grew much too much to handle. He loves you completely, yearns for your love, and for it, he will wait as long as necessary.

Blazing red eyes leer down upon you, your shame increasing tenfold for each second that passes subjected to that gaze of his. A fit of expaseration, you will admit, had sent the cutlery dear Hillie had so delicately prepared flying off of the white tablecloth and onto the hardwood floors, further staining the expensive rugs with wines and crumbs and oils from his favorite meal, a concoction of pasta and steak and cheese. He had prepared yours alongside with it, striking tonight as a tad more special than the rest. You didn’t blame yourself for what you did, not when he had proposed something as outlandish as marriage.

He keeps silent, leaning back in his seat, his throne, as if he were a king observing a mere peasant begging for mercy— quite frankly, you should be. But perhaps tonight he will be more lenient, you ponder, averting your gaze to the flickering embers sparking from the fireplace beside you.

He sighs, suddenly, worn and thoroughly put out by your antics, further embarrassing you by his facade of nonchalance. No, you could tell from the way his leather gloves creaked from gripping himself too hard, he was barely concealing his own anger.

“You hardly let me finish my scentence. Come, we’ll continue this conversation upstairs.”

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struggling-with-time · 4 years ago

Text

How the lack of a nickname can become something more [Corpse x reader]

Paring: Corpse husband x Gender Neutral!reader

Summary: “Hi! Sorry if this is weird, it’s my first time making a request but could you maybe write something for Corpse Husband where the reader is a streamer that’s very friendly and always calls her friends/people she’s playing with these cute nicknames (like babe, sweetie, hun...). But she has a crush on Corpse, so she never uses any of the nicknames on him and everyone thinks it’s because she doesn’t like him, so she has to explain to her stream?” requested by @voidcaine

Warnings: fluff, sorta angst

Words: 1.9k words

A/N: I had a good idea where this was supposed to go, then it went the complete other direction. Also does anyone want to read my original stuff?

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Hey guys!” You join the discord call with the group of people to start a game of Raft. Tonight, it’s going to be you, Rae, Sykkuno, Toast and Corpse. You all greet each other and exchange pleasantries.

“Hey Y/N, how was your time off?” Toast is the first to ask about your 2 weeks off from streaming.

“Thank you hun, it was pretty nice. I got a lot of things done, and I can soon tell the date of my next project.” You tease your audience.

The rest have already played the Raft before, leading to them giving you a chaotic introduction to the game. Leaving you more confused about what you are supposed to do than before.

“Rae babe, am I supposed to know what’s going on?” You don’t have to wait long, as Rae immediately responds.

“No. Not at all.” Resulting in a laugh from everyone.

You join into the game, and slowly start figure the controls out. Mostly you are just following Sykkuno around and trying to do the same things as him, yet somehow you do it worse.

Sykkuno ends up falling off the raft and gets killed by a shark before long.

“Sykkuno nooo! Not my sweetheart this world is too cruel!” You act dramatic, before he respawns.

“Does this mean I’m a ghost now? Because I will haunt you for pushing me off.” Sykkuno pokes right back at you.

You share another laugh before getting back to trying to make the Raft as big and confusing as ever. Some more time goes by as you head onto your 4th island this stream.

“Hey Corpse, can you get an axe from the Raft when you get onto the island? I forgot to bring one.” You don’t think much of not giving him a nickname like everyone has one. Well you do, more so you can’t bring yourself to give him one, because you are currently harboring a crush for him. Which means calling him an affectionate nickname, feels like lying to yourself about a future that will never happen.

This goes on for the rest of the stream, nobody mentions it, but in the goodbye section of the stream, everyone is on edge but you. The rest convinced that you have something against Corpse, including Corpse. Especially Corpse.

You stay in voice chat so the 5 of you can bid goodbye without your individual audiences listening in.

“Hey thanks for today, it was a good stream!” You cheerfully tell the others.

“Y/N, what was that?” Rae is the first to ask, bringing the issue the rest has had on their minds since the beginning of the stream.

“What was what?”

“What was not giving Corpse a nickname? You give everyone a nickname. If you look on twitter, there are already people asking if you don’t like him.”

“Rae, I can talk for myself, you don’t have to give me a nickname Y/N.” Corpse adds onto the conversation, now that you think about it, the upbeat mood of the stream has started to falter out towards the end of the stream.

“I’m so sorry Corpse! It wasn’t meant like that not at all! I don’t hate you!” You are quick to respond. If you could see Rae right now, you would be able to see her face, realizing what was going on.

“You know what, how about we leave the two of you to talk it out? Yeah? Yeah.” She quickly kicks Toast and Sykkuno from the call and then leaves herself. Before any of you get a chance to say goodbye.

“So… We are alone now…” You try to break the silence.

Corpse doesn’t respond, he can feel himself starting to go through the worst-case scenarios. That you hate him, and don’t want to be friends anymore. He thought the two of you had become close.

“Corpse I’m sorry, I hope you didn’t start to doubt yourself. I didn’t mean to make you feel like this, I’m so sorry. I’ll release a statement or something. I can fix this. I promise.” You have already thrown yourself straight into panic mode, especially after what Rae said about people thinking you hate Corpse.

Corpse can’t help sigh of relief when you start apologizing, “Y/N it’s alright, but why don’t I have a nickname?” Corpse is unsure if this is alright to ask, he wants to know, the two of you have been friends for close to half a year now, and you usually have a nickname for people with in your first time streaming or playing with them.

“I don’t think that’s something we should talk about over discord.” That was how the conversation dried up, a bit of small talk happened before the two of you bid your goodbyes. Leaving you frustrated over knowing Corpse would only think the worst.

The air between you two had thickened after that day, and everyone you ended up streaming with could feel it, while the two of you could hide it from your fans, your friends was a whole other thing. They had caught on to the two of you not being on the best speaking terms.

You wanted to explain yourself but felt that it was better to do face to face. He wanted to tell you he missed talking like the two of you used to do.

Then a chance finally came, Rae was hosting a party, and you were invited. Your first reaction to hearing it was asking if Corpse was coming too. Rae had told you he said yes, so you booked a ticket to the big city from your small town in Colorado. You would be able to stay at the collab house with Rae.

You were excited to meet the others again, you had only been able to meet up with Rae twice before. So, this was a good chance for you to talk to the others some more, and not to mention come clean to Corpse.

You settled down in Rae’s room quickly, and greeted everyone as you walked around the house, waiting for more guest to arrive. You kept looking for Corpse. Making you not the greatest conversational partner as you barely listened, only agreeing, and disagreeing on the right times.

You notice his mop of black curls quickly when he comes into the living room. You immediately leave the conversation you were barely listening to, you try to wave him down, but he doesn’t seem to have noticed you.

You head his way instead; he’s currently talking a bit to Rae probably thanking her for inviting him. You stand a bit to the side not saying anything just waiting for your turn, as to not interrupt their conversation. Rae points to you, and wave you down. You try to act surprised, not just having stood there like a stalker and watched their entire conversation.

“Hey,” you smile at him, and he returns it.

“I’ll leave you to it.” Rae walks away, totally not having planned this so the two of you could meet. Rae had after the awkward conversation gotten the real reason out of you why you didn’t want to give Corpse a nickname. While she had enjoyed teasing you about your crush, she had never spoken a word to anyone else about it.

“So… we finally meet.” You try to break the ice.

“We do, do you want to go outside?”

“Oh, thank god, yes.” You follow after him, not noticing Rae pointing the two of you leaving to go outside to Sykkuno that she might have told your secret to by accident.

You find a bench and settle down, the weather being pretty decent, no wind to be felt.

“You said, you wanted to talk about what has been bothering you face to face?” Corpse gets straight to the thing that’s on both of your minds.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about it, I really am, I’m sorry, I know I’ve been cryptic and-”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing, we’re friends. Don’t apologize for existing.” Corpse reassures you.

“Yeah, sorry about that… I don’t know how to tell you this, and I really don’t want to ruin our friendship and I mean that. And I realized I had caught feelings for you, it wasn’t on purpose I swear.”

“Why would-”

“Please let me finish before you ask anything.” You look at him pleading. He nods to let you continue. “I didn’t want to give you a nickname, and I know that’s my entire brand at this point… I just couldn’t get myself to call you something affectionate and keep it platonic in my mind. Because I wanted more, I still do. I don’t want to just be your friend, and I don’t want to ruin what we have, because you are a good friend, one of my best.” You rub your hands over your face.

You can feel the awkwardness radiating off Corpse.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.” You get off the bench and prepare to walk away when Corpse grabs around your wrist.

“Didn’t I tell you not to apologize for existing.” You can’t help but laugh a dry laugh, you can feel the tears ready themselves as you wait for the inevitable rejection.

“Corpse, don’t drag this out. I like you okay, and I don’t want to be more hurt over it.” You try to tug your hand to yourself.

“What if I like you too?” He might not have been as in tune with his feelings as you had. However, he had come to realize he had feelings for you. They had crept up on him in the form of suddenly missing you whenever you hung up after talking. They had come at him slow and over a long time, while your feeling had washed over you as a tsunami coursing through your heart.

“Corpse, it’s okay, just let me down gently.” You take you free hand to dry the tears that are now seemingly escaping.

“No Y/N, what if I like you too. Because I do. I like to hear your laugh, I like when we talk so far into the night I can hear your roommates alarm go off. I like when you say my name, even if I was you would give me a nickname.” He can’t help but chuckle. “ I like you Y/N.”

Your tears are now streaming out not of sadness but of the pure happy feeling of having your feeling returned from the guy you never thought who would return them.

He pulls you into a hug.

You can’t help but whisper to him.

“I like you Corpse.”

“I like you too Y/N.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

#corpse husband #corpse husband x y/n #corpse #corpse husband fanfic #corpse fic #corpse husband fanfiction #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse husband fic #gender neutral!reader #delias own writing #corpse husband imagine

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reidyoulikeabook · 4 years ago

Text

Champagne Problems

#Request: could you write something based on ‘champagne problems’? creative license is yours and go ham however you see fit but i was thinking reader breaks things off between her and spencer seemingly without warning etc etc

Summary: You and Spencer had been together for almost 2 years. So when he asks you to marry him, that’s got to be a no-brainer, right?

Warnings: Angst, a lot of angst. Minor mentions of threat, blackmail, violence and drugs.

Word count: 2k

A/N: Writing this hurt my feelings. Badly. Just the idea of sad Spencer destroys me. That having been said, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy writing it. Anyway, as always, requests are open!

--------

Spencer hasn’t moved off the couch in at least 8 hours. He hadn’t slept. Not since you’d left.

He’d been agonising over the proposal for months. He’d consulted Morgan, who’d said, “Pretty boy, you could ask her over coffee on the jet and she’d say yes. Don’t worry so much about making it perfect.”

Garcia, who’d squealed, bouncing in her seat at the thought of another BAU wedding, “Oh my gosh! You have to make it beautiful! Amazing! You two are finally gonna get married! Is she pregnant? Not that she has to be just, my god, this team has a reputation for shotgun weddings.”

He’d briefly considered asking Rossi, who had surely proposed enough times by now for him to be classified as an engagement expert. Hotch would probably have had some sage advice, and Emily well...he wasn’t exactly sure what her advice would have been, actually. He might have wound up asking them if what J.J had said to him hadn’t been so helpful.

“Do whatever feels most authentic to you. Neither of you are fans of a big show, you’re not ‘fly a blimp over Quantico’ people. Just, do something that feels right.”

So he’d done that. Spencer loved the solace of your apartment. It’s where you spent the vast majority of your date nights: ordering in fancy takeout, watching shows, sometimes just sitting and reading together in the bay window. If Spencer had a glass or two of wine, he could sometimes be coaxed into dancing.

What felt right to him was this: the apartment bathed in the glow of the fairylights he’d put up earlier, supported by the gentle golden light of the colour changing lightbulb he’d purchased especially. The record player prepared with your favourite album. A chilled bottle of wine resting on the table, next to a bouquet of fresh flowers contained in a crystal vase he’d had to demolish half the spare bedroom to find.

He was more than a little nervous, as he posted himself up at the dining room table to await your arrival. He couldn’t stop the train of thoughts: what if she says no? What if she doesn’t want me?

The only thing that helped stifle his nerves was thinking of how the others had reacted when he’d told them. What Morgan had said. Then he trails his mind back, to all the times he’d felt so insecure, so unworthy of your love. You’d never failed to remind him that he was the best thing to happen to you. That every insecurity he had was actually just a quirk about him that you loved. Your love poured into him, filling a lifetime of holes made by other peoples criticiques and mockery. He took a deep breath. He would be okay. This would be okay. You loved him. God knows you’d told him that enough times.

***

“What’s all this?” You ask, coming through the door and shrugging the laptop case off your shoulders.

“I just thought, since our anniversary is coming up and we could get called out on a case...I thought we could celebrate early. On a night we know we have off.”

“That’s really thoughtful,” You say with a smile, “I can’t believe you did all this Spence.”

He stands, crossing the room to help you take your jacket off, “You deserve something special.”

“Good job you’re something special then,” You say, allowing him to lift the jacket off your shoulders, leaning in to peck his cheek as he does it.

Moving away from you to hang your jacket on the coat hanger, he feels the anxiety start to climb again. He’s imagined the scenario a million times in his head, played it out. He knew he’d be nervous. But nothing, no run-through in his mind could have prepared him for the anxiety he feels as you take your seat at the table.

“Shall I open this?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Spence you got the fancy one,” You say, a question in your voice that he pretends not to hear.

“Well it is for our anniversary, can’t buy the five dollar bottle to celebrate two years together,” He says, taking his seat opposite you.

“Two years huh?”

“Yep. Well, currently one year, eleven months and fifteen days, if you take a month to mean thirty days.”

“That’s gone pretty fast.”

“Actually it’s pretty widely agreed by psychologists that as we get older our subjective perception of time speeds up. There’s no real consensus on what exactly the cause is but it’s thought that it might have something to do with the expansion of our neuron network and the greater distance signals have to travel which slows down our processing time.”

You laugh, “Well that’s a very scientific way to tell me we’re getting old.”

“You’re not even thirty.”

“Not far off.”

“Well I’m sure I’ll think you’re just as beautiful at thirty, and fourty, and fifty, and-”

You cut him off, laughing again, “Is there a scientific theory to support that or are you just spitballing here?”

“This is all me.”

Something about the way he says that sounds so vulnerable that it makes your heart ache.

Spencer’s a little nervous, but not anything close to massively alerting you. You decide to chalk it down to just Spencer being Spencer, mostly out of not wanting to dwell on it too much. The evening passes in exchange of old memories, light teasing as you recall how long it’d taken him to summon the courage to kiss you for the first time.

He’s trying to work out when. When you head to the bathroom, he decides it has to be when you come back. Before he loses his nerve. He swallows another sip of wine for courage, smiling at the thought that he’ll get to introduce you as his fiance at work tomorrow.

Entering the room, you spy how he’s smiling to himself. You have half a mind to ask him what he’s thinking about, but he interrupts you before you can.

“Wanna dance?” He asks, having wandered to where the record player sits, covered in a thin layer of dust.

“Yeah. Dancing sounds good.”

Flicking the needle down, that familiar song starts playing.

You make your way over to where he stands on your living room rug. He puts one arm around your waist, keeping your other hand in his. You move in time to the music, letting him twirl you around with ease.

“I have something to ask you,” he murmurs, spinning you again so you come flying to rest against his chest.

Your head rests just under his chin, and the dance slows down to a gentle sway.

Your heart is pounding.

“Yeah?”

“I-I had this whole speech planned,” he says, softly, "But I think...I think I just want to ask you now. I think you know how I feel about you. How much I love you. So I wanted to ask you, if you want to marry me.”

You drop his hand. Stepping back, you scan his face. Seeing the panic, the questionning, the confusion.

“Spencer I-I can’t. I can’t do that.”

Confusion flickers across his features, eyebrows furrowing, lips pressing against one another. He tries to keep the tears from filling his eyes but he can’t. They glint with all the hurt. With his worst nightmare realised. You’re just stood there, statue-still. Staring at him with something he can’t figure out. Horror? Shock? How could it be either of those things. His chest heaves, he flounders. Even when he imagined this, he never planned what he’d say next. What he’d really do if you said no. It dawns on him then. He never really believed it would happen.

“W-Why?” He finally chokes, taking a step towards you only to promptly feel another kick to the gut as you, in turn, retreat.

“I just...” You trail off, mouth opening and closing, “I just. I just can’t.”

He doesn’t get the chance to puzzle out what the look on your face is. It’s imperceptible. Before he can think of anything else to say, before he can even begin to comprehend the way his world just shattered, you’re gone.

He thinks he hears a quiet, “I’m sorry,” as you scuttle out of the apartment door and disappear.

***

At some point, he makes it to the couch. It goes dark around him, the batteries in the fairy lights die at some point. So he sits illuminated in only the light of the lamp.

Eidetic memory allows his brain to become a theatre. Showing only one film: The Time You Said No. Dropped his hand. Stepped back, as if you were wounded, injured. The confusion in your voice. How it shook, broke, when you said ‘I-I can’t.’ How you just left. How you promised you’d never leave and here you were, slipping out the apartment door without a second look. He’s not even analysing. He just sits, replaying the night in his head. Hot tears slipping down his cheeks everytime he gets to the part where you leave. He doesn’t wipe them. Just starts again.

***

He’s vaguely aware of a phone ringing beside him. Picking it up, he sees it’s 7:52am, which means he’s going to be late for work. There are several missed calls. He would check to see who they’re from but he doesn’t really care.

Will you be at work?

The thought almost makes him want to go. It dawns on him then that he has absolutely no idea where you are, and somehow that’s worse than knowing you left. He scrambles for the phone, picking it up and dialling your number. It rings, from inside your jacket. The jacket you left on the back of the chair.

If he goes into work and you’re not there...he bristles at the thought. Nausea rises in him, his forehead starting to feel clammy with a light sheen of sweat as he processes: he has no idea where you are. For the first time in two years, he has no idea where you are and no way to find out.

Then it hits him. This might just be his life now. He has to run to the bathroom and vomit.

***

You’ve fucked it up. You’ve fucked it up and you know it the moment you get out of your apartment building and into the freezing cold air. There’s no way to explain it.

You’d received an email this afternoon. It was footage of Elle. You’d been home late because you’d had to go to Hotch, who’d spent the afternoon nervously pacing. Various agents, increasing in status each time, had flooded the office.

There was no way of knowing, right now, who’d sent the email. Or what they could see. What they had access to. How could you accept a proposal from Spencer when you knew that doing so could put him in jepoardy? What if they had something on him?

The entire team had looked the other way while you’d helped him to wrangle the dilaudid addiction and get himself back on his feet. That time pained you to think about. But there were so many things that a person could get their hands on. How could you say yes to taking your relationship further when everything was so off-balance right now?

You should have told him. No matter about Hotch or Strauss swearing you to secrecy. You should have told him. Shame rises, deep in your gut, at the monumental fuck-up you’d just made. If it hadn’t been this afternoon, if you hadn’t been on edge already, if you’d had the time to think about things. You would have responded differently. If you’d just had some more time.

But you’re here now. Wondering, how exactly you could explain that you’d done this because you were worried someone might hurt him.

How can you say you were protecting him, when in doing so you destroyed him?

---

Taglist: @sassiest-politician @takeyourleap-of-faith

(as usual, if you’d like to be added to/removed from the taglist just let me know!)

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #imagine spencer reid #spencer reid #reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds x you #imagine criminal minds #bau!reader #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid angst #completed requests

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yeojaa · 4 years ago

Text

finders keep hers, ii.

read parts one and three! continued because i have zero self-control and i love/hate these idiots and like ... i just wanna give people what they want. ty to @hobi-gif for always beta reading and you (yes, you!) for normal reading. i lob you! xo

ps. picture these versions of jimin, tae, yoongi, and jungkook.

pairing. jjk x (named) f!reader. rating. still explicit, lolz. tags. smut! a lil bit of pining! jealousy! also, cameos from the other boys, dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex (be safe luvs!), and a bunch of other semi-vanilla things. wc. 4.3k.

“Who’s that?” Jimin means the pretty blonde that’s attached to your best friend, snug against his hip like some kind of conjoined monster - a distant relative to the thing that’s rearing its own ugly green head from its slumber in your chest.

“I don’t know.” Lie.

Because Jungkook’s been talking your ear off about her for the past three weeks, regaling you with details you’d rather not know. Like how she does yoga at the crack of dawn and he picks her up from every class. She, apparently, looks incredible in spandex and loves her green smoothies. Or how she went to private school in Belgium and she’s got - in his words - the cutest accent. He’s mimicked it once or twice, demonstrating how her vowels don’t round like a local’s would.

You’ve heard too much about her and it’s driving you crazy.

The angel at your side - because that’s what Jimin is, with his feather grey hair and rounded Cupid’s bow - takes a sip of his drink, studying you curiously over the Baccarat rim. You can see the curiosity swimming in his eyes, painted across his features in broad strokes.

You return his stare without blinking, silently daring him to say something. He knows better - considering he’s been your shoulder to cry on more than one weak-kneed, booze-laden occasion.

“Do you want to go upstairs?” Meaning the rooftop, away from the crowd that dominates the 44th floor penthouse.

You shake your head - a little motion that wiggles your bangs free from behind your ears - and take a generous sip of the Veuve that bubbles about in your champagne flute. You’re not celebrating anything - this is just how Jungkook parties. With bottles and strangers and deep bass thrumming so loudly you can feel it chatter your teeth.

Another sip and your glass is empty. “No.” You seize another from the bar you’re both leaning against, wondering idly whether it’s your third or fourth or maybe even seventh glass. You’d lost count about thirty minutes ago when Jungkook had strolled in with her on his arm, clothes dishevelled and that stupid grin on his face.

Of course he’d been late to his own party and of course he was sporting a lipstick stain on the collar of his otherwise pristine white Oxford.

“You sure?” You know Jimin means well but you can’t stand the heat of his stare or how it feels like pity digging itself beneath your bones. You don’t need - nor want - his sympathy. Not now.

“Yes,” you snap more harshly than you mean to. A wounded animal lashing out, biting the hand that feeds it.

Luckily, Jimin knows you - has, for nearly the last decade - and he takes it in stride. Chin bounces, the smallest of smiles offered in penance for his pushiness. He doesn’t need to apologize and really, he shouldn’t, but he’s Park Jimin and he’s far too kind so he does it anyway.

“I’m going to hunt down some snacks. If you need me, just come find me.”

It feels infinitely worse when he presses a kiss to your temple and disappears into the throng of people, leaving you alone with the thoughts that buzz around in your head (or maybe that’s just from the liquor).

“Replaced, huh?” You’d recognize that voice anywhere. It rings in your ears when you’re trying to work, forcing its way into your skull when you’re twenty sheets deep in Excel fixing some junior’s mistake. You hear it more often than you like, both in the office and when you least expect it.

You barely turn to acknowledge the broodingly handsome brunet who has seemingly materialized out of thin air. You don’t need to turn to him to see how good he looks, all carefully tousled hair and that self-assured smile.

“What’re you talking about?” It’s easier to play dumb than to play directly into his hand. You’d learnt that ages ago. Kim Taehyung was a force to be reckoned with.

“Look.” A hand lands on your jaw, none-too-subtly guiding your stare in the direction you’d been so adamantly turned away from. Jungkook and his flavour of the week are locked in a fight to see who can eat each other’s face more thoroughly, tongues so far down the other’s throat that you feel your own gag reflex kick up. “Shouldn’t you be over there?”

Concern flares, streaking heat across your cheeks. How did he know? “What?”

There’s a twinkle in his eyes, mischief dancing in his irises as he studies you, fingers burning impossibly warmer over your skin. “You’re best friends, aren’t you? Why’re you standing here by yourself?”

You almost laugh, relief crashing over you with enough force to knock a breath from your lungs.

“Tae, leave her alone.” It’s your knight in shining armour - or finely woven Saint Laurent cashmere, in this case - a Manhattan in hand and a scowl on his face. You thank your lucky stars, not bothering to conceal the smirk you shoot at the reprimanded playboy.

“Yeah, Tae. Leave me alone.”

He doesn’t need to be told a third time, though he levels both you and your saviour with a narrowed stare. It stirs something uncomfortable in the pit of your stomach, like a snake uncoiling and preparing to strike. You think he might say something - you can see him playing through the scenarios in his head - but he thinks better of it at the last second, draining his beer and turning away without another word.

You watch Taehyung’s crown of inky hair disappear among the crowd. It’s only once his loudly patterned Burberry shirt is out of sight that you swivel your gaze to the man at your side. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” That distinct gummy smile fills his expression. It looks good on him - but then again, most things do. With his perfectly mused strands - currently a flattering shade of teddy bear brown and honey blonde - and observant feline features, Min Yoongi is handsome in a way that sneaks up on you, dressing himself in shadows and presenting it at the strangest times.

Like now, for instance, when you’re growing tired of watching your best friend act like a high school freshman.

“You okay, though?”

“Why - do I not look like it?”

You don’t miss the way his attention drags lazily over your features and then, almost pointedly, down the lissome column of your frame. How he pauses appreciatively where wine spills over cream, the mulberry silk of your wrap dress standing in stark contrast to the porcelain of your skin. It ties neatly at the smallest point of your waist - a gift begging to be torn apart.

Something crackles between you. You’re not sure where it is or where it starts but it fizzles, bright white and dangerous. A livewire you’re suddenly very eager to inspect.

“I’d say you look more than okay,” he returns dryly, in that low timbre of his.

You feign surprise, lashes fluttering like a schoolgirl. “Are you flirting with me, Yoongi?”

It’s a testament to his confidence - that lazy swagger that fits itself into the slope of his jaw, the soft shape of his mouth, the inescapable focus of his stare - when he advances a step. There’s already hardly any space between you but he eats it up like a starved predator, crowding you with ease.

“Do you want me to be?” The bitterness of whiskey fans across your face, creeping heat over your cheek and up the delicate shell of your ear. The scent of his cologne follows - distinctly masculine and reminiscent of the sea.

“Are you answering a question with a question?” You know it isn’t what he’s looking for but you offer it anyway, paired with a taunting smile and a coquettish turn of your head.

His jaw pulls almost imperceptibly; it’s only your close proximity that gives away the thrumming muscle. Something entices you to reach out - frustration or, more likely, the bottomless champagne - and you do, the pad of your thumb soothing over the tension. You don’t expect him to lean into your touch and you nearly retreat when he does.

The flat of his own hand rises, piano-honed fingers threading easily between yours. There’s a different kind of smile presenting itself now, reckless at the edges and dressed in an unspoken challenge. He presses it wordlessly into your palm, edge of enamel catching on the baby soft underside of your hand.

You feel the livewire now. It’s a flash of lightning, searing a billion volts through every limb.

It’s a surprise that you find your voice so easily, though it comes reedy and vaguely out of breath. “That’s a yes.” You’re mimicking the motion of his mouth, dragging your own lip through the cage of your teeth. He watches, unblinking.

Crystal rim replaces the warmth of your hand as he drains the amber liquid in a single motion, nearly slamming the glass down beside you. You’d turn to make sure it’s not in a million little pieces - but you’re far too distracted by the softness of his lips, how he tastes strongly herbaceous and smokey.

The first thought to your mind is that Min Yoongi kisses nothing like Jeon Jungkook.

The second, well - that’s stolen away, disappearing into a haze of desire when he sweeps the wet muscle of his tongue across your bottom lip. He does it once then repeats the motion with an addendum of enamel, turning his polite request into a gentle demand you’re all too willing to meet.

Broad, soft palms find the shape of you beneath your dress, one gliding easily over silk to rest comfortably across the swell of your hip while the other ascends in tandem, finding a home over the column of your throat. There’s no aggression in the way he moves and claims you. He trades force for grace, threading passion where his tongue swipes and his teeth mark.

It’s a slow burn rather than a raging inferno - scorched earth following a thunderstorm.

Yoongi’s touch is deliberate, each stroke of skin over skin meant to entice you. He does it well, with practiced ease - a sweep of his thumb over the hidden lace of your bra, the press of his fingers into the sensitive softness of your neck.

Even how he devours you whole is measured, calculated. He isn’t an overeager teenager looking for a quick fuck; he wants to indulge like a king at his last feast.

“You taste good,” he hums against your lips, bitten cherry red and glossy with his spit. “Look so pretty, too.”

Praise from Yoongi doesn’t come often so you bask in it, delirium and liquor painting your smile unabashed. It pulls low and slow, spilling like stars into the darkness of your eyes, the black of your pupils that devour the iris whole.

“You haven’t even tasted the sweetest part.”

It comes crashing out of your mouth like a freight train, dressed in champagne-fueled salaciousness and paired with fluttering lashes. A part of you wonders whether you’re being too forward but at this point, you can’t bring yourself to care. Between the alcohol and his touch, you’re drunk in more ways than one.

He doesn’t seem to mind, though. Not if his grin says anything, framed in danger and delight. It’s a heady mixture - an aphrodisiac in the form of a person’s smile. “Have to fix that then, don’t we?”

You’re ready to take him up on it - ready to do a lot of things, frankly - when a voice presents itself just beyond Yoongi’s shoulder.

“Fix what?”

Of course it’d be Jungkook.

You turn your attention to him first - you can feel Yoongi’s heavy-lidded stare trained on you when you pull away, when the warmth of your body retreats just enough that you can focus on something other than the overwhelming desire that sparks between the two of you.

Your best friend is standing not three feet away, arms folded over his chest in a way that reads like a surly nightclub bouncer or a begrudging boss. It’s nothing like the sunny radiance he normally wears - a byproduct of being rich and handsome and far too charming for his own good. You’re curious whether it’s the alcohol - you can see it still, swimming in his eyes and turning them hazy - or the fact that blondie isn��t at his side. Had she left him to fend for himself and now he was taking it out on you?

He repeats himself when neither you nor Yoongi answer, an edge to his voice you don’t expect.

“Nothing.” You, again, speak first. You don’t miss the way your answer sounds more like coddling, sweeping reassurance off your tongue.

Yoongi retreats a step, turning on his heel enough to position himself partially facing both you and Jungkook. At this angle, you study his profile, trying to find the ways emotion fits among his features. It’s a lost cause, though - he’s always had an incredible poker face.

“I was just saying her belt was a bit—” You catch the mischief that pulls the corner of his mouth high, revealing pink gums. “—loose.”

A sharp inhale follows immediately after. You don’t even realize it’s you until Jungkook is speaking, expression set and muscle pumping in his jaw. You’d think it was hot if it weren’t so goddamn uncomfortable. “Yeah?”

Sweet Yoongi is utterly unbothered, nonplussed as he adjusts the timepiece on his wrist. “Yeah.”

Watching the two interact is akin to sitting front-row at Wimbledon, your gaze bouncing between the two men like they’re whipping a fluorescent yellow ball between them. It’s so unbearable you have to remind yourself that they’ve been friends for years.

“I’m heading out,” Yoongi says, rather abruptly. He sounds almost bored, training his focus back on you for these last few moments. “Call me.”

You nod dumbly, watching his retreating back with an equally dumb look on your face.

“What the hell was that?” Jungkook’s taken up his hyung’s place, dangerously close and with a sour expression on his face. You almost want to make fun of him for it - how he looks like he’s just sucked on an underripe lemon. When he levels you with that look, though, you think better of it. Time and place and all that.

You don’t meet his eyes. “Was what?”

“That.”

The same edge presents itself again. It mixes with something you can’t place, colouring his words an alarming shade of red that has your brow furrowing and mouth following suit. You don’t appreciate the tone and you say as much, finally meeting his stare with defiance burning away the residual liquor in your system. “None of your business.”

Whatever he’d been expecting, this isn’t it. Brows shoot high, tongue rounding the interior of his cheek. You’d recognize that look anywhere. It’s the look that always gets him what he wants.

Which is why, once he’s abruptly kicked all of his guests out - to a chorus of boos and what the hells! - you’re on your back in the middle of his living room. Your dress - the poor, beautiful thing - lies in a heap somewhere in the kitchen, possibly caught across the back of one of his bar stools, and his clothes act like a trail of breadcrumbs leading from the front door. Shirt, pants, socks.

All he’s left in is black Calvin Klein boxer briefs. It complements your own La Perla bra well - all delicate lace and macrame.

“Say it again,” he demands from between your legs, knees hooked over his shoulders as he coaxes you to another orgasm. One shapely forearm rests across your hip, pressure heavy on your abdomen as you clench pathetically around his fingers. He’s tapping a near brutal rhythm against your g-spot, curling two fingers within you until you’re seeing stars and too fucked-out to remember what you’re supposed to be saying.

Jungkook has no sympathy, though.

He repeats himself with gravel in his throat, pad of his thumb ghosting over the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. You tremble with each pass, seeking more friction; your back is arching with delirious need, hips rolling of their own accord. It’s almost inconsequential against the weight of him.

“Say it,” he barks - a petulant child demanding a toy.

“You’re better!” It’s more a broken shriek, a sob that wrenches forth and fits lamely with the words he so desires. It almost isn’t good enough but he thinks he’s dragged this on long enough. He hasn’t even had his fun yet and you’re already shaking with oversensitivity.

“Better than who?” The question comes in a warm breath that has you bucking toward the source - or trying to, at least. You’re so needy he can’t help but laugh - a far cry from your usual too-good-for-cuddling self - the sound muffled by the slick that coats your thighs and drips down your slit, making the sweetest mess.

“Than anyone.”

He tuts, withdraws his fingers from your obscenely wet walls, and studies the strands that connect them. Pink tongue glides over his index before he’s slotting both digits against his cheek, indulging in the taste of you. If he weren’t so focused on the conversation at hand, he’d be drinking directly from the source. “Not just anyone, baby.”

You look almost shy - or at least as shy as you can look with your throat and shoulders painted with bruises and bites, chest heaving.

“Than Yoongi.”

“Don’t you forget it, sweetheart,” he coos, so kindly you almost forget about the merciless edging he’s just done, bringing you to the precipice of bliss before ripping it away.

You seek him out - the kiss-swollen shape of his mouth, the unyielding contours of his back - like you need him, like your trembling touch might coerce him into giving you what you want. You kiss him as if you’re hoping to distract him, granting him a sexpot moan when you lose the hard fought war of tongue and teeth. He thinks you think he won’t notice when you begin rutting against him, desperately seeking relief against the hard curve of his cock.

The devilish side of him wants to call you out on it but it feels a little too good, your cunt soaking through the thin cotton of his briefs.

“Someone’s needy.” He bows above you, shoulders rounded to crowd you deeper into the couch cushions, and purrs the words directly into your ear, punctuating them with sharp, unrelenting glides of his teeth.

You snap with far less malice than you intend and far more desperation than you want. “Shut up.”

“Watch it.” This time, it’s punctuated by a sharp slap against your clit. You jolt beneath him, a long drawn out whine his reward. “Don’t you want me to let you come, baby?”

“Not if you’re going to be an asshole about it.” He’d probably believe you more if you weren’t breathless and still, perhaps subconsciously, grinding yourself up against him.

“I’m the asshole?” The way Jungkook says it makes you bristle. “You were the one making out with one of my friends.”

“I’m not your girlfriend!”

“So what? Doesn’t mean you’re allowed to do that.”

And that’s when it hits you like a ton of bricks. It crashes into your feeble rib cage, a fast ball meeting its mark with perfect precision. Your heart thumps pathetically before folding in on itself - a catcher’s mitt for his cruel words.

You don’t know what you’d expected. You know your relationship and all the things it isn’t.

(You still hadn’t asked where his latest playmate had disappeared off too - you’d been too busy with his head buried between your legs.)

So you try to ignore the tears that block your vision, how suddenly all you can taste is saltwater. The most you can do is squeeze your eyes shut, grinding your molars into a fine powder with the tension in your jaw. Now is not the time.

“Fuck you.”

He laughs, dismissive and amused. The Calvin Klein band now sits halfway down his thighs, his swollen head tapping experimentally on your equally swollen clit. He’s not even looking at you - far too interested in the way your essence coats his length.

“That’s what we’re doing, baby.”

Even when he speaks, he’s still staring down at the apex of your thighs, pressing the tip of his aching cock between your lips. You take him so well, your walls burning around the unrelenting, slow press of his hips. He’d fuck you every day if you’d let him. You’d actually tried it once, for a week, when your office had a round of layoffs and your stress was at an all-time high.

“God, you’re so fucking wet.” It’s praise he offers often, always far too pleased with the way you ruin your underwear. “Is this all for me?”

It’s hard to stay mad at him when he’s filling you up like this. Still, you try, holding hostage the sounds you know he likes to hear. You swallow them, biting down so hard on your bottom lip that it throbs.

He doesn’t like that very much - burying himself to the hilt in a single thrust to elicit some sort of response. “I asked you a question.”

You can’t deny him.

A moan bounces around in your mouth, forced out when he pulls out nearly all the way and snaps back in, balls smacking lewdly against your ass. He’s got your legs propped up over his shoulders, thighs spread wide as he watches your pussy stretch around his cock. You’re folded nearly in half and his palms span your hips - perfect for him to hold you in place and fuck into you at a relentless pace.

At this angle, his cock brushes the sensitive spot against your pelvic wall. It’d be too much on its own, but he knows this position well and grinds down against you every time he pistons in. The stimulation against your clit is otherworldly, bringing you right back to the edge like flipping a switch.

“What was that?”

“I-i-it’s all for you.” You’re stuttering either because he’s bouncing you on his dick so well or because you’re about to come. Maybe both. He likes that.

“That’s right.” He maintains a firm grip on your side with a single hand, the other reaching to palm roughly at your breast. You’re already straining against the delicate fabric of your bra - he hardly has to do anything but tweak and pinch your bud and you’re clawing at his own chest, manicured nails seeking to do the same to him.

You miss your mark once or twice - you’re having troubles keeping your attention focused on anything but the tension in your core - but when you do, you’re rewarded with a stutter of Jungkook’s hips.

“Do that again,” he pants, resuming his unrelenting pace.

You tweak his nipple sharply, soothing one then the other with a pass of your thumb. The sensation starts in his belly, an electroshock in his groin that has him growling, the sound reverberating out of his chest with great need. He shifts, reclining back on his muscular calves as he peers down at your blissed out face and pretty, messy cunt.

He’s desperate for release, your fluttering walls far too wet and warm around him. “You wanna come, sweetheart?” While he asks, he doesn’t need an answer - he’ll get you there anyway.

Subtly adjusting his position, he drags one of your legs to join the other, both now propped against his left shoulder. He keeps a commanding grip on your hip with that same hand; his right snakes between your legs, seeking out the pearl of pleasure that’s all of a sudden assaulted with far too much pressure (from his hand and your own clenching thighs and what feels like a million other things).

He can feel the tremors before they present themselves in your legs, the tightening in your pussy mimicking the way your hand fists over his heart. There’ll be angry red lines for days to come - a literal x marks the spot on his otherwise unblemished honey skin.

“Come on, baby,” he croons, encouraging as always as he thumbs your clit in gentle, repetitive motions and fucks into you so hard and deep you can hardly breathe.

Your face screws into an expression of euphoria, mouth rounding as the coil snaps and ecstasy surges through your veins. It’s like an explosion of colour - fireworks igniting you from the inside out - and you’re crying, the fourth orgasm of the night swallowing you whole. You’re squeezing him so tight it almost hurts.

It’s so utterly hot that he finds his own high effortlessly, your walls milking him for all he’s worth. He spills inside you - thank fucking god for IUDs - and fucks his cum deeper, riding out his release until he feels himself softening. He gently removes your legs from his shoulders, pressing a surprisingly chaste kiss to your ankle as he pulls out and settles beside you.

Even your little mewl of displeasure can’t deter him when he pushes two fingers past your swollen lips, gathering up the cum that’s spilling out and pushing it back in. At least he’s gentle, offering another kiss - this time to your hip bone.

“Stay the night?” He seldom asks. You always say no.

This time you don’t and he carries you to his bedroom, your face hidden against his neck. You’re left on his neatly made bed as he draws a bath - something he’s done a handful of times throughout the decade and a half friendship you’ve shared, knees pressed together and exhausted.

When he comes back and picks you up, you nearly miss what he says. It’s almost lost to the soothing scent of lavender and the sound of running water.

“Don’t do it again.”

You’re not sure what he means when he says that. You’re too afraid to ask so you say nothing. He doesn’t repeat himself either, instead leaving you on the edge of his tub with a fluffy white bathrobe and a kiss to your forehead.

Somehow, that’s even worse.

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honeysidesarchived · 3 years ago

Text

WHERE THERE IS NO TEMPTATION, THERE IS NO GLORY.

⊱ a santino d'antonio / oc short-fic

interlude i ( read on ao3 ) ( masterlist )

words: 3k

warnings: clown to clown communication! dassit.

rating: m/t

notes: little flashback/interlude chapter where we can all pretend we don't know the inevitable doom that euphie and santino are hurtling towards at breakneck speed ♡ thank you everyone for your love and support on this fic!!!

and thank you to my beta @starcrier who has been reading this content and proofing it not for the first time, but now for the SECOND time, after beginning this fixation for me from the start. you are an angel and ily! ♡♡

Two Years Earlier

It’s the second time that Euphemia meets Santino that she realizes some things in her life have been decided for her, by Fate, and against her will.

Down the road, it will be come a hallmark of their love. Santino will say it against her mouth, her jaw, her neck; il destino, he’ll murmur, you are my destiny. But Euphie will have felt it, that inevitable pull of him, long before he says it.

It’s a black tie even at his museum. She’s been here once before, for a different event he’s thrown, with a different man as a date. That one had been Italian; this one, tonight, is Russian. She would try to remember their names if they mattered, but they don’t.

Admittedly, it’s not quite a date for her, but it is for the Russian. He’s been courting her well and good for the last week, has taken to calling her my girl, is unaware that just two weeks ago she had let another man call her that (or if he knows, he refuses to acknowledge it). She won’t think about it very much; if there’s a little bit of her that hates it, she is reminded that almost all of the money goes home, and that’s what matters.

So, yes—the evening she meets Santino for what is, technically, the second time, she’s on the arm of another man, and Santino walks by with what she’s sure is every intention of ignoring her date for the evening. Her partner says his name, bright and friendly, and the Golden Boy stops and turns with a smile planted on his face that only thinly veils his annoyance at being detained.

“Buonasera,” Santi greets, hands tucked into the pocket of his slacks as he drags his gaze once over her date and then turns his eyes to her. The linger, longer than Euphie might like—men, she thinks, nothing they do doesn’t feel intrusive—and then turn back to her paramour for the evening. “Thank you for coming. Are you two enjoying the evening?”

“Yes, thank you,” the Russian says, and then with a pleased little smile, he plunges on to introduce her. “This is my Euphemia.”

The words leave a sour taste in her mouth. My Euphemia, this fucking gangster says, like he hasn’t paid for her attendance in expensive gifts that she promptly turns around for profit, like she won’t slide his credit card out of his wallet when he isn’t looking. She knows what he expects out of the evening—but he won’t get it. It wouldn’t be a party if he didn’t end up sorely disappointed and thoroughly vexed.

“Euphemia,” Santino repeats, looking more than pleased to savor her name. “That’s Greek, isn’t it? And your last name is...”

“Volpe,” she supplies, despite the warning bells going off in her head. She immediately regrets it. Idiot, she thinks to herself viciously, monsters love to know your name.

Santino’s expression warms. “Italian, then.”

“Yes,” Euphie replies, even though it’s not a question. She’s unaccustomed to being the center of attention at these things. “My parents have a taste for elaborate, long-winded names that people are prone to stumbling over and mispronouncing.”

A smile—one that does not look strained in the least—drags the corners of his mouth upward. He says, “It suits you,” his eyes flickering over her admiringly before he looks back to her date, feigning a grin at a joke that he makes.

They begin discussing niceties that Euphemia doesn’t care about; business, that which goes on under the Table, and yes, Euphemia is there too, but not really. She belongs to no organization, no man. She doesn’t contract work, necessarily—she gets picked up by mafiosos and gangsters that want a pretty slice of arm candy, finds ways to bleed them out just enough that they consider her an inconvenience and not a threat, and gets on with it. She’s selected by word of mouth alone, which means she has spent more time with the regulars of the underworld more than she would like.

As the old adage went, if it’s not broke...

And because she does not care about what they’re discussing—this and that, him or her, the gossip and annoyances of life under the Table—and desperately wants to get out of this dragging social obligation, Euphemia exhales a little sigh and sets her empty champagne flute on a passing tray and says, “Excuse me, I’m going to go freshen up.”

Santino’s gaze lands on her, heavy. There is something sly in his voice when he says, “Let me show you where to go, bella. It’s easy to get lost if you’ve never been here before.”

She knows where the restrooms are, because she has been here before; Santino must know this, she thinks, must be aware that this is not the same man she was with the last time they met in passing (although last time, her date had hardly deigned to introduce her, instead bustling right on to the business portion of it).

Her date is look at her expectantly, displeased that Santino has taken an interest in her but insistent that she not embarrass him by refusing a polite offer. She cannot afford to say, it’s fine, I know where to go, because men don’t like to acknowledge that Their Girl might have also been courted to attend an event with another man, once. The Russian will be in a bad mood all evening if she says that. Unfortunately for her, her particular brand of clientele are especially tedious when they’re in bad moods.

Euphemia stifles a sigh. “That’s very nice, thank you,” she murmurs, wishing desperately that she could just leave. It’s almost not worth it anymore to keep going. It would be a net loss; maybe she would be better off just eating crow and taking it.

Santino plants a hand on the small of her back and guides her out of the conversation, through the crowd of people and toward the back of the room. The low, scooping back of her dress allows him purchase to the skin there, and he takes a lot of care in guiding her—one hand on her back, the other occasionally taking her hand to wind her through the crowd, almost in a sort of waltz. Any excuse to be close to her, he takes, and even if he stops to talk to someone, his hand stays on her. A permanent fixture.

A marking of territory.

It’s always a pissing contest, with men.

She knows that the restrooms are, in fact, not this way, and for a second, she thinks about saying so—but what would be the point? To kick up a fuss now would be almost worse than breaking the magical illusion that she is there for her companion and not for his money.

“You can imagine my surprise to find you here again,” Santino says when the sounds of the party are drowned out by a closed door behind them. The quiet stillness of the hall seems to enshroud them, almost womblike; dulling out the roar of incessant chatter and elbow-rubbing and peacocking.

She keeps walking down the hall despite knowing that it’s not the direction of the restroom. A part of her hopes that if she continues to play dumb, Santino will tire of her more quickly.

And then he prompts, from behind her, “It is again, isn’t it? I could have sworn I saw you here just a few weeks ago, but you were here with...Abarca, wasn’t it?”

“Is there a point to the little thesis you’re writing out loud?” Euphemia asks coolly, not bothering to hide her irritation. She stops walking and turns to face the man, who seems quite pleased with himself; it’s his turn to move, an attempt at closing the gap between them, and each step he takes forward is a step that Euphemia inches backwards until her back hits the wall.

“My point is, Euphemia Volpe,” he rumbles, “that you might be breaking my poor friend’s heart. Can’t I be concerned about that?”

Her eyes narrow. “Your dear friend? Do you know his name?”

“Do you?” Santino replies evenly. He props a hand up on the wall beside her head, blocking her in—but while Euphie’s knee-jerk reaction is to throw up a red flag and bolt, there is something lovely about the gesture, as though he’s made their conversation that much more intimate by one single movement.

It’s dark in the hallway, dimly effused in an amber glow from lowered lights. They cast eerie, handsome shadows across Santino D’Antonio’s face. Absently, Euphie wishes she was more drunk, but she’d been taking the evening slow in preparation of disappearing from her Russian benefactor.

And no. She doesn't remember his name.

Santino seems to take her silence as affirmation, and he grins.

“Don’t worry, I won’t spill your secret,” he purrs. “If you do something for me.”

Euphemia’s mind races. She jumps to the worst case scenario immediately; but she can’t afford to think like that, can’t afford to sweat in front of the man who leans into her with all of the deadliness of a jungle cat. He’ll eat her up if she does, gnash his teeth and sink his claws in and grind her up between his molars. She’s sure of it.

Her predatory conversation partner arches a dark brow at her. He is handsome, Euphie thinks—pretty, the way an oil slick is, dark and iridescent.

“Do you agree?” he prompts. She stifles a grimace.

“Tell me what the favor is first.”

This drags a laugh out of him. “Sei una piccola volpe, aren’t you? Let loose in a hen house of idiot men.” He sounds particularly delighted by this revelation, like maybe he was worried she wouldn’t live up to his expectations. “The favor is just your favor.” He pauses and tilts his head, gauging her. “Go to dinner with me.”

It feels like a trick. It probably is a trick. She’s thinking of all the way that she can turn him down, squirm her way out of this trap that Santino—because she’s not stupid; she knows who and what he is—has laid out for her.

She’s trying to, anyway, but then Santino’s hand comes up to cradle her jaw, fingers slotting through the hair at the base of her skull, and he brushes their noses together.

“Gorgeous little fox,” Santino murmurs, his voice a pleasant rumble, crushed velvet and the sticky, dark-wet of blood. The air bubbles with a strange, hypnotic emotion, lulling her. “I think that I just have to have you. Say that you’ll come to dinner with me.”

The words send her heart fluttering. This is not the first time that a man has said such a thing to her, but it is the first time a man has said it to her this way—as though he is swallowed by his want of her.

Euphemia impulsively says, “Yes,” before she can turn the acquiescence over in her head forty times and smooth the edges down. The second the word comes out of her mouth, Santino is kissing her—electric, demanding, impatient. She’s been kissed by men many times before, and none of them like this; starved for her. She has never known she wanted someone to be driven insatiable by her presence until Santino D’Antonio is kissing her like a man incensed in a dark hallway.

I am always hungry for someone else, she has thought time and time before. I want someone to be hungry for me.

Satino bunches a fistful of velvet in his hand, gathering the fabric between his fingers at her hip and sighing, almost ruefully, like he wants to do more but he won't.

“I should take you from the idiot right now,” he says against her mouth, and he sounds almost breathless. “But I imagine you’re not through with him yet.”

It’s funny to hear him say it like that. When people look at Euphie on the arm of a Russian gangster, they think, he’s not done yet with that poor girl, but unsurprisingly, Santino sees right through it. He pulls back and gives her a half-cocked grin that’s only a little wicked.

Oh, she thinks, feeling a little more than desperate for another kiss, this was a mistake. But though a mistake he may be, Santino D’Antonio is adept at dressing himself up as a delicious one.

“No,” Euphemia replies. Her chest tightens when the warmth of his body leaves hers, pulling back, hand letting loose the fabric. “I don’t suppose that I am.”

“Then I’ll pick you up tomorrow,” Santi replies, that grin on his face not once faltering. He seems very assured that he’s going to sweep her off her feet. Absently, he reaches up and presses the pad of his thumb against her lower lip, dragging it across the skin still tender from the bruising of his kiss. “And what will you say, Euphemia Volpe, when you go back to your Russian friend and he asks you what you think of Santino D’Antonio?”

What could she say? That she wishes that he would kiss her again, the way that he just had, with longing?

“That I don’t,” Euphemia replies, her voice coming out of her silky. The words darken Santino’s gaze; he looks amused and ruffled, all at the same time. “Think of you at all.”

“Oh, that won’t do.” Santino is leaning in close again, the smell of his cologne washing over her, their lips so close they might as well be kissing. “How can I endear myself to you, belladonna?”

Euphemia knows who he is; she knows exactly the kind of man he plays at, at least in public. Even still, she wants to say something reckless, like, you could kiss me again; but she knows better than that, for now. It’s always ‘for now’, with fools.

“Don’t take me out to dinner,” she says after a heartbeat. “Cook it for me.”

Santino pauses and leans back, like maybe he was thinking she would have just asked him for another kiss, and then he laughs.

“Of course, how could I be such a fool?” He grins at her, wide and pearly-white. “Then I will pick you up tomorrow, and cook you dinner.” He starts walking down the hall, and Euphemia can’t help the disappointment that blooms warm and red in her chest, the petals unfurling and reaching each edge of her rib cage.

“You don’t have my address,” she calls after him, still leaned against the wall. Santino turns. His smile has not dimmed in the least.

“I don’t need it,” he replies back casually. “I can find you just fine.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━

Santino is a fine cook. By most standards, he is probably even an excellent cook, but he is a fine cook to a woman who has grown up with traditional Italian recipes that she has made most every day since she was trusted in front of the stove.

Euphie tries not to micromanage as he cooks, but it’s difficult. The man is wearing an apron over his five thousand dollar suit—probably more; she’s shooting low when she estimates that—and he lets the sauce that’s meant to simmer start boiling before he turns the heat down, and he doesn’t season his water with anything when he starts heating it up for the pasta, and Euphie just can’t stand it.

“Santino, have you ever made dinner for your family in your entire life?” she demands, nudging him out of the way and empty out half of the semi-hot water to replace it with chicken stock, setting the burner up again.

“No, darling,” he replies amusedly, watching her fuss over the sauce. “Just you.”

She stops. It shouldn’t be sweet—it is Santino, after all—but it is. He does a very good job of being the unassuming viper in this situation, she thinks. So she continues what she’s doing, keeping her hands and her eyes and mouth busy because if she doesn’t, they’ll find ways to busy themselves.

“This was supposed to be you making me dinner,” she chides, “not me teaching you how to cook. I think that it will take a lot of making up for me to—”

Santino’s hand tilts her face to him, and he leans down and kisses her. It’s softer than how he’d kissed her in the hallway, but it doesn’t lack the urgency. He still feels hungry.

She’s dreadfully caught up in it, letting him come back a second and then a third time, letting the flicker of his tongue against her lips part them obediently, letting the gentle reprimand of his teeth in her lower lip inspire a little noise out of her. It’s somehow too long and not enough, and when Euphemia drops the spoon on the counter to grip the front of Santino’s shirt (apron), his hands go to her hips.

“Sit down,” he orders playfully against her mouth, “and let me cook for you. And then we will see who will be doing the making-up, won’t we?”

Euphemia has half a mind to tell him to forget dinner—turn the burners off, she wants to say, and kiss me like that again, but more, and everywhere, and and and—but the competitor in her won’t let go. She exhales a short, impatient breath and says, “Fine, but you are on thin ice, amico.”

He laughs and shuffles her away from the stove to a stool at the kitchen island. In what can only be an effort to properly shmooze her, he follows it up with a glass of wine presented neatly in front of her, glittering-ruby, before returning to his half-done dinner on the stove.

“Amico, huh?” The dark-honey blonde glances over his shoulder at her. “Do you kiss all of your friends like that, Euphemia Volpe?”

The words send a pleased little flurry through her chest. As she watches him over her glass of wine, she replies, “Only the very handsome ones.”

When the food is served up, they don't bother going to the dining table. In Santino's loft, it appears that the dining table likely goes without much use, despite it being seated for a full party of people; instead, they stay at the kitchen island, and Santino deposits the apron on the counter before he leans against the edge of the island.

“You are a hard woman to track down, Euphemia,” Santino says, reaching over and scooping and olive off of her plate for himself. She makes an affronted noise.

“I thought you would have no trouble finding me?”

“I did not anticipate you were so efficient at covering your tracks.” He smiles, watching her across the countertop. “No family in New York. No employment history. Rent paid in cash. Most frequently spotted at the Continental, too, but otherwise your recreational hours are spent entertaining influential figureheads. If I did not know any better, I would think you were preparing to disappear.”

Euphemia shrugs. It would be unsettling, that he went digging on her, but she supposes that's life under the Table. It's not as though she anticipated he wouldn't, anyway.

“You are obsessed with me, Santi, it's alright, you can say,” she demurs. It's easier than saying I never want to have to try very hard to disappear.

He grins at her. “Maybe I am just offended that you never offered me your services.” And then, as though to be a good sport: “Because I am obsessed with you, Euphemia Volpe.”

She takes a sip of her wine, sets the glass down on the countertop, and plants her chin in her hand to regard him. His gaze is playful; he looks almost earnest about his words, even though she'd said them in jest. At any rate, it's a relief to have navigated the prying, for the moment.

Euphemia says, “How were you able to focus on cooking when you have me here, then?”

There is a crooked little smile on his face at her words, a smile that she can only see for half of a moment before he says, “Don’t you know the saying?” He leans in and tilts her chin up with his fingers, his gaze sweeping her, as though to admire the most opulent work of art.

“Senza tentazioni, senza onore.”

#f: where there is no temptation there is no glory #john wick fic #john wick oc #santino d'antonio/oc #santino d'antonio x oc #c: euphemia volpe #c: santino d'antonio #spilled ink #i love these two idiots #and i love pretending like nothing bad is going to happen #by putting off editing the end #: ))))

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awsugawara · 4 years ago

Text

bnha hcs with an artsy s/o [2/?]

part two of this series! i will continue with maybe 2 more sets of bnha characters, so if i don’t touch basis with one you really like, then don’t be afraid to send a request! i can also do pt. 2s or scenarios for these, if y’all want as well :)

note: your quirk will be the same all around, if implied you have one!

Quirk: AMBIENT ILLUSION - with a single touch of your hand or glance, you are able to make your opponent think that they’ve been taken to another “realm,” but in actuality their body movements mimic those in the illusion; it’s a quirk that can be used for good or for bad; your creativity isn’t limited, but the side effects are headaches, nausea, and sometimes insanity for a short period of time until your stamina runs out or unless someone knocks you out

Hero Name: Chiaroscuro or Chiasu [for short]- referring to the major contrast of light and dark in an image; in italian it is said to literally mean light-dark

enjoy :)

---

i. midoriya

> you both go way back to childhood years, but you moved away

> you two only reunited because you knew mirio and he told you about izuku

> “wait- does he have a broccoli like hair?”

> nevertheless, izuku was ecstatic to reunite with you and vise versa

> he noticed the subtle changes to your appearance, such as your choice of clothing

> you talked a lot about your newfound love for art and aesthetics, he found it cute

> he told you about all might and his new quirk becuz something seemed off about him

> being quirkless, you make the most of being kind to people all around the world and to those you meet

> that’s one of the qualities that izuku likes a lot about you

> he isn’t really there after moving to the dorms, so you try to make the effort to come see him and that’s how the rest of his friends met you

> he feels bad you’re always spending time alone, while he was training really hard

> as an artist, you do get insecure, so losing deku to his dream was kinda a harsh reality check and you needed to find another outlet

> you worked at a nearby art teacher at the night painting sessions and you loved it

> gaining better critiques and learning about different potential styles made you so much more confident

> when izu saw you after long grueling training for the provisional license exam, he saw you were glowing with confidence and he was convinced he was going to one day marry you

---

k. bakugo

> he keeps you a hidden secret from the rest of his nosy friends. PERIODT.

> katsu is kinda embarrassed to admit he has a BIG soft spot for your artsy self

> you work at an art store and one day kirishima and kaminari decided to grab some materials for an art project that aizawa assigned

> you happened to be there helping out a flirty kaminari and an enthusiastic kirishima

> he was just kinda there...staring at you and your cute HANDMADE grenade earrings

> “you good bakugo?” -kirishima asked when they left

> “tch whatever.”

> he was forced to go BACK THE NEXT DAY because he broke some of the markers when he was getting riled up

> he ACTUALLY made a compliment to your flame earrings that day and you wrote your number on the back of his receipt

> fast-forward, he takes the time to escape the dorms during the weekends to see you

> his mom LOVES you to DEATH

> she knows you’re the one and pesters baku about marrying you NOW

> neway, you’ve made cute little charms for your boom boom boi as good luck

> BONUS: you have matching charms that he keeps in a display case in his dorm room in his desk drawer

---

s. todoroki

> since he’s fairly quiet, he never really mentions you, except to his sister or izuku

> he collects the scrapbook pages you put together in a safe scrapbook

> for once, his dad is actually proud of his son’s gf and as he proclaims “his-future wife”

> your quirk is something that his dad practically fangirls about

> your family doesn’t really like the idea of quirk marriages just because they value trust and love

> shouto loves that and so he can be seen coming over often on the weekends

> he admires all the art pieces you draw in your sketchbook that you carry around for your quirk

> the more details you can memorize of a scene, the more the victim becomes more entranced

> he admires the fact that you like making art not only for your hero courses, but because you value making others happy with your gift

---

d. kaminari

> den asks himself how and why he ended up with such a cute and gifted girl

> you like making him small gifts and art pieces because it brightens his day

> but you attend seiai academy, which you extremely dread

> but when it comes down to it, you aren’t one to associate yourself with saiko intelli, just because she’s kind of in over herself with her fancy teas

> you spend a lot of time drawing and such that you never really socialize with the other girls

> you only attend seiai because you had gotten a recommendation from your old art teacher, and suddenly...you feel out of place

> all the girls in seiai seem to be snotty rich girls with nothing else better to do other than gossip and drink leaf juice

> denki tries to make you feel better after talking about his day and then asking about yours, which you respond to as “the same old lonely dorm room day”

> he feels really bad and tries to make you happy

> the day of the sports festival, he invited you to attend a week before since it was a really big deal coming from class 1-A

> you met his friends and eraserhead at the provisional license tournament, which you had finished pretty quickly, considering how you broke away from your peers and kinda just went for some unlucky chump

> eraserhead was impressed oop-

> anyway, when you saw their performance, you got literal chills and was pretty jealous of denki, you made some excuse to go home

> you ended up crying by yourself, but that crying sess ended when you found den at your dorm room, hugging the daylights out of you

> “i have a suggestion for you...how about you ditch these rich girls and come eat the rich with the rest of us at U.A.?”

---

f. tokoyami

> edgy boi + soft aesthetic s/o = b a l a n c e

> fumi isn’t one to outwardly express himself in the love dept, so how he ended up with you was simply being classmates

> being a transfer from shiketsu high school was probably the most nerve wrecking

> after everyone had gotten their provisional license, your dad came back from overseas and didn’t like that you weren’t at U.A., so...yea

> ANYWAY, fumi is soft edgy boi for you, and really admires your pieces

> he gives you ideas for some dark pieces that could help you spook more people

> fumi does little thoughtful things to help you through commission surges like bringing you flowers, snacks and dinner

> when you moved into the dorms, the rest of class 1-A had convinced you to let them into your room, which consisted of a lot of ORGANIZED art supplies and...PETS????

> apparently you had gotten permission from aizawa to bring some of your pets to the dorms, such as a cat, a puppy and a couple of birds

> “i couldn’t possibly come up with my pieces without having them”

> **cue cuteness overload**

> class 1-A didn’t pick up on your relationship with him and when they did, they were like......!!!!

> it was all thanks to your polaroid and printed photos of all your friends and some of your dates with fumi

---

e. kirishima

> you met during one of his patrols with fatgum and tamaki

> fatgum recognized you as you frequently came from seiai to visit, since fatgum was your relative

> kiri was curious about you since you go to seiai, an all girls academy

> fatgum had taken you along with his two interns to patrol and let me say kiri began simping after seeing you in action

> as a prep girl, you spend quite some time in the art room for your quirk

> having been prepared, it wasn’t any big deal to have you take down the bad guy within mere 15 minutes

> you were close with tamaki, but even closer with kiri

> at one point, you both started dating and you met his friends when you came from seiai to drop off some food you made for him

> “you go WHERE???” -denki

> lemme say that a lot of class 1-A was skeptical of you, but kiri convinced them that you meant no harm and was just visiting him

> “it’s okay, kiri! i’m sorry to intrude! i’ll be heading out now!”

> **cue dejected kiri for the rest of the week**

> his classmates felt bad seeing him in such a downer state, and apologized to him

> “nah, it’s okay...i was kinda hoping you guys would like her too and i’m sorry i’ve been down lately...so not manly.”

> but they learnt that kiri’s gf had been getting bullied for dating someone from U.A. and they had to go and make it worse

> “kirishima?” -mina

> “oh hey, what’s up?”

> “how’s s/o?” -denki

> “do you think that s/o would want to come to U.A.?” -midoriya blurted out

> mission: get s/o to attend U.A.

---

SORRY SOME OF THESE ARE LONG! I COULDN’T HELP MYSELF AOAFNOANF

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #midoriya x reader #bakugo x reader #kirishima x reader #tokoyami x reader #todoroki x reader #kaminari x reader #bnha headcannons #mha headcannons

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llendrinall · 3 years ago

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What would Harry and Draco be like if they were parents? How would your take on it be from their child/ren's birth to adulthood?

Sorry if my English doesn't sound right.

Well, on the one hand I don’t think either of them would want to have children. Or rather, neither wants to be a parent. Harry knows too well what a bad childhood does to you and I imagine he would be terrified at the prospect of something happening to Draco and him and leaving his child an orphan. Sure, Ron and Hermione would take that hypothetical kid, but what if something happened to them too? And to the rest of the Weasleys? And Luna? And Neville? What would happen to the kid them? James and Lily gave Harry a godfather and it didn’t stop Harry from growing up in an abusive home. So Harry would be super anxious about that, imagining more and more elaborate scenarios in which anyone remotely capable of raising a kid without giving them life-long trauma would be unavailable, and Harry’s kid would end up in hard and uncaring hands, just like Harry and Neville.

(And I’m sure Neville doesn’t help on that respect when he says he won’t be having kids and if he has any, he wants them to have their mother surname. No Longbottom will have a claim to them).

Draco knows his parenting role models are awful. He was extremely spoiled while also suffering immense pressure. Draco got all the candy and gifts he ever wanted, but he was also expected to excel at school, be a powerful wizard and become a Death Eater. It’s not that he doesn’t have a frame of reference, it’s that the one he has is really, really, bad. How do you go not giving your child a mix of anxiety and self-absorption? He would sure like to know.

On the other hand, I’m sure that Harry will adopt anyone who stands still long enough. He is not one to let pain make him hard and cold. Rather, his suffering made him more compassionate.

So he and Draco would eventually adopt a kid (or two or three). Although they might also get an accidental biological magical child too. Let’s give the kid a name, just to make writing easier. Say, Celeste. Celeste the most likely adopted, but still possibly biological magical child.

Celeste would be happy and loved. Probably an only-child for a long time, because both Harry and Draco would still be scared at the notion of parenthood. Celeste would learn quickly to entertain themselves and relate to adults better than to other children.

Harry would stress about Celeste’s wellbeing and having them be self-reliable. Draco would insist on letting the child express themselves and find their own interests. There would be a lot of mistakes and doubts, but overall they would do fine.

Celeste would grow up under the assumption that candy exists only as a Weasley family tradition. Like, candy is something that the Weasleys do but no other household has it. Celeste has certainly never seen a candy treat that didn’t come from Weasley hands.

It’s because Draco has this weird crusade against treats. He got so many as a child! It’s a wonder Draco didn’t develop an eating disorder. There were many other aspects where Draco was spoiled silly, but since he wants Celeste to have a broom and learn to fly young, and also play an instrument and what’s the word? A game-boy, Celeste ought to play muggle games too, Draco is focusing on treats and candy which are completely banned at their household. The Weasleys just ignore the prohibition. It evens out. Celeste has some candy, but not as much as they would otherwise get.

I love the idea of Celeste developing magic (especially if they are some sort of magical biological child, because people would see them as Potter 3.0 Malfoy edition) receiving the Hogwarts letter, going to Diagon Alley to buy a wand, everything, all the little traditions and rituals, and once they arrive to Hogwarts… they don’t like it. Beautiful magical place, yes, but it’s still a boarding school. Putting aside that everyone, from teachers to students, looks at them weird because of who Celeste’s parents are, Celeste misses home, isn’t making friends because it takes them a while to open up and overall is having a bad time.

So Harry and Draco take Celeste back home. No questions. Their child wrote saying they didn’t like it there, so Harry and Draco removed their child from that situation immediately. There is no reason they can’t apparate every day for lessons and even if there were, even if there were all kind of obstacles… Their child wrote asking for help and harry and Draco want to do better.

They take Celeste home, where Celeste has all their stuff, is happy and can see Oso. (Oso is the family dog. A huge mastiff so called after a picture in a children’s book. The picture was of a bear, but to be honest Oso does look like a bear to any well informed three-year old).

Of course Hogwarts doesn’t agree with the new arrangement. Harry reminds them that on Halloween of his first year they had a troll roaming inside and things only got worse after that. Harry is told that most of those unfortunate events where a consequence of Voldemort. Nowadays Hogwarts is perfectly safe and perhaps Harry is letting his anxieties take undue hold of him.

“What about the student bullying?” Harry says, with heroic calm. He would rather set the desk on fire.

“What about it? There are centaurs in the forest, but no bulls, I assure you, and as you well known, Mr Potter, students are prohibited from wandering the forest. I do think you are seeing threats where there are none”.

Ah, of course. The wizarding world isn’t familiar with the concept of “bullying”. The application and execution, they know it well, but they don’t’ have a word for what is considered normal conduct.

Celeste attends the rest of the year as if it were a normal school, which is widely criticized although there are also many other parents interested.

And then… The academic year ends and Celeste drops out of Hogwarts. The whole wizarding world comes to a stop, although one should specify that in this case “the whole wizarding world” means “English wizarding society”. The continent doesn’t care if a child attends school or not. Welsh and Scotland care, but not enough to come to a halt. They do discuss it, but they go on with their business. It’s the English wizards who seem to have a problem with it. From September to December the papers write about nothing else.

The things is, Celeste has acquired some of Harry’s anxieties and is concerned with how little they were learning at Hogwarts. A lot of magic, yes, but nothing on language (and Celeste loves reading and learning languages) and even less about math. Not that Celeste likes math, but they worry about not knowing how to adequately manage the family fortune when their parents are gone. You know how wealth does not last three generations? Well, it certainly won’t if Celeste doesn’t learn how to balance expenses. Celeste wants to learn enough that they won’t be vulnerable to their solicitor., and when they put it that way even his gransfather has to admit there is a point.

(And maybe Harry failed Celeste here, letting his child worry so much about becoming an orphan, but Harry routinely receives dead threats and Draco has suffered two attempts on his life, so).

Harry couldn’t be more proud. No benevolent-looking wizard will take advantage of Celeste. Draco is also very happy because Celeste’s muggle school has art lessons in the curriculum and they have Drama as an extra-curricular. Celeste doesn’t want to sign to Theatre, but the mere fact it’s there pleases Draco immensely.

The ministry makes Celeste sits the OWLs in order to keep their wand. There are parents asking about educations alternatives, so the Ministry hopes that once Celeste fails people will accept Hogwarts as it comes, none of that day-school nonsense and hiring qualified teachers.

Except muggle school prepares you really well for the study process (or maybe, it simply prepares you better than magical schools do) so Celeste excels at the written exams. They do really, really, well, which is something Hermione Granger had been predicting for the last four years but nobody listened to her, so she is even more chuffed than Harry and Draco. Hermione has won sixteen different bets and is going to bring parliamentary reform to the education system.

Celeste’s spell work could see some improvement, but they have no trouble conjuring a corporeal patronus and that still qualifies as an automatic O in DADA. With that and some luck in Transfigurations, Celeste graduates Hogwarts having only attended a year. Lucius Malfoy, who is still racist but above all is a social creature and social climber, gives a week-long ball to celebrate his grandchild academic achievement. He also gifts Celeste a summer trip around Europe. Correction, because Lucius knows both Harry and Draco, but specially Draco, are very strict with gifts, he makes a donation to Celeste’s school language club. Did Lucius pay so thirty-odd muggle teenagers can spend three weeks around Europe practicing their foreign languages? Why, he sure did. And you won’t disappoint said children, will you Draco? I will take the money back if you ask me to, but little Prisha will be crushed.

There is a Prisha in Celeste’s school. Lucius is either weirdly stalkerish or paying attention to Celeste.

So maybe Celeste has inherited some anxieties and complexes, like many children do, but Lucius has become a better person and a pretty cool grandfather, so overall I think Harry and Draco are good parents.

#harry potter #draco malfoy #grandpa lucius malfoy #drarry #verse: drarry parenthood

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wakaoujisenhime · 4 years ago

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My congratulations with 200 followers! Can I ask scenario about Akashi's girlfriend suddenly finds out about his second identity, but she isn't scared and she accepts him?

A/N: So, with this one, I wasn’t entirely sure which setting I should put it in. I was between her finding out when he first ‘transformed’ and discovering it when he reverted back to his Teiko self. In the end, I decided to pick something in between and something entirely different, so I hope you’ll like what I came up with. ( ꈍДꈍ )

Tags: Akashi x reader ✅ SFW ✅ fluff ✅ slight angst ✅

image/art source: Twitter (art by eijo_q)

━━━━☆ ━━━━☆ ━━━━☆

A slight tint of red - Akashi x reader

You’ve been looking at these heterochromatic eyes for as long as you can remember—those cold and lonely pair of eyes that belonged to your beloved boyfriend, Akashi.

The captain of Japan’s most popular and most feared team was unrivaled in many aspects, and that trait made him a highly respected individual amongst his peers. Unfortunately, that respect also bore negative feelings such as fear, hatred, and jealousy that were the main reasons people decided to avoid his presence.

But you were different. Those rumors didn’t face you in any way; if anything, they motivated you to actually find out more about the man who earned himself countless titles.

The moment you two first looked into each other’s eyes, shivers went down your spine, and if your memory didn’t betray you, then he probably felt the same way. Back then, you felt like you couldn’t move for a slight moment, but thanks to your friends and his teammates, who brought you back to reality, the two of you snapped out of it quicker than you might have wanted.

It took you both quite a while to actually start a conversation since he wasn’t usually the type to initiate such things. At the same time, you, on the other hand, were either too shy or unsure whether you interpreted the short connection you guys had correctly or not. But when you finally succeeded, neither of you had to struggle and find a suiting topic; the conversation just started developing on its own. And after a few months during which you had several interactions with the red-haired young man, it became evident that you had fallen in love with him, so now came the question whether you should confess to him or not, when and how...

Much to your surprise, you had the support of many of his classmates and basketball team members. They repeatedly encouraged you, saying just how good the two of you got along and how his mood had improved when he was with you. Needless to say, that boosted your confidence to a certain degree and gave you the needed courage to begin your quest.

Unfortunately for you, your attempts didn’t differ much from how you normally treated and talked to him. Still, you were determined to continue giving it your best until he either realizes it or until you found the best time to confess.

But your plans weren’t including the most important chess piece in this story, namely Akashi.

While you were forging one plan after the other, you were completely unaware of how the red-haired young man had seen past your actions and was already aware of the feelings you harbored for him. He knew, but he chose to remain silent and wait until you felt prepared enough to tell him.

And then one day, you finally stood before him with your cheeks slightly flushed and your eyes wandering but never focusing on the person before you. You were an adorable sight for him to behold, but he didn’t want to uselessly torture you any further, so he decided to initiate the dialogue.

“Is everything alright (Y/N)..?”

The gentleness in his voice caught you off guard, but it also helped to get the ball rolling, and before you knew, your confession was already in full swing. Firstly, you began reassuring him that everything was alright, that he needn’t worry about you, and that the reason you called him was a positive one. After a short break, you then proceeded to reveal all the feelings you’ve been harboring for him...

When you were done, he remained silent for a short while and gave you his answer...an answer that surprised you.

“Then today marks our first day as an official couple.”

——

The first few months went by pretty well. Your boyfriend had even made sure to divide his time between his training and you equally. He even made a weekly weekend date customary for the two of you, additionally making sure that the place you went to or the activity you did never repeated itself.

But what is a relationship between two people if only one person does the entire work?

That’s what you asked him one day. Akashi was surprised, of course, but he quickly understood why you’d say that, so he decided to tone down a bit and allow you to plan some of the dates as well.

A good and loyal man whom you could call your boyfriend, who made sure you were treated like a queen and whose yellow and red eyes were always only focused on you and you alone.

Could your life get more perfect?

Or at least that’s what outsiders and bystanders would think...

You see, no matter how much Akashi tried to smile at you, there was always something bugging you about it.

At first, you decided to ignore it and thought that it was your imagination and that all he needed was a little time until he could tell you what haunted his mind, but the longer you waited, the gloomier his expression grew, and it worried you. Not only were you not used to him appearing that distanced at times, but what hurt you the most was the fact that he wasn’t even intending on sharing anything with you.

Instead of doubting his trust in you, a more direct approach was in order, so you decided to just ask him yourself; all you needed was an opportunity, and what worked better than everyone’s beloved test period?

Next to your weekly dates and your monthly horseback riding expeditions, the two of you also organized a small tutoring group where you or some of Rakuzan’s basketball members would seek Akashi’s help in topics they didn’t understand. Luckily they were not always up for studying more than they had to, so the two of you got at least some privacy from time to time. So when the exam period started, you prayed to whichever deity you believed in, to give the two of you some time together.

The moment your finger pushed the doorbell on your boyfriend’s extravagant front door, you expected to be greeted by one of his butlers, but instead were greeted by a warm embrace from your beloved.

“Hope you won’t mind that today is going to be just the two of us.”

“Oh no, not at all!”

You were overjoyed to hear this but tried to appear as calm as you could while Akashi brought you to the living room, where some papers were already splayed out on a table.

After you had taken a seat and placed the snacks you had brought with you next to the tray with some of your favorite beverages, the two of you discussed what subjects and problems you’ll be going through today. Since you truly needed some help with a few subjects, your plan to talk to him had to be postponed for a short while.

When the two of you were about to move on to the next pile of tasks, you looked at your boyfriend’s profile and began: “Hey Akashi...it’s not school-related, but I have a small question for you. Is that ok?”

You saw his red eye shift its attention to you as he nodded his head slightly, a small smile adorning his lips.

Here goes nothing...

“So, I’ve noticed that there are times during which you tend to look quite sad and troubled. At first, I thought that whatever it was, you just needed some time to process it yourself until you could tell me. Still, that plan backfired quite a bit, since your expression has been getting worse,” you stilled to let him process your line of thoughts first, and then you resumed, “I just hope that you know how much I care for you, and if I have given you the impression that I don’t, then let me apologize. Akashi, I truly care for you, more than you might think...and more than I sometimes show, so I would be really happy if you could at least entrust me with some of the thoughts that have occupied your mind.”

You took another break to look at the man next to you and immediately noticed how much his body had tensed up. Whatever you chose to say next was about to either provoke a change in your relationship or let it circle around the same iceberg as before. So you mustered all the courage within you, took his hand, squeezing it, and said: “I love you Akashi, but if we don’t talk this out now, I’m not sure if we’ll have another chance like this...”

Silence...

Whatever you just said had quite an impact on your boyfriend, more than you ever expected. His entire face went pale, and his eyes seemed unable to focus on you or your face anymore. You were worried that this topic might’ve been too big of a landmine for your fresh relationship, but there was no way for you to return anymore, so you had no choice but to go through with it.

Akashi sighed and stood up, his back turned to you. He looked so lonely that you couldn’t help but follow his lead and stand a few meters behind him, leaving your boyfriend enough free space but also maintaining a certain closeness, just in case he needed an embrace or anything of that sort.

Another short period of silence followed during which the red-haired young man looked out of his living room’s window and apparently tried to calm his nerves down for the upcoming talk.

“(Y/N), there’s something I’ve been...keeping from you for quite a while.”

I knew it...

It was no secret that you expected that to be the case, but you couldn’t help but be curious as to what that secret was, so in order to tame your curiosity and stop yourself from showering him with countless questions, you bit your lower lip. You already had a few hunches as to what that secret might or might not be, but you remained silent and waited for him to finally tell you what’s been on his mind for so long...

His lips were moving, his eyes were focused on one of the many random trees in his courtyard, his hands were trembling, and all you could do was stand there and listen...listen to the most unexpected confession.

“A...second personality, you say?”

Akashi nods, and even though he turns around, his eyes never meet yours; they just blankly stare at something behind you. Usually, you would’ve followed his view, but you already knew what those beautiful eyes of his were fixated on.

His childhood photos...

Even if his confession of having a second personality sounded quite far-fetched at first, now that the both of you were silent, you had some time to actually think it over, and much to your surprise, it made sense...to a certain degree, at least. His eye’s sudden change in color and the abrupt disappearance of his angelic smile from his middle school’s days were drastic developments in a brief span of time, judging by the intervals in which the photos were taken. When you first noticed this peculiarity, you thought that either something on a biological level or something bad in general had happened, so you had made up your mind to drop it for the time being. Who would’ve thought that you’d be getting an answer to that as well today?

“I-I’m sorry (Y/N)...if my story sounds too unbelievable or too unrealistic for you, then please feel free to label it as some kind of fairytale I came up with to put your mind at ease.“

You squinted your eyes, trying to comprehend just what kind of nonsense your boyfriend was coming up with, and before you could even think of an answer, your mouth was already open, throwing the first things that came to your mind at him.

“What if I choose to believe you, though? What would you do then Akashi? Would you push me away like all the other times, or would you keep on pretending that everything’s alright? Huh? Tell me...“

The young man was clearly taken aback by your direct questions, but he recovered quickly and turned his back to you, mumbling something about you not being able to grasp the true meaning behind his words and how you couldn’t handle his true self.

He must’ve thought that you weren’t going to hear his self-talk, but you did...and what you heard made you extremely mad. Pure rage clouded your judgment, and the next thing you knew was how Akashi’s back was pressed against the wall and how your hands were gripping his shirt’s collar.

“How dare you say something like that?! Do you really think that I’m that insensible and shallow?”

You continuously threw your feelings and thoughts at him, not noticing just how worked up you truly were. At one point, though, Akashi just couldn’t take it anymore and wrapped his arms around your trembling body, pulling it towards his chest where you could continue to cry. Now that you were enveloped in that oh so familiar warmth, you just couldn’t keep on screaming at him, so you just closed your eyes, held onto him, and tried stopping your tears from ruining his already crumpled shirt. While you were doing that, he placed his hand on top of your head and stroked it gently, calming you down even further.

“(Y/N)...I’m truly sorry, I never intended to doubt you; it’s just tha-“

“Don’t apologize Akashi...I understand”

He wanted to tell you just how scared he was of your reaction because you were one of the few people he trusted enough to tell this to, and all the others who saw, experienced, and even knew of his change ended up being either weirded out or too scared.

But you were different, and even if he knew that, he just couldn’t risk losing the light of his life, and that’s why he decided to keep it a secret from you, up until now. When he saw how mad you got for his sake, how sad it made you the moment you found out just how heavy this has weighed on his mind, it made him understand that even if you were scared somewhere deep down, you’d still look for a way to make him feel better and try your best to understand him.

That realization was all he needed as he gently planted a featherlight kiss on the top of your head and raised your chin so that you could look him directly into the eyes.

At that moment, you could’ve sworn that his iconic yellow eye had a slight tint of red in it.

I love you...

#knb scenarios #knb x reader #akashi x reader #akashi seijiro x reader #knb fluff #knb angst #━𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙽'𝚂 𝙴𝙲𝙷𝙾

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forevercloudnine · 4 years ago

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pre-new 52 scarebat ship meme

(I actually have no idea what to call this period of comics. The dc wiki calls this the “New Earth” universe... it’s like, everything after Jason Todd was retconned out of being a circus acrobat up to Flashpoint. Anyway like a month ago I asked @heroes-etc to send me questions for this version of scarebat from this ship meme but then forgot that I did it because I got distracted by other ships. Sorry Jonathan...)

4. Who can’t keep their hands to themselves?

Bruce does DO physical affection — I mean, how many comic panels do we even have of him making out with Catwoman on rooftops — but he’s not especially forthcoming with it. I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that his love interests are more likely to instigate contact than he is, especially when that love interest is a villain like Selina or Talia (can you even IMAGINE him trying to take them off guard in a fight by grabbing their face for a kiss? Because I cannot).

He does occasionally instigate affection with his children/proteges, though usually it’s in instances where they obviously need comfort. Bruce isn’t always great at handling complicated emotional situations, but grief and trauma is something he understands very intimately, and he never hesitates to physically reassure people who are in that kind of pain.

In situations where someone isn’t in the active process of being traumatized, he’s less forward with physical affection. That doesn’t necessarily mean he’ll reject it if it’s instigated — depending on who you are, of course. I’m guessing he wouldn’t put up with hugs from random members of the Justice League. Superman is his best friend and he would probably try to wiggle out of 90% of Kal hugs if doing so was physically possible. Most of his loved ones don’t really spring physical affection on him unless they need it or it’s an especially emotional moment, however. It’s not really Bruce’s primary love language.

Jonathan seems even less physically affectionate than Bruce, though obviously doesn’t have a lot of opportunity to demonstrate how he feels either way. Master of Fear offers the only example of him expressing explicitly romantic affection that I know of (unless you count his terrorizing Becky Albright in New Year’s Evil as physical affection, which... might be how he’s thinking of it...?), and it’s entirely instigated by Sherry Squire. He does ask her to the Halloween party, but she’s the one who takes him down to the furnace room for some “one-on-one” time and tells him to kiss her.

He also notably does not actually get a chance to kiss her, mainly because the whole thing was a prank meant to humiliate him. This might be why he doesn’t try to instigate anything similar with his next crush, Dr. Linda Friitawa (again, unless you count Becky Albright, but I can’t find New Year’s Evil to read anywhere so my only knowledge of his interaction with her comes from Tumblr. I’m like 80% sure he was supposed to be interested in her romantically, but asking someone to do supervillainy with you isn’t the most direct way to express attraction, so I’m taking that as more obliqueness from Jonathan).

He never expresses any direct romantic interest in Linda, but at the very least he clearly cares about her more than he cares for most people, since he, like. Defends her in conversation and apologizes to her for things that aren’t even his fault. Which means a lot, coming from a sociopath with no regard for human life. They do hold hands at one point, but Linda reaches out to him first, and he waits to see if she’s going to back away from his reciprocated touch before he reaches for her other hand.

He never instigates anything further with her, possibly out of fear of rejection. Unfortunately, it turns out that this was a good call, because Linda was only pretending to be nice to him while Penguin was paying her to experiment on Jonathan without his knowledge. When Batman figures out what they’re doing, she immediately fucks off and starts dating Black Mask.

Even more unfortunately, his 45 seconds of hand holding with Backstabby McMad Scientist is probably the only mutual physical affection Jonathan has ever experienced in his entire life, so honestly I have no idea if he would be more into it as a concept if it was offered to him more often. He’s clearly willing to return physical contact when it’s initiated by someone else, so maybe it is something he would seek out in an actual relationship? He DOES get handsy with Bruce when he has Batman tied up sometimes.

9. What is the most embarrassing thing they have done in front of each other?

Trip out on fear toxin, both of them, hands down. There are few things more embarrassing than, as Jonathan aptly describes it, being “reduced to whimpering quivers” in front of your enemy. Especially an enemy who’s presumably jotting down notes on your worst fears, since Batman/Scarecrow fights tend to just be competitions in who’s more frightening.

11. What do they hide from one another?

I mean, obligatory mention of the fact that Bruce hides things from absolutely everyone (with the possible exception of Alfred, because Bruce trusts him as completely as he is capable of trusting anyone, and also because it’s really hard to hide things from a parent whose involved in every aspect of your life and already knew you before you developed your pathological need to obfuscate your feelings and intentions).

As Wonder Woman pretty aptly describes during the Tower of Babel arc, even Bruce’s closest allies are never going to hear the full story from him. So it’s deeply unlikely he’d ever be 100% truthful with a supervillain, even if they got close AND Jonathan reformed.

But it’s notable that Jonathan’s fear toxin has actually given him a more honest look into Bruce’s psyche than he would ever purposefully give to people who aren’t close family members. And by “close family members” I again pretty much just mean Alfred. Unfortunately for Bruce, nothing forces emotional transparency like mind altering drugs. Fortunately for Jonathan, nothing forces emotional transparency like mind altering drugs! Not that I’m recommending that anyone drug a romantic partner into being honest with them. But Jonathan is a trained psychiatrist, so I assume his psychological know-how combined with insights gleaned from the dozens of “sessions” he’s had with Batman in the past would leave him more prepared than most to decipher the mystery that is Bruce Wayne. (@heroes-etc: riddler is SEETHING.)

Jonathan meanwhile is more than capable of putting together a clandestine scheme, but in respect to himself he’s actually pretty straightforward. Though his driving motivation in this continuity gets more and more complicated over time, from the early 90’s “I just like fear” to the early 2000’s “my Granny tortured me with birds when I was a child and now I’m obsessed with inspiring the same fear and submission she forced on me onto others,” what doesn’t change is his willingness to monologue about it to anyone who’s listening.

Also, anything that Jonathan is unable or unwilling to go into detail on, Bruce is more than capable of puzzling out himself. In Scarecrow: Year One he successfully tracks down Jonathan’s old home to recover and read through Granny Keeney’s diary, and after Scarecrow’s Master of Fear origin was published, it’s clear that Bruce has done his research on Jonathan’s childhood. There’s even a (presumably unintentionally) hilarious scene where Bruce pauses mid-rescue of a man that Jonathan has kidnapped and traumatized with fear toxin to lecture him on having bullied Jon in high school.

Is this really the time, Bruce???

(@heroes-etc: oh 100% he nailed that timing.)

13. When do they realise they should get together?

Well, circling back to Tower of Babel, it’s revealed when Ra’s al Ghul has Talia steal Bruce’s contingency plans for defeating the Justice League that Bruce has “borrowed” Scarecrow’s fear toxin in case he has to take down Aquaman.

This was back when Scarecrow had a number of different toxins that induced different phobias, or made people hallucinate hyper-specific nightmare scenarios (such as “being eaten alive by roaches from the inside,” for some terrible reason). Batman notes in his contingency files that Scarecrow has already done the work for him; presumably Jonathan had already designed a formula to induce hydrophobia, so all Bruce had to do was steal a vial of it from a crime scene.

(The sentence “Why not make him incapacitate himself... perhaps through fear?” alone is like 90% of why I think these men would get along like burlap on fire if they ever actually cooperated on something. Also, unrelated, but the polaroid of Jonathan he has in the Aquaman file is weirdly adorable.)

Bruce’s plan for Arthur is incredibly effective, and notably also Bruce’s only contingency that isn’t either inherently lethal or a ruthlessly sociopathic betrayal of emotional vulnerabilities that had been revealed to him in trust and friendship (RIP Kyle Rayner).

(Notably, Bruce’s plans for Kyle and several other leaguers directly involve using their worst fears against them, even without a fear toxin conveniently tailored for this purpose. Bruce just really likes using fear as a weapon against people.)

After Tower of Babel, Bruce obviously needed to create new contingencies, since the whole point is that they were secret plans that no one could see coming. In canon, Bruce goes on to create the A.I. satellite Brother Eye for this purpose (which backfires even worse than his first set of contingency plans, because of course it does). But I think an interesting alternative could have been Bruce tapping Jonathan for more toxin strands tailored to taking down the Justice League. If Bruce Wayne offered to pay Scarecrow’s way out of Arkham in order to develop formulas that could neutralize the world’s most powerful superheroes, is there any way that Jonathan would turn him down? I mean, obviously he would plan on betraying Wayne at some point, and Bruce would similarly be working against Jonathan’s best interests. But maybe if they set aside their “who’s scarier” dick measuring contest to work together for once, they could come to recognize their shared passion: scaring the shit of people.

Also, the Jonathan in this continuity really likes books. And you know what’s a reliably sustainable source of books that can’t be confiscated by the authorities? Dating Bruce Wayne. The manor alone probably has an insane amount of rare books that have been hoarded by his family over the years. It’s like a weird reversal of the Beauty and the Beast, where the rude rich guy who gives a library to the love interest he may or may not have technically kidnapped is the pretty one.

21. Where do they get nervous about going with one another?

If they were dating, I’m guessing Jonathan wouldn’t want to go anywhere in public with Bruce at all. Bruce Wayne is a celebrity bachelor, and celebrity bachelors get a lot of attention, and people who take celebrity bachelors off the market get a lot of NEGATIVE attention. The public reaction to Bruce settling into a committed relationship with anyone would be the kind of weirdly resentful gossipy judgement that the girlfriends of famous princes or actors or musicians always get from tabloids and entertainment television, but in Jonathan’s case it would be a million times worse. Not just because he’s a supervillain, because if there’s any town that would expect its most eligible bachelor to eventually date a supervillain, it’s Gotham. But more specifically because “ugly social outcast” is one of Scarecrow’s most enduring character traits. Not exactly the traditional trophy wife. And though Jonathan’s Scarecrow identity seems to distance him from a lot of the shame he suffered growing up, I’m guessing that the kind of spiteful vitriol that would follow him anywhere he accompanied Bruce would at the least bring back some very unwanted memories.

Bruce probably doesn’t have the same discomfort Jonathan would with being seen together in public. He doesn’t care if people think Bruce Wayne is insane or lacking in judgement as long as they don’t think he’s Batman, and I’m sure he’d find a way to spin “dating a man who prefers to dress exclusively in burlap” into something appropriately characteristic of playboy idiocy. But while he'd definitely respect Jonathan's wishes to stay out of the public sphere, he would probably enjoy any opportunity to bring Scarecrow into Gotham high society, since his presence would definitely shake up a party, and Bruce is generally extremely bored at any social event where he doesn’t have anyone to snark with. And with Jonathan’s scathing wit as entertainment, Bruce might one day fulfill Alfred’s wish and actually make it through an intermission sometime.

I’d say that Bruce would be nervous about taking Jonathan out for “field research,” but I’m sure it would be one of Scarecrow’s requirements for any long term collaboration, so it’s something that he would have to get used to pretty quickly. He would probably endeavor to keep Jonathan away from anything that could retrigger his less healthy behaviors. On the other hand, it’s not like Bruce does that for himself, so it stands to reason that he probably wouldn’t be able to successfully control Jonathan in that regard either.

It doesn’t help that one of Jonathan’s primary motivations in villainy is his childhood, which is... exactly the same thing that Bruce is fixated on. A significant portion of Scarecrow: Year One is the two of them waxing poetic about how similar they are in this regard.

Relating to this, even though it might be a terrible idea, I don’t think Bruce would be able to resist encouraging Jonathan to reconnect with his mom. Bruce would never recommend for someone like Cassandra to seek out a relationship with her father, but if someone he cares about has a LIVING parent who WASN’T abusive to them? It seems unlikely that Bruce wouldn’t advocate for reconciliation. Jonathan’s dad obviously never cared about the teenage girl he knocked up or their bastard child, but Karen Keeney is a different story. DC Holiday Special ‘09 makes it clear that Jonathan was taken away from her against her will, and she’s spent a significant portion of her life wracked by guilt imagining what the woman who abused her was doing to her son.

Ultimately she attempts to commit suicide because she feels personally responsible for every terrible thing her son has ever done, which is tragic because really she’s the only member of the Keeney family completely blameless in the creation of the Scarecrow. In Scarecrow: Year One Jonathan clearly resents her for leaving him and moving on to have another baby that she actually did keep, which I would call a really paranoid case of jumping to conclusions if it didn’t seem extremely likely that Granny Keeney told him his mother didn’t want him and left him to be tortured on purpose.

(Side note, it is REALLY weird how young Karen Keeney is depicted in Scarecrow: Year One. At times her son looks older than she is, and it doesn’t help that her second born child is an infant for some reason. Even if Jonathan is only thirty years old here, then unless she had him at younger than fourteen, she should already be in her mid-forties. Why did she only have a second child so late in life? The implication with her abusive husband is that she ended up getting trapped in a bad relationship for survival when her family kicked her out as a teenager for disgracing the family by having Jonathan. It would make way more sense for her child with him to be at least in elementary school. Also the scene would have been way more interesting if Scarecrow’s sister was old enough to talk.)

Thankfully Deadman manages to convince Karen to hold on to life long enough for someone to call 911, and she ends up surviving the suicide attempt. But were Jonathan ever to reform, it seems like reconciliation would be really healthy for both of them, since miraculously Karen still seems to care about Jonathan despite everything he’s put her through, and they’re both clearly still suffering from the after effects of Mary Keeney’s abuse.

Bruce would be enthusiastic about this prospect for obvious reasons, although he would presumably still be nervous about the possibility of everything going terribly wrong. And even if everything went perfectly right, he would STILL be nervous, because everytime Jonathan goes to see his mother there’s a chance that she will mention the time that she kissed Batman full on the mouth. And that is not information you would ever want your psychologist boyfriend to know, unless you want to be mocked with Freudian buzzwords for the rest of your natural life.

(...This would also count as a thing that Bruce hides from Jonathan.)

#scarebat #jonathan crane #scarecrow #bruce wayne #batman #i just they're neat #it's all about those shared interests #and by shared interests i mean subjugating your enemies through fear #ship meme

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howtosingit · 4 years ago

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Fic: shatter every window ‘til it’s all blown away

Carlos visits family in San Antonio while TK faces multiple storms in Austin.

Missing moments from 1x04.

2.1K | Also on AO3

- - - - - -

definitely just saw like 7 tornadoes

wtf

why exactly does this state want to kill me?

Carlos is sitting on his mother’s couch in San Antonio when he gets TK’s texts. It’s the first time he’s heard from the guy in a couple of days, since he left him on his front porch after their date. The silence hasn’t been terrible, if Carlos is being honest with himself. Sure, TK continues to take up space in his head every moment of every day, but the space seems to be getting smaller, or at least less centralized. He thinks that must count for something.

He glances up at the TV across the room, watching the meteorologist report on the major storm system wreaking havoc on Texas. Outside, rain pelts the windows of his mom’s one-story house, thunder roaring as lightning flashes. They’re a little too far south to be facing any tornadoes, but based on what he’s seeing, he can only imagine what kind of chaos Austin is experiencing at the center of the system.

Behind him, his mother and sisters flit around the kitchen preparing dinner, their conversation barely audible over the thunderstorm. He focuses on his phone again, thinking about how to respond.

Consider that a true Texas welcome?

Are you somewhere safe?

Carlos bites his bottom lip, watching as three dots appear at the bottom of his screen. He assumes that if TK is texting him he’s probably okay, but he’s sure this is the firefighter’s first tornado, so it doesn’t hurt to check. TK has been known to chase danger before.

yeah I’m at work

cowboy judd has us hunkered down until it clears

wbu?

Carlos looks back towards the TV, staring at the map that has taken over the screen. He sees numerous watches and warnings across the state, with a large concentration around Austin. The damage in certain areas is going to be catastrophic.

I’m in San Antonio, we’re just getting heavy rain here

There’s a pause following his text, long enough that he sets his phone down next to him, leaning forward on the couch to rub his temples. He’s already imagining the crazy workload awaiting him when he returns to town, not to mention all the loss. His heart clenches in his chest, knowing that it’s going to be a long road to recovery for his city.

His phone buzzes next to him.

I didn’t know you were out of town

but I’m glad you’re out of the worst of it

Carlos is already typing a response when another text comes through.

when are you back?

Carlos blinks, forcing himself not to read anything into TK’s messages. They’re friends now, or trying to be, and it’s super normal to ask these kinds of questions. TK’s just being curious, nothing more.

Tomorrow night, I’m working Monday

Just visiting family for a few days, it’s my sister’s birthday

He wonders if he needed to share that last bit. TK hadn’t asked for it, and he probably won’t care what reason he has for being out of town. Carlos sighs, wondering why he feels like he has to overthink every interaction with this man.

tell her happy birthday!

Judd says we’re probably going to lose service soon, it’s getting worse around the station

I’ll text you back when I can

Carlos sends a message telling him to be safe before tossing his phone to the other end of the couch, knowing that if he holds onto it he won’t do anything else until he hears from TK again. His mother finds him a few moments later, biting his fingernails as he stares at the continuous weather report. She runs her fingers through his curls, a surefire way to soothe him.

“I’m so glad you’re here and not in the middle of all of that, mijo,” she says, and he glances up to find her watching the report as well, her eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Are all of your friends safe?” she asks, looking down at him. He nods, his eyes closing as he feels her gentle touch on his scalp. He can feel anxiety rolling off of him in waves. “That’s good,” she says, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. “Come help in the kitchen, nene. You need a distraction.”

Her voice is firm, leaving no room for argument. With a sigh, he pulls himself up from the couch, wrapping his arm around her shoulders as they head into the other room, his phone left behind.

- - - -

He’s only about 20 minutes from Austin when his phone rings, the sound cutting through the music blasting in his car. Carlos glances over at his phone where it’s mounted on the dashboard, surprised to see TK’s name on his screen.

The firefighter had texted him once the storms had cleared, letting him know that everyone was safe and the station was still standing. Carlos wished him luck as the 126 headed out into the wreckage, honestly not expecting to hear from TK again before they saw each other at work.

He reaches out, swiping his finger across the screen to answer the unexpected call.

“TK?”

There’s a moment of silence before Carlos hears the other man take a deep breath, the sound traveling clearly through his car’s speakers.

“Hey, Carlos.”

Carlos feels his heart drop down into his stomach at the weak, broken tone of TK’s voice. His mind races with worst-case scenarios, wondering what could’ve possibly happened during his shift.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, trying to keep his voice calm. An image of a battered and bruised TK curled over his desk flashes through his mind, and he presses a little harder on the accelerator, wondering how quickly he can get back home.

“Not exactly. I just…”

TK trails off, hesitating, and Carlos rolls his eyes, frustrated that this conversation is happening over the phone and not in-person. He feels so helpless from so far away.

“Just talk to me, TK. I’m listening.”

There’s another pause, and Carlos swears that he’s about to scream in frustration. He has no idea what’s going on with TK right now, but in the entire time that he’s known him, he’s never heard the other man sound this shattered. Every heavy breath that Carlos hears through the phone feels like a punch straight to his chest.

“We lost someone on a call today,” TK starts, his voice blank. “A dad who wouldn’t let us treat him until we saved his kids. They were trapped in the house.”

Carlos bites his lip, his hands gripping tightly to the steering wheel as his eyes fill with tears. He knows what it’s like to have someone die in front of him, to feel like all he did was stand by and watch it happen. Those are the days where he feels completely useless, like there’s no point in him wearing the badge at all. He knows it’s impossible to save everyone all the time, but he can’t imagine not doing everything in his power to try.

“We got the kids out,” TK continues. “They all reunited, and then he just collapsed. Right in front of all of us. It felt so sudden, and there was n-nothing we c-could do.”

Carlos is shocked by the sound of TK crying over the phone, his breath stuttering over the last few words. He feels a tear of his own fall onto his cheek, his bottom lip quivering at the pain in the other man’s voice.

Doing what they do isn’t easy. It’s process and procedure and protocol. It’s assessing the situation, finding those who need the most help. It’s quick and sometimes callous, but it’s what they have to do, to be of any real use. It’s tunnel vision and quickest actions, all in the name of saving as many people as they can.

And it always hurts, when someone slips through the cracks; when someone’s pain goes undiscovered until it’s too late. Every time, it makes Carlos want to throw away the rule book, rethink the system, figure out how to make it better. He just wants to save everyone.

“I’m so sorry, Ty,” he says, the nickname slipping through for the first time. He tries to keep his voice calm and clear, for TK’s sake.

The other man doesn’t respond, but Carlos can hear him crying through the phone, quiet sobs rolling through the speakers. He’s just about to speak up, say something else, maybe offer a distraction, when TK’s voice cuts through.

“My dad has cancer,” he whispers, and of all the things that Carlos thought he might say, that revelation had not been anywhere on the list.

“What?” Carlos asks, the single syllable rattling through the air before he can stop it, his heart caught in a vice-like grip of terror for TK.

The man has already faced so much.

“I found some pills in his desk,” TK explains. “They’re prescribed for chemo patients.”

“Fuck, TK,” Carlos whispers, running his fingers through his curls as he takes his exit off I-35. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah,” TK says, letting out a breath. He doesn’t say anything else.

“Where are you right now?” Carlos asks, a new fear running through him.

“Home.”

“Is anyone with you?”

“No.”

“Do you need someone?” Carlos asks, making a decisive turn towards TK’s house. Just in case.

“I don’t know,” TK says weakly. “I… I don’t know, Carlos.”

“What are you thinking?” Carlos asks, trying to figure out TK’s state-of-mind. He seems a little all-over-the-place, and Carlos doesn’t even know where to begin.

“I can’t lose him, Carlos,” TK responds, and Carlos can hear the sob in the back of his throat. “He’s all I have here, I can’t lose him. I’m looking around and he’s everywhere and I can’t escape him or, or this image of him just collapsing right in front of me, without warning. Just like that dad did today. What if that had been my dad, and I missed it because I wasn’t paying attention? Because I was focused on everything else and not on the person who was really dying?”

Carlos makes another turn. “I understand that, TK, but it’s not going to happen, okay? It’s not. You know now, and nothing happened to your dad. I know it’s hard, but you can’t get trapped in the ‘what-ifs,’ you’ll drive yourself crazy,” he says, trying to be as soothing as possible.

“I don’t have anywhere to go that isn’t connected to him,” TK continues, “but I also don’t want to leave, because something could happen when I’m not here. I don’t know what to do, and I just keep pacing around the house.”

“Would it…” Carlos hesitates, wondering if he should even offer. “Would it help to have someone there with you, while you wait for him?”

“I…” TK starts, his voice cutting out. “I thought you were in San Antonio?”

“I just got back, I could be at your place in 10, if you want,” Carlos tells him, already mentally mapping the drive. He turns left, getting closer.

“Are you serious?”

“Of course I am,” Carlos states, his voice firm. “‘Not running away,’ remember?”

There’s a heavy silence following the reminder of their last face-to-face conversation. Carlos pulls up to a stop sign, holding his breath as he waits for TK to make a decision.

“Thank you, Carlos,” he finally says, and Carlos wonders if he’s imagining the lighter tone in his voice.

“I’m only a few minutes away, okay? Do you want to stay on the call?”

“Do you mind?”

“No, not at all,” Carlos says, his heart feeling a little bit lighter as TK voice strengthens on the other end of the line.

“How was your sister’s birthday?” TK asks suddenly, and Carlos hears the clear request for a distraction; one that he’s more than happy to provide.

He’s in the middle of sharing how he helped his mom with the cake when he knocks on the door to the Strand household. Seconds later, TK throws open the door, his eyes red and glassy as he drops his phone and pulls Carlos towards him. He wraps his arms around TK’s frame, pressing him against his chest as they stand in the doorway, letting TK’s tears soak the t-shirt he’s wearing as he gently strokes his back.

There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. There’s just a desire to support and comfort and protect.

He can’t imagine being anywhere else.

#tarlos #tarlos fic #911 lone star #tk strand #carlos reyes #I wrote a thing #tarlos missing moments collection

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dylanxmin · 4 years ago

Text

painkiller ∣ 5 ∣ j.hs

breakups are habitual, ordinary maybe even easy for some other people, and maybe it could be easy for you, too, if you haven’t been dumped by your boyfriend after finding out that you were pregnant. no, it wasn’t easy even a bit. and a stranger who wants to be your side doesn’t make this all easy for you, at all.

pairing; jung hoseok x reader

genre; angst, fluff, humor, pregnancy au, strangers to lovers au, single!mom au, slice of life au,,

warnings; little high on angst, swearings, mention of abortion, mention of adoption, mention of miscarriage, unedited(rlly sorry about this)

word count; 5k+

rating; nc17

a/n; heyyy, it’s been a month since i last update this story and i only blame my finals, my sudden lost of muse, and some side effects of my life but there it is, freshly served, angsty episode!! ion know how did this come out but im feeling positive for the next episode! so,,,, hope you all enjoy reading this part, and as always, i do really appreciate a little comment soooo... lol, love y’all ♡

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taglist; @xxluckydreamsxx ,, @parkminhee

∣ send me an ask if you want to be on the tag list ∣

‘‘Yes, can we have a brief explanation about the story of our current project?’’

‘‘Miss Y/N?’’

‘‘Y/N?’’

Light, red and yellow mixes and crushes down when something hard nudges at your shoulder and brings you the reality. Shake of your body startles Namjoon, who was nudging your shoulder to wake you up. Pairs of eyes currently stares at you, wide, curious and surprised, too, as no one expects you to fall asleep in the middle of an important meeting. But, you did anyway. Surprising yourself with such an action, yet you lost control of your sleep schedule way before this meeting, so you weren’t that ashamed as the sleep still lingers around your head.

Blinking, blinking, blinking for a couple of times before your vision loses its blur, and the faces look way better to your own eyes. Shock still fresh on their faces, a weird sound rises by your throat as you try to clean it before talking. Namjoon holds his laugh back, but you can see it in the redness of his cheeks and the veins that struggle under his skin.

‘‘I-’’ you clear your throat, once again as it comes hoarse from sleeping. ‘‘I’m sorry, can you say it again?’’ Mr. Lee stares directly into your eyes, he opens his mouth but closes again. And you know you will try to drown yourself in the sink if the corner of his mouth hasn't curled up.

You sigh, before he asks again, and listens to your explanation. You try to keep it smooth, and once you start to talk about your work, all the sleep leaves your head, enthusiasm fills it place.

You love your work. Falling asleep doesn’t mean the opposite.

‘‘I swear to god if you won’t stop laughing, Kim-’’

‘‘But..- but you told the story of our new game, drool drying on your chin, with such an enthusiastic manner.’’ Namjoon’s giggles cut himself, palm hangs in the air, other on his knee. A manager who is in his thirties enjoys his coworkers suffer, laughs his lungs off. Such a mature man. You sigh, hand curled around the cup full of water for you to go to the bathroom after. Countless times.

Fingertips pinching the tip of your brows, you stand on the kitchen side of your office. Shame still red on your face, you barely able to hold yourself back from either crying or smashing the cup on your friend’s head. Which, you like the last option very much. It’s a shame that you possibly couldn’t do that here. Maybe later, on one of your movie nights.

‘‘I think it was cute, though.’’ the man in his much more formal clothes rather than his usual sweatpants and his shirt enters the kitchen side. Brown hair brushed neatly on the left side, his features look good. ‘‘Don’t pressure yourself anymore. I’m sure they are used to these things.’’

‘‘Thank you for helping my self-reliance to gather itself, but I don’t think it’s that simple, Damien.’’ imitating his smile, even though it’s more faint then he has, you sigh once again. Taking a spot on the table, you let your head fall on it. ‘‘I was literally drooling all over myself. Ugh… such a mess.’’

Another laugh escapes by Namjoon’s lips, but he pats your head also. ‘‘Damien is right. You know Jihoon and Yeona will be cool about this.’’

You scoff. ‘‘Yeah, but I don’t refer to them by their first names as they are the Ceo’s of this company. Like you,’’

‘‘Then you shouldn’t refer to me with my name, too, as I’m your boss.’’ an annoying smirk alive on his mouth, he swipes his body on the table. Gulping down his coffee, his stares never leaves you. Something hot, almost burning coils in your chest. Reminding you red, as you stare at him back. Mouth wrinkled, your breath felt heavy.

It was anger and you didn’t know how to pressure it back where it came from. Even before your pregnancy, you weren’t good with handling your emotions, but now. With so many hormones not knowing what to do, you were even worse. Sudden crying sessions, constant fury always ready to burst out, and the sneaky, dark anxiety getting you at the worst moment, where you were alone and in the dark. It was hard, and too much. Even before being pregnant, and while being pregnant. You weren’t good with them.

‘‘You know what, I decide not to cook for you anymore.’’ heartbreak flashes in Namjoon eyes, you crossed your arms over your chest. ‘‘You can buy your own chicken breast from somewhere and eat that shitty sauce.’’

‘‘Ouch..’’ Damien who is currently watching the cold vibrations coming from you, stays silent after your gaze lands on him. He is scared, and not ready to be the next target of your stinging tongue. Though, it doesn’t last that long.

Once you see the tremble of Namjoon’s lips, and his hug follows his sorry’s, your coldness melts away. Shame creeps back, sits heavy as you lower your head on the table. But before you can dive in your bad scenarios in your head, brutal yet familiar bickering starts when Nara enters the kitchen, after she takes her place on the table. Her nose crinkled with disgust while waiting for Namjoon to end his insults, only to throw another to him. Damien tries to cut them off, but it’s useless as he gives up and rests his back on his chair. Hesitant stares gather on you, only to tear them apart while you pretend like you didn’t notice.

Yet, you don’t want to suffocate yourself with your thoughts, you raise your head, eyes meeting with the brown haired man. Because you don’t and probably can’t break that cold war between your friend and Nara, you find your escape on Damien.

‘‘So, we have to prepare a meeting for you to put a suit on?’’ cocking your brow high, you ask. His surprise fades after a moment of waiting. Maybe because you aren’t the warmest person or because of the effect of your friends that filled your head with the idea of him having some feelings for you, you never attempt to talk with him first. Not that he isn’t a decent man, but more likely, you weren’t into him and did not want to make a wrong move. For him to get the wrong idea.

But maybe you are being stupid for believing your delusinal friends about his feelings, and he just wants to be friendly. Though, it’s good to not risk anything, right?

‘‘Suits just not my type, and also, who is wearing these other than him?’’ Damien points Namjoon, who is in a deep, hurtful conversation with your other coworker. You tear your eyes from him to land on Damien once again, his smiling this time. Wide, eyes imitating it. ‘‘Also, doesn’t it hurt your feet? You weren’t wearing heels for a long time.’’

After he mentions it, your feet start to pulse with pain. Embarrassment clouded all over your other senses, but his words bring them back. And you wrinkle your face in pain. Of course, it hurts. How it won’t hurt while your feet try to set themselves free by growing bigger inside of its cage and the process isn’t an easy one. Though, these whining are the last thing for your coworker to hear so you simply go with a soft smile.

‘‘Yeah, a bit but nothing I can’t handle.’’

‘‘Oh okay then. Good to hear.’’ he leans closer, eyes gleaming like a child in his pre-mischievous stage. ‘‘Just in case, I have a pair of nice sneakers waiting in my closet. All comfy and less deadly.’’

Mirroring the act, you also get close to him. Palm covering the side of your curled mouth, ‘‘I will consider it, but why are you acting like you were selling drugs?’’ whispering the half of your words, you cocked your head aside, watching his face wrinkle due to his growing smile. And seeing him from this side, you realise how good looking he is. Radiant smile adds more point to his charisma as he does, eyes narrow but curls cutely on the ends, and for a second you just stare at his side profile. His spotless skin dips on the cheek as his dimple wants to show off. Thankfully, when he starts to talk the silvery sheet goes away, to your luck.

‘‘Well, we won’t want other heel wearers to come at my desk for my fancy shoes, right?’’

Nodding, you point your finger at him as if he made a good point. ‘‘I see… Of course we wouldn’t want that, of course.’’

After the short break, everyone turned in their work the same as you. And you find yourself so tired after talking about the details of the story of your current game with Heejin. Trying to find reliable reasons and motives is hard for some time, as you continue to work on the specific character’s choices in the game, and why and exactly how they should do is sometimes irksome even when you have someone who tries really hard to help you. Yet, you know you can’t put all the weight on Heejin’s shoulders as the poor woman barely had some sleep because of the pre-cold effect.

When she sneezed for the fourth time in the last five minutes, you had to stop and be sure of her well being. Putting your palm on her clothed arm, you mimicked a smile to look sympathetic rather than annoyed. Even though you were a little bit. Thankfully, she doesn’t have to know that.

‘‘I know I asked this before but are you sure you are okay? Maybe you should take a rest for the rest of the day. Obviously, you need some.’’

She looks hesitant at first, eyes widens at your words but she covers it with a faint smile and nods. ‘‘Oh, I’m okay, I’m okay. You don’t have to worry about me.’’ Heejin bites down her lip before continuing again. ‘‘Did I annoy you? I’m sorry, I just took a pill, so I think that will make me better in a couple of minutes.’’

‘‘No, no…’’ pulling your hands in the air, you shake your head in denial. It did bother you but not much for her to apologize for being sick. ‘‘I just wanted to check on you, I’m not… disturbed. It’s okay.’’

Your half reassurance works barely, as she tries to lower the voice of her sneezes after that. And everytime, a drip adds to your growing guilt. As Heejin is younger than you for three years, and you have been working here longer than her, it puts some stairs between you two and now with that, you fix the ice between you two. The ice that you have been trying to melt from the first day she was here, and now, thanks to your pregnancy hormones, it started to build once again. Not just with Heejin, but everyone around you was walking on eggshells around you as your rage came out of nowhere, so sudden that sometimes it even shocks you. But for a stupid reason - well, it’s not stupid as you are pregnant and that played with your emotions -, you couldn’t control the sudden change of your feelings.

One second being calm and the other being tense did tire you for sure as senses flow through every nerve you have. Breathing exercises merely helped, and that led you to staying away from the people around you. As sometimes words come out rude before you can realise. And nobody deserves that kind of attitude, even the ones you know from your childhood.

For that reason, you turned down Taehyung’s offer to come with you as you know that owing to his nature, he will do something silly to make you angry or stressed even when he does it with all his good intentions. Some days, even when you are in your usual state you can’t stop being bothered by him, and you had no intentions to taste it today. Which, nothing was normal in your current mental state, so that’s for the best.

Driving past the now familiar streets, you learned a new thing: Driving with a jean without opening its button can be hard, as you have to undo the button while your stomach growls in need. While your stomach become visible, looking like you ate too much for your stomach to handle, sudden thirst for stupid cravings increased day by day. Sadly, it affected your friends as much as you.

In the middle of night, you woke Yoongi up for him to get you apples, pickles for Taehyung and last but not least, ice cream for Namjoon. As your cravings decide to choose the oddest times, three of them find the solution to fill your fridge until there is no space left. Well, after you sat on your kitchen floor and cried they had to eat some of them with you, as they basically called you fat by doing that, and paid for it. For them, they just wanted to make sure you get what you want but at this point, what they thought barely mattered.

‘‘Okay, that was tiring.’’ you whispered through your exhale, while parking the car. For the records, parking turned into a hell show for you as going further and back, further and back, further, further and back has your nerves strain like a string. Though, you never liked it anyway. You were ready to leave your car, but the ringtone of your phone cut the act.

‘‘Hey, mom.’’

‘‘Nope. Your voice sounds the same, rather than I thought so.’’ sighing, you brushed your face by your palm. Words like a needle on the skin, your mother always knew how to use them. ‘‘Well don’t ‘ahhh’ at me. As we barely speak, I obviously expect to forget your voice, tell me if I’m wrong.’’

Nodding as if she is able to see you through the phone, you put your head on the wheel. She was annoyed as it was very clear by her high and thin tone.

‘‘Yes, Ma’am.’’ your reply earned another high pitched warning from her so you had to calm her between your giggles. ‘‘Okay, okay… You’re right, Mama. I should call you more but you know work and everything keeps me busy. But I will try my best, promise.’’

‘‘Apology accepted. But even though I know you prefer to talk about work, and the video thing you adore talking about, I’m most likely interested in my baby’s baby. So, how’s the pregnancy going?’’

This is the exact reason why you didn’t call her more than you did. As she is very interested in your life and interior with it, of course pregnancy will be the same. And you couldn’t ignore the things you can as she will talk about them, will want to know about them and give some advice from her past experiences. Not that you will need any of them, but of course as you postponed everything, you did the same thing to this topic, too, and left your mother in the dark. You will run as far as you can.

‘‘They called games, not video thing but it’s your choice.’’ while thinking of it itched your tongue, you swallowed all the tensing thoughts down, and ready yourself to talk. ‘‘And the… pregnancy is going good if we don’t count the constant eating, peeing, crying, being tired twenty-four-seven, not fitting in my favorite clothes and all the pain it put me through.’’

She laughs as if you just told the funniest joke she heard. Cocking your brows, you run through what you said to make her laugh this much to fail.

‘‘Ohhh, my baby. Stop talking about this as the things are all bad. You have a baby in your belly, your baby. They will become your everything, and mostly good things because you will love them more than anything you can. Believe me, I could die in return for your laugh. A bubbly, vivid laugh. Ahh… remembering it made me soft, right now.’’

‘‘Trying to be unbiased about gender, I see?’’

‘‘Well, I don’t want to affect the baby.’’

Though you want so bad to ask how that could actually affect the baby, you stay silent. All the baby talk is already pulling you down, it is better if you can stay out of the gender topic as much as you can. Not that it mattered, you thought.

‘‘What do you mean? Why it wouldn’t matter darling?’’

Huh?

Clearly, you weren’t thinking, but murmuring under your breath as your mom heard it. When you hit your head on the wheel, the horn startles you both. Fixing your posture, you answered your mother’s hurried question.

‘‘It was horn, I’m in the car. Yes, yes I’m okay, don’t worry. I’m at the hospital- No, no- Mom, for the appointment. Yes… yes, for the baby. I will talk to you later, okay? I will call, I promise- Yes, I promise. Okay, love you, too.’’

You sigh once again. A loud one.

You do hate lying to the woman who would do anything you want, but you know she is not ready to lose her grandchild, yet. You are not ready for the speech you will receive, also. Not that it will be harsh or critical, you just are not ready to accept the whole thing. Yes, you still had problems with the whole pregnancy thing even though you made your mind with adoption. You still had thirty weeks to go, and that won’t go fast. Not in a normal time, or in the pregnancy.

Head full of blurring thoughts, you missed the man who shakes his hand from afar. The black haired man’s smile faded as you passed by his side without sparing a glance. Too busy with thinking how to calm your mother after you give her the news. The news that she won’t have a grandchild anytime soon. Fuck… that’s gonna be hard.

Well, maybe not hard as much as the door you decide to welcome it with your face rather than opening. A loud thud, and muffled curse under your breath, instinctively you checked your nose if there is more than the pain you feel, as there is no blood you calm down, shoulders drop their usual place. Apparently, you were conscious enough to lead yourself to the floor where your doctor’s office, past the stairs, and find his door but when it comes to open the door you fail. Tears sit on your eyelids at once as you close them due to the pain that crushes your sight. Trying to massage your nose bridge barely helps but giving it a try won’t hurt, you think.

‘‘Oh my, are you okay?’’ from your closed and blurred eyesight, you can’t choose who is the one talking but his voice lets you know that he is your doctor, Seokjin. ‘‘I heard a loud thug but couldn’t understand it was a human until you groaned. Are you okay, you bumped your nose? Let me get a look at that.’’

Not forgetting to thank him while he guides you inside his office, now you are able to open your eyes and set the tears free as they go down. Seokjin sits you on the white sheeted chair, handles your head to go right and left as he scans your face and nose behind creased eyes. He looks really concerned, more than you, and somehow it puts you on a stage where you feel like you have to make him sure that you were okay and nothing was wrong. It still feels weird when someone gets concerned over you more than yourself, as who would care for someone more than one’s self so it’s still vague.

‘‘I-I’m actually okay. I didn’t hit that hard as it sounds, it doesn’t even bleed so…’’ wry smile is all you offer him as your voice trails down when his eyes meet with yours, a bit keen rather than you thought they will.

Seokjin sighs with a line between his brows but he lets go, and when he puts a decent distance between you and himself, professionalism settles in his features as he adjusts his tie.

‘‘It does look okay, but make sure you put some ice when you can as it could leave a bruise behind.’’ he smiles, both sweet and very technically. As he practiced it for every client he had and now performing it without any difficulties. It looks natural. ‘‘So, tell me how are you feeling? You should still have the early pregnancy symptoms such as morning sickness, sleep issues, and more likely they will hang around for a few more weeks. But it’s more important if you have a symptom that comes unnatural or unbearably painful for you?’’

After taking two deep breaths, you feel ready to give him a reply. Nose still throbs by the hit but it’s faint now.

‘‘Uhm…- yeah, other than the ‘expected’ symptoms, I don’t feel like something is wrong, or not supposed to happen. No more painful urination, though I still need it frequently.’’ you grimace lightly as you share, shifting a bit. ‘‘But yeah, I’m okay.’’ you try to wipe the fresh embarrassment with the non glowing smile you had in your storage. Probably he should but you still don’t know if he needs to know that you choose adoption. As he is your doctor, and the one who is taking care of you and the baby, you know that he must know about it, but unpleasant eerie stops you from doing what you should.

Old habits die hard, that’s for sure.

‘‘Excellent. It’s good to hear that everything is going on it’s way, and today, as now you are in the tenth week of your pregnancy, I’m recommending you a genetic test in case there is any birth defect.’’

‘‘What is that?’’ even though Seokjin was done with talking, you utter so fast that it feels like you interrupted him, as you shut your mouth with wrinkled brows. It was just getting tiring day by day with all of these tests, things to do and not to do, being extra careful because you have another living creature in you to take care, more than yourself. No more selfish, damaging, stupid choices can be done as your body no longer belonged to you. At least not only to you and this was really, really tiresome.

As he was expecting this, Seokjin comes up with some papers as you can understand them. ‘‘As I said before, it’s a test to acknowledge any kind of defect in the baby. These tests take two forms: screening tests and diagnostic tests. And a screening test tells you the likelihood that your baby could have a birth defect; a diagnostic test tells you with more than ninety nine percent certainty whether the baby has the disorder.’’ He explains more as you take the papers from him, scanning the words but they are almost identical as Seokjin continues with his further explanation. The blank eerie gets heavier and heavier the further he talks, and when he comes to the risks, it feels like your pulse palpitates on your throat. Tearing your eyes from the papers that sit on your lap, you stare at the man who is still talking.

‘‘There is small risk of miscarriage, that’s why you need to carefully consider tha advantages and the disadvantages of these test before you make any decision, even it’s small.’’

A slap to the face, a weight falls on your stomach after Seokjin is done with his statement. Mouth hangs open, you stay still, silent as the Doctor waits patiently, now he is behind his desk, sitting his hands intertwined. As if he knows the new information would put a heavy dullness in you as he searches your every movement, yet you gave him hardly any.

‘‘Do I… have to?’’

The idea of taking these tests would be tiring is there but the cause of your nausea is not just that. More likely, it’s the idea of losing something. Even though that something doesn’t belong to you because you never wanted it, and nothing has changed since then. Whether it's the guilt of knowing everything caused because of your recklessness, or it’s because you feel obligated to give the baby a good life due to your current maternal instincts - you hardly say you had one -, whether it’s beside you or far away from you, you feel the suffocating necessity. Even if the risk has one percent chance, you can’t take it. Maybe it’s odd to push your one percent chance to become free with the back of a hand, but that would be running away, and both of you already had one runner in your lives, and the baby wouldn’t need another.

‘‘I know it sounds scary but you can take your time, you don’t have to do it now. You can search it a bit more about the cons and pros but I never had any problems with my former clients if you need any consolation. And you can always ask for me more.’’

Chewing your bottom lip, you still look at him in the eye like you need to give him an answer. You do trust your doctor but that doesn’t mean that you purposely rejected the idea of getting abortion while you deal with an unwanted pregnancy only to come across with a risk of miscarriage. Of course it is always there whether you do the test or not, but that's nearly a consolation.

Nodding, you put all the papers in your bag before leaving the doctor’s office. Biding your goodbyes after ending with this week control.

You come to the hospital with a dazed head, and you were going to leave it even more wrecked. But you just needed some air, somewhere to ease the wave of emotions that is going through your head. To catch your breath, you adjust your route to the cafeteria in the outdoors. Maybe, that could help you somehow.

Not temporarily, but taking fresh air in your lungs somehow helped you. The phone call you had with Taehyung while you were at the verge of tears, too, and you sit in the cafeteria during all of these. Mimicking the doctor's words to your friend and Taehyung had listened to you, hang on your every word as much as he can on the other side of the line. Tried to console you, said that things will be alright and nothing bad will happen as if he was as sure as his name. And momentarily, you believed him. Both because you needed it, and he was being a good friend and you didn’t want him to feel useless.

For good or ill, now, your heart is resting in ease.

Well at least it was until you see a glimpse of dark uniform in the corner of the wall, and then a familiar face you haven’t seen in a while. A smile that softly shaped as heart, causing your heart to palpitate fast but in a much different way than the news you learned today, or the idea of your mother's future disappointment. It’s more thrilling and in a way even scarier than the other two options. As the opposite of how familiar the face is, the reason for your heart going this insane was abrupt. Even odd when you think the very less time you spent with the owner of the familiar face, yet it was there, forcing you to gulp down, consume every emotion he forced you to feel.

Contrary to what you expect - and you didn’t know why you were expecting him to be happy after seeing you - his face falls, the shape of heart shutters around his mouth. And to your shock, it put needles somewhere near to your chest.

The last time you saw him, the atmosphere was intense as you shared things that normally you wouldn’t do with a partially stranger but with him even though feelings were gloomy, you weren’t uneasy. And to you, when he was consoling you, internalizing what you were telling him, he wasn’t disturbed. At least he didn't look like that. But, the more you size him up, the more you get sure of his strange disturbance. And it did burn. Smoke choked you down, and put tears on your eyes. Fucking pregnancy hormones…

Not aware of your action, you caught your hand in the air, in the middle of a shake as Hoseok greeted you by the tiny bow of his head. And expecting more cutted harsly, as a knife in the gut.

Whether it’s because of your blind act, or whether he feels obligated, Hoseok comes closer to the table you were sitting, leaving the person behind he was talking to before he saw you. With every step, you breathe another air to gather your confidence a bit high, but it’s useless as your hands start to tremble under the table, fortunately away from his sight.

‘‘H-hi,’’ no matter how much Hoseok tries to sound friendly, it’s not, and you can hear in his voice as it comes out broken. His eyes are still deep and candid but not glowing the way it fascinated you when you first saw him. Still, you greeted him with a tight smile, wave of your hand small.

‘‘Take a seat-’’ pointing the available chair, you cut yourself to say something else. To correct your words. ‘‘I mean if you want… of course,’’

To your surprise, he holds the chair to adjust for him to sit on. But everything feels so forced and awkward that you can’t stop wondering if you said something to him and cause him to feel uncomfortable around you. Your brain works so hard to scan the memories of that day, but you fail to find something so disturbing to make Hoseok shift in his seat, a line between his brows and a noticeably insincere smile.

It takes minutes for someone to talk first and scare the clouds away only for a moment.

‘‘Are you waiting for your appointment or has it already finished?’’

‘‘Ah, yeah, it’s done. I just needed to take a moment and fresh air because…’’ your voice eventually trailed off as you realised he just asked to look friendly and probably doesn’t want to hear your whelming emotions anymore. ‘‘of stuffs, you know.’’

Hoseok nods, his mouth thin as a line, and even though it shouldn’t, it breaks your heart. Yes, this man owes you nothing, and of course he doesn’t have to sit there and listen to how sorry and depressed you feel over the things doctor Seokjin have told you, but it still hurts to see him this… joyless. The curiosity burns deep and wild as you desperately want to know what the hell you did to make him this anxious, but your mind barely helps as you wander in the empty field.

‘‘I should probably get going-’’

‘‘It’s been a while-’’

Words clashing and drowning one another, silence takes over and Hoseok abruptly stops above his chair as he was about to leave before you parted him. And now he looks at you with wide eyes, fear in his chest growing big as your bottom lip trembles for only a second but he catches it.

He sits back on his seat with hands on the air. ‘‘Oh, yeah, it’s been a while since we last saw each other.’’ he says but you know it’s out of pity, and you would rather die than crumbling under his gaze. So you shake your head with a false smile, though hammers work in your chest.

‘‘Ah, don’t mind me. Go ahead, you are probably busy and have so much to do. So, you can leave, seriously.’’

‘‘No-, no, no, Y/N. I’m sorry, I want to stay and talk to you, really. I really am sorry for acting rude.’’

Maybe because the look on his face, or the warm tone of his voice, you decide not to pressure him to leave after you ask if he really wants it for a second time. But he nods and smiles, and this time it reaches his eyes, a hot pink blossoms in you.

Though, before either of you can say anything, a touch at your back stops you. You hear the breathy voice before you turn your head. ‘‘Ahh, finally I found... you. Care to explain why you are-...not picking your phone?’’

And when you turn over, you see a panthing Yoongi. His hand on his knee and looks at you with concerned gaze. Then, they leave you only to land on the man on the other side of the table, and Yoongi’s eyes go wide.

He extends his hand in a non-moving shake to the air. ‘‘Oh, hi. Sorry to butt in.’’ he stretches his hand towards him, the ghost of a smile appears on his lips. ‘‘It’s Yoongi,’’

Voice deep, and it takes long to draw out when the man in dark uniform mirrors the act. ‘‘Hoseok.’’

#heartsforbts #bangtanhq #bangtanarmynet #houseofddaeng #btsgoldnet #btswritingcafe #hyunglinenetwork #hoseok x reader #hoseok fanfic #hoseok fluff #hoseok angst #jung hoseok #painkiller #dylanxmin

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spencessmile · 4 years ago

Text

How Much You’ll Love The Right One

Pairing - (Platonic) Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

Summary - Spencer promises you, that you'll find love again. You don't want another love, you want him.

Warnings - None

Word Count - 2,011 words

And all imagines/fanfics/blurbs are written solely by me so please don't steal my work and post it without my consent.

Feedback and Comments are welcome. Happy reading!

Requests are open!

Spencer and you have been friends for over 14 years so when Spencer didn't hear from you in over two weeks, he was worried. He just got back from LA from a case and rushed to your apartment when you hadn’t answered any of his calls.

You were the type of person to call Spencer several times throughout the day but when he didn’t hear from you in two weeks, this mind went racing to all the worst-case scenarios. You lived 10 minutes away from Spencer’s apartment but Spencer felt like the drive was taking forever.

Heartbreak sucked. You found out a week ago that your boyfriend of two years was cheating on you and when you found out you completely lost your mind, to say the least.

This was the second time you were cheated on and it broke you. You sat here for two weeks and thought of every single reason why you weren’t good enough. Why did you always end up heartbroken? Did you do something wrong? Did you say something wrong? Did you not love people enough? Were you not loveable?

All these questions and you still had no answers.

You sat on your couch, mounted with pillows and blankets while old movie reruns were playing on TV. You didn’t know where the hell your phone was but you heard it vibrating, again.

You knew it was Spencer calling you for the hundredth time. You hadn’t called him in two weeks so you knew that he’d be worried about you. You knew that Spencer was probably away on a case because if he was here he would have burst through your door by now.

You talked to Spencer about everything and anything that came to your mind but this was something you weren’t ready to talk about. You wanted to push all your feelings aside and not think about anything.

You got up and walked to your fridge, opened your freezer pulling out the ice cube tray. You froze in your position as you heard your door lock being messed with. Your eyes wandered towards the clock, that read 12:22 A.M.

Who the hell is trying to break in your apartment? What the hell should you do? Who could it be? And where was your phone?

You stood quietly in your kitchen as the person continued to play with the locks. You put down the ice tray and ran into your bedroom, grabbing your baseball bat. You shut the lights and stayed a good distance away from the door as the locks were being opened. As the door swung open you thought your heart was going to explode from inside your chest.

Just as you saw the shadow inch closer into your apartment, you were about to swing your bat.

“FBI! SHOW ME YOUR HANDS!” You hear a familiar voice yell. You sigh, lowering your baseball ball. “I said, show me your hands! Now!”

“Relax Dr. Reid,” You said, turning on the lights. “It’s just me,” As you turned to face Spencer but he still had his gun pointed at you. “Spencer, your gun!” Spencer put his gun in his holster.

“You're okay?” He asked.

“Yeah, why would I be?”

“You haven’t been answering any of my calls. I thought something happened to you,” Spencer said. “You have two weeks worth of mail piled in front of your door. Chris said he remembered you leaving a few days ago but doesn’t remember you coming back,” Spencer closed the door. “I thought you were hurt or even worse, kidnapped.”

Chris, was your apartment complex manager.

“I wouldn’t mind being kidnapped.” You say.

You knew that you couldn’t hide anything from Spencer because out of all the people in the world you could have run into on the Metro, it had to be with a profiler, just your luck.

“Y/N,” Spencer glared at you. You weren’t good at dealing with emotions so you tended to make jokes or laugh at everything and if there was one thing Spencer didn’t like about you, it was that one trait of yours. “Y/N, I was worried about you. I would have come earlier but I was in LA working on a case. Why have you been avoiding me?” Spencer asked, his eyes soft and his voice laced with concern.

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” You couldn’t even look at Spencer while saying that.

“Yes, you are,” You folded his arms and looked at you. You knew exactly what he was doing and you didn’t like it. “You're avoiding eye contact and you're pulling at the sleeves of your sweater.”

“Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Profiling me.”

“Y/N, I’m not pr-”

“Yes, you are! I don’t need you doing that to me right now. I just need my best friend,” Your eyes started welling up. Spencer’s face expressions softened as he walked up to you. He grabbed your hand and led you to the couch. He turned to face you as your tears fell.

You're not sure how long has passed but you know you were ready to talk about. You have to let out your feelings otherwise you’ll drown in them. You lifted your head and got up from the couch.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You shook your head. “It’s okay. How about we just watch some TV and you can tell me whenever you’re comfortable, alright?” You nodded as you put your head on Spencer’s shoulder.

“If I’m going to talk about this then I need mint chip ice cream. You down for a pint?”

“Absolutely,” Spencer replies. “I’ll get it.” You nod as he walks to the kitchen. You mentally prepare yourself to tell Spencer everything. “Here you are.”

You grab the pint and shove a spoonful into your mouth. Spencer turns to fully face you and just patiently waits until you're ready.

“He cheated on me.”

You felt Spencer’s eyes snap up.

“Y/N, I’m s-”

“Don’t apologize for something that’s not your fault. He was an ass, I should have known better.”

“This isn’t your fault.”

“Is there something wrong with me?” Spencer frowned at your question.

“Absolutely not.”

You felt yourself starting to cry again. “Then why don’t people love me?”

“People do love you.”

“If they did, then they wouldn’t leave or cheat on me. All my life all I ever seen people do is walk away from me. No one has ever decided to stay by my side. No one ever decided to stay and love me through all my good and bad.”

“I stayed,” Spencer replies. “I love you.”

“That’s because you kept following me everywhere,” You joked, as you remember back to all the times that you Spencer kept bumping into each other after that one time on the Metro. Anyone could say it was straight out of a movie.

“No, you kept following me everywhere.” Spencer playfully argues back.

“I mean, what were the changes that we kept seeing each other everywhere? Who knew that we liked the same coffee, read books from the same library, and even ride the same Metro every single morning and night at the same time?"

“Actually, according to a recent study, the chances of meeting a stranger more than once is like 1 in 10,000. So the chances are very slim. But I guess you just got really lucky with me,” You laughed at the last part of his answer. Spencer grabbed your hand. “I’m sorry that he ch-”

“Spencer stop,” You felt your emotions starting to take over again, as your eyes started to blur your vision. You sat there holding Spencer’s hand while you just cried out all your emotions.

“You have to let him go.”

“I know, I know …” You say, grabbing a pillow and hugging it.

“Then do it.”

“I know that he hurt me. I really want to let this go but I’ve always tried hard to keep this relationship together for almost 3 years. It sucks to let go of something that I've had together for so long.”

“I know it’s hard for you but, you deserve to let him go so that you can be happy again. It’s time to make yourself happy.”

You sniffle and look up at Spencer, taking a couple of deep breaths.

“I need you to be okay because I miss my best friend. The extremely annoying and over-hyper one. The one that calls me over a hundred times a day to tell me every little thing she does in a day. The one that goes to my apartment and waters my plants every other day and leaves me baked goods when she knows that I’m coming back home. The one that drags me out of bed on weekends I have off to go do something absolutely insane.”

“Spencer Reid you better be talking about me,” You said glaring at him.

“What if I’m not?” Now he was playing with you.

“You're not allowed to have a new best friend.”

“Why not?”

“No,” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to replace you.”

“Because I’m supposed to be your only best friend.” Spencer laughed as you pouted. “Do you have a new friend?”

“You better not. I know where you live and work.” Spencer just laughs.

“You know I was really worried when you weren’t responding back to me. I thought something really bad happened.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” You said. “Spencer you had your partner come and bolt in 3 extra locks to my front door, you set up an alarm system and you installed a camera outside my apartment. No burglar would want to do that much work just to seal some stuff from an apartment. Besides, any brugler who makes all the effort to get through those locks, it’ll be their loss because I don’t have shit in this apartment for them to steal,” You and Spencer laugh. “Unless they want my coffee maker or toaster oven.”

“So, what did you do?” Spencer raised his eyebrow at you.

“What did I do?” You ask. Spencer gave you the -oh-come-on-you-know-what-I’m-talking-about face and you sighed.

“I went to the grocery store, bought a dozen eggs, and egged his house,” You reply.

“No Y/N, you egged his house?!” You nodded, feeling sort of proud of doing that.

“You could have waited for me to come back home,” You looked at Spencer, surprised.

“Oh, don’t give me that face Spencer,” You spoke. “He was an ass. He deserved to have his house egged. Besides he is very lucky I didn’t key his new Porsche that was standing in the driveway, I was very tempted.”

“You wanted to egg his house too?”

“Of course, I would have wanted too. He hurt my best friend.”

“Oh a lot of people have hurt your best friend so in that case, you still have a lot of houses to egg. Maybe tomorrow we wrap his house in toilet paper.”

“Maybe we can,” Spencer turned serious for a second. “Hey, I know it’ll take you a while to get over this relationship but I want you to know that if you loved the wrong this much, imagine how much you’ll love the right one. I promise you; this time love will walk to your doorstep and you’ll know immediately.”

I already know.

You're sitting right in front of me, holding my hand.

How much I need you.

It’s just that I can never tell you how much I love you.

But you've slipped under my skin, invaded my blood, and seized my heart. – Maria V. Snyder, Poison Study

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x fluff #bau x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds masterlist

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