#m: getting together fic

[sincerelybubbles]

i've noticed you

pairing: spencer reid x profiler!reader

warnings: fluff, not proof read (as is the usual oops), slightly slightly suggestive

word count: 2.6k

it's a late night in the office. dim light casts shadows across the bull pen. you squint your tired eyes to focus them on the document in your hand. hours have passed since everyone else went home but you stayed behind. something about pushing into the early hours of the weekend to finish off a long week is better for your mental health than leaving the documents for monday. the totality of closing the folder, marking it complete, and filing it away allows you to push the details of your cases to the back of your mind. you can't forget them entirely, of course, and nightmares still haunt you, but this is the best system you've found to make yourself feel better, even if only marginally.

a call of your name, soft and familiar, startles you. you jump, chair pushing back a few inches. you look up to see spencer standing in the doorway, giving you a confused look. his bag is strapped across his chest, hands clutching it, eyebrows raised. he's dressed more casually than you're used to: a plain blue shirt, khaki pants, his usual dress shoes. his hair is messy and his eyes look sleepy behind the confusion, like he'd only just woken up.

"hey, reid," you say, catching a yawn in the middle of saying his name. "you scared me."

"i could say the same to you. what are you doing here at," he checks his watch, flicking his wrist to right it in a movement that has your chest tightening. "3:46 in the morning on a saturday?"

"i could say the same to you," you mimic him, sending him a wide smile. you lift up your documents when he sends you an unamused look, waving the folder. "just finishing up before the weekend."

"you have over two weeks to have those reports filed, though?"

"helps me sleep better to have them done, i guess. you never answered me, though -- why are you here?"

"ironically, to help myself sleep," spencer answers, crossing the room in swift, long strides to reach his desk behind yours. he deposits his bag and turns to you, running a hand through his hair to push it out of his eyes. "i get nightmares and sometimes the best thing to do is try to get some work done. helps my conscious, i guess. or, at least keeps me busy."

you nod and watch him make his way to the kitchen. "that makes sense."

"i'll be back," he calls to you over his shoulder.

you hear his return a few minutes later, eyes trained on your file again. you don't look up this time, now that you know who it is. you're too focused on finishing these last few documents and fully aware that it's sort of hard to stop looking at spencer once you start.

the gentle click of a mug hitting your desk grabs your attention, though, and you tear your eyes from the page to look up.

spencer is leaning across your desk, nudging a yellow mug toward you, smiling widely. your throat tightens, a quick flash of pleasant awareness of him, and you swallow it away.

"what's this?" you ask, reaching for the mug. he doesn't let go as you expected and your fingers brush against each other. he shrugs instead of answering, leaning back against the desk next to yours and taking a sip from his own mug.

"coffee."

you take a sip, surprised to find it made exactly how you like. you can't remember ever telling him what you like and your cheeks heat at the gesture. you're grateful that the only lamp on is yours, hiding the heat from him.

"how'd you know how i like it?" you ask, taking a sip.

"i pay attention," he says, eyes trained on yours.

"to people's coffee preferences?"

"to yours, sure."

before you can properly allow that to sink into your exhausted mind, spencer sets his mug on your desk before grabbing his own files. "mind if i join you?" he asks, dragging the nearest chair over. "at least until you go home for the night."

"yeah, sure, i could use the company," you say, clearing space for him.

||||

5:53 AM

you: [attached image]

you: i promise i'm on the way, just having the worst morning. once i get this tire fixed, i'll let you know

you sigh, throwing your phone in your bag and squatting down to examine your blown tire. you don't know what you hit but you do know it's the start to an already sour morning.

you slept with your window propped open, despite how many times you've seen that go poorly for victims, and it rained, drenching your curtains. you didn't get to pack a lunch after dealing with that and usually, you eat breakfast at the office, so now you're on the side of the wet road, blown tire, and late for the first time in years.

your phone buzzes twice and you stand to dig it out of your bag.

5:55 AM

morgan: bad morning, pretty girl?

hotchner: don't worry about it, stay safe.

you roll your eyes at morgan, chest feeling lighter at hotch's reply. you hadn't expected him to be angry, this wasn't something anyone could foresee, but his answer still lessens the anxiety in your chest.

you climb into your car, turning on the heat and holding your hands to the vent for a few moments. you sit there for a few minutes past when you've thawed, dreading reentering the wet morning to change the tire.

the sound of a car door opening and shutting grabs your attention and you look in the rearview to see spencer walking toward you, hitting the button to lock one of the company vans. he's holding a bag in his hands, walking briskly to avoid getting too wet in the morning mist.

you throw open the passenger door when he gets close enough and watch as he folds himself in the car, shutting the door and adjusting his jacket.

"hello," you say, amused, "fancy seeing you here. did hotch send you?"

"i volunteered, here." he hands you the bag. you look at him for a moment longer, watching as he fixes his hair. you return your focus to the bag when he looks over at you, embarrassed to be caught.

you find one of the kitchen muffins and a banana in the bag. you stare at it for a moment, fully aware that this is exactly what you eat most mornings at work.

"i know you usually eat at work and didn't know if you had anything here," spencer explains.

"you noticed that?"

"i noticed you," he says. your eyes snap up to meet his, heart fluttering in your chest. he doesn't look embarrassed, eyes meeting yours steadily.

you struggle to find words, heart beyond touched by the gesture. you end up muttering, "thank you, spencer."

"you're welcome." there's a moment's pause while you come to terms with the fact that this can no longer be considered one of your worst mornings. "also, there was betting about if you could change a tire."

"ah, so you're here because you didn't believe in me?"

"well," he says, cheeky, smiling over at you. "you are just sitting in your car, decidedly not changing your tire."

"i was working myself up to it!" you say in defense. it's insane to you how quickly he has shifted your mood in just a few minutes.

he shakes his head at you, smiling slightly, and pops his door open, "open the back," he says, stepping out.

you do as he says, opening the trunk and getting out after him.

"i really was going to do it, you don't have to," you say, following him around the back of the car and watching him shift the things around to find your spare tire.

"i got it. go sit in the car, it's cold." he rolls his sleeves up, sending you a look.

you watch his hands as he moves the fabric up, exposing his forearms. you swallow, mouth dry, as he moves to the other arm, wrists flexing and bringing his veins into focus.

"i'm not sitting in my car while you do all the work," you refute, voice wavering, tearing your eyes away from his hands. you feel like a silly schoolgirl, ogling at her crush. or, better yet, like a scandalized victorian man seeing a hint of ankle for the first time, entranced by the barest hint of innocent skin. still, under the heat of embarrassment, you can't stop yourself from shifting your weight from foot to foot watching him lift the tire from your trunk.

"why not?" he asks, carrying the donut under one arm and walking over to the flat tire. you watch him, entranced, as he crouches down to examine the flat.

"it feels wrong! really, spence," you say, walking over to him and leaning down to catch his forearm and get his attention. "you don't have to change it for me, i'm more than capable."

"i know," he says, turning to look up at you from under his lashes. he smiles, still just a hint at the corner of his lips, and nods toward the car. "still, go sit, it's cold."

"spence-" you start and he rolls his eyes, standing up so he can look down at you and crossing his arms.

he says your name lowly, leaning back against the car and raising an eyebrow. "get in the car, this will only take me a minute."

he doesn't wait for your answer, pushing himself off of the car and walking to the trunk to grab the tool kit. stunned and slightly turned on, you slowly walk back to the drivers side of the car.

"good, now eat, too," he calls.

you grab the bag of food when you sit down, letting your legs hang down outside of the car. he stands up straighter to see you over the hood of the car and grins at you, "thank you."

||||

hands sweating and heart racing, you press the button on the elevator and watch the door close. you clutch the little bag between two of your hands, rolling your head back to stretch it and stare at the ceiling.

you're a profiler, you know people, you know that your ever-growing crush on spencer is reciprocated. his face as he said "i noticed you" is the last thing you see before you sleep and you know you aren't misinterpreting the signs. still, anxiety pools when the elevator dings and you step off.

you roll out your shoulders and step into the bull pen with confidence you have to fake, putting a smile on your face and holding the little bag behind your back slightly.

"morning angel," penelope calls to you, swinging around the corner and linking her arm with yours. "did you have any fun hot dates this weekend? please say yes, i am in desperate need of someone to live vicariously through -- my love life is dry in all definitions of the word."

"sorry love," you say, patting her arm and sending her a sympathetic look. "still working on that plan i mentioned a few weeks ago."

"wait," she says, suddenly stopping and forcing you to as well. "really? because you were all gung-ho about maintaining a sense of workplace appropriate behavior and all of that other blah hr speak."

"well," you say with a shrug, smiling at the ground, "i don't know, can't a girl change her mind?"

"she most certainly can. in fact, i have right now!" you look up at her suddenly ultra cheerful voice and see spencer walking into the room, hands in his pockets and heading right for you with a smile as a greeting. "i have decided that i'm not walking you to your desk and we'll chat over lunch instead. bye!"

just as quickly as she arrived, penelope left, scampering away to her office with a grin stretching across her face. she's your best friend, the one person you tell everything, and also the source of your greatest annoyance, leaving you alone in the hallway.

"what was that about?" spencer asks, reaching you and stopping only half a step away.

"just garcia being garcia," you say, shrugging.

"well, goodmorning," spencer says, tucking his chin down to look at you better. "have a good weekend?"

"i did," you say, swallowing in a deep breath to steel your nerves. "i actually managed to go to that bookstore you told me about."

"oh really?" spencer asks, excitement animating his face. "did you talk to the store owner? she's super cool, i actually learned a lot from her about book binding last time i visited. she has a little workshop in the back."

"i did, actually. i had to get her help finding a specific book," you say, holding the bag out to him.

"oh, which one?"

"open it and see."

"it's for me?" spencer asks, looking genuinely caught off-guard. he takes the bag slowly, as if expecting you to rip it away. you nod encouragingly and he takes the cue to lift the paper out of the bag and then the book. "wait, no way. this is so cool! i've been searching for it for ages."

you watch as he opens the book and his eyes widen finding it signed. he slowly, reverently, flips the pages to look at the publication date and his eyes flick to meet yours.

"this is a first edition?"

"yeah."

"this is- how did you know?"

"i noticed you, too," you say, voice soft and hesitant. you take the half step forward so your toes are touching. surprisingly, your anxiety is nowhere to be found as you look up at him, smiling, chest warm and fingertips tingling. "i hope that's okay."

"beyond, actually," spencer answers, voice softer. the hand holding the bag and book falls, his other one lifting to your cheek, hesitant. he brushes his fingers across your cheekbone gently before moving his hand to cup the back of your neck and bringing you in for a hug. .

it's exactly how you expected hugging spencer to be, warm and all-consuming. he laughs, gentle, a vibration you can feel through his chest and into yours.

"what?" you ask, face buried in his chest.

"it's amazing how hard i'm fighting to not kiss you right now. i always thought i would be too nervous - i mean, obviously, i've kissed people before. not that that's what i should be talking about right now, but, i just mean, it's different with you. you make me happy in a way that makes me nervous, you know?"

"i know," you say, softly, cutting off his rambling with a hidden smile. he's still holding you in the empty hallway and you would love nothing more than to hear his rambling but you're also very aware that someone could walk in any moment.

you just hope that whatever this is leads to more of his thoughtless rambles - you've missed them, noticed how he's held himself back more, and you think nothing will make you happier than being the person he turns to with them.

"yeah. um, thank you. but now i'm not nervous, i'm just annoyed we're at work."

you laugh, pushing away from him, fixing his tie. "we have plenty of time, it's okay."

he doesn't say anything, his hand still on the back of your neck. instead, he slowly leans down to press his lips to your forehead. it's gentle, as if he's afraid the wrong move will break you or send you running, and you melt from it.

"plenty."

part two of it's a date will come soon!! i hope!!!! please take this as a peace offering <3 i got the idea of spencer changing a tire on my head and could NOT LET IT GO !!!! like i'm ngl, i made myself blush w this so i hope u all enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it :)

also also!! i usually like to keep my notes short but this is a reminder that my asks/inbox are always open!! and i read every reblog and comment and smile and giggle like a little kid when i see them. you all make my day every day and ily u all

[marvel-ous-m]

Closer to Fine

AO3 Link

TWs: PTSD, Panic Attack, Somewhat-unhealthy coping mechanism (Steve snaps a hair tie against his wrist)

Steve walks away from the final battle with a handful of scars, a new pair of glasses, and a diagnosis of PTSD.

At least, that’s what his government-assigned therapist says. He’d explained the feeling he gets when he thinks of the Upside Down. How everything around him slows and he can’t focus on the current moment. How the only cure seems to be curling up under his duvet in his room, his back pressed against his bedroom wall while he stares at the wall across from him and waits for some predetermined obligation to pull him out of his stupor.

He described how he felt like he was somewhere else while his body went through the motions. How his body became his armor, and how he only came back to himself when his brain finally realized there was no immediate threat- that the portals were closed, Vecna was dead, everyone was alive, safe, healthy.

When Steve finally came out of that mindset, everything around him usually felt like too much and he would find the smallest place possible (the backseat of his car, the corner of his closet, under his bed) to curl up and cry until he finally felt like himself again.

Then something would happen (a ‘trigger,’ his therapist said), and the cycle would start over.

Turns out that facing inter-dimensional monsters four times over in just under four years really does a number on your brain.

Huh. Who woulda guessed.

His therapist gives him some helpful coping mechanisms. Some are meant to ground him: to count to 30 and take even breaths, square breathing, finding the nearest paper to write down his feelings, to try and see 5 things and hear 4 things and- y’know, however else the rest goes.

She also suggests finding a friend to help him when he’s in an episode, or distracting himself with hobbies he enjoys.

Steve opts for the ‘shock’ methods more times than not. His therapist tells him they’re effective in the moment and fast-acting, but that they won’t do as much for his long-term mental health. Still, Steve’s always been one to focus on fixing the problem that’s happening in the moment so he can move on to the next one, so he sticks one of Robin’s old hair ties around his wrist and snaps it as hard as he can whenever he finds his mind running down the path that causes him to feel all space-y and detached.

It works for him.

Until it doesn’t.

Because hair ties can break apparently. Right in the middle of a lonely Tuesday afternoon shift at Family Video. When Steve is caught in the middle of a flashback.

He tries his best to recall the other methods that his therapist taught him. Square breathing- fuck, was it four seconds each side or seven? How many things was he supposed to see and how many was he supposed to hear?!

He ends up on the floor behind the counter, back pressed against the candy display and legs against his chest, his glasses set aside, and his forehead pressed against his knees. He can’t breathe, he can’t speak, he can only remember what it feels like to be strangled by the tail of a Demobat and-

-he’s going to die here. Alone at his shit job. Robins going to find him when her shift starts in an hour and she’s going to have a breakdown and he won’t be there to fix it because he’ll be the cause of it, he’ll be the source of more of Robin’s trauma, just like he was back at Scoops, and-

Suddenly there’s a hand against his back, rubbing comforting circles in a way that seems to melt some of the panic away. There are brown curls tickling his hands, barely visible through the strands of Steve’s hair that have flopped in front of his eyes. Then there’s a voice-

“Deep breaths, Steve. In and out. You’re at work, at Family Video. It’s Tuesday, the 14th of October, 1986. It’s uh- 2pm? No, 2:10. My watch is slow.” Steve’s identified the mystery panic-attack-savior as Eddie. If it weren’t the long brown curls or the feeling of his rings through Steve’s work vest and polo that did it, it became evident by the small chuckle Eddie gave after he mentioned that his watch was broken.

Eddie’s laugh: high-pitched, at times a little manic… there was something about it that was just…

Comforting.

Safe.

Steve was safe.

Steve lifts his head from his knees then, taking in Eddie’s worried expression, and is pulled into a bone-crushing hug almost instantly. Steve would usually pull away, too embarrassed to be held by someone in public, but…

He’s tired. He’s hurting. The vestiges of a flashback are still holding his brain hostage. So, he says ‘fuck it’ and he holds Eddie right back, burying his head in Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie runs a gentle hand through his hair and down the length of his back, then does it again, and again, until Steve lets go of the tears welling behind his eyes, and allows himself to cry. Eddie murmurs comforting reminders- ‘you’re safe’ and ‘I’ve got you’ fall like a blanket over Steve’s shoulders, and he feels some of the weight of his waking nightmare roll off his back.

Eventually the tears cease. Robin hasn’t interrupted them yet, so Steve figures that he couldn’t have been wrapped in Eddie’s arms for that long- her shift starts at 3, so if she isn’t here yet, it’s been less than an hour.

Small mercies.

Steve pulls back a bit, and Eddie shifts so that they’re both sitting against the back of the counter, legs touching. “How are you feeling?”

Steve sniffs, running a hand over his face. He shrugs, trying to manifest an explanation for the exhaustion suddenly overpowering his body and the numb feeling seeping into his bones, but he comes up empty-handed.

Eddie hums, putting a comforting hand on Steve’s knee. “I get them too. Panic attacks. Flashbacks. It helps if someone is touching me- grounds me, y’know? That’s what my therapist says. Wayne’s usually the one to figure out that I’m all…” Eddie trails off, then waves a hand in front of his face awkwardly. “Stuck. Or whatever. Anyways- I uh, hope I didn’t overstep. That’s what I’m trying to say. I don’t know what works for you, and- “

Steve moves his hand to rest over Eddie’s, shooting him a gentle smile. “That helped.”

Eddie smiles back at him, using his free hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Steve’s ear. “I’m glad.” Eddie’s smile grows ever-so-slightly, his dimples making an appearance, once he finishes adjusting Steve’s hair. “There. Can’t have your hair looking anything less than perfect, can we big boy?”

Steve blushed, ducking his head down with a shy smile at Eddie’s teasing. Eddie was just… ugh. He didn’t have words. But the butterflies he always got when Eddie was around? Those were definitely making an appearance.

“I usually get pretty tired after a panic attack. Apparently, it’s like… something to do with adrenaline? I guess what I’m trying to say is- when do you finish your shift? We should probably get you home, sooner rather than later.”

Steve nods, moving to adjust his glasses- a nervous gesture he’d picked up over the last few months- when he realizes that they aren’t on his face. Steve glances up to search for them and Eddie’s there, again, holding them out with a playful smile. “Looking for these, sweetheart?”

Steve blushes again, mutters out a ‘thank you’, and shoves them on his face. “Three- that’s when Robin gets in. Keith only staffs one at a time on Tuesdays and Wednesdays because they’re the slowest days of the week.”

Eddie hums and checks his watch, then grins when a chime rings through the shop. “That’s what I call perfect timing.” Eddie gets to his feet and holds a hand out for Steve, hoisting him up when Steve takes his hand.

Robin looks at them both from her place by the front door, eyebrow raised. “Umm. Should I be congratulating the two of you?”

Steve blinks in confusion, opening his mouth to question Robin, but is cut off by Eddie’s nervous rambling.

“Nope- no, uh, Steve- well, um, I came in to get a movie and Steve was having a panic attack. He’s fine now! We were just sitting behind the counter to uh- y’know. Calm down. Yeah.” Eddie pursed his lips, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly with his free hand.

Robin hummed and reached into her purse, pulling out a hair tie with a soft smile. She circled the counter and pulled Steve into a tight hug, pressing the hair tie into his palm. “Get some rest, Stevie.”

Steve stared down at the orange band in his hand, blinking in surprise. How did she know?

“Don’t need to worry about that, Birdie. I’m gonna take Steve home on my way to ye-olde-government-purchased-apology-housing.” Eddie winked at Robin, making the younger woman roll her eyes and shove Eddie’s shoulder.

“Ugh. Get out of here. Abandon me to face a night of rewinding tapes and fighting boredom all on my own.”

“You got it, Buckley!” Eddie responded playfully and wrapped an arm around Steve’s shoulders, leading him out of the Family Video to his van parked out front.

Steve climbed into the passenger seat, frowning at the orange band now wrapped around his wrist.

“I figure I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning before your shift and drive you back here, your precious car should be safe here overnight.” Eddie winked at Steve as he turned the key in the ignition, then put the car in reverse. He frowned when he noticed Steve’s expression and switched to ‘drive’, pulling out of the Family Video parking lot. “Penny for your thoughts, darlin’?”

Steve sighed, running a finger over the hair tie. “I just… I wear a hair tie, right? When I get a flashback or uh- a trigger. I snap it against my wrist, and it helps. I just… I thought I hid it, but Robin…”

Eddie hummed, moving his right hand to wrap around Steve’s left. “She pays attention. She loves you, Steve.”

Steve looked down at Eddie’s hand, noticing two hair ties around his wrist. Steve moved his free hand to rest on top of Eddie’s and ran thumb over both of the dark brown bands. Eddie glanced over, a faint blush tinging his cheeks. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together.

“You pay attention too, Eddie.” Eddie’s grip tightened on Steve’s hand, the man smiling to himself.

“Yeah, Steve. ‘Course I do. I always will.”

I love you.

The admission was written between the lines, implied in Eddie’s tone, but to Steve, it was as clear as day.

Steve smiled, moving his hand to play with Eddie’s rings. His fingers paused on a small ring Eddie kept wrapped around his pinkie, a mood ring that Steve had won one summer night when the entire party went to the arcade together. Steve had playfully presented it to Eddie, and even though it was child-sized, Eddie figured out a way to make it fit.

It was blue.

“I pay attention to you too, Eds. Always will.”

Eddie’s hand squeezed his again, a silent acknowledgement of what Steve had left unsaid.

They would talk about it later. When Steve wasn’t so tired and emotionally charged. When Eddie wasn’t so focused on making sure Steve was alright. But in that moment, wrapped in the comforting presence that came naturally with being around Eddie, Steve knew everything would be just fine.

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

Author's Note:

Blue mood rings mean that you feel calm/peaceful/romantic so there ya go. I also think Robin is way too fun for plain hair ties, so she would only have rainbow colored ones. Eddie would probably want to hide his, which is why they're his hair color. (Eddie keeps two so that, if he ever has to tie up his hair, he can still have one for Steve).

Work title is from Closer to Fine by the Indigo Girls. I wrote this, then realized it kinda reminded me of the song :)

I have diagnosed PTSD and went through a triggering event today that caused a panic attack, which spurred my writing this! Steve's PTSD pretty much presents the same as mine. For me, writing helps to process everything, which is why I ended up writing this! (If you were wondering I'm feeling much better)

Thanks so much for reading!!

[divkazkdovikde]

you know the fic is good when:

(casanova of griffindor tower by moonystar_394 on ao3)

[arrowsshootyouforwards]

The first time Will and Connor share a bed it's out of necessity, the last bunk in the on-call room, during a low point in a busy night shift, unfortunately for Will it happens to be the best maybe 5 minutes of sleep he's ever had because of how Connor holds him.

Rated T

[matchbookarmy]

Oh!

I want to share a fic I love and that lives in my head till this day!

Deep in the Heart of Me by Finely Honed (jaqen_hgar)

It was just amazing! The Tattoo shop, the slow built, the drama and tears, the happy ending. Like, I don't remember the details but I DO remember how much I loved it!

This looks really good! Thanks so much for sending in the rec.

Deep In the Heart of Me by Finely Honed (jagen_hgar)

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Veteran single dad Steve runs a tattoo shop. Pepper arranges for Tony to get that tattoo he always wanted, and he winds up with the mother of all crushes instead. Jumping out of airplanes is one thing, but love requires real courage. Steve struggles with letting someone into his life. Tony tries to keep his heart intact while Steve works on his issues.

Content Warning: Realistic depictions of PTSD.

[prettyboykatsuki]

WHATS THE SAE GIC ABOUT

manager reader x sae .. getting together and lots of fluff and romance !! lots of tension that gets resolved with a wee bit of angst because sae is a big idiot

[bizarrelittlemew]

i can't wait to be 30+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 40+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 50+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 60+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 70+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 80+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 90+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to look back on my life and know that i loved things deeply and passionately and was inspired to create and was part of communities with incredible people from all over the world brought together by the stories that touched us

[lucabyte]

monologue

[keferon]

It took me a while to read chapter 70 of Mistakes on mistakes until because I can't just. Youknow. read it. I have to be a total maniac and sketch everything I like as I read, so this whole chapter took me an absurd amount of time ahahaha

[choccy-milky]

herbology class 🌹🌿 (from chap 2 of my fic!)

[strawberryshortpace]

I’m trying to read some fluffy get together fanfics and the pairing fell asleep together during a movie night and the one woke up before the other and kissed the sleeping one on the mouth before running away. Issue: the 2 met the day before and it literally said they didn’t exchange more than just ‘hi’s to each other

Now I don’t know about y’all, but this isn’t a cute move to make on the person you like. If y’all haven’t even had a convo stating that y’all like each other (whether just physically or romantically) NO UNCONSENTING, SLEEPING MOUTH KISSES

[xiaowhore]

intoxicating.

premise. your boyfriend dumps you and says he doesn't love you anymore. of course, being the petty bitch that you are, you have to prove that you don't need him in your life either. and of course, intense emotions often lead to rash decisions, so you go to a bar in hopes of finding a new man.

somehow, even when all you've managed to do is scowl at anyone who approaches you and mope at the bar counter, you still manage to get one.

Wriothesley has dealt with his fair share of unruly drunks before, but they were something more along the lines of aggressive and sloppy, not depressed and sappy.

He finds that he'd rather manhandle angry alcoholics than a person who makes a slobbering mess all over his shirt, clinging to his arm and sobbing to his sleeve. Your body starts to sway even when he supports your weight, your footsteps unstable as your attempt to walk in a straight line fails entirely.

Okay, so maybe you are sloppy after all.

Wriothesley sighs and tightens his grip on your shoulders. There's no point in losing his patience with a drunk person. He didn't even mean to pick you up, it's just that as a police officer, his sense of responsibility makes him want to fix a troublesome situation whenever he sees one. Even when he isn't on duty, he often leads disruptive drunks out of bars and restaurants, forces them out when he has to, and is always on the receiving end of owners' gratitude.

However, he has no experience dealing with drunks that just got dumped by their boyfriend and chugged away the sorrow with alcohol. You know, like the one dragging their feet as he drags their inebriated body away.

At first, he thought you were hitting on him when he felt your head lean on his shoulder in the bar. It's a common strategy, one that he's dealt with enough times to know when someone is just pretending to be drunk and trying to get his attention. He was still thinking of what to say when tears actually rolled down your cheeks and you started retelling your life story that he never asked to hear about.

Wriothesley isn't actually trying to listen, but he still gets the gist of it. It would be hard not to when you're still prattling on about it beside his ear as we speak.

“He said...” You hiccup, warm liquid seeping into his shirt as you sob into his arm. He hopes that's from your tears and not your snot. “He said he doesn't feel anything for me anymore...”

So you glammed up for tonight and tried to have fun at a bar so you could prove to yourself you didn't need him in the same way he didn't need you. He can already recite the story perfectly from the amount of times you told him. Your plan is irrational at best, and he doesn't see himself doing the same if he were ever to be in the same situation, but he can't berate you for it. Not when you looked so miserable and hopeless to the extent he didn't think it would be safe to leave you alone back at the bar.

“You can't force yourself to be happy,” Wriothesley grumbles, finally giving up on carrying you by the shoulder and instead hoists you up on his back to give you a piggyback ride. Your shoes slip off your feet, so he sighs as he crouches down to pick them up. “At times like this, you should find other ways to feel better.”

Your body jolts against him as you hiccup once again. “Like what?”

“Dunno.” He shrugs, and he can feel you gradually getting used to being carried. It takes only a bit more for you to melt against his body, your chin snugly tucked in the juncture between his neck and shoulder. “Watch movies at home in your pajamas, I guess. Treat yourself to good food. Go on a trip. You look like the type to enjoy that. Much safer than getting involved with guys when you're still emotionally unavailable.”

You sniffle. “Romance movies only remind me of him. Eating at restaurants will make me remember the dates we've gone to. And going on trips will make me wish he's there with me.”

Why do they have an argument for each point I make? And I never said anything about the movie having to be romance. “Well, you still have to go through that,” he gives up on making you think otherwise. “But one day, you'll feel a little better about it. Maybe you'll want to start dating again when you watch that romance movie, or you'll want someone else to eat with on that restaurant you once went to. And when you're on a trip, maybe you'll even think you want somebody special to go with you.”

You go quiet. For a moment, he thinks you've fallen asleep. But then your head slowly rises from his shoulder, dazed eyes peeking at him unsurely. “You really think so?”

“It won't be easy,” Wriothesley says, because nothing ever is. “But you want to say you don't love him anymore, right?” He glances at you, at the dry tear streaks on your cheeks, at what glitter remains around your eyes from all the times you've rubbed away your tears.

For the first time that night, he sees you smile. “Yeah... I want to say it without feeling hurt anymore.”

He turns away, and he feels himself smiling without meaning to. “That's good.”

“...So do you like watching romance movies? Or eating [hometown] cuisine?”

“...No?”

“Then I'll settle for a movie you like. And I can make good food from anywhere.”

“...Are you hitting on me? Using my advice?”

“Is it working?”

Wriothesley laughs, looking at the person he's carrying on his back, who he is escorting to his apartment because you lost your keys and your roommate won't be back until tomorrow, whom he wrapped his leather jacket around because he felt you shivering against him, and who caught his eye the very moment he entered the bar.

“That's not a no.” He knows you're pouting even when he isn't looking anymore.

“Yeah,” he agrees with you, almost indulgently. “It isn't.”

When you wake up in an unfamiliar bedroom, dressed down to your undergarments and a t-shirt you definitely do not own, and with hardly any recollection of events from the past night, you think you've made a terrible, terrible mistake.

But then you spot the hangover medicine on the bedside table, your alcohol-spilled clothes drying in the laundry room, and possibly the most gorgeous man you've ever seen cooking breakfast in the kitchen, so whatever you did last night couldn't really be that bad.

“Oh, you're awake,” he says once he notices you standing in the middle of the room, completely awestruck. You don't even know what you should be staring at; his chiseled face, his strong arms, his tight tank top that faintly traces his muscled torso, the gray sweatpants that-

Okay. You are not going to look anywhere below his waist.

“Yeah,” is all you can manage, simply glad you didn't fuck up that one syllable. You feel like you're on the verge of either saying something really stupid or making really weird strangled noises. You prefer the former, if you can help it.

“Sit.” He pulls one chair from the dining table, gesturing for you to take it. You meekly take your seat, eyes shifting everywhere but his face. “You're rather quiet today,” he muses, taking one glance at your reddening face as he fixes the plates of pancakes in front and across you.

“...How was I yesterday, then?” You ask, though you don't actually want to hear the answer.

The man hums in thought, taking his sweet time while pouring coffee over two mugs. “Troublesome,” he decides to say. “You nearly puked over my rug, after all.”

You sputter, making all kinds of apologies and promises of compensation when all of a sudden, he laughs. “Nah, I'm kidding. But this means you don't remember anything at all, right?” He sits across from you, sliding the mug to your hand.

“No...” You take a sip, but you barely register how it tastes. “I remember ordering a lot of drinks, but that's pretty much it.”

“That's a shame.” He sighs, leaning back on his chair as he sips coffee. “I suppose that means our dinner plans are void, then.”

“Absolutely not!” The words come out of your lips before your brain-to-mouth filter processes it fully, your hand slamming down the mug on the table in protest. “Uh... that is... if you're available whenever...” You get a hold of yourself and feel your cheeks burning in shame.

He doesn't try to hide the amused smirk on his face. “Sure. I'll be looking forward to your hometown cooking, then.”

Just what on earth did you do last night...?

???

[matchbookarmy]

😭 A fic that ripped your heart out (but it hurt so good)

Thanks so much for the ask!

Castaway by AzureTiger

Rating: Teen

Summary: Fury must be out of his mind to send Tony and Steve together on a mission where spies would surely be better suited to the job. But here they are, stuck on an island together, running an op. It's hard to say what might kill him first, Steve annoying the hell out of him, or the disaster that's bound to happen when you throw two clashing personalities and practical strangers into a dangerous mission.

But that's the best way to make friendships, isn't it? When your lives are on the line, and all you have is each other? Sometimes your best resource is the good company, and the inspirational posters are right: it really is about the journey.

Why I'm Reccing: This fic. I love this fic. This is definitely one of my all time favorite fics. Though I do think it's one you've got to give time to and allow the story to develop. It's tagged as slow burn and hurt/comfort and those two tags are not misplaced. This is definitely a slow burn, and there is a lot of hurt/comforting happening.

I don't know, this fic is I think underrated. It only has 36 comments on 10 chapters and 233 kudos, and I think, from my own experience, there's a tendency with fanfic to not always allow the story a chance to breath, that if things aren't immediately happening (in terms of romance/pining etc) readers can abandon a fic quite quickly, and I just want to say, if you give this fic your time, it will be worth it, I swear.

This is post Avengers, where the team never really formed after that. Like, they exist in this sort of nebulous way, where Tony isn't part of the team anymore, but the team hasn't had a reason to come together again after the battle of New York, though Steve is working for Fury and SHIELD.

And Tony and Steve don't get a long. If you're feeling nostalgic for that 2012 era fic where Tony and Steve need to come together and work their shit out, this is the fic for you.

There's also a lot of story here. Like, a very well thought out plot that goes beyond just the two of them falling in love. Some terrorists (I haven't read this in a while, but I think it's maybe Hydra) have gotten ahold of blueprints for Tony's old weapons and are manufacturing them again. So, he and Steve are sent to this remote island to shut it all down.

So, I said this is hurt/comfort, and what I like about this fic is the hurt/comfort goes both ways. Tony is suffering from ptsd from his experience in Avengers, and the role that plays in this fic and how it is portrayed is exceedingly well done.

But but.... that is not why this fic is going to rip out your heart. Because I said the hurt/comfort goes both ways. And something happens to Steve that made my heart drop into my stomach. It was only the fact that I was reading fic and knew that everything would work out okay in the end that kept me going. The hurt/comfort portion of this fic that revolves around Steve is top notch h/c. And that's where Tony and Steve really start to come together.

Also the battles in this! I'll be honest, I usually tend to sort of skim over battles in fic (look, I don't watch the big super hero movies for the big super hero battles...) but the battles in this are really well done, and I found myself really enjoying them. Bonus for Steve fighting in one of Tony's suits.

AzureTiger is mostly a ThunderShield writer (or they were back when I read this) but when I commented on this fic, they said they had other Stony fic ideas they were toying with. So.... go, read, comment if you like, and maybe we can tempt them over to the dark Stony side.

[a-jasminator]

When your best mate is about to go full vengeful and there's only one way to shock him back to his senses...

Companion piece to my fic Spectral Rage!

[phantompasta]

more If you find a vigilante in a dumpster by @lunamugetsu art because I do not feel normal rn

The lady on the left is Lady Gotham btw that's kinda how I picture her until the author describes her current appearance

Lady gotham-less art after the cut in case she wasn't the evil mastermind behind that last chapter ending + a meme

Also, for so you can see Danny's drawings in the background

[popppyfur]

EDIT: someone wrote a fic based off of this and im holding you all at gun point to read it rn

i did noooottt mean for this to be as long as it is lmao!! I LOVE THESE PINK BITCHES !!!!!

and their. questionable father