#and then seemingly tries to run from me for no reason at all while simultaneously telling me we would go out for a few drinks | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lemonluvgirl · 3 years ago

Text

#9 Drabble Prompt: "We're not just friends.....”

For @peeta-pocket and @pookieh who both asked for #9

Peeta and I have been whiling away the hours in quiet companionship ever since we got back.

We’re two burned out shells trying to find a way to breath life back into our fragile casings. We make sure the other eats, and showers, and goes through the motions. It’s not quite living, but its better than what we’d be doing alone.

Lately we’ve added a new item to the list of things we tackle together.

Sleep.

Peeta and I have resumed sharing a bed like all those nights where the only things keeping us from cracking under all the pressure was the press of the other’s warm body to keep the nightmares at bay.

Its familiar. Its comforting. Its confusing. And lately when there’s no subtle breeze to blow the steamy heat that radiates off us as we lay huddled together in the night, its been terrifying. For the both of us.

But probably for entirely different reasons.

I worry that the aching, gnawing hunger that settles low in the pit of my stomach each night, no matter how much of Peeta’s delicious food I stuff myself with, is a return to what I experienced with Peeta on the beach during the Quell. I worry that he’ll hear me one night, calling his name not in terror but in longing.

I worry that I’ll screw everything up between us. Again.

And Peeta, sweet, unerringly optimistic Peeta, is still fighting off visions of me torturing him, killing his family, taking away everything he’s ever loved.

He tries to downplay it. But I hear the way he moans my name plaintively in his sleep. I know all his nightmares are about me.

So I keep my mouth shut, and my thighs pressed together and I pray to whatever higher power there maybe that I can just forget my own selfish desires JUST THIS ONCE.

Because Peeta deserves my friendship. He deserves whatever part of myself I can spare. I resolve to bury my inconsequential urges. I dig my hands in my pockets whenever he’s around. I try not to stare at his eyelashes. And whenever I get the itch to lean in and kiss him like I want to live inside his mouth and never stop, I bite my tongue and count to 30. Or 40. or 100. Whatever number I have to climb to until the feeling passes .

Its been working out great so far.

So when he sets his fork down at dinner and fixes me with serious look and asks me, “Katniss, what are we to each other?” I’m completely caught off guard.

I almost choke on my bite of roasted fessant.

“What?” I ask, once I’ve washed down the piece of food with half a glass of water.

Peeta for his part, seems to barely have noticed I choked. He’s still looking at me with that unreadable look that makes me want to simultaneously want to run for cover and also mount him.

“What. Are. We. To. Each. Other?” He asks again, slowly and deliberately, as if I was a child.

I’ve begun scowling before I even realize it.

“Don’t give me that look. Just answer the question Katniss.” Peeta snaps and I have to swallow past the dry lump in my throat.

I know where this is coming from. Haymitch had made a few comments in passing about how we should just officially move in together since we’re never apart for more than a few hours each day anyways. Not to mention we’ve been spending all our nights together for the past few months.

Peeta had gotten a strangely pensive look on his face when Haymitch said that. And he’s been weirdly quiet for the rest of the day.

If I could march over to his house and shoot Haymitch right now I probably would. But it still wouldn’t get me out of this sticky predicament with Peeta.

He waits, seemingly patiently for my answer. But I’m terrified beyond all reason that whatever I say will be the wrong thing.

“What do you want to be?” I say finally, deflecting and throwing the question back at him. I can’t deny that my heart is beating faster with fear and hope alike.

Peeta purses his lips, and his mouth twists slightly. I can see he’s getting upset.

“I asked you first Katniss. Why can’t you just be honest with me? For once!” He asks, standing up abruptly, he’s breathing hard, when he moves to grab the back of the kitchen chair I know that despite my best intentions I’ve fucked it up anyway.

I hear him muttering under his breath about how I always lie, and how he can’t trust me.

Tears roll, unbidden down my face as I watch him try to reign the flash back in.

“Not real! Not real! Peeta, I’m sorry! Please, please I’ll answer any question that you have! I wasn’t trying to lie to you I swear!” I cry, reaching for him before I think better of it. He catches me around the waist and wraps his thick arms around me, holding me to him so tightly it’s borderline painful.

His pupils are doing that strange thing where they dilate to pinpricks and blow up huge again. I feel my heart thundering out of control as I stare up at him helplessly.

I could scream right now, and maybe Haymitch would come running, if he hasn’t already drunk himself senseless by this time.

I could try to twist out of his hold.

I could headbutt him.

The options flow through my mind in flickering images that last about a millisecond before I discard them.

In the end I do nothing.

I just stand there trembling for so many reasons while his arms cage me to his strong muscular body, the least of which being fear.

As debased as it sounds, I can feel my body wake up in ways it only ever does when Peeta is close to me.

I stare up at him, my lips parted to speak, but unable to find the right words. The only thing I’m capable of doing is lowering my head in shame to hide against his shoulder.

My touch causes Peeta to shudder.

“Just tell me what we are Katniss. I can’t take the uncertainty anymore.” He says in an exhausted voice. Its his tone alone that lets me know the majority of the danger has passed. Peeta only ever sounds this tired after successfully fighting off an episode.

“We’re friends Peeta.” I say weakly, hoping that at the very least this title will be enough to keep with me, but not too much to scare him away. I feel the traitorous tears well up in my eyes again, and only barely manage to choke back my regretful sob.

Peeta freezes, becoming rigid against me.

Slowly, very tentatively I feel his fingers reach down to graze my jaw. I tense, waiting for his hands to wrap around my neck, but they never do. Instead he tilts my chin up so that I have to look him in the eyes.

And I guess he sees more there than I ever intended him to, because the next moment his lips come crashing down over mine.

And its so strange because even though the force of our kiss is cutting off my air supply, I feel like I can finally breathe for the first time in months.

I practically sob into his mouth, when he brushes his tongue against mine.

Peeta pulls away, only for a second, and I whimper at the loss of his warm lips.

“We're not just friends, and you fucking know it." He tells me right before he scoops me up and I wind my legs around his waist.

I sigh at the feeling of him hard against my stomach as he carries me up the stairs to the bedroom.

“Definitely not friends.” I tell him when he lays me down across the bed.

#drabble prompts #everlark #fanfiction #gbt phase #implied smut #hope you like this

134 notes · View notes

ssahoodrathotchner · 4 years ago

Text

Pictures of You

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Summary: you lose your memories of the last few years, including the ones of your relationship with Aaron. The rest of the team thinks it’s hilarious.

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: memory loss, swearing, some angst, hospital, talk of injuries, team shenanigans and fluff

A/N: okay this was a lot of fun to write bc soft!Hotch rights !! also really wanted to make the team play a larger role in a fic so here we go :)

Masterlist

---

You wake in a hospital bed, Morgan by your side, and a godawful pounding in your cloudy head. With a groan, you try to raise one of your hands to cover your eyes as Morgan’s head shoots up to stare at you with a relieved smile.

“Hey,” he says, catching your hand before you can lift it higher, “Don’t do that. You had a nasty fall, Princess.”

Satisfied that you won’t make any more moves towards your head, he sits back down at your side.

“Should I even ask how you’re doing or…” he trails off when you glare at him. “I’ll go let the team know you’re okay. Boss Man will be happy to hear you finally woke up,” and with that, Morgan is up and out of the room before you can even open your mouth because what.

Shifting around in the bed, you try to gauge just how injured you are, but the soreness in literally your entire body coupled with the haziness in your mind from the constant pain makes you conclude that you’ll leave it to the doctors to tell you what’s wrong. Sighing, you gently tilt your head to the side and observe the various beeping monitors.

The door opens and as you turn to see who it is, your mouth opens in disbelief. There’s no way. There’s absolutely no fucking way. This is fake. This is a dream. Your stomach simultaneously drops and fills with dread. How is this possible?

“You’re dead. You’re dead. We buried you,” you say in a rush, as none other than Emily fucking Prentiss stops by the side of your bed, looking at you confusedly. “Does this mean I’m dead? Are you a ghost?” you wonder out loud, and Emily looks behind her as the rest of the team, except Hotch, file in behind her, seemingly fine with her sudden appearance.

“How are you here, why are you here, what happened? You died. You’re supposed to be dead which means I’m probably dead,” you continue to ramble, frantically looking from at each member of your team and then back to Emily.

“What? Y/N, you aren’t dead. Just like I’m not dead,” she says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“But you are,” you say shakily, chest tightening as your breaths become shorter and shorter.

“Y/N…” she says slowly, softly, “I faked my death four years ago.”

And with that, your ears rush and your mind goes blank. No no no no no no we buried her six months ago, she’s dead. You don’t notice the rest of the team trading glances around you as the world you thought you knew shatters and reforms in your mind.

“No,” you croak, throat suddenly constricting, but Emily only looks at you worriedly, Reid slipping out the door behind her.

“Y/N, can you take some deep breaths for me?” and your head turns to find JJ at your other side, hand on your shoulder. “Let’s breathe, you can do this,” she says, taking exaggerated breaths to demonstrate, smiling gently as you cooperate.

Reid enters, now, followed by a doctor who, immediately upon reaching your side, proceeds to shine a light in your eyes and asks you to complete all sorts of short tests while the team looks on.

“Now, Agent Y/L/N, Dr. Reid informed me that you seem to be having some memory issues, which is normal,” the doctor assures you, “especially with the head trauma you endured. So, tell me what you can remember and we’ll go from there,” he says with a helpful smile.

Fuck. What do you remember?

“Well…” you trail off, trying to pin-point an exact moment. “I remember Emily—Agent Prentiss’—funeral because it was six months ago, but apparently—” your eyes slide over the rest of the team, “—apparently, it was more like four years ago,” you finish slowly.

“And that’s as recent as you can remember?” the doctor pushes. You nod your head. “Well, Agent Y/L/N, it seems that you have post-traumatic retrograde amnesia, which isn’t a surprise, as I said before. My guess is that it’s temporary, and that you’ll recover your memories in time.”

“Any ideas how long?” Emily speaks up, carefully looking at your face.

“With cases such as these, there isn’t a definite timeline or standard procedure for memory recovery,” the doctor explains. “It may help to look at photos or videos and tell stories to try and help Agent Y/L/N heal quicker, but the brain is tricky,” and with that wonderful statement, the doctor turns and exits, leaving you and your team staring at each other, processing the fact that you don’t know when you’ll get your memories of the last four freakin’ years back.

“So, from the research I’ve done, it seems that—” Reid is cut off by the door flying open and Aaron Hotchner, your Unit Chief, bursting into the room with a concerned look on his face wearing a hoodie and jeans.

Morgan tries to grab his shoulder, but Hotch shakes him off as he walks right up to your bedside and grabs your hand. Holy shit. Heat rises to your cheeks instantly and you think your heart might have actually skipped a beat but, you can’t help it, you’ve had a crush on Hotch for ages and he’s holding your hand. But you don’t remember a time when Hotch was so forward in showing concern for one of his agents.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up, Sweetheart—” you’re pretty sure you’re dreaming because Hotch has never called you Sweetheart. Ever. You’ve also never seen him in anything other than a suit. “—Jessica called because Jack has the flu and then he wanted to talk to me and—”

“Hotch!” Morgan all but yells, interrupting Hotch’s update on Jack, as you stare pointedly at his hand, still holding yours, trying to control the redness growing steadily stronger in your cheeks. What the hell.

“Hotch,” Morgan states, softer this time, “The last thing Y/L/N remembers clearly is Prentiss’ funeral.”

You look up with a weak approximation of a smile, and watch Hotch’s face shift as he comprehends what Morgan said.

“That was years ago,” he says slowly, face hardening into a look you’ve seen too many times when he tries to separate himself from the information he’s received.

Looking down at you, you can’t tell what he’s thinking, so you divert your eyes to his hand in yours. Once he notices this, he gently lets go and you know it’s silly, but you almost reach out for it again. Who knows the next time Hotch will want to hold your hand?

“So you don’t…” he doesn’t finish his question, which leaves you even more confused. Don’t what…?

“Umm. If it’s happened in the last four-ish years, then umm… Then I probably don’t remember it,” you say quietly, apologetically. “Sir,” you add on quickly, not wanting to forgo formalities even if your memory isn’t what it’s supposed to be.

However, instead of nodding, like you thought he would, Aaron Hotchner looks sad which confuses you even more.

“Aaron,” Rossi begins slowly, “the doctor said that talking about what’s happened since then may help Y/N’s memory come back.” Hotch looks up, almost relieved. “So why don’t you tell her something that’s happened since Prentiss’ funeral.”

And with that, Hotch takes a breath before reaching across your body to your other hand and holding it up. Not quite sure what’s happening, you allow him to hold your left hand up in your line of vision and that’s when you notice a fucking wedding ring. On your hand. Which Hotch is holding.

“I’m married?” you screech, looking at the team, who are now all trying not to laugh for some reason. “Who am I married to? Holy shit, what?” you continue looking around. Morgan and Prentiss look like they’ll break into outright laughter any minute. What’s going on?

Looking helplessly to Hotch, who is suspiciously quiet, you don’t have to repeat your question before he is carefully letting go of your left hand to hold his own up next to it and since when did Hotch wear a wedding band? Until you notice the striking similarities between the ring on your hand, and the one on your boss. What the actual fuck.

“We’re married?” you say, whipping your head to the side—ouch—to stare at Hotch, who is looking a little more amused than worried. “What? When? I just…” you can’t even finish your train of thought because your head is spinning so fast.

“Is it really that much of a surprise, Princess?” Derek chimes in. “I mean, you guys have been in love with each other forever,” and with that, he and Prentiss dissolve into a fit of laughter, which they try to smother, but you’re too busy taking in this very new and very interesting life development.

At some point in the last couple years, you married Hotch. Which means he knows you like him. And he likes you. You dated Hotch and now you’re fucking married. And you can’t remember any of it.

“…I don’t remember it…” you say sadly, softly and the laughter ceases.

Running a hand through his hair, Hotch takes a step back and shrugs, a small, reassuring smile on his face.

“We’ll figure it out, Sweetheart—” your stomach erupts into butterflies, “—we always do.”

With a sigh, you sink back into the pillows on your bed and stare at the ceiling, head throbbing worse than before thanks to all the new information.

“I just…” you pause to think about your current dilemma. “I just don’t know where to start with all this…Getting my memory back,” you look to Hotch and then the team, unsure of what to do.

“Well, the doctor did say that photos and videos might help. I’d be willing to recount every conversation we’ve had since Emily’s funeral, if you want, including the ones that you weren’t a part of, but were about you or a case,” Reid offers with a grin, and your heart melts.

Slowly shaking your head, you answer, “Thanks but maybe later, Spence. I’m still stuck on the whole I’m-married-to-my-boss thing right now.”

“Trust me Princess,” Derek laughs “I’m pretty sure all of us could tell you about how everything went down like a damn movie.”

“Yeah…” JJ continues with a fond shake of her head, “You guys weren’t very subtle about it.”

Sneaking a look out of the corner of your eye, you catch Hotch blushing and staring down at his shoes before he also sneaks a look at you, meeting your eyes.

“See?” Derek’s voice breaks your gaze. “This is exactly what I was talking about. You guys weren’t subtle and still aren’t,” rolling his eyes, he laughs a little and you can’t help but smile.

“At least they’re married this time around,” Rossi supplies. “No more ‘secret’ glances and yearning,” he says with such contempt you can’t help but laugh as Hotch—Aaron? — lets out a small chuckle of his own.

“Now I just need to remember how we got here,” you say, feeling a little more at ease. Slowly, you reach for Hotch’s left hand, studying the ring the matches your own. “Remember us,” you continue, just to him, and the smile that overtakes his face is the best thing you’ve seen since waking up.

“You weren’t wrong, Morgan,” comes Emily’s voice from the end of your bed. “This is just like a movie. Ugh. But don’t worry, Y/N, we’ll help you sort this out.”

“And I know just the woman for the job,” Morgan adds with a mischievous smirk which immediately makes you wonder about whatever it is he has planned.

“Now as much as I’d love to watch the two lovebirds gaze into each other’s eyes, I actually have plans,” Rossi states, looking down at his watch. “So, I’ll be back tomorrow. Have a good night, Y/N,” he says before waving to the rest of the team and leaving.

The rest of the team makes their own excuses to leave, and you can’t help but feel like Morgan and Prentiss have concocted some sort of scheme to “help” you get your memories back.

Running a hand over your face, you sigh. What now? The sound of someone clearing their throat makes you look up and realize that Hotch hadn’t left with the others, but was instead standing near the foot of your bed, looking somewhat anxious.

“I ummm… I was planning on spending the night here to make sure you were okay, but umm…” he trails off, unsure.

“But since I have no memory of us being together you think it’s weird…?” you ask gently.

“Yeah,” he answers in a sigh. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable by being here, especially because I know how frustrating and confusing this must be for you…”

“Hotch,” you start, but he can’t hide his wince when you call him that. “Aaron,” you try again. “Yes, this is incredibly confusing and frustrating because Emily should be dead and I didn’t think you had feelings for me at all,” you pause and see him smile, just a bit, “But I’d really like it if you stayed here. With me. Because—” you take a deep breath. “—Because you make me feel safe, Aaron, and I need that right now,” you say gently, not quite sure where the confidence came from, but Aaron’s eyes soften and his smile grows bigger as his shoulders drop in relief. Worth it.

“Then I’ll stay,” he says, and you can’t help the heat that once again rises in your cheeks as he continues to look at you.

You guys are married, dammit. Pull it together.

Averting your gaze, you turn your attention to getting more comfortable in your bed and decide to fuss with the placement of your pillows because damn was your back starting to hurt, but Aaron beats you to it. Within ten seconds of arranging the pillows behind you, he has them perfect.

“How…?” you start to question, but he just raises his eyebrows. “Right. Married,” you say with a shake of your head.

Aaron finally sits in the chair next to your bed and reaches, almost absentmindedly, for your hand before catching himself and stilling. You can see the fight in his mind—he wants to comfort you and himself, but with your memory, he doesn’t quite know where your boundaries are. Taking pity on him, you grab his hand yourself, weaving your fingers together so he knows it was on purpose. Okay so you really just wanted to hold his hand again, but you’re married! You’re allowed. He takes a deep breath and leans back in the chair, turning his head to really look at you.

“How’s your head?” he asks, brow furrowed in what you’ve come to understand is genuine concern.

You pause and consider for a moment.

“Not terrible, but not great,” you say slowly. “It’s like there’s a fog in my mind that I can’t see through. I know I’m missing stuff, but I just don’t know what.”

Aaron gently squeezes your hand, but doesn’t speak yet.

“I want to know what brought Emily back, how we happened, what it was that gave me this fucking injury, I just…” with an exasperated huff, you collect yourself. “I just want to know.”

“Well, Emily should be the one to tell you her part of the story, and as for us,” he gives you a smile “it’s a longer answer, at least for me, so that will have to wait—Sorry, Sweetheart,” he says when you pout. “However, I can tell you about what landed you in the hospital. How does that sound?”

“It’s a start,” you tease, and yes Aaron smiles wider and rolls his eyes.

“We were chasing an unsub, and Garcia had tracked him to a warehouse not too far from Quantico. We went there and—” his voice wavers. You squeeze his hand. “—and the unsub had set explosives around the perimeter of the building. I guess you got too close to him when trying to talk him down and he triggered the whole set.” Aaron sighs, and his eyes are glazed over like he’s reliving this—which he probably is—and there’s nothing you can really do besides let him take his time.

“You weren’t right by any of them, but you were thrown back and had hit the ground before I could even yell at you to stop—not that you would have listened,” he says pointedly with a watery laugh. “You just laid there, Morgan and I carried you over to the medics as soon as the dust settled and they took you away as we cleared the rest of the scene.”

“And the unsub?”

“He didn’t survive the explosion. As soon as we figured that out, we left it to the local PD and crime scene techs.” He looks at you softly. “We came straight here after that.”

“How long was I out before today,” you ask lightly, curiously.

“Three days. Dave had to convince me to go home and shower on the second day.” He looks down before sneaking a sideways glance at you.

“Well I’m glad he did,” you tease, scrunching your nose.

“And I’m glad you’re awake, Sweetheart,” he replies, squeezing your hand.

You laugh and look away before mumbling, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.”

“Get used to what?” he waits a second. “Sweetheart?” Motherfucker. He knows what he’s doing.

“That! I woke up convinced you didn’t have feelings for me at all,” you say with a glare, “and now I know we’re married and you keep being so nice and understanding and calling me Sweetheart and I just don’t know how to deal with all of this!” you finish in a huff.

“I just feel bad that I can’t remember this, us” you add, gesturing between the two of you. “I’m trying and there’s just—” you make a frustrated noise and flop back to stare at the ceiling. “And my head still kind of hurts,” you add softly, almost pouting.

“Oh, Sweetheart,” Aaron whispers. He clears his throat before continuing. “You’ll get your memories back,” he leans forward to stroke some hair off your forehead. “And until then, you know the team and I will do what we can to catch you up and help you remember.”

You push your head further into his hand with a sigh. He runs his hand through your hair a few times before pulling back and you almost whine. You yawn instead. Settling down, you tug the blanket up higher across your chest and turn to face Aaron as he also gets comfortable. He turns on the small television in your room and at some point, you fall asleep holding his hand.

---

You wake to the sound of the door opening, followed by the unmistakable click-clack of heels worn by none other than Penelope Garcia.

“Rise and shine! Time to regain your memory, lovely Y/N,” she sings, coming to a stop by the side of your bed as you roll over with a yawn.

“Pen—” you groan. “Let me sleep. Please.”

“Oh no, my little profiler. Do you have your memory back?” You shake your head. “Then we need to work on that! And don’t you dare tell me no; my wonderful Derek Morgan and I were up all night making this for you,”

You raise your eyebrows.

“Sadly, not like that. But, we compiled a presentation-slash-video montage for you about what you’ve missed!”

That catches your attention.

“Wha--? How? Penelope where did the footage come from?” you ask, more awake now.

“Well, I may or may not have used security cam footage for a lot of it, but that’s neither here nor there, so, without further ado, I present to you: your life for the past four-ish years!” and with that, she somehow connects her tablet to the TV and you see a picture of the whole team; Penelope then produces a remote from the depths of her purse and then proceeds to the next slide.

Which is a photo of you. And Aaron. Standing by the coffee machine in the office and smiling at each other, clearly unaware that the moment was being documented. The image is embellished with what must be close to fifty moving, sparkly hearts, obviously done by Garcia.

“First thing’s first,” she starts with a flourish. “Your husband!” and as if on cue, Aaron walks into the room, cup of coffee in hand. Much to your surprise, Aaron just rounds your bed to sit in the same chair you assume he fell asleep in, watching the screen.

“What is happening,” you say softly to yourself, looking from Aaron to Garcia and back.

“The doctor said photos and videos might help restore your memory, so who better to put something together than Garcia?” Hotch answers dryly, a small smile flashing across his face. “The rest of the team should be here shortly,” he says directly to Garcia.

“Oh good. I always work better with an audience,” she replies as you continue to process just what the hell is happening since you woke up approximately five minutes ago.

Within a few minutes, your hospital room is overrun with the rest of the team. Sitting, standing, leaning wherever they can find the space to view Penelope’s presentation with you in the middle of it all.

“Don’t you people have jobs?” you grumble.

“C’mon, Princess. Who better to help you remember the last few years than us?” Derek says with a cheeky grin that makes you roll your eyes.

You turn your gaze to Aaron and find that he’s already looking at you in concern.

“If you really don’t want all of us here we can leave,” he says just loud enough for you to hear.

“I just…” you take a moment to try and collect your thoughts. “I guess I just don’t know how to feel about all of this, but you’re all here so— “

“So here we go!” Penelope cheerfully finishes your sentence before turning back to the screen. “As I was saying before, part one of Operation Get Y/N’s Memories Back is all about—drumroll please—our very own Unit Chief, a.k.a. Hotch, a.k.a. loving husband to our very own Agent Y/L/N.”

With a shake of your head, purposefully ignoring the way Derek and Emily are whooping and whistling, you settle in and gesture for Penelope to continue. God, let’s hope this works.

---

It doesn’t work.

Fuck.

Three almost four hours later and nothing has changed for you. However, it’s a lovely opportunity for some team bonding and creating new memories, but you’re still disappointed. It’s not for lack of trying, though. Penelope did a wonderful job of pulling together a presentation-slash-video montage of your life, complete with titles such as ‘Your lovely husband,’ ‘The Miraculous Life, Death, and Subsequent Resurrection of Emily Prentiss,’ and even ‘Badass BAU Babies,’ which was a collection of team photos and news clips of cases you guys had closed in the past few years.

The whole team had gotten a kick out of each section, especially the last one, as Penelope had spared no one in her quest to help your memory; ugly selfies sent in the BAU group chat, embarrassing footage of you tripping up (and down) the stairs to the bullpen—courtesy of the security cameras, Reid doing physics magic and narrowly missing Rossi’s coffee cup, it was all there. But nothing worked, there was no magical ah ha moment where everything came rushing back. If anything, it really was like watching a movie; it didn’t feel like you were the one is all of these clips and photos. Not even Reid’s commentary made you feel any closer than before to recovering your memories.

It wasn’t all bad, though. Penelope had a veritable stockpile of photos of you and Aaron, ranging from the office, to cases, to the occasional night out with the team. Your engagement announcement, wedding photos, freakin’ everything on the two of you and yet, nothing seemed to make a difference to your brain.

The photo on the screen was one of you and Aaron on a case. You were tucked under his arm, snowflakes visible in your hair and his as you look up and laugh at something he said while he just smiles gently down at you. Penelope had put hearts over both your eyes.

“Actual heart eyes! I had to! You guys are so cute!” she basically squealed when the photo came up.

“What did I tell you,” Rossi said teasingly, “Yearning.”

Prentiss and Morgan hadn’t stopped laughing for this entire segment, with JJ and Reid occasionally joining in if there was something exceptionally ridiculous Penelope had included, like fucking heart eyes.

A hand covering your own makes you realize you had spaced out, and you look down to see that it’s Aaron’s hand, wedding band catching the light.

“Anything, Sweetheart?” he asks in a low voice, carefully watching your face.

You shake your head. “It’s like it’s someone else’s life, but I know it’s mine; you’ve told me it’s mine, there’s photographic evidence that it’s mine!” you say in a huff. “It just doesn’t feel like it’s mine,” you whisper, voice breaking at the end. Tears gather in your eyes and you bite your lip to stop it from shaking as you desperately try and control your overwhelming emotions. You can hear the team in the background, strategizing new ways to help you, but Aaron’s face hovers in front of your own, drawing your attention.

“It’s okay,” he says lightly, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“No, it’s not,” you insist as a few tears make their way down your face. “It’s not, Aaron. What if this is it? What if I just don’t get my memories back?”

Letting out a long sigh, Aaron raises your hand to his lips and kisses your palm before folding your hand into his.

“You will. I know you will,” he says with such conviction you might just believe him if it weren’t for the way he rapidly blinks to keep his own tears at bay.

“Yeah, Princess.” Morgan chimes in from somewhere across the room. “We’ll figure this out, you know we will.”

And with that, you see something click into place in Aaron’s eyes and suddenly, he’s looking at you in such a way that your heart picks up—thanks, heart monitor.

“Aaron…?” you ask cautiously.

“Princess,” he says it so simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. You only have time to raise an eyebrow at him before—

Oh.

Kissing Aaron Hotchner is something you could definitely get used to. His hand comes up to cradle your face as he gently moves his lips against yours. You sigh and can feel his smile against your mouth before he’s tugging your face closer, tilting your head just so and—

There.

It’s like opening a window to let in a breeze. Soft and sure, filling the space in a way that’s all-encompassing without being suffocating.

Like snowflakes falling and settling on his black jacket, like Aaron down on one knee sliding your engagement ring on your finger while you smile so much it feels like your face will break. It’s leaving cups of coffee on his desk during late nights in the office. It’s playing soccer with Jack as Aaron smiles and cheers both of you on. It’s being in bed late at night, falling asleep in the comfort provided by the man you love. Your wedding vows, promising to love him forever.

And you know.

With a gasp, you pull Aaron closer, kiss him deeper, harder, moving your lips more frantically against his. I remember I remember I remember and you think he gets it because he pulls back and looks at you with so much hope it almost breaks your heart.

“When I said I’d love you forever, Aaron Hotchner, I meant it.”

And his face breaks into the biggest smile you’ve ever seen as he laughs in disbelief before capturing your lips with his again, returning the urgency you had kissed him with just moments ago.

Someone clears their throat and you pull apart, smiles obvious on both your faces as you turn to the team who are looking somewhat confused.

“Would you mind enlightening us as to why you two are suddenly acting like teenagers?” Rossi asks, eyebrows raised.

“Well,” Aaron starts, grinning in your direction, “It would seem that— “

“Nuh uh. No way,” Derek interrupts him. “Are you seriously about to say that you kissed her and she magically remembered?”

You can’t help but laugh at his disbelief because what the hell and nod, unable to speak through the giddiness overtaking your body. You remember.

“Ohmygod! You guys!!” Penelope squeals before launching herself into your arms for a hug which she promptly pulls Aaron into as well; he doesn’t protest.

“What made you do that, Hotch?” Reid asks curiously once Penelope has let you and Aaron go. “Did you know it would work?”

“Princess,” Aaron says with a nod towards Morgan. “In Jack’s storybooks, a kiss always wakes the Princess so she and her prince can live happily ever after.”

Okay that’s adorable and you can’t help but aww with the rest of the team at Aaron’s confession.

“Happily ever after, huh?” you say, tugging on his hand. “Who knew you were such a sap, Hotchner?”

Rolling his eyes, Aaron just smiles. “Wasn’t it obvious from Garcia’s presentation? I’ve been in love with you forever, Sweetheart. And besides, it worked, didn’t it?” he says with a smug smile.

You pull him down for a short kiss before moving back just enough to murmur “My Prince Charming.”

“I can’t believe you guys,” you turn to see Morgan shaking his head. “A literal fuckin’ fairytale,” and then he’s laughing and the whole team, you and Aaron included, are laughing with him because yeah this is pretty surreal.

“I can’t believe you thought I was a ghost!” Emily says once the laughter has died down, her arms crossed in mock-anger.

“Can you blame me?” you retort. “The last thing I remember was burying you and suddenly you’re here? Nope. No way. Ghost. Only explanation.”

“I have to say, Y/L/N, I’m glad you’re back, if only to stop Aaron’s sad puppy-dog eyes every time you called him ‘Hotch,’” Rossi shakes his head. “I don’t know how much more yearning I could take.”

“Hey! Be nice,” JJ admonishes, swatting Rossi’s shoulder. “I think it’s sweet.”

“Yeah guys,” you echo. “Be nice! Don’t think I forgot you two,” you say, leveling Morgan and Prentiss with glares, “and all your laughter when I couldn’t remember that my husband and I were married!”

“Oh c’mon, Princess,” Morgan groans. “It was pretty funny. You were trying so hard not to look completely in love with your husband.”

“In my defense,” you start, “I didn’t know that you guys already knew how much I love Aaron, so excuse me for trying to hide my love,” you say with a sniff.

“Well, it was pretty obvious. Whenever you looked at him or he grabbed your hand, the heart monitor would register an increase in your heart rate by—” Reid starts to ramble but your laughter cuts him off.

“I get it, I get it,” you continue through your laughter. “I’m very in love with Aaron, even when I think it’s a secret, but as Penelope’s presentation so eloquently demonstrated, I’m not subtle and neither is he.”

Aaron leans over to kiss your cheek as the rest of the team continues into a conversation about Penelope’s presentation and how the hell she collected all those photos and videos in one day.

With the attention no longer on you—for now—you smile at Aaron, who smiles right back. He slumps back in his chair with a sigh, and you can’t help but pull him back closer to you.

“I love you,” you say kissing the back of his hand.

“I love you more, Sweetheart,” he replies softly.

Yeah, this is happily ever after.

2K notes · View notes

teenyweenynightghost · 4 years ago

Text

Fortunate Disaster

Warnings: I haven't written it yet but umm, all of the warnings in the world

Request: Not quite but thank you @victoriadeangeliswifey for your lovely comment on @bimbadiethantorchio 's post.

Word Count: 2.4K

Pairing: F!Reader X Vic

Y/n had been walking around in the rain for hours on end. She was tired, sore and irritated at her circumstance. Only a few hours ago, she was happily jogging around town, enjoying the warm, pleasant weather. A sudden burst of energy had hit her, and she ended up crossing the small area of trees between her village and the next, exploring all the new terrain. Unfortunately, as soon as she crossed, a thundering storm took over the sky and the forest became a no-go.

To make her situation better, the battery of her phone had run out and she was now wandering on an empty street, seemingly leading nowhere.

Y/n walked for a while longer, until a large building started shaping into the horizon. Perhaps it must have been her delirious state, or her rain-soaked lashes, but she swore a dark presence flew around her, sending shivers all throughout her spine.

“Is anybody there?” She called out, the only answer Y/n received being her own echo and a deafening thunder.

She flinched at the sound and continued walking. She could swear that every step she took, every breath she inhaled and every shiver was closely observed by someone. She just didn’t know who.

Getting closer to the cloudy structure, she realized that it was in fact a house, but one that looked straight out of a horror movie. It was tall and painted in dark colors, small windows here and there, as a large metal fence surrounded it.

Y/n had seen creepy movies before, and she knew better than to approach such mansions, but she was desperate, cold and hungry. It’s not like she had a better choice.

Finally having reached the entrance, she scanned around for a bell only to be surprised by the door opening on it’s own. She was definitely not getting out of here.

With a deep breath, she did her best to calm down her wrecking nerves and stepped forwards.

The garden of the castle was truly mesmerising, roses and well-kept bushes everywhere, as a stone alley extended into a labyrinth of trees. She was sure this place would look like a dream during a more pleasant day, but for now, she only focused on moving forward, and hopefully getting some shelter.

She was standing in front of the large ebony door, regretting all the choices that led her to this moment. She closed her eyes and sighed in exasperation, as she grabbed the golden handle and knocked three times.

The entryway opened almost instantly, and she was met with a short, petite girl, looking at her with the most captivating, bright blue eyes.

“Hi! I’m Victoria! Please! Come in!” She introduced herself while simultaneously ushering Y/n inside.

“I’m Y/n, umm, thanks for-for letting me in.” She tried to let out, still frightened by the whole situation.

“Of course! We couldn’t let such beautiful people walk around in that terrible weather.” She chuckled, sending Y/n a smirk.

Y/n frowned slightly, before she spoke up again. “Oh, you have roommates?”

“Oh of course! Three others. But only Ethan is at home.” She smiled, handing Y/n a towel.

“Oh, um, thank you.” The shivering girl mumbled, wrapping the cloth around herself tightly.

“My pleasure! What kind of hosts would we be If we didn’t take proper care of you.” She chuckled, placing a hand on the small of Y/n’s back and leading her towards the staircase. “Come upstairs, you might want to take a warm bath.”

Well, the blonde wasn’t wrong about that. Y/n nodded and let Victoria lead her to the bathroom. As they walked down a dimly lit hallway, Y/n noticed several paintings of people from different eras, however she couldn’t help but note that it looked like four faces kept reappearing over and over again.

She brushed the thought away when Victoria opened a door for her, softly pushing her forward into the bathroom.

“Oh, thank you so much! I really don’t know what I would have done If I hadn’t ended up here.”

“Oh no problem, darling. I left some clothes on the table and you can light some candles if you wish to.” She encouraged her, closely examining her face as it lit up at her words.

Y/n had always been fascinated by candles, always wanting to smell every single scent on this earth, and see the wax melt onto paper, tables, and any other surfaces.

As If on cue, Y/n heard Victoria snap her fingers and all of them were now lit. Y/n’s breath caught in her throat as her shoulders lifted up, her eyes widening.

She turned around quickly only to catch a glimpse of Victoria’s rascally smirk, before she shut the door and Y/n was left trembling alone, in a stranger’s bathroom. Perhaps the thought had crossed her mind before, but she had dismissed it until now. There was unquestionably something inhuman about the girl. She didn’t even dare think about her roommates.

A million thoughts ran through her mind as she did her best to deal with each wave of panic. Taking a deeper breath than any before, she imagined all her worries fade away once she exhaled, and continued to blame her creative mind for the thing she’d seen.

She took off all the wet clothes that clung to her body like a newborn to his mother, and got in the hot water.

The warmth enveloped her body at once, and she let out a pleasured sigh as she relaxed further into the bathtub.

She rested there for half an hour, before a loud growl erupted from her stomach. She was starving, there was no denying it, but she was also desperate to cling to the safety she felt in the bathroom. Eventually, deciding that enough was enough, she pushed herself out and grabbed the towel once more, patting herself dry.

Glancing towards the table, she noticed that the only clothes to her disposition were a pair of fuzzy socks, a deep red silk nightgown and a fluffy sweatshirt. Y/n grabbed the clothes and slowly started dressing herself again.

Faced once again with the door, she beat herself up internally and reluctantly opened it, peeking at the hallway to see if anyone was there. Luckily for her, she was all alone. She trailed her steps back to the staircase and descended it timidly, hearing the voice of two people chattering in the living room.

“Ah, there you are!” Victoria’s husky voice filled the room once she noticed Y/n peaking around the corner. “Come here. This is Ethan, my best friend, and Chili, my dog.” She smiled while holding a fuzzy little puppy, who yapped excitedly at Y/n.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Ethan’s modulated voice reached her ears, as he approached her and extended a hand. Y/n brought her own one up to shake his, but instead he brought it to his lips and left a soft kiss on her knuckles.

“The pleasure is all mine.” Y/n smiled, trying to be polite, despite having seen Ethan’s eyes glow red for a split second.

“So, puppy, do you wanna eat something?” Victoria spoke again, an evident smirk on her face as she took in Y/n’s blushed face.

“Yes! I’m starving” The girl chuckled and took a seat across from Victoria, noticing Ethan bringing her a plate of food.

They all stood in relative silence while Y/n ate, too hungry to notice that she was the only one. Having finally finished, she pushed the plate away and wiped her mouth with a napkin, looking up at the people around her.

A wave of embarrassment hit her upon noticing that she was being stared at, practically shrinking into the seat as Victoria got up with a sly grin on her face.

“The rain still hasn’t stopped, and by the looks of it, it could go for hours to come. You wouldn’t mind sleeping here, would you, puppy?” She whispered into her ear, causing Y/n to cross her legs tightly and squeeze her hands in a failed attempt to not shiver.

Victoria only chuckled at her reaction and brushed a wet strand of hair behind her ear, before pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

“You definitely strike me as a smart girl. You must have guessed we’re not quite human, hm?” The blonde breathed into her ear once more, directing her attention to Ethan, who was biting his lip, a long, white fang pressing into the soft skin.

“Vampires…” Y/n shuddered, recoiling into Vic’s embrace.

“That’s a good girl. So, would you like the guest room or mine. Or perhaps Ethan’s”

At that, a loud laugh erupted from the man in front of us. “Right. I have a book to finish. If you need me, shout out my name.” With those final words, he picked up Chili and left the room.

A deafening silence enveloped the lounge, only broken by the rain drops smashing against the windows.

“You must be tired, princess. How about you answer that question I asked earlier.”

Y/n couldn’t believe that her brain’s instinct was to go with her. The realization that she was in a house with actual vampires perhaps did not yet settle in, because every single nerve of her body was seemingly drawn to the attractive girl who sat right behind her.

“Will you kill me?” Y/n croaked, scratching her own palm so hard she could feel an upcoming bruise forming.

“Of course not. I really hate how the media portrays us these days. We only drink the blood of animals. Humans aren’t nearly as nutritious.” She scoffed, turning Y/n around so they could be face to face.

“Drinking human blood is strictly for pleasurable reasons.” She hummed, looking at Y/n’s lips, while she rested her hands on her legs.

Y/n’s brain completely shut off. All she could focus on was the girl’s cold fingertips touching the insides of her thighs, and her lusty gaze falling right onto her lips.

“I’ll tell you one more thing, though. If you don’t answer my question, again, I’ll have to find other methods to make you speak.” She sneered against Y/n’s neck, her teeth slightly grazing the soft skin.

Y/n shuddered and closed her eyes, turning her face away and enveloping herself with her arms. “Yours.” She mumbled, her jaw being met by Victoria’s lips as soon as the words left her mouth.

Y/n gasped loudly and grabbed Vic’s shoulder, holding onto her as she kept sucking on her skin.

“Good girl.” Victoria croaked, pulling away.

She started walking down the hallway, and Y/n had no better idea than to follow the blonde. Her gaze fell upon her golden hair, illuminated by the chandeliers hung on the ceiling. Two large, golden crosses were hanging on her ears and her slim body was covered with a skimpy, black gown, extending all the way to the velvety floors.

Y/n would be lying if she said Victoria didn’t look celestial. She could stare at her for hours on end if given the chance.

The blonde finally stopped and Y/n bumped into her, lost in her own thoughts. A small chuckle escaped Vic and she turned around, pulling Y/n closer to her.

“You weren’t paying attention, were you?” She quizzed the dumbfounded girl.

“Yes I was.” Y/n responded, averting her gaze to the door in front of them.

“Of course you were…” Vic mumbled, amused, and led Y/n into the room.

It was spacious and dimly lit, a large bed occupying the center of the bedroom, and a million dressers on the sides. Right across from the bed was an even larger mirror, decorated with golden ornaments on the edges.

“Right side or left?” The blonde asked her, turning off the lights in the room.

Before Y/n could answer, she was pushed right on the middle of the bed, Vic standing right on top of her.

“I think this is the middle.” Y/n stammered, inhaling a sharp breath.

“That’s not what I was referring to.” Vic whispered against her skin, lowering her head to be right between her breasts.

Oh. Y/n’s mind was already moving with the speed of light, and perhaps at this point it had completely abandoned her. Unfortunately, Vic was waiting for her response and kept hovering over her skin, no matter how long Y/n waited.

“Right.” The girl finally spoke up, and Vic gave her a satisfied wink.

One of the blonde’s hands slipped off the gown Y/n was wearing, while the other softly cupped her breast. Once the cold air of the room hit Y/n’s bare chest, she shivered and pulled Vic down, so she would be laying on top of her.

It was the last push Vic needed before her mouth was on Y/n, circling her tongue around her nipple. With every sigh and whimper coming from the girl below her, Vic would bite softly into the silky skin, kissing the area afterwards.

“Vic- Fuck!” Y/n moaned when she felt the tip of Vic’s fang pressing into her skin, sending delicious shivers throughout her body.

The blonde continued to explore every inch of her body, pressing sloppy kisses to her skin, soft bites and licks wherever she could, while Y/n grew more and more desperate.

“Please!” She moaned out, spreading her legs, while Victoria grabbed them and held them in place.

Finally descending to her center, Victoria thrusted a finger inside the moaning girl and kept repeating her actions while her tongue circled Y/n’s clit.

“You’re so fucking wet, puppy.” The blonde whispered against her, making Y/n whimper at the vibrations, and added another finger.

It didn’t take long for Y/n to come undone, a soft bite to her thighs being the last push she needed. She came loud and forcefully, her whole body trembling with pleasure, while Victoria stared at her, her dark eyes taking in her delicate features.

“Ethan!” Y/n heard Victoria call out, before the man suddenly appeared in the room, his long hair flying around.

“You think you can take a few more rounds, puppy?” Victoria asked Y/n, caressing her cheek.

The girl did nothing but nod eagerly as her whole body was filled with excitement for what was to come. It’s safe to say, wandering into that house was very far from a bad idea.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @fuckim-so-gay @ginny-lily @messyhairday-me @cheese-toastie-11 @wannabemarlenabutiscoraline @simp-per-ethan

@maneskinrollercoaster @juststalking @superchrystaldrug @immrbrightsideeee @shehaddreamstoo @tiaamberxx @victoriadeangeliswifey

#victoria x reader #vic x reader #victoria de angelis #maneskin fic #ethan torchio #smut #vampires

155 notes · View notes

headcans-oneshots-and-stuff · 4 years ago

Text

Overworked

Fandom: DC Pairing: Batsis!reader x Batfamily Word count: 3k Summay: Your on your way to be the next C.E.O. of Wayne Enterprises, but the road is filled with challenges and a lack of self-care that your family can’t help but worry about (based on this) Warning: Slight angst and unconciousness, near death experience Requested by a pretty great Anon: Can you do a one shot of future ceo batsis overworking herself with long days and vigilante nights and she’s basically not sleeping or taking care of herself and batfams gotta step in and make her listen to reason.

The cup of coffee had already grown cold, the liquid inside it stale and surely undrinkable, when you reached for it. Hardly the first few drops of the liquid had ran down your throat when you realized the horrible transition it had gone through from the nectar of productivity to the lovechild of tar and sulfur, your face distorting into an expression of utmost disgust as you quickly put it back down and besides the other six paper-cups that were all half-filled at most. You sighed when you realized that it must have already been an hour since you had made - and after completely forgot about - the coffee. It really was a cursed circle that you had been going through for the last eight hours. You made a cup, brought it to your office, drank a bit, forgot about it and realized how horrible it now tasted half an hour or so later and then you took at least another twenty minutes before deciding to head for your next cup. Was it already time for the next one? No, it could wait a bit longer. You turned your attention back to the screen in front of you - or rather the three screens - and let your eyes fly over all the data and graphs and numbers that you had to have in a presentable form by next morning for the monthly debriefing. This time would be your first time without Bruce on the sidelines and overlooking your work, a fact that made you feel proud at your accomplishment while simultaneously scaring you to the core. You knew that logically it wouldn’t be different than the last two - which you had also done basically solo with Bruce only sitting beside you silently observing - but there was still that internal voice that told you that without your father by your side the board would rip you apart until nothing was left over. You didn’t know what exactly caused it but suddenly you felt dizzy and the letters and numbers in front of you started swimming around, turning into absolute gibberish, the neon-lights of the screen hurting your eyes. No, not the screens themselves, it was the contrast between the brightly lit screens and the darkness that spread out behind them. It was only then that you let your gaze move behind the confines of your office and through the glass doors to the rest of the office space that was completely engulfed in darkness. Now you realized that it wasn’t only that, it was more, there was no soul wandering the floor and no sound beside the ever-so-steady growling of the computer fan and the clicking of your keyboard. “Fuck,” you couldn’t help but mutter when you looked at the clock beside you which already read half past nine. Which meant that you only had half an hour at most before your patrol started. Ignoring the pounding that built up in your head you tried to remember how it was possible for the time to surprise you like that. You had come to work at eight that morning and had spent two hours calling around, checking on contracts and meeting with potential clients, then you had your daily briefing with the department heads - which had extended into almost an hour because Brad from PR really couldn’t get his shit together - then you had to talk to HR about finding a possible replacement for Brad from PR and after you had started working on the numbers. And now you were standing in the elevator on your way to the car park. Did you have Lunch today? No, you had to skip Lunch break for Brad. What about Breakfast? No, wait, you forgot about that too. You rubbed your eyes and felt the need to curse rise again when you realized that you’d have to get right back to the numbers as soon as you had finished patrol which meant that you wouldn’t be able to sleep yet again. What was that? The fourth night in a row? Your only solace was the possibility that you’d maybe finish quickly and get a good one to two hours before you had to be back in the office, but deep inside you knew that it was unlikely. It hadn’t worked the last four nights either. But you’d pull through. There was a light at the end of the tunnel. After tomorrow’s meeting you’d go home at a normal time and indulge yourself in that full meal your stomach had been begging you for, sleep for a full eight hours and maybe even watch a movie if you felt especially crazy. Just for one night you’d really let yourself go. But for that to be possible you had to bite your teeth together and stay on your path.

The elevator arrived at the car park and you quickly rushed to your car and made your way to your apartment which - for maximum efficiency - was only a five minute drive away from the Wayne Ent. Tower, where you quickly rushed into the hidden side room to change into your gear. As you checked the time you realized that you still had a good five minutes before you had to check in with your father and you had to very quickly decide between your two options: quickly eat something or make and drink another coffee. You decided for the second one, but as you made your way to the kitchen counter where your coffee machine stood you caught a glimpse of the unopened stack of mail on the kitchen island and with a sigh decided to just get that over with, effectively ignoring both your previous options. The letters were rather quickly sorted through and before you knew you were standing on a nearby ceiling and activated your comm. “Y/H/N reporting from area 7.4 in central Gotham.” “Good evening Y/H/N, it’s Oracle, I’ll be your voice in the background tonight,” Barbara’s voice echoed through your ears and after exchanging the usual greetings she quickly gave you the location of a robbery in progress. With quick, experienced movements you jumped over the roofs until you stood on the ceiling of a jewelry which was - luckily for you - made out of glass. There was only a single man in the darkness of the store below you, using a flashlight to clean out the display cases, and he wasn’t especially silent so you used the noise to your advantage as you opened one of the few ceiling windows that were openable and let yourself glide down with a hook. “I think you have to pay for that,” you interrupted the robber who quickly turned around, his face hidden by a black, knitted hat with badly cut out holes for the eyes. He was definitely no professional. The man - obviously panicked - got out a gun with shaky hands and pointed it at you, but before he could even think of shooting you had thrown a batarang and the piece of weaponry landed on the floor too far from him that he could reach it before you. Seemingly not seeing another option the man started charging at you and you just sighed and said: “I wouldn’t do that if I was you,” but by the end of the sentence his fist tried to make contact with your masked face, but you caught his hand expertly and used the momentum to twist it behind his back, grabbing the other one too and with quick movements you had used a pair of handcuffs that you had in your bat-belt™ to chain him to one of the displays before letting him go. “If you’ll excuse me for a second,” you mumbled before walking a few feet away where you told Barbara to contact the police and tell him they didn’t need to hurry. You had just finished the conversation and muted your mic again when the same dizziness as earlier in the office hit you but this time tenfold. It was like the ground was swaying below you and you had to take ahole of a countertop so that you didn’t fall. “Hey, are you okay, you look kinda sick,” the robber asked in an actual concerned voice, but you didn’t answer, instead you quickly used the hook you had attached earlier to let yourself swing out of the window again. “Y/H/N?” Barbara contacted you and you tried your best to swallow down the weakness in your muscles that suddenly seemed to grow over you. “Yeah?” “Bats asks you to meet him on the roof of the Jefferson building down in third.” “Tell him I’ll be there in a minute.”

You gave yourself another few seconds to collect yourself before you did as you were told and made your way over to the roof of the builduing Babs’ had told you to go to, the dark silhouette of your father’s persona already expecting you there. Like you had done so often before, you started to run towards the edge of the building next to it - the one you were currently on - and made yourself ready to jump, only for your muscles to suddenly give up on you and the only thing you felt next was the rushing of air as you were falling and then the sudden stop and pain in your wrist as something caught you. Bruce quickly pulled you up and even with the cowl you could see the concern. “You okay?” he asked, his voice worried which definitely sounded uncanny in connection with what he was wearing. “Uhm yeah, my legs just kind of gave up on me there,” you tried to wave it off with a chuckle, not wanting him to see that you were frightened to your core. “Y/H/N?” he asked again in that voice he had always used when you tried to sneak out at night and lied when he had caught you. He hadn’t used that voice in so long. “I’m serious Batman, everything is okay, it’s no big deal,” you huffed - now defensive - and stood up with your arms crossed in front of your chest. “It is when you suddenly fall from a roof. What would have been if I hadn’t been there to catch you?” he asked, now slight anger edging through the worry, but you couldn’t blame him. “I’m sorry, okay, it won’t happen again,” you sighed and hoped he would just let it go, especially considering that the dizziness started to return. Along with it came the heaviness of your eyelids that you had gotten used to that somehow now seemed to actively pull you down. You raised your hand to rub your eyes - hoping it would put some more live back into you - but even that slight movement seemed to be too much as the world started swaying again and you felt gravity getting the best of you. Something black started moving in front of you and you weren’t quite sure if you were falling unconscious or if it was Bruce who came towards you to catch your falling form, but it turned out to be latter when you found yourself being lowered to the ground and propped against the end of one of the vantilator shafts of the building with Bruce kneeling beside you. “You’re definitely not okay,” he muttered as he held your face in his hands to get you to look at him. “I’m just a little bit tired is all,” you tried to argue, but your voice was weak and almost started lulling. “When was the last time you slept? Or ate?” You shut your eyes in concentration as you tried to remember. “Wait I know the answer to that one,” you muttered but almost fell asleep, only being kept away when your head started falling downwards, “What did you ask again?” “When was the last time you slept an entire night?” he tried again, this time more specific. “What day is it today?” “Friday.” “Then I think it was Monday,” you whispered since suddenly the loud noise of your voice seemed to pierce your skull apart. “You were on Patrol from nine to two a.m. on Monday,” Bruce disagreed and you almost chuckled. “Yes, and after I went to bed and got a full five hours. That’s pretty good isn’t it,” you couldn’t help but smile almost proudly, your mind starting to fog up with bubblegum coloured smoke that made it impossible to think straight. “And when did you last eat?” Bruce sighed, worry and recognition crossed his face. He himself must have known too well what you were going through. You averted your eyes and looked down at your lap where you played with your hands like an embarrassed child. “Also Monday,” you mumbled and Bruce immediately shook his head. “That’s not okay, you have to take care of yourself Y/H/N, you’re no good for anyone when you don’t.” You weren’t sure if it was only tired paranoia that made you see only disappointment on your fathers face - that ignored all the worry - but suddenly the prospect of having disappointed him, the one thing that you were trying to avoid ever since you could remember, made tears well up in your eyes and your lip quiver, “‘M sorry,” you could just press out before the tears started rolling. Bruce immediately regretted his tone of voice, but he knew nothing he would say now would be remembered by you so he just pulled you up from the roof and started carrying your already passing out form towards the batmobil. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow…”

The feeling of waking up rested was foreign to you, especially since it wasn’t one of your four separate alarms that woke you, and caused you to immediately sit up, only to be pulled back into the mattress. Your eyes flew open and explored your surroundings. The chandelier above you, with rainbow-coloured glass-pendants and the dark blue dealing with the painted stars immediately calmed you again. This room was your childhood bedroom which meant that you were in the manor, which in turn meant that you were safe. For a moment the calm was pretty nice, but then you remembered your case of immovability and looked down at where your wrists came out from under the cover. They were bound by silky bands and a move of your feet told you that the same was the case for them. While you were contemplating ways to get out of the unbelievably good, but still comfortable restraints, the door started to open and you turned as well as you could towards where you smallest (figuratively and literally) brother entered. “Your awake?” he asked in his usual stern voice, but you had known him for long enough to recognize the hidden worry. “Yeah, mind telling me why I’m strapped to my bed?” “Forced self-care,” he stated matter-of-factly and you couldn't help but narrow your eyes. “What?” “You fainted on Patrol, father says you haven’t eaten or slept since last Monday so we took measures to make sure you wouldn’t kill yourself with how careless you are.” You wanted to reply with something snarky, but you were well aware that what he said was probably right. “I’m sorry okay, I just had a lot on my plate, but you’re right and I feel a lot better now that I had some sleep, so you can let me go again,” you tried to smooth your way out of there, but you had the slight suspicion that it was hopeless. “I respect your try but you will not be let go until father is certain that you’re better.”

“But I am better!” you whined and tried yet again to wiggle yourself out of the restraints. Damian just raised his eyebrows unimpressed. He walked over to a chair that was standing beside your bed and as you followed him with your eyes you noticed the shutted curtains and the small gap of light between them. “What time is it anyways?” you sighed and felt surprise when you had to hold back a yawn. “It’s about 8 a.m.” Your eyes widened. That meant you had enough time to get to the office! “Please Dami, you gotta let me go, I have to get to the board meeting,” you begged, starting to wiggle more and more, but to no avail. “But Ukthi, you-” “No you don’t understand! This is my first time alone, I can’t let dad down, I have to be able to pull through with this if I ever want to make it as the next C.E.O. Dad wasn’t allowed a break either.” “Ukthi-” “Damian please, please, I promise I’ll come back right after and take care of myself, but I have to do this if I-” “Ukthi! The board meeting was yesterday. You slept for over 24 hours!” Damian shouted to get you to stop interrupting him and when you realized the weight of his words you sunk back down into the pillow. “What? But I was supposed to…” “Father just postponed it, he didn’t leave room to argue, he also gave you the week off from patrol and work.” If your hands weren’t bound you’d probably sunken your face into them in shame. You tried to hold tears back as you looked away from Damian. “Y/N?” he asked and came closer. “I’m sorry, It’s just- how am I supposed to handle being the C.E.O. of Wayne Enterprise if I can’t even handle little things like board meetings? How am I supposed to take after dad?” “Y/N, you keep on saying how father managed to lead the business on his own, and how you should be able too, but you’re not alone. You’re not supposed to be either. You have all of us by your side for a reason and we won’t leave you alone with this. We’re here for you and you shouldn’t be ashamed to ask for help. We’re family, we love you and we want to support you with all we can. “For now, how about you rest a little bit more and then I’ll let you out of bed to get a proper meal, Alfred made your favorite. After that I’m afraid Father will want to have a word with you.” “Oh shucks….”

622 notes · View notes

brawltogethernow · 4 years ago

Link

@mirrorfalls submitted: Came across this while searching for James Bond’s scrambled-eggs recipe (long story). Your thoughts?

But did you find James Bond’s scrambled eggs recipe?

In this article, Scocca laments his inability to find accessible, lighthearted superhero comics suitable to read with his young son, while also demonstrating a mysterious aversion to looking at DC and Marvel’s lines of comics for children, which is where the accessible, lighthearted superhero comics suitable for reading with young children are. He wants his elementary schooler to be able to safely have the run of all superhero media so he doesn’t have to touch the yucky baby books.

This is not an industry-wide crisis. This is just one dude who got paid to write an article where he accidentally exposed one of his personal hangups.

The child headed toward the trade paperbacks of Marvel and D.C. superhero titles on the side wall […] a few steps in front of me. […] Is he with you? a clerk asked me. I said he was. You know, the clerk said, we have a kids’ section. The clerk gestured backward, at a few shelves near the entrance. I said, Thanks, we know and tried throwing in a little shrug, as the kid kept going.

You can’t just turn a seven-year-old child loose in a comic-book store to look at the superhero comic books. […] My seven-year-old really wanted to see that last Avengers movie […] that is, he wished it were a movie he could see, but he understood that it was, instead, a movie designed to scare and sadden him—a movie actively hostile to people like him.

They have a children’s section. Because comics are a medium suitable for stories for everybody, and they are sold in comic book shops, which have sections, like bookstores. You can use this organization to find books that you know in advance are suitable for children. What goes in that category is determined by industry professionals. This area will be bigger the bigger the shop is. These comics are not lower quality that titles from the main lines. They are actually slightly better-written on average.

Your local comic book shop has considerately wrapped Empowered in a plastic bag, so your child will not be drawn in by a colorful superhero and accidentally read a graphic scene. If you think your kid might find a memoir about internment camps upsetting, it is your job to notice them picking up They Called Us Enemy and read the blurb on the back before you let them have it. This comic adults are meant to read is in a comic book shop because that is where comics are sold. Not every public place is supposed to be Disneyland.

Movies have ratings systems. If you do not want your child to watch a PG-13 movie, you will find that most superhero cartoons are for children. They are about the same characters. Some are quite good! I really enjoyed Earth’s Mightiest Heroes. Your child may like Avengers Assemble. At least I think that’s right. I’m always mixing those titles around.

This is a deeply weird bias for Scocca to casually demonstrate, because he identifies in the article that real childishness is striving for empty maturity.

He compares an old comic,

[…]a 1966 Spider-Man comic in which Spider-Man meets, fights, and defeats the Rhino; participates in a running argument between John Jameson and J. Jonah Jameson about his heroism; buys a motorcycle; breaks up with his first girlfriend, Betty Brant; flirts with Gwen Stacy; and reluctantly agrees to let Aunt May take him to meet her friend Mrs. Watson’s niece, Mary Jane.

and a new comic,

[…]a 21st century comic book in which Thor, brooding in a Katrina-destroyed New Orleans, beats up Iron Man. He also yells at Iron Man a lot about some incomprehensibly convoluted set of grievances, including involuntary cloning, that he believes Iron Man perpetrated against him while he was dead(?), and then summons some other Norse god from the beyond somehow for reasons having something to do with real estate. I think. Where the 1966 comic is zippy and fun and complete, the whole contemporary one is muddled and lugubrious and seems to constitute a tiny piece of a seemingly endless plot arc—simultaneously apocalyptic and inert.

and concludes that the edgier comic is actually less mature. This is true. (This is not news about mediocre comics.)

It also has nothing to do with either comic being child-friendly, the article’s nominal thesis, except in the sense that ASM #41 (yes, I eyeballed that from that summary, yes I am just showing off now) is better written, making it more everyone-friendly. It also has practically more space dedicated to word balloons than art and is about a college student juggling girl problems and a part-time job with a tyrannical boss. But the immature one, as Scocca points out, is dour.

These are both teenagery issues, separated only by quality. It’s true that lots of new comics published by the big 2 are bad in the specific way Scocca describes here, taking themselves too seriously and hauled down by associated stories instead of buoyed by them. Some are not! Some titles from these companies’ main continuities are zippy, contained, and child friendly. Give your child The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl! Or if you like vintage comics so much better, why don’t you…buy some?

The books on the kid’s rack are good and fun and totally suitable for parents to read with their children without wanting to scoop their eyeballs out. Scocca cites the Batman ‘66 comics as the brightly colored, tightly written all ages solution to his problem about sharing superhero stories with his son. My local comic shop stores this title in the kid’s section. I am glad that Scocca’s does not, as he seems to have a peculiar aversion to looking for comics to read with his son there.

Scocca cites Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse as a superhero movie he could watch with his kids. (I was surprised when this line made it sound like he has several. I don’t want to assume the other one isn’t in this article because they’re a girl, but I very much am assuming that.) Great! Go to the kid’s section and look for Marvel Adventures: Spider-Man. It’s a fun, zippy title directly inspired by ITSV where Miles, Gwen, and Peter superhero together. It’s much more tightly written than most of the various Spider-Verse comics, which are ambitiously messy ubercrossovers. You may not want to give those to children because they include murder and so on, but also you just have the choice between the two as an adult reader deciding how much continuity you want to deal with. Adventures is one of the only titles I would buy on sight before corona. The kid comic rack is a reliable place to take a break from How Comics Get Sometimes regardless of how old you are.

This article makes me feel quarrelsome. Maybe it’s that it doesn’t seem like exploration of a single idea so much as a loosely grouped bundle of things to kvetch about. Maybe it’s that the experience of getting into superheroes that Scocca describes experiencing, projects his seven-year-old son will experience, and from which he extrapolates a metaphorical microcosm of the history of the genre is completely alien to me.

Comic books [and] comic-book movies—are […] trapped in their imagined audience’s own awful passage from childhood to adolescence. A seven-year-old has a clean […] appreciation of superheroes. They like hero comics because the comics have heroes: bold, strong, vividly colored good guys to fight off the bad guys and make the world safe.

But seven-year-olds stop being seven. […] They become 13-year-olds, defensively trying to learn how to develop tastes about tastes.

The 13-year-old wants many things from comics, but the overarching one is that they want to prove that they’re not some seven-year-old baby anymore. They want gloomy heroes, miserable heroes, heroes who would make a seven-year-old feel bad. (Also boobs. They want boobs.)

Not because of the boobs line, although that does illicit an eyeroll that this gloomy thinkpiece is fretting over preserving the superhero experience of little boys who resemble the little boy the writer was while casually dismissing everyone else. I was one of those unlikable little seven-year-olds with a college reading level and the impression that maintaining it was the crux of my worth. I only read Books - distinguished media you could club someone with. I have a formative memory of pausing, enraptured, in front of a poster for Spider-Man 3, preparing to say that it looked pretty cool, and being beaten to the punch by my mother making a disparaging comment about how the movie was trash. It wasn’t out yet, but it was a superhero movie. That meant it was for loud, brainless children.

That was the total of my childhood experience with superheroes, excluding being the unwilling audience to incessant renditions of “Jingle Bells, Batman Smells” that left me wondering why in god’s name Batman’s sidekick was named Robin. I certainly never visited a comic book shop. I got into TvTropes, which got me into webcomics, which got me following David Willis, who got me into Ask Chris at ComicsAlliance, which led to me rewarding myself for studying like a demon for the AP tests with three volumes of Waid’s Daredevil, pitched as a return to the character being colorful and swashbuckling. I was seven…teen.

This is of the same thread as Scocca’s point that immaturity is running from childish things. It leaves me baffled that he doesn’t follow that maturity is embracing them.

I will disclose here that while I think it was dumb I had to overcome my upbringing’s deeply embedded shame associated with enjoying arbitrarily defined lowbrow media and children being childish, I think it’s fine that I was allowed largely unchecked access to technically age-inappropriate content. In my limited experience, content small children are too young for is also content they’re too young to understand, so it kind of just bounces off of them, and what actually ends up terrorizing them is unpredictable collages of impressions that strike out at them from content deemed perfectly child-friendly. I would not forbid a seven-year-old I was in charge of from seeing an MCU movie unless I had a reason to believe that specific child would not take it well. These are emotionally low-stakes bubblegum films. It will probably be easier to socialize with other kids if they have seen them.

But then, when I picture being in charge of a hypothetical child, I usually imagine this being the case because they are related to me, and the pupal stage in my family strongly resembles Wednesday Addams. ALL children love death and violence, though, right?? This isn’t a joke point. I know it looks like a joke point.

The MCU thing seems especially weird in light of the article’s particular focus on Spider-Man, which is the kiddie line of the MCU, even if they refused to waver from their usual formula enough to get a lower rating. Though I am more inclined to describe it as “preying on the young” than “child-friendly”.

(MCU movies are increasingly dubious propaganda, but I would not judge them in front of a child who wanted to watch them for that reason, just in case this led to them partaking of them without me the second they were old enough to and then they grew up to run a blog about them while our relationship suffered because they didn’t feel like it was safe to talk to me about their interests…Mom.)

I tried to overcome the philosophy of letting anyone read anything while compiling this handful of mostly-newish superhero recs for the road that anyone can read. (Handily, I have been in spitting distance of being hired as a comic shop clerk enough to have thought about it before):

For actual children:

Marvel Adventures Spider-Man (the new one is reminiscent of ITSV, the old one is more like 616) any DC/Archie crossover, Archie’s Superteens The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl (for bookish children who think they’re too good for comics and adults afraid of the kid’s section) Teen Titans Go (even if you hate the show) Superman Smashes the Klan

For teens:

Ms. Marvel Young Avengers (volume 2) Unbelievable Gwenpool Batman: Gotham Adventures Teen Titans Go (the tie-in comic based off the old show was also called this)

Here are a bunch of relevant C. S. Lewis quotes.

#me every time i read a comic book article by a rag not exclusively about comic books: i know more than you.#marvel #spidey #DCU #MCU critical #mirrorfalls #asks answered #submission #unearthed this and bashed it out in one sitting ... i have not been working on it since you sent it last year XD

219 notes · View notes

ellieswhoreeee · 4 years ago

Text

The Two of Us. pt 2

authors note; thank you guys for the support, it really means a lot to me! Im glad you guys liking the story so far! Anyways, here’s part two! Also, i’d like to apologize in advance for any errors or if something doesn’t make sense. English isn’t my first language so i’m sorry if there’s something wrong :)

Endgame pairings: Ellie Williams x fem! reader.

Warnings: Violence, marijuana, swearing, ect.

———————————————————————

It really hurt seeing them together.

You felt the disappointment, the hurt and the jealousy as they simply talked. Though you know there was a deeper meaning behind their seemingly innocent conversation. You know more than anyone about them. Being one Ellie’s best friends is both a blessing and a curse.

She smiled, looking slightly flustered after Cat whispered something in her ear, and you couldn’t help but clench your jaw at that.

It was a troubling sight, really it was. Everything seemed so off. Like it wasn’t real. But it was. Ellie was laughing with the cool girl who can do tattoos, one of your friends. God, it really felt like you were getting jabbed in the heart over and over again.

But you had no right to jealous at all. She wasn’t yours to be jealous about.

Cat looked around, making sure nobody was looking- but held eye contact with you for a moment before she leaned in and kissed Ellie on the lips. That’s when you finally looked away, continuing to fix Gemini’s saddle.

Gemini was tied to the fence by the barn and was close to the fence. Other horses lined up beside his right side. Today’s group was getting to leave for the morning. Earlier than usual.

Mondays are rough.

“How long have they been together now?” Jesse asked when he walked over to you as you were packing up for patrol. You turned to look at him so you could have an actual conversation. He looked directly into your eyes, almost as if he was trying to figure you out. Jesse was someone who could see everything with one look. You kinda hated him for knowing so much about how you felt about Ellie without telling him much about it.

“…I wanna say 2 months, but we both know it’s been longer than that.” You replied with a frown, continuing to distract yourself by finishing to prep Gemini for patrol.

“Y/n, could you stop looking so miserable? It’s starting to bum me out.”

You chuckled lightly, finally stepping away from Gemini and decided to lean against the wooden fence beside your horse. Jesse decided to the same, and he leaned against it with you. You looked down at your hands, deciding to pick at your cuticles just so you wouldn’t look at the couple. “Why don’t you look just as miserable as me? Didn’t Dina break up with you? Again.”

“Ouch, you really know how to turn on certain emotions.”

“I’m serious. Like, i haven’t been broke up with, yet here i am…” You paused, you stopped picking at your cuticles just to look across the street, where the couple was. Happily minding their business. Ellie and Cat were talking and laughing sweetly. Again, with that pain in your chest. “Utterly heartbroken.”

Jesse patted you on the back, it was his way of comforting you since he had no idea how else to help. “It won’t get easier. One moment you think you’re stronger than whatever you’re feeling but then… you realize it doesn’t matter how good you hide it. If you keep on hiding it, the pain will get to you before you can express those feelings properly.”

“I’m gonna be honest Jesse… I have no idea what you mean by that.”

“Of course you don’t…” He mumbled with a laugh. Again he patted you on the back and pushed himself off the fence. “Think about it clearly.” He then walked off, somewhere towards Maria and some other adults.

Again, you and Gemini were left alone together.

You couldn’t help but think about what Jesse brought up earlier. What did he mean by that? You’re not sure how to process what he meant. Either you were completely clueless- or Jesse tried to be all wise but failed.

“Y/n! Come over here.” You heard Maria’s voice, which broke you from your trance. You left Gemini tied to the post as you walked over to Maria and some other people. Mila and Benji smirk at you as you walk closer. Mila and Benji are your close friends and have been for a while. Though you haven’t seen them lately because of work. Everyone is extra busy lately. Mostly.

“Look who finally decided to join us.” Benji remarked as he wrapped his arm around you once you were close. He pulled you closer and walked towards Maria’s table that was used for placing maps for patrol.

You pushed him off of you gently and made a grossed out face at him. “You really stink, Benji. When was the last time you took a shower?”

Benji only smiled and raised his left arm up to smell his armpit and his clothes too. “It’s my natural musk, all the ladies love it.”

You and Mila looked at each other simultaneously. It was as if you were on the same wavelength. Both of your rolled your eyes at him. “As a lady, i will be speaking for everyone when i say you smell nasty.” Mila exposed truthfully while crossing her arms on her chest.

“Hold up, you’re not a lady, you’re a brute.”

“Oh, i’m the brute? You haven’t taken a proper shower in weeks. Jumping into lakes and rivers don’t count.”

“Says who? It’s more natural,”

“More like nasty.”

You ignored the two bickering idiots and moved closer to the table where Maria was. “What were you thinking Maria?” You asked, looking down at the map of the area. It stretched out for miles.

She looked up at you. “Have you ever done the urban trails? It leads up to the dam checkpoint.”

You shook your in response. “I haven’t. Do you want me to take that route? You should pair me up with someone who’s done that trail then.”

There’s a lot of trails, so there are at least 10 or 15 trails you’ve never done before. These type of trails are the longer routes. The reason you haven’t done those routes is because Tommy isn’t that confident in you to take on the longer routes.

But now it was different, not only are you older but more capable of handling yourself more than anyone.

“You’re right…” Maria paused, she was thinking, trying to slowly put some pieces together. “But there isn’t anyone on duty right now who knows the trails that i can think of.”

Jesse’s head perked up at what she said, smirking at you from across the table. He was right next to Maria like always. She trusts him a lot because he was also a natural leader. “Actually, Ellie knows that trail.”

You instinctively felt your heartbeat start to speed up, and your face started to warm up at his insinuation. You knew what he was doing. “Ellie and Dina are already planning on running their routes on chestnut drive. I can take a group and we’ll figure it out together.” You intervened, giving Jesse a look that said, ‘shut up’.

“No, Jesse is right. You and Ellie can take the urban trails. It’ll be much faster with you two clearing that area. We can’t send a group to one trail- especially not now when we’ve been getting reports of infected in the southern territories- the opposite direction of urban trails.”

You sighed, knowing that her words were always final. You scratched the back of your neck- feeling an inch. “I’ll go let Ellie know. Jesse talk to Dina.” You give him another glare and just he smiled, sending a wink your way.

You turned around, looking over at where Cat and Ellie were still talking. Lately, things have been awkward between you two. It may have something to do with the fact that you maybe- just maybe that you were avoiding her.

It didn’t really matter, Ellie hasn’t noticed anything differently anyways. Or so you assumed.

“Ellie!” At the sound of your voice she quickly turned away from her girlfriend. She dropped Cats hands and fully turned to face you. Her full attention was now on you. But of course, you didn’t notice that either. “Assignments! Let’s go, kiss your girlfriend goodbye and get your ass on shimmer!”

It was getting easier to hide your feelings, even your distain for the couple and how you felt about Ellie.

“Fuck… Alright, just give me a minute!”

You gave her a thumbs up, and turned away. You walked towards your horse, seeing Jesse waiting there for you. He must have finished talking with Dina. He held out a hunting rifle and a shotgun towards you. He looked between both guns. “Which one do you prefer?” He questioned.

You smiled, looking at both guns. “Quite the tough question, Jes.”

Ellie walked up behind you, looking right over your shoulder. She was so close to you. Your breathe hitched lightly as she observed both guns. “I think you’re more of a rifle girl. It suits you more than a shotgun.”

Jesse grinned, and his eyes sparkled for a moment when you looked at him. He then nodded, agreeing with what Ellie had said. “That settles that then.” He held the rifle for you to take, which you did. Jesse then passed the shotgun to Ellie.

With the help of the sling, you tossed the rifle over your shoulder. Ellie was staring at you, trying desperately to get your attention without having to say anything but you were occupied with Gemini once again. She sighed, and decided to just start the conversation.

“So… Where have you been lately? I haven’t seen you around, not even in the mess hall.” Ellie hesitated but walked over to Gemini’s mane. You were by his saddle, and when you stared into her eyes it felt like it was only you and her. Instinctively, your eyes trailed from her eyes to her lips. You couldn’t help it. She was so close. Ellie shyly looked down at her hands as she continued to mess with Gemini’s mane. “I’ve uh… Missed hanging out with you. We still haven’t finished our halo campaign.”

You bit the inside of you cheek, and decided that laughing nervously would help ease your nerves. “Yeah, i’m sorry about that. I asked Maria for more assignments since… You know, i have nothing better to do.”

Ellie wanted to say something but held her tongue. She wanted to say something to continue your conversation but you interrupted her instead. “Listen, Maria wants you and me to handle the urban trails. Pretty sure we have to replace Danny and Axel at the dam checkpoint …”

“You and i,” Ellie corrected suddenly, making you stare at her in disbelief and confusion. She gave you a smirk. “You said ‘you and me’ but that isn’t proper grammar.”

You rolled your eyes playfully at her. “Fuck off, Williams. Did you even listen to a word i said?”

“So, we’re back to last names? Since when?”

“Since you decided to be a grammar queen, you dick.”

“Woah! Language, there are children around, L/n!”

“The only child i see is you.” You replied with a happy smile on your face. You and Ellie climbed on your horses and waited by the gates. Ellie continue to talk to you like nothing was wrong- well, not like she knew if there was something wrong anyways. You kept stuff to yourself.

You missed this. You missed hanging out with Ellie. You just… Missing having her by your side, kicking the worlds ass together but now… Ellie was with Cat. Her relationship put a wedge on your friendship. You felt farther away to Ellie then ever.

Everything has changed. Which sucked because you weren’t sure how to deal with the changes. It was all going by so fast. You just wished everything was different. It was selfish of you but… You didn’t care.

“Y/n, you with me?” Ellie snapped you out of your thoughts. She looked back at you as the gates opened.

You nodded. “Always.”

#ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #reader insert #the last of us part two #jesse tlou #dina tlou #maria tlou #tommy tlou #joel miller #tlou2 ellie

94 notes · View notes

parkers-gal · 4 years ago

Note

hey honey! how are you doing?

i was wondering if you could write something where the reader is either tom or harrison’s sister, around 19-20 years old, and she hears her brother talking bad about her behind her back and she gets distant towards them and her brother realizes how much he’s missing out on (her first boyfriend and stuff like that)

sorry if it’s long or if you don’t wanna write it lol it was just an idea!!

don’t be sorry! i loved this! also doing pretty good :-)

i didn’t really understand what was in the ending parentheticals so i hope this is what you wanted!

wc: 1.7k

—

Being the established girl in a group of four boys meant a lot of things. Often, you were confused as a girlfriend to whichever boy you were accompanying, aside from your brother, of course. There was a lot of territory that came with being close family-friends with the Holland family. Especially since your brother used to be Tom’s assistant. It was expected, though, because they had been close friends growing up, especially since being in the same grade.

You were younger, which meant you were in between ages for the twins and Paddy. You didn’t consider yourself too young for them, though, and found yourself in the presence of the boys for most of your time.

Today, however, you were with your friend Aisha, walking around the shops. She had to leave unexpectedly early, so you parted ways. You came into the house quietly, setting a few things as you silently made your way into the kitchen. It wasn’t actually your house, but you practically spent all of your time there anyways. You heard voices coming from the den. Though you knew it was wrong, you halted in announcing your arrival, choosing to listen in on what they seemed to be joking around about.

“Finally got ‘er off your back, huh mate?” You heard Tom’s voice, followed with joined laughter from everyone else. Your mind wandered, thinking maybe Harrison had a girl he was interested in, though he never brought that up, so you stayed quiet to hear more.

“Yeah. Out with Aisha or whatever.”

Your eyes widened as the realization dawned on you. You purse your lips and think not to assume anything just yet.

“That her only her friend?”

“Honestly,” Harrison laughs in agreement. “Mum said to be a good older brother but I’m tired of playing babysitter.” They all laugh again and you will yourself not to burst into anger — or worse: cry. “She’s gotta grow up or something.”

“Mate.” Tom snickers. “She needs a life. The boys are a tight circle; can’t let no baby sister in on that.”

“Yeah,” Harry’s voice pops in. “Who else would we spill disgusting secrets to?” They laugh seemingly in universal knowledge.

“Anyways,” Tom settles down. “Good thing we finally got the superior Osterfield alone, for once.”

You abandon your station near the kitchen door and speed walk out the other swing door. You pick your bags up quietly, making for a quick escape as your tears attempt the same. You’re almost done putting your shoes on when Sam comes down the stairs, brows furrowed while he wipes his damp hands on the front of the shirt. You curse in realizing he was probably in the bathroom.

“Y/N? Everything okay?”

“Uh…” You glance to the hallway that leads to the kitchen, wearily hoping nobody comes out. “Yeah, just uh… forgot I had to do something. I’ll see you later.”

You quickly make your way out of the house, shoving everything into your car while you can, starting the engine with great speed. Sam was in the middle of saying something else to you on your wait out, but he never got around to finishing because you were already out of the door.

He didn’t mention anything to the boys, trusting that you were okay and that you did actually have something to do.

That night, you tried not to cry yourself to sleep in your small apartment, one you shared with Aisha. When you woke the next morning, she wanted to go to the skating rink for some fun, so you agreed, eating breakfast before showering. You spent the entire day there, really, and let your phone in a rented locker, ignoring the texts from a few of the boys asking if you wanted to come over for a movie and some pizza.

When you did have the chance to reply — over five hours later — you gave them scarce replies in the main group chat, apologizing without much sorrow. From their end, they shook it off, knowing you probably just had other plans that specific day. The five of you were planning on going to the golfing course tomorrow, so you’d get time together then.

But they were wrong, because you cancelled on them, simply stating that “golf isn’t your mood, today.” They’d accepted that, but Harry knew that was bullshit, because half of the fun of golfing was competing with you.

They tried not to think much of your absence while they were on the field, but it was weird and awfully quiet without you. They’d figured it might be different throughout the week, but they were still wrong. You were with other people throughout the week while you could be, and it only made it worse for the boys because you were posting it all over your social media. Not in a flaunting manner, but just for the aesthetics. They didn’t find it very pleasing, though.

Harrison knew something was off, knew you didn’t normally just start ghosting people unless you had a real reason. He intended on figuring out what that reason was, and Tom was hell bent on learning it too. They drew up a plan to get you to come over, telling you they had a few of your missing things. You complied, figuring you’d have to face them at some point.

Strolling up to the house for the first time in ten days, you opened the door as casually as you could, only to be met with four pairs of eyes staring in your directions from seats in the open living room.

“Uhm,” You cleared your throat. “Where’s my stuff?” Tom wordlessly points to a bag on the head of the couch, and you pick it up wearily, sifting through it while you hummed. “Thanks, I’ll just take this and get out of your hair.”

“Well, wait-” Tom stands abruptly. “Why… why don’t you hang out for a bit?”

“I mean… do you want to?” The tone in which you speak catches him off guard for all of ten seconds before each of the boys are nodding their heads.

“Of course we do.” Harrison smiles and you nod wearily.

“Okay.”

However, you don’t make any move in settling down for the long run, and Tom huffs. “What’s going on here?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re avoiding us!” Harry concludes. “Why?”

You clear your throat, looking at your feet while your tongue clicks. “I, uhm, I heard you guys talking the other day.”

Harrison raises his eyebrows as a silent message for you to elaborate a little.

“You said you were tired of babysitting me, so I gave you guys some space.” They all physically defeat and you begin to defend yourself. “I just thought it’s what you wanted! You don’t have to explain.” You’re unknowingly beginning to tear up, and they all know it before you do.

“I think we should talk.”

“No, I- uhm…” You glance out the window to your car. “I should really get going.”

“No!” Harry pleads with you. “We just… we miss you.”

You stop short in your tracks, turning around slowly. “Well I don’t really think you get to. Not after what I heard.”

“That’s not fair, Y/N/N, and you know it.” Harrison’s stern with you, and you can feel the tension beginning to set nicely like a creamer.

“None of this is really fair for me, so why should it be fair for you?” You point a finger up in their direction while you shrug offendedly. “I mean, if you’re gonna say one thing don’t act like you don’t mean it.”

“But we didn’t,” Harrison says.

“Really, we didn’t. It was a stupid thing to say.” Tom adds on.

“Yeah, we’d never say it knowing you were there.”

“Oh, but you’d say it if I wasn’t around?” You’re making this more difficult, you realize, but you don’t much care, because when feelings get hurt, things get difficult, and you’ve come to terms with that.

“That’s not what I meant.” Harrison crosses his arm.

“No, but that’s what you implied.” You jab him back with your next words.

“Stop making this hard.” He’s reminding you of what things were like when you were young and arguments were regular.

“I’m not the one that started this.” You huff angrily, hand finally gripping the handle of the front door, swinging it open and slamming it harshly with an “I’ll see you all around.”

Tom blinks, glancing to Harrison in question on what to do next. Harrison sighs and so does Harry.

“I saw her leaving that day she heard you guys.” Sam speaks calmly, almost nervously. “She was- uh… she was crying.” “Oh jesus.” Tom groans, hands running through his curls. “We made her cry, Haz.”

“I know, I know.” He speaks hastily. “C’mon, I know what to do.” He picks his coat up, opening the front door as the rest of the boys follow him out.

You’re coming home that night after spending the rest of your day at the country club with some friends. You’re alone, of course, expecting to eat dinner with Aisha, though the two of you normally dine separately because you’re always with the boys and she’s always with her girlfriend. Things are different now, though.

As you open the door to your flat, you expect to find it dark and empty, but you’re met with your favorite take out meal and four very sorry boys, a large teddy bear sitting on the couch for you. You drop your bags and glance at each of them.

“What’s all this?”

“We’re really, really, really sorry.” Harrison steps forward with an apologetic smile and three DVD disks in his hands, all of your favorite movies. “But me especially. I love having you around… even if you are my baby sister.” You slap his arm playfully and he laughs. You let a smile creep onto your face at his demeanor. “We really missed you this past week.”

You nodded, fiddling with your fingers. “It just… hurt. You broke the one rule I thought…. The rule I thought we all swore to keep.”

“I know.” He sighs, looking at the boys as everyone says it simultaneously. “The circle before yourself.”

You’d seemingly all established it during your first all-nighter as a group of five. You vowed to put them before your own silly ego or public facade. Obviously, some things are harder for others.

“Can you ever forgive me?”

“Can you ever forgive us?” Tom speaks up, eyes deep.

You smile softly, voice laced with feelings. “Of course I can.” You don’t miss the smiles that break out onto their faces, and when everyone comes in for a group hug, they know things are going to be okay.

read the spinoff! - circles before yourselves - rule #2

#harrison osterfield x reader #tom holland x reader #tom holland fic #harrison osterfield fic #harrison osterfield fanfic #tom holland fanfic #tom holland angst #harrison osterfield angst #peter parker #harry holland #osterfield!reader #tom holland x osterfield!reader #reader fic #reader

292 notes · View notes

realcube · 4 years ago

Photo

'you're..you're wearing that-' he hesitated, swallowing the lump forming in his throat, 'for me?'

navi | taglist | nsfw part two

summary ➵ on your first date with tamaki, he’s already wondering why you romanticise a guy like himself

content warning ➵ reader wear make-up, a dress and the accessories pictured above, very insecure! tamaki, mild angst & fluff

credit ➵ thank you to @suneater18 for the request and the pics belongs to hippieartesanatos

the moonlight penetrated through the sombre clouds which waved overhead, creating a picturesque night sky for you to admire on your date; as if the heavens were smiling down upon you, congratulating you for scoring such a nice guy.

well, at least, that is what you would’ve thought if your date was sooner to start. currently, you were shuffling on a park bench, fidgeting with your phone as your eyes flickered between the screen and the gorgeous sight above you, anticipating when your date will finally arrive so you can admire it together.

however, twenty minutes had passed since nine o’clock — the time you had both agreed to meet each other at — yet you were still sitting alone, tamaki no where to be seen. what make it even worse was that he was ghosting all your messages and calls.

perhaps it was the first-date jitters speaking but there was a voice lurking in the back of your head, whispering that you have been stood-up. however, you were too ashamed to just get up and leave now, so you figured that you may as well call your friend and ask them to join you.

your eyes burned with tears which you choked back as your fingers worked on their own to search your contacts for your friend’s number. there was a part of you that believed you were being to hasty but you truly couldn’t bare to just sit here and act ‘hopeful’ any longer. with shaky hands, you tapped your friend’s contact as your thumb hovered over the phone icon.

“(y/n)!”

you froze upon hearing your name called from a distance, your immediate reaction being to whip your head around to see who — or what — was in such desperate need of your attention that they were willing to yell your name from half-way across the park.

and of course, it was none other than tamaki amajiki himself; dashing towards you at full-speed in a torn suit, muddy shoes and..his hair seemed to be unevenly cut. he wore a determined yet petrified expression as he came hurdling in your direction, a single stray tentacle dragging behind him as he ran.

a smile of both confusion and relief tugged at your lips, the pads of your fingers dabbing lightly under your eyes to rid of any puffy skin or dampness while simultaneously ensuring that you wouldn’t mess up your lashes or eyeshadow.

“tama! you’re here!” you squealed, your hands automatically clasping together in excitement as he approached the bench, about to fall into the seat beside you due to how tired he was but pausing as he watched you spring to your feet and open your arms for a hug. his lips slowly curled into a weak smile, his expression softening and he didn’t waste a single second before throwing his arms around you, pulling you in for as tight of a hug that his worn biceps would allow him to.

despite the fact he reeked of an ungodly amount of body spray, you still basked his embrace since this is the moment you spent the last three hours or so preparing for. you were quite shocked at how shabby he looked but you decided against questioning it, out of courtesy. but on the bright side, it really made you feel better about the outfit you had spent hours styling, yet you were still not completely sure about.

tamaki suddenly pulled away from the hug so he could fall back onto the bench, letting out a hefty sigh and momentarily zoning out in order to catch his breath. you weren’t too sure whether it was appropriate to giggle or pout at the sight so you chose to not do either and instead, just awkwardly stand and stare at him.

a sharp inhale was all tamaki needed before he was finally able to sit up slightly and bow his head, folding his hands to you before blurting out, “i am so sorry i’m late, (y/n)!” and before you could even get a word in, he began his breathless explanation, “i got a small tear in my shirt and mirio said he’ll fix it but he made it even worse. then nejire said she’ll style my hair but she only knew a few male styles and said my hair was too long and before i could say anything she was chopping away at my hair-- and somehow mirio’s dog got ahold of my suit and it made the tears even worse! i was so stress and y’know when i’m stressed i stress-eat, so i began eating fish snacks and before i even knew what was going on, it was nine o’clock. so i ran here as fast as i could and i tried to manifest tentacles to help me move faster but it turns out i didn’t eat enough fish snacks so i only have one tentacle and i can’t even move it properly- look!”

the fact he said all of that in seemingly one breath left you stunned in place, with you eyes fixated on his rapidly moving lips until they instinctively shifted onto his single tentacle, laying dejected by his feet until it started squirming around. however, that was all it seemed capable of doing — squirming.

“uuh,” you hummed, trying your best to stifle a snicker as tamaki was clearly in genuine destress. “it’s fine, tama! i was a bit worried that you wouldn’t show but it doesn’t matter, you’re here now so let’s focus on that.”

your words somewhat calmed him down as his shoulders visibly relaxed, his red eyes tearing off the concrete ground to meet your kind gaze. a slight gasp escaped his lips as he noticed how gorgeous your make-up was, but before he could utter a compliment, his eyes went further downwards as he tried to process the whole of your outfit.

his cheeks immediately burned red at the sight; your stunning purple dress, shimmering heels and matching crystal accessories which were evidently worn to complement his own aesthetic. a certain piece which he was drawn to, was the golden, gemmed ear cuff you wore with pointed tips to form a similar shape to his own ears — one of his biggest physical insecurities.

“you look..” tamaki mused, momentarily cutting himself off to think of a word that would do you justice, “perfect.” his voice was hushed, hardly above a whisper but you were still able to make out what he said and a sheepish grin crept onto your features.

“thank you, baby!” you chirped, perking up slightly and giving him a little twirl, causing a burst of red to explode on his cheeks which he was quick to try cover with his hands. it was moments like these when he wished that hoodies were first-date appropriate, that way he could just sink back into his hood and pretend he doesn’t exist.

“you look really nice too.” there was nothing wrong with a little white lie every now and again. however, it wasn’t even said with the intent of being a lie as you secretly thought that the scruffiness kinda suited tamaki, like, he looked badass! like your prince charming who accidentally fell into a ditch.

your compliment didn’t help the increasing temperature of tamaki’s cheeks either, causing him to slump farther back in his seat as he muttered garbled speech under his breath. it took a good few seconds but eventually he was able to peer at you with a single eye through the inbetweens of his fingers, “a-and i like your little ear cuff thing.

everything he said only widened your beam and make you feel more giddy, to the point where you were practically bounced in place, “thanks, tama! i saw it and immediately thought of you, so i bought it.” you stifled a squeal at how observant tamaki was being, praising all the small details of your attire which you thought would go unnoticed. “i decided to wear it today because remember how you showed me the tie you bought for our date?” you explained, vaguely gesturing at said tie which hung in tatters around his neck, “yeah, so, i thought we could match.”

it took him a few moments to process what you just said and while his brain was running on overdrive, you were met by his rapid blinking and frozen stature. having known tamaki for a while now, you knew how this was a fairly common occurrence when was truly stunned by something, so you allowed him some time in silence to consolidate.

“so..” he started, trembling hand dropping from his face and onto his lap so you could see his whole bashful appearance. his gaze seemed to be trained on the floor, until he finally looked up to reveal the twinkle in his eyes, “you’re..you’re wearing that-” he hesitated, swallowing the lump forming in his throat, “for me?”

the thought that you were ashamed to be with him was something that constantly taunted him from the back of this mind. you were heavenly in a way that his words simply could not describe, though that didn’t stop him from trying. it was beyond him how a person as divine as yourself would even give him the time of day; let alone insist that he was beautiful, leave encouraging notes in his locker, comfort him when he shows even the smallest sign of being upset, give him praise on all the thing he was insecure about and so much more.

when he looked in the mirror, he did not see what you see. he viewed his ears as creepy and not a feature he should put on display, hence a part of the many reasons why he’s so fond of his hood. but here you were, all dolled up in his favourite colour just to showcase that you were with him. your ears decorated with pretty cuffs that made them look a similar shape to his, at first glance.

when he’d walk beside you through the corridors of the school or under the shade of the trees in the park, he’d feel the eyes of jealous passersby burn holes through his skin; despite the fact you weren’t even dating him yet, people just hated seeing a guy like himself by your side, apparently.

he stopped eating before meeting up with you so he wouldn’t have any weird manifestation that could draw attention to himself. he started wearing his hood up at all times so people wouldn’t judge him for his elven ears. he refused to touch you just in case people thought you were dating and became envious of him, which would quickly turn to hatred.

so why would you want to look like him? why would you want people to know that you are on a date with him? why did you act proud to be with him?

you quirked a brow at how confounded he sounded, thinking over your answer with a hum; you wore this outfit for tamaki and yourself because you thought it was pretty and it suited you. however, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that there was no need to give tamaki the full truth right now so instead you allowed him to enjoy his rare surge of confidence by replying with simply, “yeah, for you.”

you weren’t going to be surprised that he was flattered, by now you were well aware that tamaki held all your opinions on him in high esteem so that’s why you always tried to be as nice to him as possible — that, and it was just in your nature to be kind towards him when he’s been nothing but respectful to you back.

however, what you didn’t expect was to hear faint sobs from behind his hands and watch as crystalline tears poured escaped from the inbetweens of his fingers, racing down the back of his hands. “tamaki..” you murmured, reluctantly taking a seat next to him to wrap your arms around, rubbing comforting circles in his shoulders like you usually did when he was sad. although, you weren’t even completely sure that he was disheartened by your statement.

“i’m sorry.” you spoke in a hushed voice, leaning in close to his neck until your nose brushed against his skin, resulting in him tilting his head so it rested upon yours. “are you okay?”

“please don’t apologise.” he croaked, stifling his snivels to try show that he wasn’t upset. “you did nothing wrong. in fact, you’ve done everything right. i’m the one who’s been messing up.” he felt your hand ghost over his own and without a second thought, he intertwined his finger with your own, freeing his other palm to place it on your shoulder and exposing his pale, tear-stained face is the process.

“i know it’s hard but you should tell me what’s on your mind, tamaki.” you hummed, gently caressing the back of his hand with your thumb and planting a kiss on the damp skin of his cheek. his cologne was still suffocating strong but if you were to die, it would ideally be while cuddled up to him, under the celestial night sky.

opening up had never been an easy task for tamaki; especially about a subject that concerned his physical appearance and emotions. but there was a knot in his chest that would simply come undone when he was with you. he couldn’t explain it, but all the barriers and walls he had established to avoid getting his feeling hurt or heart broken would come crashing down whenever he was with you. perhaps it was a familiarity, maybe it was your reassuring presence or might just be pure love and adoration.

either way, he found him himself babbling on about anything and everything that bothered him with little regard for his own pride or secrecy, he voiced every thought that came to his mind in the moment. he told you just about it all — all his problems and insecurities —and you listened, offering him encouragement whenever he’d cut himself off, saying something along the lines of, ‘i-i’ll stop now, i sound silly’ or ‘you’re probably tired of hearing me prattle on’. though, of course you didn’t want him to stop until he had gotten everything off his chest as it was a rare sight for him to talk for such lengths at a time so the last thing you wanted to do was discourage him.

“i just..” tamaki stammered, coming to the end of his passionate ramble, “don’t understand why you want to be seen with me, let alone wear those.” he raised his shaky hand from your shoulder to gesture to your ear cuffs, “don’t get me wrong, they look cute on you, but i just don’t get why you’d want to have ears that look like mine.”

“because yours are beautiful!”

he winced at the compliment and at how sincere you sounded, “well, i’m glad you think that, (y/n).” he muttered, not even having to finish his statement as the dejection in his voice made it obvious that he did not view himself in the same light. his gaze dropped to his feet which were shuffling uncontrollably, “i don’t know why i’m making such i big deal about this. aren’t you annoyed?”

your let go of his hands only to slip them around his neck and pull him into your embrace, you felt him tense up in your arms but slowly allow himself to relax his cheek onto your shoulder. “i’m not annoyed, baby. i get what you mean and it’s horrible that you feel that way.” all tamaki could do would tick his tongue in agreement.

“i know i tell you this all the time but i honestly think you’re so attractive, inside and out. i was so excited when you agreed to date me, i could’ve died of happiness on the spot!” you chirped, momentarily jerked your head backwards so you could peck the tip of his nose, giggling as he scrunched his face up cutely at the sudden touch.

your angelic laugh rung through tamaki’s head, forcing his lips into a smile as he gawked at your adorable action. “i love you..” tamaki uttered, raising his voice ever so slightly to ensure that you heard what he said, “so much.” thanks to you, his sobs were now just mere sniffles into the crook of your neck.

you inhaled sharply, eyes-widening at his words; you would’ve never thought he would be the first on to say ‘i love you’, but you were far from disappointed, in fact you felt yourself melting further into his touch.

you felt his grip on you tighten, his breathing slowly retuning to it’s regular pace as he squeezed his eyes shut, cancelling out all his other senses so he could focus on the way your body felt against his own.

he wanted to be confident. he wanted to take pride in himself for you. he was tired of restless nights filled with tears due to his worries berating him for simply existing in your presence.

it wasn’t going to be easy but he needed to start acting on everything you said. because eventually, it wouldn’t just be for you, it’d be for himself.

and of course, it didn’t go unnoticed by you when he started wearing his hood less often, when he began holding his head up higher as he walks by your side, the way he now shoots warm smiles at people who try to glare at him.

and five years later, how he didn’t bat an eye at deadly glare that the waiter — that had been subtly flirting with you all night — shot at him as he got down on one knee, in front of the whole restaurant.

#amajiki x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #amajiki fluff #amajiki x y/n #bnha x y/n #amajiki tamaki x reader #bnha tamaki #mha tamaki #bnha x you #bnha fluff #tamaki fluff #tamaki x you #tamaki x reader #bnha x gender neutral reader #mha fluff #tamaki amajiki #mha amajiki #amajiki x you

230 notes · View notes

theres-an-impulstor-among-us · 4 years ago

Note

I give you a lot of angsty requests, so here, have a fluffy one!

Among Us: Through some glitch, a round generates with no impostors. For the first little while everyone is really on edge and trying to accuse each other, but they soon realize that nobody is dying and relax, although they're still very confused. Everybody does their tasks as normal, but instead of completing the last task, they all build a big pillow fort under the admin table and just take a rest for a little bit, hanging out and laughing over previous games and just being together without the tension of possible death and betrayal over their heads. Many stories are told, many "bodies" of friends knocked over in pillow fights are "reported", and many memories are made, before they finally decide to end the round! 💙

okay so this request was MEGA detailed so i didn’t get to every single part of it but i hope this is just as good lol

also bring on the angst I DARE YOU /lh

…

A weird feeling in his stomach, Etho presses the emergency meeting button, teleporting everybody to the table. Once everyone is assembled, Etho realises something strange.

“Okay, there’s been no deaths,” he says slowly.

“Wh- Seriously?!” Tango gasps. “That round lasted, like, twenty YEARS! Half the tasks have been done!”

Etho frowns. “Nobody’s seen anything suspicious, or…? No venting?”

Everybody shakes their heads.

“Okay… I guess we’ll skip, then. Everyone keep an eye out, though.”

When the meeting comes to an end, Etho trots after Tango as the latter heads towards weapons. “Hey, Tango? Does something seem a little off about this round to you?”

“Yeah. We’re a bunch of idiots who can barely play this game on a good day - except you, of course,” he adds, “but it’s definitely weird that we went that long without a single kill. The imposters must be really slow for some reason.”

Etho considers this. “Maybe. I’m not convinced.”

He leaves Tango’s side and peels off into navigation as Tango keeps going. After finishing his download, he goes back up and does his task in O2, before heading back to cafeteria to finish wires.

After this, he realises there still hasn’t been a body reported so he catches Astro as the latter enters cafeteria. “Hey, Astro. Can you hit the button for me?”

“Oh, sure.”

Astro presses the emergency meeting button, bringing everyone back to the table. Etho’s suspicions are confirmed when he sees that everybody is still alive.

“Okay, I’m sorry to call you back here, but we need to talk,” Etho says. “There’s something wrong with this round and we may have to abandon it.”

“What do you mean?” Skizz asks confusedly. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s been over three minutes and there’s been no kills or sabotages. I apologise if I’m not correct, but I just have a feeling that there’s something wrong. If you’re the imposter, please raise your hand now.”

Nobody moves.

“This isn’t a trick,” Etho adds. “I’m sorry if I’m ruining someone’s imposter round, but I’m genuinely a little concerned that the game has gone wrong.”

“I’ll support you on that,” says Tango. “Etho knows about this stuff. If he’s worried about the game glitching out, I’ll take that seriously. I’m not the imposter, but if anyone else is, I’d advocate coming forward just to make sure nothing’s wrong.”

After a moment, a chorus of murmurs comes from the others, all confirming that none of them are the imposter.

“Okay, so it seems the game has glitched and generated a round with no imposters somehow,” Etho says. “No need to panic; if we all finish our tasks and win the round, it should take us back to the lobby like normal.”

“But do we have to do that, though?” asks Impulse. “Tasks are almost done and there’s no imposters, so why don’t we just hang out a bit, without the threat of death?”

“I’m down for that,” says Endless unexpectedly. “I’ve always wanted to build a pillow fort in admin. The table looks perfect for it.”

“You mean out of pillows like these?” Joker holds up a pillow that he seemingly pulled from out of nowhere. “Hey, Skizz?”

Skizz turns. “What’s u-”

Joker whacks him in the face with the pillow.

“GAAAH!” Skizz shrieks, tripping over his own foot. “What the hell?!”

Clutching the pillow by its corner, Joker doubles over with laughter. “Oh my gosh, your FACE!”

“Okay, that’s it. Imposter or no imposter, I’m gonna murder you.”

Skizz snatches the pillow out of Joker’s hand and swings it at him, but Joker dodges and takes off running down the hallway towards storage, giggling like a child. Unable to help a laugh of his own, Skizz pursues him.

“Where did he even get that?” snickers Tango.

“Same place I got mine,” Endless says, holding up an identical white pillow. “Medbay.”

Brody tries to hold in a laugh. “Endless, I’ll give you a high five if you hit Tango with that pillow right now.”

Endless considers this for a moment.

Tango gives him a warning look. “Don’t. Endless, I swear to-.”

He cuts himself off and ducks as Endless swings the pillow at him, but before he can do it again, Endless brings it back round and whacks him in the side of the head, causing him to let out a yelp.

Laughing uncontrollably, Brody holds up his hand for a high five, which Endless gleefully gives him. “I like this,” he says happily. “I feel cool.”

“Endless, you’re starting something you can’t finish,” Tango warns.

“Then you finish it,” says Impulse unexpectedly, appearing out of nowhere to hand Tango a pillow of his own.

A grin slowly spreads over Tango’s face.

Endless blinks. “Oh. I’m in trouble.”

On the other side of the room, Etho glances sharply over as he hears a THWACK sound and finds Tango and Endless whacking each other viciously with pillows. He chuckles to himself and continues looking through the game’s code.

After a while, Brody approaches him. “Hey Etho, we’re gonna go build a pillow fort in admin. You should come join us.”

“Thanks, but I gotta work through this code.”

“You can do that in the lobby later. C’mon, we’ve got a once-in-a-lifetime thing here. This glitch will probably never happen again. Let’s have some fun on this map while we have the chance.”

After a moment, Etho nods and lets Brody take him into admin, where Mrs Tango and Astro are already piling cushions in the middle of the room.

“Is this what we do when we think the game might’ve gone wrong?” Etho chuckles. “Build pillow forts?”

“I mean, we may as well,” Brody responds. “Right? What else can we do?”

“Finish our tasks and end the round.”

“Where’s the fun in that, though?” says Astro from the floor.

As Etho opens his mouth to respond, Joker bursts into the room and dives behind Etho, who spins round to find Skizz skidding to a halt outside admin. “Where is he?!” he snaps, panting heavily. “I’m gonna kill that idiot!”

“What’s going on?” Brody demands. “Who are you talking about?”

“JOKER! He said my mohawk looks like a dead bush!”

Relaxing, Brody rolls his eyes. “Oh no. How terrible. He’s a MONSTER. We’d better throw him out the airlock right now.”

“Sarcasm duly noted,” Skizz huffs. “Where IS Joker, anyway?”

Brody jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Hiding under the admin table.”

“Brodyyyyy!” comes Joker’s muffled voice.

Skizz walks into the room and takes note of the group of people setting up the pillows and blankets over the top of the admin table. “So what’s going on here? Boy scout sleepover?”

“Yup,” Astro responds with a grin. “Do you have a problem with that?”

After a moment, Skizz shakes his head. “Nope. Can I borrow a cushion to hit Joker in his stupid face?”

“No,” says Astro firmly.

“Can I suffocate him in a blanket?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Can you relax and stop being a stupid schoolteacher for ten seconds?”

“Not if it means letting you try to kill Joker.”

“C’mon, I’m not ACTUALLY gonna kill him,” complains Skizz. “There’s no imposters this round, remember.”

“Mhm.”

Within five minutes, everyone is huddled under the blanket fort over the admin table, using a rusty lantern as a light source. It’s fairly roomy inside the makeshift tent, but the ten people are still sitting fairly close together.

“So now what?” Brody asks after a while. “Are we gonna talk about something?”

“How about we discuss what kind of dead bush Skizz’s hair looks like?” Joker asks innocently.

Skizz responds to this by whacking Joker in the face with a pillow, knocking him over backwards.

“Oh, report the body!” Tango yelps with a grin. “Skizz did it! Skizz did it!”

This causes the whole group to laugh, even Etho. After many rounds of chaos and suspicion, it’s nice to be able to joke around and relax a bit.

“How does it feel, huh?” Skizz smirks. “How does it feel to be hit with a taste of your own PILLOW?”

“Honestly, I deserved that.”

“Yeah you did.”

Joker yanks Skizz down next to him, grinning. “Shut up.”

A short pause follows this.

“This is the only round we’re gonna get like this, isn’t it?” asks Evil.

Etho nods. “Should be. Why?”

“Dunno. It just feels nice to just hang out with you all as a group and be happy. I love you guys so much.”

“I hate you,” Endless murmurs. “I hate you all.”

Immediately, the two people on either side of him grab him in a simultaneous hug. “Well too bad, cuz we love you,” Astro responds with a smile. “Grumpiness and all.”

A low groan comes from Endless, but everyone can see the hint of a smile on his face.

Etho sits back against the wall and gazes around at his friends. Mrs Tango is resting her head on Tango’s shoulder. Astro and Evil are still hugging and teasing Endless. Brody and Impulse are quietly chuckling together about something. Joker and Skizz have fallen asleep with the tops of their heads touching.

Even though Etho isn’t with anyone in particular at this moment, he still feels connected to his friends. He’s alone but he’s not lonely. And that’s a rare thing for him.

This group really is his family.

#friday night stabby #impulsesv #tangotek #skizzleman #theendless #brodyman #evilnotion #astrozoan #mrstango #etho #misterjoker #vaunna’s requests

76 notes · View notes

mymoonagedaydream · 4 years ago

Text

Leather Jacket

Summary: Your genius business idea seemed to have attracted the wrong sort of people to your brother’s bar- at first

Pairing: Biker!Bucky Barnes x y/n

Word Count: 2.3k (one shot)

Warnings: Moderate smut, language

Author’s Note: This was supposed to be a shorter story but I got carried away :)

---

‘Same again, oh sweet goddess of the nectar.’

‘You keep that up George and I might have to take you home with me tonight.’

You smiled at the swaying, grey-bearded man supporting himself on the bar, before moving over to the beer tap and refilling his used pint glass. Most punters would get a fresh one each time, but George was never sober enough to care. Steve trudged towards you with a crate half-full of dirty glasses and dropped them on the counter exasperatedly.

‘Everything alright?’ You asked.

‘Not really.’ He leant against the counter and crossed his arms. ‘It’s the same as last night and the night before- I’m barely making ends meet. When I bought this place we had at least twice as many regulars as we do now. What am I doing wrong?’

You’d worked in your brother’s bar for three years now and you hated to admit it, but the place had gone downhill. It was clean and the booze was cheap enough, but there was no real reason for someone to stop there instead of at the three other bars on the street.

‘Maybe it’s not about what you’re doing wrong, maybe you’re just not doing enough things right...’ You were careful choosing your words, not wanting to upset him.

‘What the hell does that mean?’

‘Well, the bar down the street seems to have a little monopoly on attracting those biker guys- if we could get some of them in here we’d be sorted.’

Steve actually seemed to be considering your idea, which was new. Usually he treated you like a child.

‘I’ll think about it.’

---

When you arrived at the bar the next evening, you were taken aback by what you saw hanging in the window. A huge piece of neon-yellow card that’d been scrawled on in black marker.

‘Leather jacket = 20% off drinks’.

Christ. No subtlety there. It wasn’t exactly what you had in mind, but at least he was trying. You noticed that there were no bikes parked outside, so it must not have worked yet. Opening the door, you saw an empty bar, as usual.

‘Just give it time.’ Steve said to you at least ten times during the first two hours of your shift. ‘It’s foolproof.’

Much to your annoyance, he was right. About half an hour later you heard a chorus of motorbike engines approach the bar and then shut off simultaneously. Steve gave you an excited grin.

The door swung open and a dozen surly-looking guys in leather jackets spilled in. One of them, presumably their leader, approached the bar and asked Steve for twelve of his cheapest beers.

You glanced over at him. He was handsome- really handsome. Slicked back hair, stubble and bright blue eyes. He spoke with a pretty thick Brooklyn accent, joking with his friends whilst passing round the bottles. You only realised how inconspicuously you’d been staring when he met your eyes and gave you a knowing smirk. Whoops.

‘How soon is too soon to say I told you so?’ Steve propped himself next to you with a smug smile.

‘It’s still too soon.’ You feigned sadness, pushing past him to go on a glass run. ‘My feelings about the situation are very raw.’

Before you could move more than a few steps, Handsome stopped you in your tracks.

‘Could we get a couple more beers darlin’?’

‘Sure’ you muttered, trying to avoid the eyes of both your smug brother and the attractive stranger. When he took the bottles from your hands he smirked at you again and your stomach flipped.

Nah, you weren’t about to hook up with a random stranger at your brother’s dive bar- that’d be a terrible habit to get into. Next thing you knew you’d be waking up next to George.

You collected a couple glasses, absentmindedly humming along to the rock music that Steve played because he thought it gave the place ‘an edge’, when someone grabbed your arm. They yanked it, hard, causing you to drop the crate.

‘When you gonna marry me sweetheart?’ your captor slurred, uncomfortably close to your ear.

‘Rumlow you fuckin’ asshole, you know you’re now allowed in here anymore.’ You tried to pull your arm out of his grasp but he squeezed tighter and drew you closer to him. ‘I swear to god let me go or else-’

‘Or else what, sweetheart?’ His hot liquor breath spread all over your face. You backed away, just about to shout for Steve.

‘Or else you’ll be leaving on a stretcher.’ A gruff voice from behind you chimed in. You spun your head round. Handsome was still sitting on a bar-stool, holding his beer, but his head was turned and he was staring intently towards the two of you. Looking around, you saw that all of his leather-jacketed friends were doing the same.

Rumlow gave an indignant laugh. ‘You know who I am?’

‘I couldn’t give a fuck.’ Handsome stood up and approached the man who still had your arm grasped tightly. ‘Let her go and leave quietly, you don’t want any trouble.’

Your arm was finally released. The two of them were squaring up, you could see the shit heading towards the fan.

‘Alright guys, break it up.’ Seemingly from nowhere, Steve placed himself between them, setting a hand firmly on each of their shoulders. Neither of them broke eye contact. ‘Rumlow, you need to go.’

You barely processed what was happening, it was so fast. Rumlow swung his fist up and hit your brother right on the cheekbone. Steve stumbled backwards, and less than a second later five guys in leather jackets had Rumlow pushed up against the bar, with Handsome’s hand firmly against his neck. You sprinted towards Steve, steadying him on his feet and examining the side of his face intently.

Handsome didn’t take his eyes off his target. ‘You need him gone?’

‘That’d be great.’ Steve replied while you ushered him towards a bar-stool and found the first aid kit.

Rumlow was lifted off the ground by a cluster of leather and unceremoniously thrown onto the street outside.

Once the vigilantes had returned, Steve reached out to shake their leader’s hand. ‘Thanks for that. I appreciate you looking out for my sister. When she stops fussing she’ll grab you all a round of drinks, on the house.’

‘Anytime.’ Handsome replied, flashing you a wide smile.

The rest of your shift was, thankfully, pretty quiet. The leather jackets stayed for hours and almost bought the bar out of cheap beer. Despite the throbbing pain in his face, Steve was thrilled. If this kind of business carried on he might even be able to open a chain.

Closing time came, you grabbed your jacket and headed out, leaving Steve to happily cash up. When you opened the door you were marginally surprised that Rumlow wasn’t still lying in the gutter- he must’ve scuttled back to his cave.

It was a beautiful evening. You stood outside and took a deep breath of fresh air.

‘You need a ride home?’

Startled, you turned to your left and saw Handsome, standing by a motorcycle and finishing off a cigarette.

‘How much have you had to drink?’

He chuckled and dropped the cigarette butt. ‘Probably too much. How about I walk you home?’

‘It’s three blocks and I’ve done it every night for three years- I think I’ll be alright. Thanks anyway.’

‘Well why don’t you let me take you for a ride? Tomorrow night?’ He was persistent, you’d give him that.

‘My mother told me not to trust strange men with motorbikes.’

‘Am I a strange man?’

You smiled and turned to walk away, adding over your shoulder ‘Jury’s out.’

‘The name’s Bucky by the way.’ He shouted after you.

You didn’t look back, but you guessed that wouldn’t be the last you saw of Bucky.

---

As predicted, the leather jackets turned up at the bar again the next night, much to Steve’s delight. Bucky planted himself down on a bar stool in front of you.

‘Eleven beers and a tap water.’ He passed the beers out amongst his friends, shooting you suggestive looks over the rim of his water glass.

For the rest of the evening you fought an internal war. On the one hand, you were a grown-ass adult and you were allowed to hook up with devastatingly attractive men on motorbikes if you wanted to. On the other, you didn’t want to make a habit of hopping into bed with seasoned bar-dwellers. Christ, you wished you weren’t so susceptible to a deep voice and a good smile.

When you left, he was waiting outside for you again.

‘I’m stone-cold darlin’. How about that ride?’

‘If I say no, will you give up?’

His smile widened into a grin and you went a bit wobbly. ‘What do you think?’

‘Alright. Just to shut you up.’

You approached his motorbike, grabbing the helmet he was holding out for you. He straddled the silver machine and patted the seat behind him. Cautiously, you joined him on the bike, making an effort to keep a pretty sizeable gap between his back and your body.

‘You’ll want to hold on tight darlin’. I don’t hold back when I’m trying to impress.’

‘I think I’ll be alright.’

He gunned the engine and sped away from the bar. Less than a couple seconds after you’d set off, you found yourself swiftly closing the gap and grasping Bucky’s waist as tight as you could. He wasn’t joking about holding back. You buried your face in the back of his shoulder and felt his chest vibrating- he was laughing, obviously very pleased with himself. You stayed in that position for a while, sneaking peeks but quickly burying your face again when you saw how fast the landscape was whizzing past.

Finally, he stopped.

‘You can look now.’ He whispered over his shoulder.

Slowly lifting your head, you saw the breath-taking view. The Brooklyn Bridge, lit up and shining against the East River.

‘Holy shit.’ You whispered. Bucky laughed again.

‘Thought you’d like it. Beautiful, right?’

‘I’ve never seen it like this before, it’s incredible.’

You rested your chin on his shoulder, in awe. Both of you sat there in comfortable silence for a few minutes, bodies pressed together, feeling every breath and movement the other made. He closed his hands around yours, still resting at his midriff, and leaned his head back to look at you. You blushed, feeling his gaze resting on the side of your face.

The moment was shattered when you heard shouting coming from behind you.

‘Hey! No bikes in the park, asshole! What the hell d’you think you’re doing?’ You turned to see a dark silhouette with a flashlight sprinting towards you.

‘That’s our cue to leave.’ Bucky declared as the motorbike roared back into life and sped away. You couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Where do you live?’ He shouted over his shoulder, and you shouted the answer back.

A couple of blocks before your apartment, the heavens opened and rain battered down on the two of you. Still holding Bucky’s waist, you leaned your head back and closed your eyes- feeling the rain, the vibrations of the bike, the body pressed tight against yours. You’d never felt more alive.

When the bike stopped, you hopped off and wiped the rain away from your face. Bucky stood up and moved towards you. Both of you were drenched, both breathing heavily and not taking your eyes off each other.

He smiled, pulled you in by the waist and pressed his lips against yours.

Before you knew it, the two of you were spilling through your apartment door, mouths still locked, tearing at each other's clothes. He pulled your legs up to circle his waist and pushed your back against the inside of the door, moving his mouth down to your neck. Before you knew it you were down to just your underwear, feeling the wet fabric of his jeans scraping against your bare thighs.

‘You know’ he muttered, ‘you never even told me your name.’

You pulled his face back towards yours and, just before your mouth collided with his, you whispered, ‘y/n.’

‘Well, y/n’ he breathed between your lips, ‘where’s your bed?’

You slowly pushed him away before grabbing his wrist and tugging him towards your bedroom. Seeing the direction you were headed in, he grabbed your waist from behind and lifted you off the floor again, carrying you towards your bed. Your breath hitched and your head collapsed back onto his shoulder, your whole body going limp under his touch.

‘You like that?’ He teased, softly biting at your ear.

You were flung onto the bed. Bucky watched as you flipped onto your back and gazed up at him in anticipation. He slowly undid his belt, stepped out of his trousers and, not moving his gaze from your face, pulled his t-shirt over his head. Climbing onto the bed, he pushed your legs apart, settling himself against you and lowering his head to your chest.

Starting slow, building up your pleasure until you could barely think straight, he kissed and caressed every part of your body he could find. You occasionally heard a deep chuckle in response to your unbridled moaning, the gruffness of his voice and vibrations from his chest only sending you further into your spiral. You clawed at his back, feeling your climax approaching with every one of his increasingly vigorous movements. Feeling you come undone underneath him sent Bucky over the edge, and he collapsed onto your chest.

He rolled over onto his back, both of you panting and sweating. After he’d caught his breath, he moved in closer and snaked his arm around your shoulders, pulling you onto your side to rest against him.

‘I’ll be honest’ you smiled ‘I didn’t have you pegged as a cuddle-after-sex type guy.’

He kissed the top of your head, ‘I didn’t have you pegged as the kinda girl who’d end up in bed with a motorbike-riding stranger from a bar. Guess we’re both pleasantly surprised.’

---

478 notes · View notes

malachi-walker · 4 years ago

Note

Happy birthday, Mal! I love your fics, they evoke so much emotion in me and have made me cry many a time. I don't often reread fics, but i've reread multiple chapters of Rhythm and Blues because they're stuck with me so much. You capture the emotional pain of their trauma and the catharsis that comes with their growth so beautifully. You also write some brilliant meta and just consistently post some fantastic thoughts. Also your love for swords is very appreciated. <3 have a lovely day!

First of all, my apologies for not replying sooner. I was making my mind up about something that would definitely require the use of a read more and thus necessitate dragging myself to desktop (which I hate because my laptop predates the dinosaurs.)

But seriously. Thank you so much. This is honestly one of the sweetest comments I've ever gotten and definitely made my already pretty sweet bday even better.

So about that read more. In honor of you, @metalesbo, my friends @n7punk and @jem-jarrett and everyone else who sent me well wishes or just really loves my work... Here's the opening section of the next chapter of R&B. Enjoy. It's a long one.

Adora Eternia is about two months shy of her fourteenth birthday when she first realizes she's in love with her best friend.

Though--if asked--she would hasten to explain that it wasn't when she fell in love. But trying to pinpoint the exact moment is an exercise in catching mist: the more she tries to grasp it in her hands the more it spreads out and covers everything. It just is: pure and simple and very, very complicated.

It's the beginning of December and the whole town is covered in a thick blanket of snow. Winterfest will be here in a few weeks, so to help out the kids who want to get gifts for their friends the Right Zone administration has shuffled around the groups that usually take their monthly trips on the third and fourth Sundays of the month to double up with the other two. As part of group three, she and Catra got the first week (the other three members of their crew are week two folks anyway and thus outside the reorganization.)

It's still kinda weird to think that: their crew. For so long, it was just Catra and Adora. Adora and Catra. One unit bound together, just them against the world. But there's also something nice about being part of a small cluster, their "scrappy little lone wolf pack" as Catra had once put it with a wry grin before Lonnie shoved her over with an, "Excuse you, I'm a great people person when I'm not busy making sure you idiots haven't set yourselves on fire!"

They all got a good laugh out of that one.

But regardless, the holidays are coming up and this is the first year that any of their group has felt like actually doing anything for it, aside from wrangling together a sleepover and seeing if they can convince the kitchen staff to slip them some leftover eggnog.

They made each other promise not to go too extravagant and keep each person's gift to ten dollars or lower. Even though their quarterly stipend has increased from three hundred to four hundred to match with inflation over the past eight years, it still isn't a whole lot for three month's worth of expenses, especially when they also have to budget regularly for clothes to keep up with the seemingly endless growth spurts.

There's also the usual budgetary concern of keeping her and Catra's first aid kit well supplied...

Adora shakes her head to dislodge the intrusive thought and continues marching onward through the snow. This trip is a good thing. She won't let all the awful realities of their life taint it.

With so many kids running around and wanting to shop on their own to surprise their giftees, Right Zone had to negotiate with both the local police and whatever other civic authorities they could get ahold of to come out en masse and keep an eye on them all. The kids had still come with their usual teachers, of course, but doubling the load and also splitting up was a logistical nightmare. Which is just a convoluted way to say the town is positively crawling with uniformed officers, off duty members of the fire brigade, emergency personnel, and other such authority figures quietly keeping watch and making sure no one tries anything.

Adora knows that somewhere in the press of bodies, Grizzlor's busy wrangling two new "brats" (seven and nine, respectively, and definitely not friends.) Somewhere, a certain Magicat is probably grumbling over the indignity of being forced to wear shoes and kicking every snowpile she can, like she can send a direct message to whatever cosmic force is responsible for her current frustration.

On an ordinary month she and Catra--being old enough to be allowed a bit more freedom to do what they want--would buddy up to watch each other's backs while they did their shopping. But this isn't an ordinary month, so once they'd each gotten gifts for the other three they'd split up on opposite ends of Main Street with an agreement to move clockwise to avoid running into each other. Afterwards, the entire group would rendezvous at the small clock tower in the park a block over before heading back to Right Zone.

Ten dollars wasn't a lot to work with, but Adora had done her best: a new stress ball for Kyle, some moisturizing oil for Rogelio since the early winter shed had wiped out his supply and he'd been too busy to pick up some more, a twelve pound kettle weight for Lonnie now that their shared exercise routine was getting a bit too easy for her... Utilitarian choices, to be sure, but she's been paying attention and that has to count for something.

Catra's the difficult one, of course. Partly because Adora doesn't want to just get her something practical, but also because they share nearly everything between them already. About the only thing that is definitively off limits is Catra's guitar, and she's told Adora enough about her time with Tao over the years that Adora wouldn't even ask. Beyond that... Well, there's a reason why most of Adora's day off hoodies have small strands of orange fur stuck to them.

Still. I want to get her something that's hers. Something she'll like. Something she doesn't have to share with anyone, not even me.

In the end, she nearly walks past it. In one of the artisanal shops that dot small towns like liver spots, she finds a display of hand stamped necklace pendants, with a design sheet beside it. There are a lot of the usual nature designs and such, but the one that catches her eye is a treble clef with the five staff lines bleeding out from it. They ring the edge of the pendant in a half circle, and scattered haphazardly along the lines are the other music notes.

The lack of proper order would drive Adora insane. She understands that it's just meant to look pretty, not be an accurate representation of musical notation, but still... She knows her own (broken) brain well enough to know that.

It suits Catra, though.

"Hey," Mismatched eyes looked down at Adora as her head draped backwards over the back of their desk chair, the throbbing behind her left eye threatening to escalate into a migraine. "Guess I don't have to ask how the composing's going."

"It sucks," Adora groused back, sitting up and gesturing Catra over. She jabbed at two particular spots with the half chewed off eraser end of her pencil, two hard jabs each, like she was filing a complaint. "Most of it is just what I'm going for, but these two places here... They aren't sounding right. I've been going back and forth over structure all afternoon, but nothing I do helps."

"Hmmm..." Catra stroked her chin and nudged Adora over so she could sit on the arm of the chair (they'd never gotten around to requesting a second, mostly because Adora didn't want to risk Shadow Weaver suspecting they were getting too chummy.) "Got any scratch paper?"

Adora pointed to the pile of half crumpled notebook paper she used when making adjustments and Catra snorted. "Ok, dumb question. Just let me see here..."

Grabbing a pen, she quickly inked a fresh set of staff lines and copied the notes Adora had already put down, making sure to leave space to work. Glancing between the two, she drummed her fingers on the desk, playing along in her head.

"Hmm..." Catra murmured, worrying at her lower lip with a fang in a manner that was... Oddly distracting. "Ok, how 'bout this?"

Adora jolted, tearing her gaze from Catra's face to look at the sequence of notes scribbled onto the scratch paper. She paused, brow furrowing as she played them over in her mind's eye. It was a little unorthodox, veering away from the path she had carefully laid out... But also blending well with the next part. Almost like the notes took a quick detour and then lead the listener back to where she wanted them.

"Yeah..." Adora replied thoughtfully, the tension all over her body starting to smooth out. "Yeah, that could work."

"Awesome. Let's take a look at the next part."

They ultimately ended up spending several hours going over the entire piece, sussing out every place where Adora was having even the slightest niggle of unease. She didn't accept all of Catra's changes and Catra didn't push the matter, but the ones she did...

They felt right. More right than they had ever felt when it was just Adora running circles around herself.

When they finally finished up she looked over at Catra, tail waving sedately in that way it got when she was simultaneously engaged but relaxed, and asked, "Umm... Do you want to learn with me? I like doing this."

'I like making music with you.'

Catra paused, looking over at Adora searchingly, almost like she couldn't believe the question had come up. No matter how many years had passed between them, that look never really went away, and every time she saw it Adora's chest ached in a way that was hard for her to process.

"I'd like that."

Catra's composing style is very different from Adora's. More wild, more willing to bend and break the rules if it means maintaining audience engagement, but there's always an underlying order to the chaos. To her surprise and pleasure, Adora found herself learning just as much from Catra as Catra was learning from her. Their styles brought out the best in each other.

The jingle of a bell kicks her out of the memory. Mind made up even though it's nearly double her budget, Adora scans the stand of necklaces for the one with the treble clef pattern.

It isn't there. Adora swallows down the disappointment, though she can't help the sigh. Of course. The town was well aware of the large population of music students a short drive away and catered to them accordingly. But there are also dozens of kids out on the street tonight. It isn't that big of a surprise that the design sold out.

Not surprising, but disheartening nonetheless.

She's just begun to turn away when a voice calls from the back. "Hang on a sec there, little miss."

Adora jumps, but remains where she is as a large Taurian man with a massive snow white beard trundles out from a door behind the counter, wiping his hands on his apron. "Was there a particular design you were interested in?"

Adora points at the treble clef, hope rising. "This one. But it looks like it's already sold out."

"Hmm..." The man scratchs at his chin. "Well with Winterfest coming up, I'm out of blank pendants-"

Adora's shoulders slump.

"-But," The man continues with a smile. "I can double stamp it onto the back of another. Ordinarily I'd charge extra for that, but it's my fault for not ordering enough blanks. Rookie move. Besides, it's the holidays. Now would that be all right by you?"

Nodding frantically in case he changes his mind, Adora scans the other designs, quickly alighting on one in particular. "That one!"

"The claw marks? Bit of an odd combination, but the customer is always right," The old man winked as he reached out to take the necklace from her. "My jig and press is in the corner over here if you wanna watch."

Adora was glad he specified, because as nice as the man seemed there was no way in hell she was going into a back room with a stranger. But she stood next to the window beside a display of miscellaneous knick knacks and puzzles, watching him carefully place the pendant in a cushioned stand to avoid damaging the already printed side and tighten it into place before moving beside the machine.

"You're gonna want to cover your ears," He tells her, patting the machine with one massive hand. "Had to switch to a steam press when the arthritis caught up to me. Used to do it all by hammer. This boy's okay, but he gets loud."

Adora nods, glad for the warning when he bellows "Clear!" and the machine's hammer comes down once, twice, three times with a sound like the ringing of an enormous bell. Once the machine is stopped and carefully turned off, the old man removes the pendant from the press and hands it over to Adora for inspection. "What do you think? Does it pass muster?"

Adora runs her fingertips over the impressions in the metal, memorizing the feel of it, the leftover warmth of the impact. "Perfect."

"Good. Now let's get you rung up."

Counting the five dollars she attempted to surreptitiously slip into the tip jar (the old man winked as he turned back around, so stealth fail) Adora went very over budget, but the others would have to put a gun to her head for her to admit it.

Besides, it's Catra. They already know she's the sole exception to all of Adora's carefully maintained rules.

With everything finished, she continues trudging through the snow toward the park, breathing a sign of relief as she moves away from the shopping district and the people thin out; no one wanting to go to the park in the middle of such bleak weather. Angling around a clustered group of bare trees, she spots the small clock tower in the distance, as well as the figure already standing beside it. Grinning, Adora picks up the pace a bit until she can see Catra clearly and--

Her breath catches.

Since her only experience with this kind of thing has been through books, Adora always expected this moment would be more dramatic. Like back to back in the middle of a fight, or eyes locking from up on stage. Something spectacular, like fireworks, lime explosions, like the feeling of playing a song without a single mistake for the first time. It's always seemed like such a big deal in the stories, and in a way, it is.

Because there's Catra, lost in her own world as she gazes up at the streetlight that's just come on, her left hand extended to let the snowflakes fall into her palm and the light catches the orange of her fur just right to make a blaze of color against the black of her coat. She looks so small, standing in that space all alone on a cold winter's night, but Adora knows deep down that she could never be that small, not when she's Catra, not when she means so much...

Pretty much everything about the past hour--about her entire life since they met if she's being honest--snaps into crystal clear focus.

Oh. I get it now. I'm in love with you.

It's a bad idea. Adora knows that. Shadow Weaver is enough of a menace while believing Catra is simply her roommate, her sometime tool--and Catra had ended up being all too right about the torture not stopping, even after years of Adora trying to direct Weaver's attentions away from her. If the evil old bitch figures out Adora's feelings run deeper, so much deeper...

Her heart beats double time. This whole thing is an unmitigated disaster.

But it's still the best worst thing that's ever happened to her.

She must make a noise, because Catra's ear twitches in her direction, snapping her out of that distant contemplation. She turns her head and looks at Adora, lips curling in a lopsided grin. "Hey, Adora. Wow, you look like you've seen a ghost."

Adora blinks, coming back to herself and mumbling the first excuse that springs to mind. "... Just cold."

"Well no shit. C'mere."

When she closes the distance Catra glances around warily, making sure they're the only ones around, before reaching up and retying the scarf around Adora's neck, patting it once when she's done. "There. I know I make it look good, but you don't have the advantage of fur like me."

Adora looks down at the thin AC/DC t-shirt that Catra's wearing beneath her half open coat, the line of her collarbones and neck, and makes a snap decision. "Is it okay if I give you your present now?"

Catra blinks, a little thrown by the non sequitur. "I mean... Sure? Do you want me to give you yours?"

"I'm good with either," Adora shrugs, trying to ignore how fast her heart is beating, how much she wants to do this before this moment slips away. "I just want to."

There's a long moment of silence as they each examine the other, equally searching. What Catra's looking for, Adora doesn't know. She isn't sure she wants to know.

"Okay."

Breathing deep, Adora reaches into her pocket and pulls out the necklace on its leather cord. Careful to keep the pendant hidden in her hand, she passes it over, fingertips sparking as it's taken. Catra brings it close to her face, running her fingers over the four parallel slashes on the side facing her.

"Why the claw marks?"

Adora laughs, nervous butterflies positively rioting in her stomach. "Because you're a badass. Duh."

"True," Catra smirks, flipping it over and squinting at the other side. "And this?"

"Badass, loves music with all your heart. Not mutually exclusive concepts," Adora says, trying not to give away how much she thinks about this, how much she wants to take that hand in hers. She settles for a playful shoulder bump instead. "Plus we all know you're secretly a big softie."

"Excuse you, I am all sharp edges," Catra giggles, lightly elbowing her before transitioning into a soft little smile. "... Just not with everyone."

Oh God oh God oh God. That smile will absolutely be the death of her.

Swallowing past her horrible awareness of that softness, Adora asks, "So you like it?"

"I love it. Good luck ever getting me to take it off," Catra laughs, then frowns, flexing her fingers. "Hands have gone a little numb, though. Help me put it on?"

Adora.exe promptly crashes to desktop. But she still somehow manages to move, helping Catra hold back her mane so she can slip the leather cord over her head and tuck it beneath her hair. If she hesitates a moment too long in letting go, at least Catra only shoots her an amused glance. "How's it look?"

"Great," Adora manages to croak out, trying to swallow past the sudden dryness in her throat. "You look great. Umm... Happy early Winterfest, I guess?"

"Well, I'm gonna hold onto yours a little longer," Catra laughs, playfully sticking out her tongue before reaching out. "C'mere, you big dork."

Adora shuffles closer, mind and heart both screaming as Catra draws her into a hug, nuzzling her head against the side of her neck. A little whisper. "Thank you."

Adora swallows again, even harder. "You're welcome."

Between them, the necklace rests, the music side pressed right up against Catra's heart.

----------

Fun fact: the shopkeep is based off a cool old dude selling machine pressed necklaces I ran into at a Scottish festival when I was 13, and he made such an impression I never forgot him. Anyway, happy Valentine's! Have a Big Gay Realization!

#answers #rhythm & blues #the catradora rockstar au #featuring adora's big gay realization #and also fantasy christmas

137 notes · View notes

littlemisslipbalm · 5 years ago

Text

“you get me” (famous!y/n x harry)

Famous!y/n x Harry Styles

First Harry fic so please be kind, but feedback is SUPER appreciated

Initially inspired by the picture of Harry leaving the Gucci store with 15 bags but barely has anything to do with that lol

Definitely thought of Ellen for the interview idk why tho - also I struggle with writing Harry’s dialogue because I really want to get it right, but hopefully the more practice I get, the better/more natural it will sound. ALSO i have like no music or music industry background lol. Somewhat proofread, but its 2:30 am so it could be shit

Fluff!

Warnings: maybe some angst over being famous per say, past loneliness

Word Count: 3.7k literally howwww, i’m going to do a pt. 2 though because it was kind of a long set up and feelingsssss

---

Interviewer: Please, welcome our next guest, a woman who’s sure to have her name written up beside the music greats someday, Ms. Y/N L/N!

You can’t contain the grin that spreads to your face as you carry yourself out onto the stage and see the audience cheering for you. It was your third big interview since your first album had been released and you’d seen your fame skyrocket over night. This being the third one this week meant you’d gotten comfortable getting asked questions, but you also weren’t bored of it yet. It was exhilarating being the center of attention, especially for something that had been your life’s work up until this point. You always had to fight for whatever you got and the recognition you were starting to have was reassurance that you hadn’t been a fool to risk a safe and certain life for your dreams.

The interview begins as the rest had, a few pleasantries, how you were feeling, and then the introduction of the album. The host asked you what your inspiration was for some of the songs and the album name and cover. You loved to talk about the music, it was the whole reason you were there. The meaning, the sound, the name, it all meant so much to you and you talked about how music can be interpreted differently by everyone and even the shifts in someone’s mood can change a song’s meaning, but what it meant to you at the time of writing was always something specific. You practiced those answers in the mirror before the interviews because they were important to you and you didn’t want your words on your art to ever be misconstrued. The host then complimented your style and you were at the point where you thought your interview should be wrapping up when they asked you one more question, and it threw you for a loop.

Interviewer: So Y/N, we’ve been hearing some rumblings around, about you and another famous musician, Mr. Harry Styles. Anything going on there?

Your face heated up, you hadn’t been expecting a personal question about possible relationships. Nothing like this had been asked of you at your previous interviews. It’s about the music, the art, and who you were, it’s always about that and nothing more. To be honest, you were a bit annoyed the host had chosen to stray from those topics. You didn’t care for the celebrity side of being a famous musician, the lack of privacy, the prying eyes of media and the general public. They saw enough of you through your art, you bore your soul through music why did they want to peak into your heart as well?

Y/N: I don’t know if I’d rather be with Harry Styles or actually be Harry Styles. Like, he’s literally such an icon, I want to be able to walk out of a Gucci store after spending hours there with 15 bags full of my purchases and helpers to carry it all out c’mon… He’s also an amazing songwriter, musician, and performer, of course. Didn’t mean to sound superficial, but I’d also love to own even half of his closet.

You hadn’t really answered the question, but the audience laughed and the host obviously got the hint that you weren’t interested in fanning any flames of romance with Harry Styles or anyone else. For one, you didn’t even know the man, but you had always been a loving fan of his. You cited him as one of your role models when you were first starting to try and break into the music world. Second, if you did know him, that wouldn’t be an appropriate topic for your album press junket going on, even if it meant more publicity because of Harry’s big celebrity status. The host decided to qualify their original question with a final sentiment.

Interviewer: I totally feel the same way! I only ask because the outpouring of support you’ve received seems to be from similar groups who also follow Harry. Many have been comparing your sound to his solo career work.

Y/N: Ah...well that’s very kind of people to say. He’s definitely a big inspiration, his creativity and drive is incredible. I’d love to be as successful as him someday.

The interview ended. You and the host shook hands and you waved and sent kisses to the crowd before retreating backstage. You were exhausted, but happy. You hoped to avoid anymore stressful interview questions that didn’t truly revolve around music. Of course, life is never that simple.

One month later

You had done countless more interviews and talk shows as promo for your album and the buzz around it had continued to grow. Your fame continued to rise as well and that one question you had dodged at your third interview had come back around to bite you, naturally. Daily Mail’s dumb headline read: “Y/N can’t decide! Date Harry Styles or Steal His Closet?” The Sun was also running with your response and miscontruing it completely, something about how you were madly in love with Harry but jealous of his designer partnerships, you couldn’t even stomach reading the garbage. This was your worst nightmare. Not only was it taking away the focus from your album, but you were also sure this dumb gossip had reached the very set of ears that the gossip was allegedly also about.

You had signed with Columbia Records for your first album, the same record label as Harry Styles, so managers had been in contact with one another about the whole fiasco trying to get the actual truth - which was that the two of you didn’t even know each other and there were no problems whatsoever. Your manager also brought along the good news that Harry had actually listened to your album and loved it, “He said ‘Congratulations’ by the way, loved the sound. Said he’d heard you were very music focused and be open to do some mentoring on songwriting and vocal specifics, if you wanted. It’d have to be in private though, obviously.” She had added the last bit, but you understood why. To have the opportunity to discuss your music with one of your longtime role models, heroes even, was beyond anything you could have imagined coming from your album’s success. And it made the drama all the more palatable because now you at least got to talk to Harry like the media was so adamantly saying you were doing already.

You nodded quickly and agreed, while trying to keep your teenage fangirl excitement hidden below your mature now-famous musician facade. Like you said, Harry was your hero, he’d been your hero since you were in middle school and had Up All Night downloaded on your iPod touch, blasting it as loud as possible, sound hitting your poster-filled walls. You weren’t the same girl as you were then, obviously, you had grown up to be a strong, independent, and confident woman. But, you still smiled at the thought of your younger self with your baby face squealing in the nosebleeds at the Take Me Home Tour (where you swore Harry had looked straight at you) and her seeing you now, dressed in a sleek outfit setting up an appointment to meet with Harry to discuss your first album, a success.

The next Thursday evening

You took a deep breath, in through your nose and out through your pursed lips. You were anxious and excited at the exact same time. Your meeting with Harry was tonight, right now actually, and you hadn’t been able to think about much else since your manager had confirmed the meeting last week. She got you the details a couple of days ago, the location: his house in Malibu, the time: 5:45 P.M. You had brought along a copy of your album on vinyl because you thought it sounded best this way, second only to performing it live.

Choosing your outfit for tonight was probably the toughest decision you’d ever made, harder than choosing between an education and following your dreams, harder than choosing your favorite Beatles song. You didn’t want to worry so much, this wasn’t a date you kept reminding yourself, but everything you tried on earlier kept having something wrong with it, too dressy, too boring, too ‘not yourself’. You had settled for these blue high-waisted pants that you’d worn to your first ever podcast interview, a thin black long sleeve, and a brown leather coat that fell below your hips with vans sneakers, casual, simple, yet still true to you and your vibe.

You raised your free arm and formed a fist, hesitant to knock, as if you’d damage Harry’s seemingly perfect Malibu beachfront home by knocking too hard on the wooden front door. You waited a few moments and could here some shuffling behind the door, some incoherent words were seemingly said, but the walls muffled them before they could reach for ears. Soon enough, Harry Styles in the flesh was before you. He beamed down at you, huffing, slightly out of breath as if he had been clear across the house when you knocked. His strong figure towered above your far smaller stature. He was hanging onto the door since he had opened it only slightly. “Hello, Y/N?” he greeted and questioned simultaneously. “Hi,” you responded and extended the same hand that had just rapped against his now open door. He gripped it, ushering you into his home, “Come in, come in, it’s nice to meet you, don’t want you to catch a cold now do we?” He took note of your strong handshake and ring clad fingers.

He walked you into an area between the kitchen and a sitting area. The kitchen was open aside from a bar high top between the two rooms. You sat down at his prompting and made yourself comfortable. “I brought my record on vinyl, sounds best in my opinion, otherwise I’d recommend seeing it live,” you laughed as you handed the vinyl to him and took off your coat. “Technically, y’know, I could hear it live right now, if you were willin’ f’course,” Harry had responded over his shoulder as he placed the vinyl by his idle record player, “Anything to drink?” “Just water for me, please.” His accent was even stronger in person, especially since he had moved back to London and seldomly stayed in California, except for business and quick trips. As far as you knew, he had already been here on business for the week and was able to pencil you in.

You two settled in, with your waters, seated at the bar top beside each other, but swivelling the chairs to face one another more. Again, you were overwhelmed with the reality of the situation, sitting beside Harry Styles as professionals, peers even. He had heard your work and liked it enough to want to discuss it with you. It was a day you never thought would come to pass. He started off not by asking about the music right away, but about how you were doing with the whirlwind that stardom is. “How are you, Y/N? It’s been somewhat of a out of the frying pan into the fire kind of moment for you?” He stared at you intently, caring to hear your answer.

You couldn’t help but chuckle again and contain your smile, “Thank you for asking, Harry. Yeah, its been definitely stressful, but it’s everything I’ve ever wanted and more so the good is still outweighing any bad. Definitely, fucking exhausted though, dunno how many more interviews I can do before my jaw goes completely rigid from talking so much.” It’s Harry’s turn to laugh, his eyes shone with intrigue at what you said and how you said it. You were gorgeous, but it was how your hands helped you through what you were trying to say and the small laughs you tried to keep in while you amused yourself with your words that really made him want to hear you talk all night long.

He agreed about how the promo junket for an album can get tedious and tiresome, but also the absolute fulfillment you get from people loving the music you’ve made. The two of you chatted about surface level personal matters for a little more, but quickly moved to the music. “I took a listen a couple weeks after the album was released. I especially loved the last track. It reminded me so much of a song I never released, actually…” he trailed off.

Your final track had been a ballad, an homage to George Harrison with your use of guitar and sitar, but the lyrics were a story based off of a poem you had written one night in high school. It surrounded a girl never feeling quite good enough for the person she wanted to be with and how it happened everytime, everytime she was ready to giver herself to someone, they were always closed off. Of course it held some truth to your own life and feelings, but you wrote this girl as someone with a seemingly perfect life - when yours was obviously far from any semblance of perfection.

You wondered what Harry’s song would have sounded like, had it been about a seemingly perfect girl or a guy with a seemingly perfect life, always giving himself to the wrong person and getting destroyed by that very fact because he was impatient as the girl in your song had been. “Can I ask, how so? How’d it remind you of your own song, the words or the music?” “Oh, the story, I felt like that for a time in my life and I like to be vulnerable in my songs because it helps me process, but listening to it back has always been too painful. Could never release that or perform it, it’d wreck me.” You nodded, you completely got where he was coming from. You noticed his downcast eyes and his somber tone, you knew not to push it any further.

It was quiet and you decided it’d be okay to take his hand resting between the two of you. “Harry, I understand,” your sincerity spilled into the words, filling the quiet house, “It’s not easy. Feeling that way. Thinking you’re the only goddamn one and why the fuck does it always happen to you? I used to ask my ceiling ‘why me?’ every night of high school” you smiled then. “But you know how it is,” you rubbed your thumb over his large warm hand and he lifted his head, “it gets so much better - c’mon look at us now! It can get hard, too, all this, I’m sure. But our lives? They’re amazing!” He beamed as he had when he had first seen you at his door and when you’d first really spoke. He moved his hand from under your palm to weave your fingers with his, both of your hands with covered in rings and they clinked to fit together, finally resting perfectly fitted. He shook your two hands up and down, “God, you’re so right! That damn song, m’sorry always puts me in a mood,” he shakes his head, “not yours though, f’course, s’lovely, better than my sodding song” he finishes quickly.

After that, the mood lightened right back up. It filled you with such appreciation for Harry that he would trust you so much with such a personal detail since you two had just met. But maybe, he had trusted you because he had felt that same spark between you. It wasn’t necessarily a romantic spark, but it was obvious the two of you were kindred spirits. Besides your album, the two of you talked about everything. You loved the same bands, movies and books, you both loved to cook and had similar fashion taste, you even had the same person type - something you found out late into the night.

At the end of the Side B of your album, Harry switched to a Bill Evans record that had ‘Peace Piece’ on it. You loved that song. So did he. “So...planning to raid my closet?” Harry raised his brows from the record player and walked back to you. You almost sputtered the water in your mouth. Luckily, you got it down. “Pardon?” “All that bad press the two of us have been getting...I watched the interview that kind of ignited the tabloids. You’re obviously not used to those overstepping personal questions.” You nodded. “It’s fine, even if you’d completely shut it down, the tabloids probably would have picked it up still, they snap up anything and everything, true or not.” You softened at his reassurance. You hadn’t expected Harry to bring the interview up, but you were sure he wasn’t happy about it, he was so private, especially about his love life. “Thanks, I’m sorry I tried to laugh it off, kind of made it worse, didn’t I?” “No! Thought it was hilarious and I totally appreciated the sentiment. Little ol’me, an icon? And an amazing artist? All I gotta do is watch that clip and I’ve fed my narcissistic side for the week!” You giggled and replied slyly, “So does that mean I can raid your closet? As compensation, of course.” Harry threw his head back in an all consuming laughter, when he’d composed himself he looked in your eyes again and said, “You just...God, you get me.”

Harry had continued to put records on throughout the night, diligently flipping sides and asking for requests, he of course had an extensive collection. The two of you had moved onto his plush couch that looked out his french doors to the beautiful ocean view. Finally, your exhaustion caught up to you, mid-Harry describing his latest travel fiasco, you glanced up at the clock. You gasped. Harry stopped. “When did it get to be half 12?” you questioned almost incredulously, “I’ve gotta get home, Harry, but this has been truly amazing, more than I could have asked for, so thank you.” Your speech began to rush as you started to get up and gather your things, that had slowly scattered as you’d gotten more comfortable, jacket by the table, shoes around the back of the couch, your phone forgotten somewhere in the couch. You couldn’t believe you’d spent almost seven hours just talking with Harry Styles.

Harry quickly stood up from his relaxed positioned on the couch and asked if you were alright to drive this late. You scoffed, “Oh please, I’ve driven around at 3 am before, I just have to turn up the music and I can cruise.” He smiled, “This was great, Y/N, I know we didn’t really go super in depth into your writing process, but I’d love to write with you sometime or just hang out again f’course. Your seriously talented and obviously a wonderful person.” He didn’t include that he felt like he’d never met anyone like you, never met someone so perfectly matched to himself, in passions but also in work ethic and demeanor - compassionate yet confident. He felt like you got him perfectly and he got you. You had stopped your scramble to gather yourself and now you were both smiling at one another.

This had really been an unforgettable night, you couldn’t believe how well you two had meshed, like childhood friends reconnecting after years apart. “Can I give yeh a hug before you go?” Harry’s voice had grown raspier as the night had progressed. He had grown rather tired an hour ago, but had pushed through because they had been having so much fun and you hadn’t noticed his physical fading or the time, obviously. You stepped toward him and his large tattooed arms enveloped you into his body. His body truly dwarfed yours now as he held you to his chest. You both were warm and soft. He tucked his head on top of yours that rested on his chest. Your arms were loosely resting where his back met his waist because you would have had to strain to get them to encircle him. His arms rested around your small frame. “Love your jacket,” he mumbled into your hair. His rough voice was quiet, but the house was silent otherwise, Tusk Side C had finished around when you had noticed the time. The embrace lasted long, but it felt so amazing you had a hard time pulling yourself away, but you had to get back home.

“G’night Harry” you said softly at the threshold of his home. He had insisted on walking you to the front door at least, since you had declined his offer to walk you out to your car on the street. “G’night. Safe travels.”

You got in your car and headed to your apartment in the city. You didn’t bother digging for your phone so you turned on the radio and drove home singing whatever came on, including your own song at one point. The whole time you drove with a grin. Harry was the nicest person you’d ever met and you were confident that the two of you were friends now. As you pulled into your parking garage it dawned on you why you hadn’t connected your phone immediately when you got in your car. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” you put the car in park and rested your palms in the depressions of your eyesockets, over your closed eyelids, and rubbed hard. “Fuck!” It was far too late to drive back out to Malibu for your phone and you obviously couldn’t text Harry that you’d left your phone at his place, despite the two of you exchanging numbers during the night for future hang outs, so they didn’t have to be arranged through your managers, like playdates. Even if he found your phone between the cushions, he couldn’t drop it at your place in the morning because he didn’t know your address. This was a whole mess, you thought. You’d have to drive over in the morning and hope he was still there or email your manager from your computer. The former meant you got to see Harry sooner and likely your phone, too.

part 2

@berrynarrybanana

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #har #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fan fic #I DID IT #I sat down and wrote it #and it took forever #and I need to write a second part but I made something coherent #one direction fanfiction #not my gifs #my writing #I love you h #you get me #my writings

911 notes · View notes

ddarker-dreams · 4 years ago

Text

In Your Eyes. Yan Izaya x Reader [COMM]

warnings: izaya orihara counts as a warning if im being honest. dude’s a jerk. word count: 3k.

7:12 PM.

This isn’t the time of day that Izaya would normally close his services. Not when most of his clientele operate under the cover of night, crawling out from their day jobs and towards him. Izaya’s second monitor is a testimony to that. Message after message flooding in, notifications going ignored after a brief glance. The inquiries have a wide range. From a businessman wanting to know if the wife in his loveless marriage is cheating on him as he suspects, to the yakuza seeking information on a rival group that has been infringing on their territory. These people, deep as their pockets may be, occupy an insignificant role at the time.

Izaya’s eyes flicker to the live feed coming in from outside his apartment. One sight in particular catches his attention, his lips quirking into a self-satisfied smirk. He stands from the leather chair behind his desk, stretches, and makes for the kitchenette. There’s a spring in his every step as he walks, fingers running over a variety of untouched teas. Earl grey, matcha, chamomile. Chamomile might be best here, he thinks. Izaya busies himself with boiling the appropriate amount of water. Any second now, he just needs to be patient…

There’s a tentative knock on his door.

Izaya already anticipated having a most prized visitor paying him a visit. The door was unlocked in advance, but the excitement in his veins is making it difficult to decide on what approach to use. Calling over to come in, or answering the door himself…? He decides on the latter. Playing the indifferent game is growing tiresome. When he swings the door wide open, Izaya’s greeted by the sight of you. You must not have been expecting such a swift response, as a cute gasp leaves your lips. Ah, how endearing a sight.

Not one to stand in silence for long, he extends an enthusiastic greeting. “Ah, [First]-chan, what a lovely surprise. Come in, come in.”

You do as he instructs, an uncertain smile on your face. He notes how you scrutinize your surroundings. Eyes shifting to every wall, your posture remaining stiff as you remain focused on nothing in particular. After a moment of deliberation, your attention returns to him, and you bow your head.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” you let out a strained laugh, fixating on the soles of your shoes. “I’m sure you must be really busy, but, uh… I had some stuff I wanted to discuss. With you, that is.”

“You’re in luck then, as I’m not doing anything at the moment,” Izaya pauses at the high pitched sound that signifies his water is done boiling. From how easily startled you are by the noise, he almost wants to tease you. Not yet, he decides. There’ll be time for that later. “Would you like some tea?” You nod your head. “If it isn’t any trouble.”

He takes this time to recall the cryptic text message you sent him earlier. How much self restraint it took not to respond -- for the greater good, he reminds himself -- the contents catching his interest. You’ve been remaining purposefully vague. Is it to tantalize him? Keep him in the dark for some unknown reason? How interesting, the myriad of possibilities you bring to the table! Izaya’s own theories are plentiful. Hearing it from you beats anything his own imagination could concoct. It was a gamble that you’d actually come by today since he never responded, a test to see just how important this discussion is to you.

It must be vital if you took the train from Ikebukuro to Shinjuku to get here, as he’s aware you have classes tomorrow morning. The day after that is clear of any university activities if memory serves. This further proves the point to Izaya that whatever it is on your mind must be taking high priority. How his heart flutters at the thought, anticipation rising as he whips together the tea. Humans once again exercise their adaptability, moving along in new directions, with just a tiny push from him.

When he returns, cups of steaming tea in hand, you’ve already made yourself comfortable on his couch. Your legs crossed, hands clasping together on top of your lap. Izaya’s oncoming set up footsteps must not have been enough to alert you to his presence, so he clears his throat. Just like you did before, you startle, jumping in place. Izaya tuts at your reaction.

“It’s not good to keep zoning out like this, [First]-chan. What if you trip and hurt yourself on the way home? Now, I can’t be having that.” He teases while handing you your teacup. You wear a sheepish smile on your face, cheeks turning a rosy hue from his teasing. This might be the first time he’s ever seen you this out of it. Upon closer inspection, there are bags underneath your eyes, and your overall reaction time is sluggish. Hm…

Izaya takes a set beside you, likely closer than he needs to be, but you never protest. A loud sigh leaves your lips as you sink into his couch. “I sent you a text earlier, but I don’t think you ever saw it.”

He nods his head in confirmation. The chamomile seems to be working its wonders already, your shoulders slumping down further. Easing you up in his presence has never been a simple task.

“I’ve been thinking a lot recently,” you take another sip, wincing at how the hot liquid burns as it travels down your throat, “What I realized is that, maybe I do rely on others too much. When Miki went missing earlier this year, you said something similar, didn’t you? That there was a lot I couldn’t do. At the time, I didn’t want to believe you. I still don’t know if I do. So that’s why I wanted to ask if you still think that of me.”

So that’s what is haunting your mind? A budding identity crisis? He wasn’t expecting something as ordinary as this, feeling almost taken aback that you’d come to him on the topic. Maybe it’s hypocritical of him to think that way. He often finds himself thinking back to the first time you showed up at his office, replaying your words and expressions in his mind like a projector. It’s unlike Izaya Orihara to be a sentimental person, yet he recalls your first meeting with immense fondness.

- - -

Namie had almost dismissed you. She informed Izaya that there was no practical way you could afford these services, and that taking your appointment would be a waste of time for them both. A standard broke college student isn’t worth all the effort. And on a regular day, he would’ve been inclined to agree. Maybe it had been the boredom, as nothing of interest was brewing in Ikebukuro at the time. Whatever the reason, in retrospect, he’s grateful for the chance encounter.

“A missing person’s case?” Izaya glances down at the coffee table, where you’ve laid out numerous personal pictures. All featuring the same girl -- Yamato Miki -- who you’ve come here today to seek help for. The job feels familiar, while simultaneously being unlike anything he’s been asked for at the same time. Information for the whereabouts of unsavory folk isn’t a rare request. This falls into a different category. You’re not asking out of ill intent, or he would’ve picked up on that by now. You weren’t lying when you said you were worried about the wellbeing of your friend.

His eyes return to you shifting in your seat. “I’m curious. Why not go to the police about this instead of me?”

From how your nostrils flare, he can piece it together before you even verbalize a response. This is the first question of his to earn such a blatant reaction. Everything prior, you had responded to the best of your ability, trying to keep your emotions in check. You steady yourself with a deep breath.

“I’d gone plenty of times, and none of them seemed to care in the slightest! Miki… she has a bit of a record, you see. Nothing serious, she wouldn’t ever hurt anyone, just stuff haunting her from her teenage years,” your gaze lowers, fists clenching by your side. “Since she used to run away from home a lot, they think it’s something like that.”

Izaya sees the pieces of this puzzle falling into place. It’s been about ten minutes since you came in, explaining your story, and his interest is starting to wane. There’s nothing that sticks out to him as unique. Maybe giving you the time of day was a mistake after all, like Namie suggested. Still, the question remains, why go to him specifically? You, a seemingly upstanding citizen, must surely have better options.

He’ll entertain this charade a tad longer. It’s not like he has anything better to do.

“It’s not unreasonable to think that,” Izaya can’t help but agree with what the police had told you. The change in your demeanor is subtle, former timidity melting away. Greedy as it might be, he wants to see more of this unsightly side of you. So he continues prodding without relent. “People with troubled pasts such as your friend have next to impossible odds to overcome.”

Your jaw’s clenching, he can see the imprints of how hard your fingernails dig into the palm of your hands. It’s simple to play someone like you to his own tune, he muses. Izaya just about had his fill of this. Maybe he’ll put a last nail in the coffin for good measure. Will you curse at him? Explode and yell? Break down crying? Storm off without a word?

“Chances are, she got in way over her head, and is currently laying dead in an alley somewhere. Or maybe she is somehow alive! In that case, what will you do then? If she couldn’t rely on you, her supposedly closest friend, why do you think that is? She either doesn’t trust you as much as you thought, or was taking advantage of your kindness all along.” Izaya can’t help the smile that curls onto his lips. Now that’s the look of despair he wanted! Being confronted with a fate you knew all along, and yet tried so hard to ignore. Only to fail, to be drawn into a vulnerable position of reality--

“So what?” The tone of your voice is eerily collected. You take a deep breath, glassy eyes refusing to break contact with his own, a sense of resolve keeping you in tact. Izaya tilts his head at this conjecture, as if to invite you to elaborate further.

“So what if she might be as bad as you say she is? Miki is my friend. I don’t care for some arbitrary method of judging people based only on possibilities. I’ll see the truth for my own eyes and decide myself.”

Well… to be honest, he was expecting an entirely different reaction. For you to scold someone like him is borderline laughable, yet here you are, doing just that. So why does he find himself even more drawn to you than before? There’s been passion ignited inside you by his own hands, social etiquette thrown to the wayside. Instead of letting this newly lit fire run rampant, you control the flame, refusing to burn as he intended you to. Izaya Orihara has never been one to back down from a challenge. Maybe this isn’t a waste of time after all.

Izaya leans in, resting his temple on his fist. “Pray tell, [First]-chan, what would you do in the event that I’m right? And your precious friend is involved with stuff she shouldn’t be?”

“I’ll give her a good wakeup slap,” you place a finger to your cheek, considering the proposition. “Then chew her out for making me worry as much as she has. In the end, I want her to know that she can come to me with anything, even the worst she has to offer. That’s what friends are for.”

A mindset like this is idealistic to say the least. Optimism has never been a field Izaya has excelled in, as he bases things on concrete reality. Is that even the correct label for your way of thinking, he wonders? You’re not ignoring the possible truth, making excuses for her, or even considering enabling her poor behavior. No, it’s a strikingly unusual approach, that takes far more patience than most people have to offer. The shift in outward demeanor from soft-spoken to this unrivaled confidence backs it up further.

Izaya wants to know more about you. To peer behind the curtain that is your mind, poking and prodding at everything within reach. Seeing how much you can withstand before falling apart at his hands. It looks like you were wrong Namie, he thinks. This is turning out to be interesting.

“If that’s the case, I’ll lend you my help.”

You blink. “Y-you will…? But you just went on a tangent about how my ‘deadbeat’ friend isn’t worth the effort.”

“What can I say? Your impassioned speech tugged on my heartstrings, [First]-chan,” he coos, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. “Maybe I’m growing soft after all. Alright, now let’s start with you giving me your phone number--”

“Hold on!” you exclaim, putting up a hand. “I don’t need help from someone like you.”

Now it’s his turn to be thrown off by another person’s words. Maybe a taste of my own medicine, he thinks.

Here he was, figuring you’d grovel at his feet for help. Now that he’s extending a hand out of what you should perceive as goodwill, you… don’t want it…? There’s no quick, witty response. The cogs in his head are turning, trying to comprehend this bizarre situation, and coming up with nothing satisfactory. He hears what’s most definitely Namie struggling to cover up a laugh in the distance.

“Were you not just trying to convince me?” Izaya quirks up an eyebrow. That’s how he perceived your earlier lecture, as a way to bring him over to your side. For a rare moment, there’s no condescending lilt in his voice, only a genuine attempt to rationalize your actions.

You’re already moving on from this loss, picking the scattered pictures up and returning them to your handbag. “Not really. I just didn’t like the thought of you looking down on someone without really knowing anything about them.”

This time, Namie isn’t capable of muffling her laughter. Izaya sighs as he leans back into his couch. How troublesome you’re proving yourself to be. Do you not realize that a few phone calls from his behalf would be enough to ruin you for the rest of your life? Or maybe you do realize, and don’t care either way. Whatever the case, he’s not letting this go. It’s not everyday someone manages to leave him at a loss for words.

“So it’s back to the police then, hm?”

You shake your head at his guess, frowning. “I’ll just figure it out on my own. Thank you for your time, Orihara-san.”

Now you’re standing to leave. Turning your back to him, you make for the door, leaving Izaya to try and piece together what’s happening to him. Izaya follows after you, intent on changing your mind. Anything to keep you close so he can continue observing.

“What exactly are you planning on doing? It sounded to me like you had no leads or connections. I’m not sure how familiar you are with investigation work, [First]-chan, but you’re not off to a very good start.” Izaya calls over, successfully getting you to stop in place. It’s a relief to know he hasn’t lost his touch. You don’t look fully convinced, so he continues on.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you’re going to be helpless all on your own,” Izaya points out, your grimace growing deeper with every word. He’s getting somewhere, he just needs to reel you back in. “We wouldn’t want my earlier premonition to come true.”

“I guess so,” you agree without enthusiasm, lips pursing. Izaya can’t help but feel satisfied with your compliance. Then you continue walking towards the door. “I need to give it some more thought. I’ll call your secretary this evening.”

With that, you’re out of sight, the door shutting in his face. Hm. He doesn’t get the feeling you’re acting like this out of spite. No, you’re sticking true to your own convictions, trying to get a feel for how to best work things out. Izaya’s already planning to run multiple checks on you. He has a growing curiosity for knowledge on you that needs to be quenched. What school you’re going to, where you currently live, if you have a record--

“I can’t say I was expecting that,” Namie comments in her usual monotone. From the skin tightening underneath her eyes, Izaya can tell she’s still fighting back a smile. “Someone turning down your offer to help and lecturing you? I almost feel undeserving of such a wonderful sight.”

Izaya sighs and runs a hand through his dark hair. “I’m glad you enjoyed your boss being berated so much.”

“There’s almost nothing better,” she concurs with a nod. “When you’re finished standing there and moping, I already brought her social media up. I figured you’d want to see it after that display.”

This is enough to capture his undivided attention. The boredom from this week is a relic of the past, Izaya’s enthusiasm for human beings returning in full bloom. What a terrifying beast you’ve managed to awaken. You’ll make for a fascinating source of entertainment. He already finds himself looking forward to the next time you cross paths, Izaya confident in his ability to make this happen. He excels at interrupting the flow of people’s lives unprompted.

- - -

The rest is history, so they say.

Izaya’s whittled you down this far, creating a codependency that pleases him, a result of hard work on his behalf. You stare at him with doe-like eyes. Vulnerable eyes. Waiting with bated breath to see if he’ll confirm or deny your deepest concerns.

He wraps an arm around your slouching shoulder. "Now that you have me, what you are or aren’t capable of on your own doesn’t matter anymore. Isn’t that right, [First]-chan?”

“I... I guess it might be.”

#btw the title for this fic is just a reference to the weeknd #the lyrics felt somewhat fitting...#i kept listening to it when writing this #izaya #Izaya Orihara #orihara izaya #jojo's bizarre adventures #yandere izaya #yandere #yandere x reader #durarara #durarara imagine #yandere durarara #durarara x reader #yandere imagine #yandere scenario #my stuff #commissions

283 notes · View notes