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seijorhi · 4 years ago

Text

Fracture

i apologise in advance.

Miya Osamu x female reader

TW non-con, dub-con, psuedo-infidelity, referenced character death, angst, drunk reader, gaslighting, age gap, the slightest hint of nsfw

‘Yer still coming home for summer, right?’

How many weeks had your sister spent lovingly bullying you into coming down? How many hours had you spent listening to her gush over the phone about how excited she was?

And until about three months ago, you’d been excited too.

Despite the ten or so years between the two of you, there was nobody on earth you loved more than your sister. When you were sixteen years old and your parents passed away in a car accident, she was the one who stepped up to take care of you, putting a roof over your head, making sure you ate, slept and kept up your grades, balancing two jobs to do it.

And she grumbled and you fought, but she’s the only reason you managed to keep it all together enough to graduate high school, and when it came time for you to leave home for university, she was the one blinking back tears and loudly complaining about you ‘abandoning your poor older sister in her time of need’.

As if she hadn’t sat with you for hours, pouring over your options and gently nudging you in the direction of Tokyo.

“It’s just a few hours away,” you’d told her. “I’ll come back and visit you all the time.”

There was truth to that. The first six months of uni, you came home every other weekend arms full of expensive textbooks and mountains of assignments to write, but then she met Osamu.

You’ve never seen anybody fall so hopelessly in love as quickly as she had. Miya Osamu may as well have hung the damn moon in the sky for how your sister looked at him. And you suppose you can’t really blame her; he was stupidly tall, broad shouldered and handsome. Even back then his restaurant was a wild success, the man was talented and clearly knew how to cook. Nice was the wrong word to describe him, but Miya Osamu was good, and so long as he made your sister happy, that was enough for you.

And it wasn’t like he was the one to drive you away.

Osamu liked you – he let you camp out in his restaurant and work on your assignments when you desperately needed a change of scenery, stopping to humour you with conversation if it was quiet. He made you laugh, he was interesting, and the more your sister brought him around, the more you realised that you actually kinda liked the guy.

Things were just easy between the two of you, you never had to pretend to be anything but what you were.

You were the one who started putting space between you and her. It wasn’t intentional, at least not on their part, but somewhere along the way you’d started to realise that Osamu wasn’t the odd one out anymore; you were. She was building a life with him, and fortnightly visits turned into monthly ones, and then eventually it became once every few months and after that only on holidays and special occasions – their wedding being one of them.

At Christmas, cheeks flushed with alcohol, she’d pulled you into a one armed hug, pouting into your sweater. “You never come visit us anymore,” she’d sniffled dramatically, “I miss you.”

But it was Osamu – fingers laced with your sister’s, a hint of a smile curling at his lips – who’d voiced it. “Come spend yer summer break with us.”

Three months later you’d awoken to a call telling you that there’d been an accident. Your sister was dead.

Weeks pass by in a blur. Your classes are a haze of droning voices and mindless typing, you submit papers you don’t remember writing and you get good marks anyway. Your friends don’t know how to act around you, everything feels surreal, like you’re moving around in a dream, nothing touches you anymore. It hurts, but you’ve wrapped up that pain and put it someplace safe, seeking it out only when you’re alone and you just can’t bear the numbness a second longer.

The trip you’d promised to take back home to Osaka is the furthest thing from your mind, at least until Osamu calls you in the early hours of the morning, a week or so before the semester ends.

“Yer still coming home for summer, right?”

The word ‘no’ lingers on the tip of your tongue. The last time you’d seen each other was at the funeral, his face blank and hollow, eyes rimmed in red. He’d barely spoken more than a few sentences to you, but he’d stayed by your side the entire time, calmly thanking those who came up to express their condolences.

You’d lost your sister, but he’d lost his wife.

“Do you still want me to?” you ask him quietly instead. If you were in his shoes, you’re not so sure that you would.

Yet Osamu sighs heavily, and you catch a faint clinking sound on the other end of the line, like a bottle being set back against the marble countertop. “I just–” but he breaks off and something inside of your chest tugs. “I want ya here. The house is empty… she’s gone and I… I want ya here. Please.”

How could you possibly say no after that? Maybe you’ve been selfish, so wrapped up in your own grief and misery. You’d assumed that because Osamu had Atsumu he’d be okay. Not right away, of course, but he’d have that support around him – a support system that you were without.

It didn’t enter your mind that perhaps he was struggling too. That he was spending night after night alone in a house etched with memories of her. And just as you’d thought that Tsumu was the one keeping his head above water, maybe he was offering a hand to do the same for you.

—

He’s waiting for you on the porch when your taxi pulls up on the kerb. The driver’s nice enough to help you with your bags, but Osamu is quick to intercept, waving off the help with an impatient huff that almost makes you laugh.

“Yer here,” he says once he sets them down on the porch, grinning as he tugs you into a warm embrace.

It’s then that you get a good look at him, a proper look – and for a moment, you’re taken aback. You haven’t seen him since the funeral a few months back, granted, but Osamu doesn’t look the way you imagined him to – especially after your call the other night. There’s no hint of pallid skin, no bloodshot eyes with heavy bags underneath or a 5 o’clock shadow on his face. No, even with his dark hair still a mess, dressed in jeans and his Onigiri Miya tee, Osamu looks good. Healthy even, if the way the sleeves of his shirt cling to his biceps is any indication.

It takes you a second to realise that you’re staring, because Samu chuckles, brushing past you to bring your stuff inside.

“Y’know, most people start with a hello,” he calls over his shoulder.

Your cheeks heat, a hint of shame curling inside of you. Were you expecting him to be an inconsolable wreck? You know better than most that grief messes with people differently, and it’s not fair of you to judge him, however unintentionally, for not fitting that image of the grieving husband.

It’s a good sign.

“Hi, Samu,” you reply somewhat sheepishly, following him inside.

He’s already walking towards your old bedroom, the ‘guest room’ now (though you and he both know it’s always been yours), leaving you to trail behind the older man. Your intention is to stop him from going to too much effort, but as you walk past the living room, something catches your eye.

Or rather, the absence of something. Faltering in your step, it takes you a second to realise what’s missing, but as you glance around, brows furrowing in confusion, it hits you.

The pictures of you and your sister, the cute ones with her and Samu, the old family snaps that used to line the walls and sit on the TV unit, they’re gone. And it’s not just the pictures. The artwork your sister had painted that used to hang by the wall next to the kitchen, the little pot plants she’d doted on like children, hell, the throw that she’d knitted one winter that was always lying on the couch; they’re all gone.

The room feels almost alien without them, unfamiliar and cold. He’d hung up some cool photography stuff to fill in some of the spaces, but instead of homey it just felt… modern. Like the pictures you see in magazines of staged houses that nobody actually lives in.

And you must have been standing there for a while, because you don’t notice it when Samu comes back to find you still holding your purse, gazing around like a lost child.

“I didn’t get rid of ‘em, if that’s what yer thinking.”

You turn to face him, except Osamu isn’t looking at you. He’s gazing at the walls around you both, his face strangely impassive – except for his eyes. It’s impossible for you to miss the hurt that swims there, the faint sheen they didn’t hold only moments ago. “I packed them away – they’re in yer room if ya want to look through any of it, it’s just…” he trails off, finally glancing back to look at you. And once again, you feel that flicker of guilt slowly eating away at you. “It was painful, seeing her face everywhere.”

Before you left your apartment that morning, you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t cry today – but the tears come unbidden, and one moment you’re standing there staring at him and the next you’re choking on a sob, hand coming to your lips to try and stifle it.

Osamu’s there in a second, solid arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. He doesn’t say a word (what’s there to say anymore?) he just hums softly, stroking your back with a gentle hand as you fall apart once more.

—

It’s surprisingly easy for the two of you to fall into a rhythm. There’d been some part of you that was hesitant about this whole thing – despite having a relatively good relationship with your brother in law, you knew that the only real connection between the two of you was your sister.

Without her, living in the same space and trying to navigate around the holes that she’d left, you’d expected it to be at least a little awkward between the two of you. But with Osamu working full time, it was kind of a non-issue. Aside from the first day when he’d taken the morning off to help you get settled, he was usually gone before you woke up, and most nights he wasn’t home until nine or ten. How he worked such long hours six days a week without collapsing out of sheer exhaustion was beyond you, but you tried to make things easier for him, cooking dinner for the two of you.

“Y’know ya don’t have to do this every night, right?” he asks you one night, sticking the leftover chicken into the microwave. “I have a restaurant, I can sort out my own dinner.”

You don’t tell him that despite being a rather terrible cook, it was one of the things your sister made sure to do every night in the weeks following your parents’ death. You’d spend most of your day holed up in your room if you weren’t at school, but dinner was the one time you’d sit and talk with her. It became a ritual; something sacred and special between the two of you.

You’re a better cook than she was by far, no comparison for Osamu, of course, but it’s the only way you really know how to help with… whatever this is.

Instead, you just offer him a wry look from your position on the couch, “And yet, you never do.”

He scoffs at that, a hint of a smirk curling at his lips, “Why would I eat there when I know yer cookin’ for me?”

—

Of course, as easy as it is to slip into living with Osamu, you can’t escape what happened there forever.

It doesn’t slip your notice the first night you spend there; the spare toothbrush in your bathroom, the decidedly masculine body wash in the shower, or how one of the shelves in the vanity was stocked with shaving cream and cologne and a few odd skin care products. You’d assumed that they were Atsumu’s, spares stashed away for the odd nights he crashed here. There’s another bathroom off the master bedroom, so you know it can’t be Samu’s stuff.

Except you find yourself proven wrong one night, when fresh from your shower and clad only in a fluffy white towel, you open the door to find a shirtless Osamu filling the space, one arm propped up on the doorframe.

“Anyone ever tell ya yer a bit of a bathroom hog?” he asks, smirking down at you.

And you’re so taken aback, utterly confused as to why he’s standing there half dressed, why it matters how long you take in the bathroom – never mind that the only thing covering you from complete nakedness is your towel – that you can only stand there, gaping like a fish as he laughs, takes you by the shoulders and physically shifts you out of the way as he slides on past.

It takes you until the following morning – Osamu’s sole day off – to ask him about it, clutching nervously at your cup of coffee while he busies himself making breakfast for the two of you.

“Samu, um, about last night…” you timidly begin.

He glances up at you from the stove, a single eyebrow raised. “What about it?”

Your cheeks are already burning, eyes darting between his face and the mug in your hands as you struggle to find the right words to bring it up without making things weird. “Well, I-I was just wondering… um, why you were using my bathroom?”

You’re not sure what kind of reaction that you’re expecting, but the dark look that flashes across his face isn’t it. For a split second, your insides clench, terrified that you’ve said the wrong thing–

But as quickly as it appeared, Osamu’s expression smooths over. He exhales heavily, setting down the spoon in his hand as he turns to face you properly, and when your eyes flicker up once more, you realise with a start that it’s pity that’s taken its place.

And a second too late, the pieces inside your head fall into place.

“Oh.”

Osamu nods only once. “I can’t go in without seeing her lyin’ there… I thought ya knew.”

And it’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room. She’d died in their bathroom – slipped on the wet tiles and cracked her head open on the edge of their bath, and Samu had been the one to find her.

Weakly your eyes flutter shut, bitter nausea churning in your gut. How could he stay here, sleep in the next room when–

��Hey, hey, calm down, I gotcha,” Samu’s voice is at your ear, and your head’s spinning, pounding, and you can’t breathe. The mug in your hand tumbles to the floor, your coffee spilling across the wooden floorboards as weak fingers clutch at empty air, and then those arms are around you once more and Osamu’s trying to soothe you.

Breakfast is forgotten as he tugs you towards the couch to sit. And as he holds you, speaks to you in that calm, unwavering voice you try to focus on the scent of him (masculine and earthy, a hint of spice and cedar), the fabric of his shirt under your cheek and the gentle, almost lazy circles he rubs into your side and not the mental image of your sister, lying broken and bleeding on the bathroom floor.

—

It doesn’t take much effort to find the stash of your sister’s things that Samu set aside in your room. You lose hours flicking through pictures of her, smiling through your tears as they dredge up old, happy memories of the two of you.

Even the ones of her and Samu, his arms looped around her waist, resting his chin on the top of her head; she’s always wearing that bright grin that makes your heart ache.

There are a few of the three of you – one from the last time they’d come to visit you in Tokyo and you’d dragged them off to Disneyland. You’re standing between the two of them, beaming at the camera while Samu’s arm hangs off your shoulder and your sister, grinning widely and wearing the minnie mouse ears she’d bought at the first opportunity, tosses up a peace sign.

Softly wiping away your tears, you set it aside. You’ll have to ask Samu if you can take that one home with you.

—

“What’re ya doin’ tomorrow?”

It’s late, and the two of you are sprawled out on the couch, watching TV with a bowl of snacks between you like the old days when he asks.

“Not much,” you reply. “I was going to go to the markets at some point in the morning and maybe head to the beach after that, why?”

Grey-ish brown eyes flicker across to you, “A few of my old teammates are in town, we’re meetin’ up for some drinks. I want ya to come with me.”

“Oh,” the word slips out before you can stop yourself. “Um, yeah… if you want?”

It ends up sounding more like a question, a fact that doesn’t slip past Osamu if the amused little snort he gives in response is any indication. And it’s not that you don’t want to give up your plans in favour of going with him; you get along pretty well with Atsumu and you’ve met most of his old teammates at least once or twice, it’s just that you’re a little confused as to why he’d want you there to begin with.

They’re all at least twelve years older than you, and while it occurs to you that maybe he’s just inviting you along to be polite (not that that’s ever been his style before) the last thing you want is to be stuck feeling like an afterthought, all but ignored as he and his friends catch up.

“I said I wanted ya there, didn’t I?” He doesn’t wait for a response, “‘sides, Tsumu already asked if you were comin’.”

Which is how you find yourself dressed up for the first time in months, fingers smoothing out the hem of your dress as Samu tosses you a lazy grin from the driver’s seat. “Relax, wouldja? They ain’t gonna bite.”

You know that. They’re good guys, but no matter how much rationalising you try to do, you can’t seem to quell the anxiety eating you up, and the frustrating thing is that you don’t know why you’re feeling it.

He’d neglected to tell you that they weren’t meeting at some bar or restaurant, but at Atsumu’s condo in the city (‘Showy fuckin’ bastard’ Samu’d huffed as he’d pulled up in front of the building), but you suppose it really doesn’t make much of a difference.

“Ya look good,” he compliments, eyeing you for a moment while the two of you wait for the elevator.

Cheeks warming, you drop your gaze and stutter out a quiet thank you. Apparently unsatisfied, he leans closer, reaching one large hand up to gently ruffle your hair – grinning in satisfaction when you shriek and try to pry it away. “Relax,” he whispers again, the warmth of his breath tickling the bare skin of your neck. “Yer too wound up.”

Distracted by the arrival of the elevator, you fail to notice that instead of returning back to his side, his hand drops to your shoulder.

And it should be easier to do just that once you have a drink in hand. Atsumu greets you with a one armed hug, the only hint of anything out of the ordinary being the way his gaze lingers a beat too long as he studies your face, his eyes sharp and missing nothing. But whatever he sees (or doesn’t see) his expression softens into a smile, “Glad ya came.”

But even as you’re greeted by the others, falling into an easy conversation with Kita and Aran you can’t seem to shift the uneasiness in your stomach. There’s something in the air, a tension nobody really wants to admit to.

And you can’t quite tell if the others are surprised that Samu brought you at all, or if it’s just because you’re a living reminder of a tragedy that’s still fresh and raw, and everyone’s trying to pretend that it’s not. You don’t blame them for it, of course, they only mean the best. But you can see it in the way Suna side eyes you every now and then, how skilfully Akagi skirts anything that could touch a nerve when he comes up to chat.

It’s like they’re all walking on eggshells – though whether it’s for your benefit or Osamu’s, you’re not entirely sure. For his part, Samu sticks close, keeping your drink topped up, an arm slung over your shoulders as the afternoon wears into the evening.

Yet despite that, the alcohol you’re drinking far too quickly starts to work its magic, filling your body with a warm, pleasant little buzz, and you actually start to enjoy yourself. You laugh easier, giggling when the twins start to bicker, gasping in wicked delight when Suna offers to show you certain embarrassing photos of both of them on his phone (he has quite the collection), even letting Gin and Tsumu drag you into taking shots with them.

And all the while, Samu watches you, a soft smirk playing at his lips.

—

By the time he unlocks the front door and you stumble back inside, you’re absolutely plastered, giggling at nothing and tripping over your own feet.

As always, Samu’s there to catch you, strong, muscular arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Careful there, princess,” he laughs.

You grin up at him, carefree and heartbreakingly beautiful. For the first time in months you feel light, you feel amazing and you don’t want this to end. Kicking your heels off, you skip inside, leading him by the hand. “Samu,” you call back over your shoulder. “I wanna dance.”

“Nobody’s stopping ya.”

“But there’s no music,” you pout, and once again he chuckles, letting you go to settle back into the leather couch as he pulls out his phone. A moment later a familiar, lively melody floods the living room, and you let yourself become lost to it. It doesn’t matter that you’re drunk and dancing alone, Samu’s dark eyes following your every move, you’ve never felt so free.

Arms raised in the air, hips swaying hypnotically to the beat, you lose track of time. It could’ve been minutes or seconds or a whole hour, but suddenly you’re not alone anymore – Samu’s there with you. His cologne invades your senses, why does he always smell so good? His body’s warm, almost hot as he slots himself behind you, caging you against him.

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice sending shivers running down your spine. “Yer a little tease, ya know that?”

And there’s something wrong with that, you know there is, but you can’t seem to think of what it is – not when the weight of his hold’s impeding your movement. A pout adorns your face, a soft, almost petulant whine escaping your lips as you try in vain to untangle yourself, “Samu, lemme go. I wanna dance.”

He huffs out a laugh, but that doesn’t sound right either. “Don’t wanna dance with you, pretty girl.”

There’s something hard pressing against your lower back, and his hot breath ghosts over your neck a moment before lips descend to suck on the sensitive flesh.

In a split second, all that blissful, warm, drunken happiness evaporates. Samu groans lowly, his chest rumbling at your back, but there’s a pit of something cold and urgent that’s seeping through your veins, distant, foggy alarm bells tolling inside of your head and you don’t understand what’s happening, but you know that you don’t like it.

You want it to stop.

“S-Samu,” you whine, shifting uncomfortably against his hold.

This time he listens, drawing back just enough that he can turn you around to face him. And those familiar eyes are hooded and dark, burning with an intensity that makes you want to recoil even as he stares down at you, taking your cheek in hand.

You don’t even realise that you’re crying until his thumb’s brushing away your tears. There’s nothing comforting or pleasant (nothing of the Samu you know) on his face as he studies your fearful expression, but eventually he lets out a heavy sigh.

“She was positive I was cheatin’ on her,” he admits. “Did she ever tell ya that?” He pauses for a beat waiting for a reply, but when it’s clear that you don’t have one for him, he just scoffs, “No, ‘course not. That’d be admitting that not everything about our life was picture perfect, and heaven fuckin’ forbid we do that. Y’know, that's why she wanted ya back here so bad. She needed a buffer.”

Bitterness clings to every word like poison and you flinch, renewing your struggles to get away. Not that he lets you – the moment you start to squirm the arm around your waist tugs you closer, anchoring you against him. The tears come faster, followed by soft, hiccuping sobs, but Samu seems beyond caring at that point.

“Stupid bitch never could see what was right in front of her face. That’s what we were fightin’ about that night; she said she was gonna leave me.”

Your heart clenches, fear pooling in your gut, but Samu just smiles at you, a mockery of sweet tenderness, reaching back to tuck a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. “But you know I’d never hurt my pretty girl, don’t ya, baby?” he asks. “Just want a taste tonight.”

You don’t even have time to suck in a breath before he’s kissing you, cradling the back of your head as his mouth moves hungrily against yours.

And all you can taste is the whiskey on his tongue.

—

You can’t tear your eyes away from your reflection in the mirror, the faint, reddish blemish colouring your neck.

A hickey.

Tentatively, as if trying to prove that it’s real and not a figment of your imagination, you prod at the mark, only to wince at the tenderness. Definitely real.

You’d woken up to an empty house – unsurprising considering it was well past ten and you knew Osamu had work today – with your head pounding and your mouth uncomfortably dry. Wracking your brain, you can’t seem to conjure up a rational explanation for the bruise. Granted, you can’t really remember much of last night, only fragments of being at Atsumu’s place, and certainly nothing after you’d started taking those shots.

Which doesn’t make the uneasiness sitting heavy in your stomach any easier to take, because you know that you hadn’t been cosying up to anybody before you’d lost track of the night, and if it had happened after, then surely Samu or one of the others would have stepped in and put a stop to it.

And that should’ve been more of a comforting thought than it was, because if it didn’t happen at Atsumu’s then that meant it happened afterwards, when you were here with Samu.

Your heart thumps unevenly against your ribs.

Osamu. Your dead sister’s husband, your brother in law.

A hickey on your neck isn’t just a kiss. It’s not a simple, drunken peck against your lips, it meant that somebody had sucked on the skin, bitten at it, kissed until blood vessels broke – it’s not the kind of thing that happens accidentally.

A wave of nausea threatens to overtake you, and you barely manage to make it to the bathroom before you’re violently emptying the contents of your stomach into the porcelain bowl. And you know as you collapse onto the cool tiled floor, shaking just a little, that this time at least, the alcohol isn’t to blame.

You know Samu; you trust him implicitly. Whatever happened, it must have been a mistake or something. You’d both been drinking, and he’s still grieving and–

There’s no point jumping to conclusions or working yourself up any more than you already have. You’ll just bring it up with him when he gets home, you decide.

Yet anxiety and guilt gnaw at you as the hours crawl by, you’re half tempted to pick up your phone and just call him to ask point blank. The clock feels like it’s mocking you every time you glance up, and while you try your best to distract yourself with household chores and then busying yourself with dinner, none of it works for long.

By the time he does stride through the door, a little before ten, you’re an anxious wreck, all but wringing your fingers as you sit rigid and tense at the table. Most nights you eat before he gets home, hunger getting the better of you, but tonight you don’t seem to have much of an appetite.

“Smells good,” he comments with an easy grin, toeing off his shoes and dropping his wallet and keys by the door.

You open your mouth, but the words seem to get stuck in your throat as he drops a kiss down on the top of your head and walks on past to grab a bowl from the kitchen.

“I’m starving.”

Instead, you just swallow nervously as he pulls out the seat next to you and sits, not wasting another second before digging in. Your eyes quickly dart over to study him, but you don’t see any hint of guilt or unease on his face. He just looks like the same old Samu, a little tired maybe, but otherwise totally normal, and so you force yourself to pick up your spoon and follow suit.

And he’s never been one to fill silences with meaningless chatter, but tonight the quiet between the two of you feels oppressive, every clink of metal against ceramic echoing too loudly, every chew, every swallow setting you on edge. You can’t even taste the food, your stomach too twisted in knots for you to feel anything but nauseous after a few bites.

“… Is everything okay?” he asks after a few minutes, and it’s so sudden amongst the tense silence that you visibly jerk, almost dropping the spoon you’d been toying with.

You glance up to find him staring, brows furrowed in concern, and once again your stomach flips. It’s now or never.

“Um… did anything happen last night?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Osamu’s frown deepens fractionally, and he tilts his head as your fingers twist in your lap, “What d’ya mean?”

Did we kiss? The words dangle on the tip of your tongue, but as you nervously meet his eyes, you find nothing but confusion and concern there. And for a moment, you almost speak them, but then Samu’s reaching across the table to take your hand in his, and as his warm palm swallows up yours, you lose your nerve.

“You sure yer okay?”

Whatever happened, he doesn’t remember it and neither do you.

Smiling tightly, you nod. “Yeah, it’s nothing. Nevermind.”

There’s no reason for you to drag him through the mud for this, you’re already feeling enough guilt and shame for the both of you.

—

You try to put it out of your mind, but it’s not that easy.

Lying awake in bed at night, your brain unwittingly turns over possibilities of what else could’ve caused the mark if not Osamu. Guilt gnaws at you every second that you’re around him and all the while he’s painfully oblivious to it all.

He’s always been affectionate with you, but all those stray, unthinking touches now carry a different weight with them. You find yourself ducking away from them more often than not, pretending that you don’t see the almost wounded look in those greyish-brown eyes when you do. You start to avoid him, finding other places to be whenever he’s home.

And you hate yourself for it, because Osamu’s been nothing but faithful to your sister for as long as you’ve known him. You’re the one acting like there’s something wrong between the two of you, like he’s treating you any differently than he always has when you know that’s not the case.

You know that, but when you catch sight of the fading bruise in the mirror, your stomach twists into knots all the same.

There are excuses and justifications aplenty, but none of them make you feel any better. You still find yourself sniffling into your pillow, swallowed up by your guilt when you imagine how devastated your sister would be if she knew.

You’d let her husband kiss you. Being drunk and miserable and grieving didn’t change that. Whether he knew it was you or mistook you for her; it doesn’t matter. Maybe it was a mistake, letting him talk you into coming.

Things were still too raw, too fresh. You’d thought that coming here would help, but so far it’s only made everything worse, and unintentionally or not, you can’t kid yourself that your presence is doing anything to help Osamu anymore.

You need to go back to Tokyo.

Somewhat selfishly, you’re tempted to put it off until the weekend, because you know that Onigiri Miya has a stall for the beginning of the summer festival and he’ll be too preoccupied with that to think about anything else – but you just can’t bring yourself to do that to him.

No, it’s better to rip it off like a bandaid; nice and quick.

You’d planned on breaking the news over dinner, but as you pick your way through your noodles, you notice that Samu’s quieter than he usually is. Every time you risk a glance up he’s staring at the table, looking entirely lost in thought, and it just doesn’t feel like the right time to bring it up.

Tomorrow, you decide, you’ll cook his favourite for dinner and tell him then.

—

The knocking startles you from your sleep with a jolt. It’s quiet, hesitant almost, but you’ve always been a light sleeper.

“Samu?” you croak out, fumbling blindly for the phone at your bedside to see what time it is.

The door opens, a crack of light from the hallway spilling into your room as Osamu looks in. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “I know it’s late, but I need to talk to ya ‘bout somethin’.”

He’s shirtless, clad only in a pair of cotton pyjama pants, but he doesn’t look to be in any immediate kind of trouble. Still, he wouldn’t have disturbed you in the middle of the night if it wasn’t something important, so you blearily wipe the sleep from your eyes and force yourself to sit up as he slips into your room and shuts the door behind him.

“What’s wrong?”

He hasn’t bothered to turn on the light, and even with the moonlight streaming in through your window, his face is cast in shadow as he takes a seat on the edge of your bed. And it’s silly, especially considering he’s the one who’s shirtless right now but it’s hard not to flush at the realisation that you’re only wearing a thin, satiny slip. You feel almost naked – he’s seen you in bikinis before, but it feels different here, when he’s the one in your bedroom.

“You asked me the other day about what happened the night we went to Tsumu’s,” he begins, his voice quiet and soft in the early hours of the morning, and suddenly your state of dress is the last thing on your mind.

Swallowing tightly, your pulse quickens and you still, waiting for him to continue.

And you feel, rather than see, the way he stares at you, inching a fraction closer when you don’t immediately answer. “And I lied. Or I didn’t exactly tell ya the full truth.”

“Which is?” you force out.

Samu’s shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep, slow breath in and exhales heavily. “You were drunk and ya came onto me, tried to kiss me.” You flinch, a choked sound escaping your throat at the blunt admission, but he’s quick to reach for you, his hand coming to rest on your knee, squeezing it reassuringly. “And in the heat of the moment, I let ya.”

Hot tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but the moment you try to turn away from him, biting your lip and trying to blink back the tears, he stops you.

“Osamu–”

“‘Cause I’ve spent years waiting to kiss those lips, an’ I’m tired of pretending we both don’t want this.”

And he’s kissing you; soft and sweet and gentle, his lips molding to yours as he cups the back of your neck. You wonder if he can feel your pulse racing under his fingertips as he draws himself closer, groaning into your mouth.

It doesn’t matter that your hands are on his bare chest, pushing at him, hitting him – those muscles aren’t just for show; he’s immovable. The more you squirm, trying to extricate yourself so that you can plead with him to stop–

This is a mistake. A horrible, awful misunderstanding. He’s upset and grieving and not thinking clearly and you have to stop this.

He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

– the more his grip tightens until it starts to hurt and you’re whimpering into the kiss. Your tears are wetting his cheeks, but he doesn’t care, won’t stop and there’s a panic that rises within you every second that you’re entangled with him.

“Don’t do this,” he mutters, breaking the kiss as a sob rips its way free from your throat, “Don’t pretend ya don’t want this, baby. I know ya do. Stop being a little fuckin’ tease.”

He leans back in, intent on capturing your lips again, and in an act of desperation you reach for his face, cradling his cheek in your hand. “Samu, please,” you beg, wide, imploring eyes searching his face for any hint of a reprieve. “You’re scaring me. Stop, please, j-just for a second.”

Just a second, that’s all you need to try and snap him out of whatever the hell this is. One second.

Osamu stills, his face mere inches from your own, his body hovering atop yours. His breath, ragged and uneven, ghosts over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, but you don’t dare move as he leans into the touch, grey eyes fluttering shut.

He sighs, the sound almost like a shiver. “Ya don’t need to be scared, ‘m gonna take good care of my girl.”

He doesn’t give you the chance to say anything else, not as he forces himself onto you once more. You used to marvel a little at Osamu. Tall, handsome and strong, even in his mid thirties; Samu was fit. Now, straddling your waist, pinning your wrists to the wall with one hand, the other palming at your tits, he dwarfs you entirely. He isn’t impatient, not as he kisses you languidly, not as he slides the soft, satin up your thigh, revealing your underwear.

Your hiccuping sniffles aren’t enough to move him, you’re not strong enough to physically fight him off. He doesn’t pay the tearful, breathless pleas sobbed out between kisses any mind.

Osamu grabs you by the waist and flips you onto your front, lips brushing at the nape of your neck as he smooths your hair back, and you’re utterly helpless to stop him.

And as his hand runs down your side and he coaxes your hips up into the air, you almost wish that he was rough. Because this pretense of gentleness, glinting steel masquerading as silk – it’s too intimate, and you feel complicit.

Like you’re willing.

Like you want this with him.

An act of love as he tugs your panties down to your knees and hums in quiet satisfaction at the sight of your bare cunt, glistening just for him.

There’s a voice in your head telling you you should be screaming and kicking and snarling like a wild, feral thing, but Osamu’s grabbing at your ass, spreading it to get a better look, his thumb gliding along your slit and all you can think about is the picture he’d packed away, the one of the three of you at Disneyland.

Samu’s arm slung over your shoulder, and your sister’s bright smile.

He spits; a warm, fat glob of saliva hitting your pussy, and as it slowly dribbles down the only sound that leaves your lips is a soft, broken whine. You don’t fight him when he takes his cock in hand and guides the flushed head, pre-cum already oozing at the tip, along your cunt, you just lie there, a toy for him to move and manipulate however he wants.

“You’ll forgive me for this, I know ya will,” he murmurs, softly squeezing your hip just once as something thick and blunt presses at your entrance.

But it doesn’t matter, not as his cock sheaths itself inside of you with one hard, brutal thrust, because you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to forgive yourself.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere osamu miya #yandere osamu x reader #yandere osamu #yandere osamu miya x reader #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #tw: infidelity #angst #drunk reader #manipulation and gaslighting ahead y'all #dilf osamu

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iam93percentstardust · 4 years ago

Note

Hey, it’s my birthday this month too and I will try my luck here 💕 sending you love, luck and flowers by the way 💐🍀❤️

I‘m totally into heartbeats, so my prompt is just „Heartbeat“ for Stony - everything else is up to you ❤️ thank you ❤️

Happy birthday, nonnie! (I know I’m a little late, real life got in the way of filling this prompt during February) I hope you like your story!!

As always, this fic is also on ao3

It takes Steve almost three hours after receiving the serum to realize that the steady thumping sounds he’s hearing are the heartbeats of the people close to him.

He thinks he can be forgiven for taking a while to figure it out. He can hear so much more now than he ever could before—even before his hearing was shot all to hell after his scarlet fever—so his initial thought, after he notices them, is that the thumping sounds are something that everyone can hear, like rushing water or something else. But he decides pretty quickly that that doesn’t make any sense. Even if it weren’t for the fact that no one else seems to hear them, the fact that the thumping sounds fade in and out as people move closer and farther away from him is a pretty clear indicator that it’s not something normal.

It’s not until one of the thumping sounds speeds up when the nurse asks him to take his shirt off so she can draw his blood that he realizes he’s hearing her heartbeat.

It’s incredible. It’s terrifying. It’s—Steve doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feel about it. He wants to feel excited about it, knows that he probably should be thrilled about this shining example of how perfectly the serum worked. But the more he thinks about it, the more his own heart sinks. He hears heartbeats. There’s not a secret in the world that’s closed to him now.

“Steve?” Peggy asks him, voice high with concern. Clearly not the first time she’s tried to get his attention.

He forces himself to meet her eyes. Her heart skips a beat—Steve’s enhanced hearing picks up on it, muffled under clothes and skin and bone as it may be. He wonders if it would have skipped that beat if he’d still looked like himself. He smiles tightly at her.

“I’m fine.”

Bruce’s heart beats twice as fast as the average human’s. Steve wonders if that’s because of the Hulk, if keeping the Hulk contained requires so much energy that Bruce’s heart beats so much faster. He supports this hypothesis (wouldn’t Tony be so proud of him if he heard this?) with the fact that the Hulk’s heartbeat is the same rate as anyone else’s and the fact that Bruce always has snacks squirreled away on his person.

Natasha’s is always steady. Always. The only time Steve has ever heard her heartbeat unsteady was in the middle of a battle with Doombots when he’s fighting back-to-back with her. Clint had fallen off his perch and Tony had been just a half-second later than usual in catching him. He’d still caught him but in that moment, when it had looked like Clint would hit the ground hard, Natasha’s heart had skipped several beats.

Clint has an arrhythmia. It takes Steve a while to figure out. He hears the missed beats, but he originally thinks it’s because of an external stimulus—Natasha’s bared back in the decontamination showers, Tony gifting him a whole new quiver, an exciting race in Mario Kart—only there’s too much of a pattern to the missed beats and Clint never looks worried when it happens, so Steve asks JARVIS about it. He spends a week learning everything he can about arrhythmias so he knows what to do if something happens during a battle.

Thor’s heartbeat throws him off for a while until he realizes it’s not a heartbeat so much as it is heartbeats. Thor laughs jovially when he asks about it and informs him that Asgardians actually have three hearts.

He never hears Tony’s.

He learns how to filter out the heartbeats. How can he not? Even just a single heartbeat is enough to drive someone mad, but to have to listen to anyone’s who’s standing within a few feet of him? He has to learn to filter the heartbeats or else he’ll lose his sanity.

The USO girls are the best way to do this, though he’ll never admit that to them. He knows they already find him… off, knows that it terrifies them how easily he can lift that motorcycle with them on it and how precisely he has to aim his fake punches so that he doesn’t risk launching Johnny halfway across the audience when he punches Hitler. If they found out he could hear their heartbeats, well, he’d be lucky if half of them don’t quit on the spot.

But the girls, they just—they feel so much. Their hearts flutter when the soldiers smile at them. They beat extra fast when they dance. They slow down when they sleep on the long train rides from city to city. It’s the perfect way to figure out how to drown them out.

In the end, Steve figures that the best way to filter through them is to treat them the same way he would any other background noise. City noises haven’t bothered him in ages because he’s so used to them. He learned to get used to sleeping on trains. He can learn to work around the heartbeats too.

Steve knows Tony has a heart. He has to. He couldn’t just throw it out altogether in favor of solely using the arc reactor (though sometimes he thinks that Tony would if he could). He’s seen the cute little reminder Pepper once gave Tony sitting down there in the workshop in its place of pride next to DUM-E’s charging station.

Proof Tony Stark has a heart.

Tony has a heart. It’s big and it’s beautiful and it overflows in ways that Steve could never have dreamed of when he’d been growing up, no matter how much he’d wanted to help. He thinks of the articles Fury had given him in Tony’s file after he first woke up: Tony Stark Wants to Change the World. He thinks a better headline might have been: Tony Stark Is Changing the World.

They’re friends now, friends who go to the movies and ballgames midnight snacks with each other. Friends who always team up together on game night, a united front against the Super Spies and Thor and Bruce. Friends who hug and sometimes fall asleep cuddled up together on the couch, though Tony is always quick to offer him a smile in the morning and say, “No hard feelings?”

And Steve wants more, desperately, achingly.

But he gets to have this. He gets to have Tony’s forgiveness for his harsh words on the helicarrier and his obedience during their missions and his loyalty when it comes to everything else. And Steve—he’s greedy. A lifetime of growing up with nothing has made him want. But this is something that he knows better about.

He can’t force Tony’s heart to flutter when he looks at Steve. He can’t force it to quicken when they stand too close together. He can’t force Tony to love him.

And yet…

He can’t force himself to stop listening either.

The first time he thinks that this curse might actually be a gift is when he discovers Bucky is still alive. He’s creeping through the empty base, nearly everyone already evacuated, when he turns the corner and sees the scientist. Steve has never met the man before, never even seen him before, but he knows that this must be one of Hydra’s scientists.

He doesn’t have the right build for a soldier. Steve would know.

The scientist’s heartbeat trips as he stares at Steve for only a moment before he hurries away in the opposite direction. Steve almost gives chase after him—if anyone can tell him where Bucky is, it would be him. But even as his strides lengthen into a run, he thinks about how the scientist’s gaze had darted back into the room he’d just left. Isn’t it strange, he muses, that the scientist was still here when everyone else had fled?

That’s when he hears it: the stuttered, fragile heartbeat, nearly eclipsed by a voice Steve knows as well as his own brokenly reciting his identification.

Steve abruptly skids to a halt and turns. He dashes into the room to see Bucky strapped down to a table, eyes staring sightlessly ahead as he begins his recitation all over again. Bile rises in Steve’s throat at the sight of his best friend knocked down like this but he shoves the feeling back. Panic later, action now. If Hydra’s abandoning Bucky in the middle of their experiments, that can’t spell anything good for their escape from the base.

He starts working on the straps, keeping an ear out for distant (or perhaps not-so-distant) explosions. Bucky slowly turns to look at him. “Is it…?” he murmurs, voice as rough as gravel, and then trails off, too exhausted to continue.

“It’s me,” Steve assures him. “It’s Steve.”

Bucky blinks. “Steve?”

Steve glances hurriedly toward the door. They can’t linger here. “Come on,” he mutters, helping Bucky off the table. He drapes Bucky’s arm over his shoulders, silently offering him support.

“Steve,” Bucky says again. His brow wrinkles.

“I thought you were dead,” Steve admits.

“I thought you were taller,” Bucky informs him, and even through his worry, Steve has to bite back a grin. There’s the same old Bucky he knows and loves. They’re gonna be just fine.

The first time Steve hears Tony’s heartbeat, they’re fighting.

Steve doesn’t even remember how it got started, just that one moment, they were laughing and talking with each other, and the next, they’re screaming. They’re pressed practically chest to chest as they yell abuses at each other and when Tony accuses him of being unable to move on from the past, Steve sees red. He straightens up, all but looming over Tony.

There’s a weak, stuttered thump.

It so surprises Steve that he blinks and steps away. He’s never—Tony has a heartbeat, he has to, but Steve has never heard it before. In one wild moment, he’d even once thought that Tony’s heart actually no longer beat and he was surviving entirely on the arc reactor. And yet, what else can it be?

Tony doesn’t seem to notice Steve’s hesitation and he steps in close again, jabbing his finger into Steve’s chest. Steve hears it again, frail and rhythmless and nearly hidden beneath a soft whirr that he’d never noticed before.

The arc reactor.

He’d never heard Tony’s heart because of the arc reactor.

Now that he hears it, he doesn’t know how he’d missed it before. It’s so much. It’s loud, drowning out nearly everything else, or maybe that’s the blood rushing in his ears as it really, truly hits him for the first time that this piece of metal and light is all that’s keeping Tony alive.

“How do you stand it?” he whispers.

Tony steps away, caught off guard. Immediately, Steve misses hearing that sound, that reassurance that Tony’s heart still beats under the reactor, and he follows him.

“Stand what?” Tony asks uncertainly, gaze landing on everything but Steve standing a few inches away from him.

Steve lays his hand over the reactor, covering up its glow. Only—the very thought, that it could go dark and he would lose the thing that matters most to him in this time, terrifies him and he moves his hand away again, realizing only at the last second that his hand is now covering Tony’s heart instead.

“It’s so loud. It’s—I can’t hear you,” he tries to explain.

Tony inhales sharply. “You can hear—” He cuts off, raises his hand to cover Steve’s. Steve nods. “How did no one know that?”

“I didn’t tell anyone,” he admits. “It scared me.” He splays his fingers wide, fingertips brushing the side of the arc reactor and the curve of Tony’s side all at once. “It still scares me.”

“Why?”

“Because,” he begins. Stops. Inhales deeply. Tries again. “Because Clint’s heart could skip more beats than it should and I would hear it but wouldn’t know what to do. Because Natasha could be unhappy and I would never know… Because you could die and I wouldn’t know until it was too late.”

“Steve—”

Terror makes him brave, who knew? “I can’t hear you unless I’m this close.” He forces himself to meet Tony’s eyes, warm and beautiful. “I always want to be this close, but I know I can’t have that.”

Tony’s lips part on a small gasp. He breathes in unsteadily, heart starting to race. Steve hears it but he doesn’t understand why. “All the words in the world,” Tony eventually says. “And I can’t find the ones I want when I need them.”

“Tony, you don’t have to—”

“Shut up,” Tony murmurs and kisses him.

The last heartbeat Steve hears as he plummets toward the ocean is his own. Red Skull is gone, the remaining Hydra soldiers dead. Peggy’s voice is in his ear but he can barely hear her over his own galloping heartbeat. Figures. The only thing he wants to listen to as he dies is her but he’s still stuck with the heartbeats.

“I’m gonna need a raincheck on that dance,” he tells her.

“Alright,” Peggy says. She sounds like she’s crying. “A week, next Saturday, at the Stork Club.”

“You got it,” he promises.

“Eight o’clock on the dot. Don’t you dare be late. Understood?”

The ice is rushing up before him, an expanse of pale blue and white as far as he can see. Maybe, if he’s lucky, the rushing water will drown out the sound of his heart. He doubts it. Steve Rogers has never been lucky.

“You know, I still don’t know how to dance.”

“I’ll show you how. Just be there.”

He wants her voice to be the last thing he hears. He doesn’t want to listen to the sound of his dying heart.

He can’t have everything he wants.

As the bedroom door slides open, through his own exhaustion, Steve hears the gentle whirring of the arc reactor. He blinks his eyes open, taking in the dark room, lit up only by the lights of the city. Even those are dimmed; JARVIS must have the tinted windows darkened. Tony is asleep on his stomach, the arc reactor’s glow muted by his chest pressing it into the blankets.

Steve wearily strips out of his armor, dropping it in the laundry chute to be picked up by the tower bots in the morning. He takes a quick whiff of himself, hoping he doesn’t smell badly enough to need a shower when he’s this tired, and is rewarded with only the slightly stale smell of the Quinjet.

Reassured that he won’t wake his husband up with his rankness, he climbs into their bed, tucking himself under the blankets. Tony grumbles wordlessly, shifting closer to him in his sleep. Steve presses himself along the line of Tony’s body, tucking his head into the curve of Tony’s neck. Nearly silenced by the arc reactor, Tony’s heart beats steadily, still ticking even after all it’s been put through.

He smiles, presses a kiss to Tony’s pulse point, and lets his eyes drift closed.

#alle answers #alle writes #stevetony #if you like please consider reblogging #Anonymous

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dwtisgay · 2 years ago

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x x

my tin hat is FIRMLY ON. the US has a 2 part immigration & customs process for border admission/international arrivals that doesn't allow for sterile transit (#post-9/11 homeland security measures), so everyone has to clear immigration at the first point of entry before getting on a connecting flight/moving through to customs. on visas:

When you arrive at the U.S. port of entry... a U.S. immigration officer will open your sealed packet and review it for completeness. If you have a connecting flight, be sure to allow several hours for this process... In the meantime, the officer will put a stamp in your passport to indicate that you are now a U.S. permanent resident… Your passport, with the visa and stamp, will serve as your temporary green card. (x paraphrased)

it’s not an official source but other websites all seemed to say the same thing, and the description of this logic makes sense to me - i.e. first flight/entry is the ‘green card activation trip’ where immigration docs are checked over & officers confirm where your green card should be sent. your passport is stamped as proof of completing the immigration inspection. so the port of entry doesn’t have to be your ~final destination~, bc once you've through immigration you can travel normally as a US resident. it also kinda implies that here:

If the CBP officer admits you, you will then have lawful permanent resident status and be able to live and work in the United States permanently. (from step 7) (x)

looking at the US Customs & Border Protection website, I couldn't see any info about needing to travel to a specific location/port of entry for visas either - if that was the norm there’d be something about it. this was literally the only thing i saw referencing it:

CBP "designated ports of entry for optimized processing of first-time Canadian applicants for admission in the TN or L-1 categories...[which] ensures a more efficient approach to processing the high volume of...applicants"... "you may continue to go to any port of entry...for processing" (x) - (so presumably not a norm for other visa types/ports of entry(?), just streamlining immigration delays at the US/Canada border)

🤷‍♀️ it's not clearly laid out anywhere from what I can tell, but customs procedures never are. all that to say, if george truly wanted to fly directly to twitchcon and say 🖕dream, he totally could. he would never tho & that's that

I love you, reblogging this to my other blog its official he doesn't have to land in florida orlando however I do think he highly likely will simply because dream has planned this for a while and I doubt george will want to arrive in sandeigo first as much as dream fears he would

if you disagree that's fine, but don't you dare do it out of doomposting

#a visa leakage to this blog that I have to reblog to the other blog #a win!#blog

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whump-a-la-mode · 3 years ago

Text

Nemesis - Choose Your Own Whump 2

With A receiving the most votes on my last post, for this adventure we are going with a drugged Villain whumpee. Sorry about the generic name for this one, I really couldn’t think of anything else ^^

I hope you enjoy, and thanks to everyone for replying to the last post! As always, votes can be sent in through any method you want. Comments, asks, and PMs are all just fine. I’ll see it!

CW//Falling off a building, hostage situations, shapeshifting, medical abuse, extensive talk of sedatives, brief mention of a needle

Please note that the third scene of this piece is from the point of view of a drugged character, and thus the scene has some aspects that could be described as unreality. Please skip this scene if this would make you uncomfortable.

The video was grainy.

It was always grainy. That was the strange thing about it-- everyone carried around miniature computers in their pockets, equipped with tiny cameras that would have rivaled the most powerful devices of years prior. Any civilian could take a 4k quality video on some social media, but the moment anything actually important was happening, technology seemed to regress twenty years.

Hero supposed it didn’t matter. Their memory of the incident was certainly clear as day, better than any camera could ever capture.

And yet...

They clicked a button on the remote, and the clip restarted.

The sides of the screen were blocked out in fuzzy grey-- the video having been taken through the bars of a metal fence. Between them, the camera focused at first on the foot of a brown brick building, before panning upwards, only stopping upon reaching the roof. It took a moment for the visual to adjust, focusing against the glare of the sun overhead.

Two figures, on the building’s roof. Two figures seen so often together, in so many similar videos.

The standoff had taken from dawn till sunset. How Villain had gotten into the building unnoticed had yet to be fully understood, but, regardless of method, they wasted little time in taking hostage a group of professors, eating lunch together. A single one had been released, bringing with them a message:

“Everyone leaves. No one comes in. Everyone stays outside the fence.”

It had seemed like a trap, at first. Of course it had. It wouldn’t be the first time that Villain had played such a trick. After much debating, however, evacuation was deemed to be the best option, and the campus was soon barren.

The hours afterwards had been as long and hot as they had been nerve-wracking. The very thought of following orders from Villain made Hero’s stomach twist, but their orders were incredibly clear: Don’t do anything stupid.

It was an incredibly difficult order to follow.

Establishing a line of communication had been the hardest part. Villain had quickly disconnected any security cameras in the vicinity, alongside confiscating any technology their hostages might have held.

In the end, it was decided that a reporter would be the one to go in. One of the most recognizable faces in the city, and one that was neutral. Not fighting for either side, but representing the citizenry.

The whole plan bet on one fact: That the shapeshifting Hero could pull of the imitation.

It worked. At least, it worked for as long as it needed to. Villain accepted the olive branch, and allowed the supposed reporter to enter unharmed.

Of course, the illusion broke as soon as Hero opened their mouth. No matter how good they were at changing their shape, it did not change their voice. In the brief moment of confusion, the hostages had managed to make their escape.

Leaving only the two nemeses, and the building as their battlefield.

It was hard to remember the fight. They had waged so many battles against one another, they all seemed to blend together, at one point or another. There was broken glass, pushed over tables, exploding equipment, and then-

And then they were on the roof.

Villain was stupid, but they weren’t, well, they weren’t stupid. They may have had the moral compass of a kleptomaniac feline, and the brain cells to match, but they had common sense. A sense of self-preservation.

Forcing them to the edge of the roof... it was supposed to be like pushing them to a corner. Trapping them.

In the video, the two figures danced. Forward, and back, until one took the lead. Until they were up against the edge, with nowhere left to go.

They were supposed to stop. They weren’t supposed to fall.

They stopped their own fall, or at least they tried. They were telekinetic. Of course they did. But they were surprised, or confused, or, or something. They slowed themself down. But they did not stop. The force with which they struck the concrete parking lot below was more than enough to knock them out.

The video ended.

And... that was it. The end. Years and years of battles, some won, some lost, all ended. They should have been happy, and they were! They hated Villain, sincerely and truly hated them.

But no other villain fought like them. No other villain had their tongue, their wit. Their skill. Their fight.

Villain’s defeat should have been epic! The ultimate confrontation of good and evil, of chaos, and order.

Yet, their downfall was a simple trip.

In the corner of Hero’s TV screen, small white text helpfully reported to them just when that video had been recorded.

One year ago.

One year, since that day. Since Villain’s downfall. And now...

Hero’s phone buzzed. A text message. The confirmation of a meeting.

One whole year, and still, Hero’s mind was consumed by their lost nemesis.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The diner was terribly busy, and yet, when Hacker walked through the door, Hero had no doubts as to their identity.

Despite their rather stereotypical appearance, there was nothing about the person’s manner that would have indicated the sheer amount of time they spent behind a computer screen. They greeted the receptionist, pointed to Hero, and exchanged a few words beyond that. With a smile, then, they parted, and made their way to Hero’s table.

Their manner only seemed strange when they sat down, and Hero noted that the way they smiled seemed to pain them.

“Is this seriously what you people act like?” They hissed through bared teeth. “Can I stop smiling now? Or will they look at me weird?”

“They’re already looking at you weird.”

“They are?”

“You- You don’t need to do that.”

“Oh thank god.” Immediately, their expression fell into one far more analytic. Far less friendly. “I, uh, don’t get out much.”

“Really?” Hero raised a brow incredulously.

“I’ve got more important things to do than, uh, than going out. Anyways.” They stuck a hand outwards. It was partially covered by a fingerless glove. “I’m Hacker.”

“I figured.” Hero shook the offered hand. “I’m Hero, though I suppose you already know that.”

“You’d think people here would be, uh, a bit more in awe? It’s not everyday you get to eat in the same building as a superhero.”

“Keep your voice down, please.”

“Oh, sorry. Is it, like, a secret? You don’t have a secret identity, do you?”

“No. But when I’m out of costume, I’m not exactly that recognizable. So let’s keep it that way. Kapish?”

“Kapash. But, still, oh my god. This is so cool! A real life hero...”

“Yeah... Yeah. A real hero alright.”

A hero who could hardly focus during battle. A hero who infuriated their team leader more than they aided them.

“Anyways.” Hacker raised their head, a far more natural smile coming onto their face. “I have the... thing.”

“You mentioned that. It’s about Villain, right?”

“Mhm.”

The person across the booth leaned down, prying a laptop from a carrying case and placing it atop the table. It was a bulky thing, and as soon as it was turned on, the shrill sound of fans struggling not to overheat filled Hero’s head. Hacker clicked around a bit. They gripped the edges of the device, as if about to spin it around, before they stopped, frowning.

“It’s been a year now, hasn’t it?” They commented.

“Since Villain was captured. Yes. 374 days.”

“You remember?”

“Yes.”

“You miss them, don’t you?”

It was so direct. Hero couldn’t help but stutter:

“I don’t- Of course I don’t miss them. I hate them.”

Hacker looked up over the laptop screen to give them an incredulous look. It wasn’t a convincing lie.

“I don’t miss them.” Hero stood their ground. “But I want to make sure they’re contained.”

“I just... I don’t know if this is something you want to see. You’re trying to move on, and-”

“Show me it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. If it’s something to do with their containment, I need to know about it. I can’t let them hurt anyone else.”

“Well, that’s not the problem here. If you’re sure.”

With a sigh, Hacker spun the computer around, so that it’s screen faced Hero.

They weren’t sure what they expected. Some kind of... deep web threat? A message from Villain? A copycat? An escape attempt?

But they didn’t get any of that. Instead, the screen displayed a simple PDF. Medical records. At the top, in bold letters and a rather ostentatious logo, the header read:

Specialized Criminal Rehabilitation Unit of Organization

For the most part, the page was Greek to Hero. A slew of ID numbers and attending physicians with far too many acronyms following their names. What did make sense to them was the spreadsheet that made up most of the page, labelled:

Approved Daily Medication Dosage for Patient: Villain

The spreadsheet took up two pages with solid text. Hero did not recognize the medication names, of course, but they did not need to be a doctor to understand the entries written under the column labelled “Medication Purpose.”

Every single data cell, even as they scrolled to the bottom of the document, contained only one word. The same word.

Sedation

“This is...” Hero muttered, furrowing their brow. Scrolling up and down. This had to be wrong, somehow.

“I don’t understand most of it.” Hacker commented sheepishly. “But, uh, I have a few friends with some more medical knowledge than me. They’ve never seen anything like it. It’s more than enough medication to sedate a fucking elephant- sorry, excuse my language.”

“It’s fine.” The confusion in their voice was rapidly melting to fury.

“Even for major surgical procedures... nothing near this level would ever be used.”

“This has to be a mistake.” Hero shook their head. “A mix-up. Maybe it’s like... all the medications the facility ordered. And they just labelled it wrong.”

“Well, if it’s a mistake, they’ve been making the exact same one for an entire year. I’ve got 374 of these files. Newest one just got uploaded a few hours ago.”

“And they’re always the same?”

“With some minor dosage adjustments, but yes. That’s not, um, that’s not all of it.”

Hacker reached over, dragging the computer back so that it faced them again. There was more clicking this time, along with typing at a speed that made Hero’s fingers hurt, just to watch it.

When the laptop was spun back around, this time, it was a video.

A camera feed.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Villain felt about to choke on their tongue.

It wasn’t a new feeling. More or less, it was the only thing they felt, anymore. That heavy block of muscle in their mouth, threatening at any moment to block throat choke air no air no-

They were losing their words again. Words... wordsssssss... Voices. Voices spoke words. Sometimes, they did. Sometimes they grumbled and muttered and sputtered and murmured like a car murmured. Cars... or was it cats? No, cats didn’t murmur. They purred. What else did they do? Not bark... no, barking too loud for cats. Cat go mew mew, real quiet like.

Cat’s meow, that is a cat’s voice. There were other voices, too. Quiet like cats. Two of them, two voices. They knew those voices, those were the doctors’ voices. The doctors liked to talk a lot. They talked, but they did not see. Or... no. They were not seen. Villain did not see them. They wanted to, but their eyes were broken. The engines in their eyelids would not run anymore, would not open the garage door, Sally!

One of the doctors’ voices got closer. A million miles away, a hand was laid upon Villain’s wrist, flipping over their hand so that their palm faced downward.

“Let’s move it.”

It was a silly thing to say. Nothing moved in this place. Nothing that Villain could see, as their eyes were broken.

“Is the other vein healed enough?”

“It’s going to have to be.”

Silly words... Villain wanted to laugh, but their muscles were firmly locked away behind a padlock.

“Okay.” The doctor sounded so sad. Why were they so sad? Villain’s mouth was full of soil. The doctor was tired. “I’ll get the rest of the medicines.”

“We’re going 30 milligrams up from yesterday on the Propofol.”

“Oh? Why?”

“They opened their eyes, yesterday.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Hero felt sick. In the top right corner of the security footage, the same logo from the medical records was displayed. The Specialized Criminal Rehabilitation Unit of Organization. Below it, a subtitle.

“Keeping the city safe.”

Was this safety? It shouldn’t have been. They had known, of course, what had happened to Villain after their capture and very brief hospital stay. It was what happened to all villains. They were sent to the rehab unit.

A therapy program. Helping villains to control their powers and reform their lives. To return them to the straight and narrow. But, now that Hero thought about it...

Villain was the only one who had never been released.

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Thanks so much for reading! Just like last time, there are two options along with every part of this story. Alongside each options is a question, so that you guys can give more specific suggestions if you so wish. The option that receives the most votes will be the choice that our Hero makes!

A.) Tell someone about what is happening - Who should Hero tell? (They are on a small team, as well as part of a larger Organization, for reference.)

B.) Attempt a more direct approach. Visit Villain in the rehab program - Should Hero try to rescue Villain immediately?

#whump #whumpee #whumpblr #whump community #hero villain whump #drugged whumpee #drugged villain #villain whumpee #hero villain prompt #choose your own whump #choose your own adventure #nemesis

96 notes · View notes

volturiwolf · 4 years ago

Text

The Volturi Princess - A Felix Volturi x fem!Reader Story (part 3)

No of Words: about 5313

Mentions of: Abandonment, Abortion, Anxiety, Blood, Bruises, Coma/Comatosed State, Death Emotional Abuse, Emotional and Physical Pain, Gaslighting, Greece/Greek Language - with translation, Heartbreak, Italian Language - with translation, Manipulation, Murder, Pain, Panic Attacks, Pregnancy, Suffering, Suicide/Suicidal Thoughts, Swear Language, Throwing Up/Puking, Witches/Wizards/Witchcraft

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part 1 part 2

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"The Volturi Princess " Tag List (reply if you want to be tagged or removed):

@felixvolturisprincess @singerj2002 @mrtony-stank1 @ikissedthescarsonherskin @alecvolturiswifeforever @hshehdyhd

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Felix’s POV:

We have been traveling for over a year now, Demetri tracking Carlisle and us following behind him. Demetri located him across the Atlantic, so we swam across the ocean to reach him. Almost a year and a half after leaving Volterra, we tracked Carlisle while he was working as a doctor somewhere in the northern United States. He was surprised to see us, but we kept our austere facade to maintain our sovereignty towards him. He welcomed us gladly in his small house.

It was a two-story building, and it smelled of old wood and mold, but I guess that was the best he could do for now. The living conditions around here did not seem to be ideal. Apart from the Volturi and the Egyptian coven, no other vampire lived comfortably, in castles, mansions, or even big houses; most vampires were nomads, traveling around and living by hunting whenever they could. So, Carlisle actually living in a house, even if it looked like this, was way better than living the nomad life.

“Jane, Alec, Demetri, Felix. To what do I owe this pleasure? Can I offer you anything?” Carlisle had always been one of the kindest of our kind, too compassionate for a vampire.

“No, Carlisle, thank you, we’re good. We are on a mission, and we have a few questions for you.” Jane took it up to herself to start the conversation.

“Please, sit down so we can talk.” Carlisle offered us to sit around the table that was in the middle of the ground floor. We each took a seat at the table. “So, may I ask what it is all about? I don’t think I have personally acted in a way to upset the Volturi.”

“No, indirectly, you haven’t.” Jane continued. “We wanted to ask you a few questions regarding (Y/N). We think that you may have heard by now that she has left Volterra.”

“Yes, word came around. I met a few nomads from Europe some time ago, and they told me that (Y/N) left Volterra, probably permanently.”

I tried to suppress a sob that was fighting to leave my throat. Carlisle knew that (Y/N) left, everyone knew that (Y/N) left. They didn’t know she left her mate behind, and they shall never find out that she was my mate. I didn’t even want to think about the possibility of (Y/N) being in danger if anyone found out that we were mates. I had too many targets on my back to risk anything happening to her.

It was my turn to intervene. “Have you seen her? Has she ever come around here?”

Carlisle turned to face me. “I did. Once. She stayed with me for about a year; that was about 6 or 7 years ago. She tracked me through her memories. She has become quite skilled at that.” Demetri and I looked at each other confused. (Y/N) could track as skillfully as Demetri now?

Carlisle continued. “Anyway, she seemed concerned. She told me she had been traveling for quite some time, but she felt like she was missing a piece of herself, of her past. For a few months, she wanted to learn more about me, my job, how I was doing with the whole “animal blood” diet, simple curiosity really. She had been training herself to abstain from human blood, so it was easier for her to go hunt with me. She told me..”

Carlisle turned to look at me now. “She told me about your bond, Felix.” So, she has felt our bond, too! “She told me that she was scared for you, for your safety within the Volturi. She was worried about all of you, but particularly you, Felix. Being her mate means you are basically a target for anyone who wishes to harm (Y/N). She told me she ran away to protect you. As long as no one knew of your bond, you were safe. The traveling and meeting the world was just an extra benefit for her and her gift.”

“Her gift?!” We all exclaimed in unison. (Y/N) never claimed a “gift”, so how could this be possible? Did she lie? Did she even know about her gift?

“Before you say anything, she didn’t even know what her gift was. It is way more complicated than you think. I guess she’d appreciate it if I gave you an idea about it.” Carlisle paused for a few moments. If my heart was beating, I swear it would have stopped by now.

“You know how, for example, Jane, you can induce mental pain, or you, Alec, can restrict anyone’s senses?” The Twins nodded at Carlisle. “Well, (Y/N) can do both, and so much more.” We were kind of shocked. No one has ever had a gift similar to the Twins; that’s why they were in the Volturi. Because they were unique.

“(Y/N)’s gift is copying others’ gifts. That’s why she could also track me; she had copied Demetri’s gift.” Carlisle pointed at Demetri, who looked utterly shocked now.

I would lie if I said I didn’t feel the same way or scared even. I was not scared because of (Y/N); I was scared for (Y/N). This newly-found discovery meant she would be way more important to Aro than we ever thought. He wouldn’t just let her go - not that this was his intention before, but now, she would be even more precious to him and his cause; she would now be the perfect weapon for him to use against other vampires. I had to find her and warn her.

“Do you know where she is now?” My voice came out more stern than I intended it to be.

Carlisle nodded his head slightly. “I may know where she is now. Before she left, she was trying to find out as much as she could about her parents. I assume that was the “missing piece” she was referring to? Anyway, she may be after her parents. I mean they do know her nature better than any of us does. Don’t forget that (Y/N) is half-witch. No one could ever teach her how to be one; only her father could be the one to do so. So, if I stand corrected, she is looking for them. And there’s only one place that (Y/N) has ever linked to her parents.”

“Greece.” Demetri stepped in. Demetri was the only one who could understand (Y/N)’s connection with Greece; it was their birthplace, their origin, their true home.

“Exactly. If you find her parents, you’ll most likely find her. Even if she’s not with them, it will be easier to track her if you have her parents’ assistance.”

We nodded and we stood up. “Thank you for your help, Carlisle. You were most helpful.” Jane spoke for all of us.

“It was my pleasure.” Carlisle led us to the door, but before we left, Jane turned to him one last time. “We think we can trust you that this conversation stays between us.”

“Of course, Jane. Have a safe trip and take care of yourselves.”

“You too.” Alec smiled at Carlisle.

What Carlisle said at the end had me worried for (Y/N). “I hope you find her soon. Her parents never had the best reputation around.” What kind of people was (Y/N)’s family anyway?

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Tracking (Y/N) proved to be way more complicated and debilitating than we thought it would be. We assumed that the closer we were to Greece, the easier it would be for Demetri to pick up her tenor. We were wrong; we were going around blindly, not a clue about (Y/N)’s whereabouts. Even when we finally set our feet on Greek ground, we still didn’t know where to start looking for her. Nobody had a clue where she could be; we didn’t even know her birthplace.

Demetri took it upon him to start his research in a place he knew well enough: Athens. Athens was the capital of Greece’s civilization for many centuries, but, at the time of Demetri’s birth, during the Byzantine times, Constantinople emerged as the center of the Eastern Byzantine Empire, while Rome remained the center of the Western Byzantine Empire.

Athens was not regarded as highly as it used to, during Pericles’ “Golden Century”, as the 5th century BC was known. It still was an important and historical city, but it has lost its title as the “capital” eons ago. The city was taken advantage of by both “allies” and Ottomans and seemed to have lost part of its previous glory. Still, it was beautiful; I may have been quite “old” myself, but I could still admire the history around me.

It reminded of (Y/N)’s stories and books; knowing Ancient Greek history was one of the first things she took an interest in. The fact that she was able to travel to Athens, with or without Aro, quite a few times also developed her fascination regarding the Ancient Greek arts, philosophy, and overall way of living. Of course, it wasn’t easy being a woman then, or ever really, but she was more financially privileged than the average Athenian - vampire wealth had always been an actual thing, and Aro always prided himself to be a “collector” of wealth (and talented vampires for the matter).

We arrived in Greece at a transitional stage; the country has been experiencing a war against the Ottomans for a few years now, and it was evident around the city of Athens. There were many casualties during the war, many damages around the streets, the houses, and there seemed to be a climate of misery and decline.

Yet, the country had recently elected a prime minister, who declared Nafplio, a city in Peloponnese, as Greece’s capital. That was our next stop, as we couldn’t find anything in particular that could indicate (Y/N) being in Athens. Apart from the poor living conditions, the country was experiencing a plague pandemic wave, which killed even more people, but authorities worked hard on containing the cases, and it seemed to have been working.

Still, without a single clue about (Y/N)’s location, the only thing we could do is go around searching for any possible information. We could only travel at night, and hide during the day; Greece, just like Italy, had always been blessed with sunny days, for the majority of a calendar year.

It wasn’t ideal with us being vampires, but Volterra was an ideal strategic location for the Volturi to travel across the vampire and human world, rule, and impose their laws whenever it was needed. Just like always, we now also had to be secretive about our existence.

I thought about how lucky (Y/N) was in that situation; being a non-fully vampire, she didn’t “glow” in the sun like us. She had a more healthy-skin-like glow, a healthy and subtle glow that made me even more attracted to her - if that was even possible. That basically meant that she could technically go anywhere and everywhere; the weather did not affect her, the sun did not affect her.

I started getting frustrated and disappointed. It wasn’t only (Y/N) I had in my mind; apparently, during the years of the Greek Revolution, many vampires, Greek or non-Greek, started secretly fighting to claim territories for themselves.

We knew that it wasn’t part of our duty, but it wouldn’t hurt if we could actually claim Greek land for the Volturi. Having both Italy and Greece under our control could mean more power, more resources, more blood. It only seemed natural; the three Volturi kings were born in Greece, all three of their wives were born in Greece, Demetri and Chelsea were born in Greece. (Y/N) was born in Greece.

Greece could easily become an extension of our territory - Italy was already ours in its entirety - and it would only be the start. It would be easier to control and deal with any possible riots from other covens - the Egyptians and the Romanians in particular. We didn’t fear either of them, but the Romanians have been holding resentment towards the Volturi for a couple thousand years, so anything could be expected from their side at any moment.

I shared my thoughts with the Twins and Demetri. They all agreed that it was a plausible plan; it would show others that the Volturi are still as powerful as they have ever been, and should be feared. Besides, we knew that just the four of us would be able to subjugate any vampire that crossed our paths. With the Twins’ powers, Demetri’s tracking skills, and my strength, it would be impossible for others to resist or challenge us.

We started interrogating any vampire we found wandering or hunting at night; none of them worthy enough to fight us or even gifted enough to join the Volturi. It was quite easy to find the leaders of these “newly-made” covens, or alliances, as they seemed. Because none of them inspired loyalty to each other; none of them was a coven in the sense the Volturi were. They were more like vampires who came together to fight for territory control; I doubt if they would even manage to stay together for one more day. They did not only lack loyalty towards their "leaders", but also discipline, principles, and basic rules of survival and solidarity towards the other members.

It was quite easy to take over any “coven” in Southern Greece, including the island of Crete. We started moving north, taking over the territories of Thessaly and Epirus, something which the Greek humans did not manage to acquire from the Ottomans yet. We were to take over Macedonia and Thrace next, but we were met with an unexpected obstacle.

Every vampire we would interrogate regarding these two territories would say the same thing: none of them knew who owned them, but whoever tried to claim the territories never returned back, dead or alive. The mystery that surrounded the person or people behind the leadership of these areas made their skin crawl; they all refused to “help” us any further, no matter how much Jane, Alec, and I tried, which made me kind of worried, or more like curious, but I didn’t want to show any weakness or let them question my effectiveness.

Every one of them was just a “normal” vampire; we were better, stronger, gifted, and we have proved that we can bring results every single time. No other vampire has ever dared go against us; we wouldn’t allow them to question us now either.

We continued traveling up north, determined to face whoever it was behind the territories there. I didn’t pay attention to the slight pain in my guts as we were traveling through the country, but it was becoming more and more intense as we continued going north.

We didn’t know how we would find the vampires behind this “operation”, so our plan would be to act in any way possible to provoke them into coming out of their “hiding spot”. For a few days, we were rummaging any small village we could find, killing the villagers and draining them of their blood - not a very “Volturi tactic" may I say. We were supposed to hide our existence, not challenge our luck by killing so many people; yet, this was the only way we thought that could possibly lurk the vampires out of their “comfort zone”.

As we were traveling through Macedonia, we came across a rather developed town, compared to the villages we have seen before. The city was surrounded by tall stone walls. There were a few rivers on its western side, forests and mountains on its northeastern side, and swamps and marshes on its southern side. We couldn’t hunt freely here, at least not during daylight; there was no way we would go unnoticed if we started hunting anywhere in the area. We decided to run through the forests, see if there was a place we could stay for a while; if there was a human or more we could feed off of; if there was a sign of the vampires or (Y/N).

During the last few weeks, I’ve been thinking that our mission has been more about expanding our power and influence, and not as much about locating (Y/N). Actually, it felt more like locating (Y/N) was more of an afterthought now. We lost the purpose of our mission; the reason we came together all along.

It wasn’t as if we would actually be directly benefiting by the territories we claimed; we were still working on behalf of the Volturi. We didn’t ask the kings to claim Greek territories; yet, we did, because we felt obliged to consider their own good once again, this time at the expense of finding (Y/N). Once again, we became the victims of the influence they had on us, and we played their game.

“Why are we even doing this?” I yelled frustratedly. My friends turned to look at me.

“What do you mean, Felix?” Jane seemed slightly annoyed. “We’ve come here to claim the territories, to show these savages who the boss is here.”

“No, Jane, they are not savages, we didn’t come here to claim territories, and we don’t have to show them “who is the boss”. They already know that the Volturi rule the vampire world. No. No. We came here to search for (Y/N). Not to “claim territories”. Not to “show them”. We came here for (Y/N). We..We lost our purpose. We lost the true meaning of our mission. We just started claiming the land for the Volturi, for Aro. We..We forgot about her.”

My eyes were stinking with venom. I felt weak, I felt as if I betrayed her. I promised to myself that I would bring her back home, that I would protect her. It’s been so long and we still haven’t found her. We just kept wasting time on things that shouldn’t matter to us. We should not care about expanding our influence, our territory, our power. We should care about bringing the Princess back.

Jane lowered her head apologetically. “I’m sorry, Felix. I didn’t know you felt this way. I have to admit it though; we did lose track of time and we forgot about the actual purpose of this mission. We once again forgot that (Y/N) has always been way more important than any power in the world. I’m sorry. We all are. I promised you we’ll start searching for her right away, okay?”

I nodded affirmatively. We had to find (Y/N) as soon as possible. We were not only running out of time but also out of hope that (Y/N) was in Greece or anywhere else, that she was alive. We got so distracted by our conversation that we didn’t notice we were being watched until we all started screaming in pain. I fell on my knees, the pain on the back of my head unbearable, and that’s when I blacked out.

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I didn’t know how much time passed being unconscious. It felt like a new sensation to me; being a bit over 2000 years old, I haven’t lost my senses once - except for the times Alec liked to play games on me. I didn’t feel like myself; it didn’t feel right. I didn’t like being restricted of my senses, especially now, especially here, in an unknown place. My mind was blurry and I couldn’t see anything distinct around me; I couldn’t see almost anything. I tried to move my hands around but I couldn’t as if the tightest rope in the world was holding me in place.

“No need to fight, sweetheart.” I heard a woman’s voice. “There is no way to escape.”

“Who are you? Why am I here? Where are the others?”

“Felix? Is that you?” I heard Demetri’s voice on my right.

“Demetri? Is that you? Where are Jane and Alec?”

“I am here.” I heard Alec’s voice on my left.

“Me too." Jane replied.

“Alexandre, please, I cannot start with this again.”

Suddenly, I could see again. I was still physically restricted, but my eyes could see them crystal clear and my mind was in order once again. The woman in front of me was very imposing, though of average size. Her long, curly hair framed her face beautifully and her piercing red eyes were piercing through my soul. The man standing next to her was only a few centimeters taller; he had short, straight hair, and his eyes were looking between the four of us sternly. Who were they even? Why were we even here? Why us? As if she read my mind, a woman spoke to me.

“Oh, deary. We’re not going to tell you who we are. But you are going to tell us what you, Volturi guards, are doing in our territory!”

“How do you know who we are?” I exclaimed. Of course, everyone knew the Volturi as the authority of the vampire world, but not all vampires around here have ever met us specifically, or any other member of the coven for the matter.

“Your crest, dear. I have known that crest for far too long. Way before you were even born. I see that dear Aro never changed it. He does like to remain in his same, old ways after all. Never changing, never moving forward, still imposing his “laws”, I’m assuming?” The woman seemed to know way far about the Volturi and Aro. She became a danger for our coven, from the moment she and the man abducted us. She should have never done that; they both would be punished for their actions.

“Dear, I won’t get punished..for anything. You, on the other hand, are in a pretty difficult situation. You see, my husband and I are not going to let you get away until you tell us why you are here.”

“Pain.” I heard Jane saying. The woman turned to look at her but she didn’t even flinch. I heard Jane screaming in return.

“Oh, sweetheart. Your powers won’t work on either of us. You see, I am a shield, so don’t even try to hurt us. On the contrary, WE can hurt you just as much, if not more.” The woman smiled evilly, while Jane was writhing in pain.

“Please, stop hurting my sister.” Alec pleaded, unable to use his gift against the couple.

“So, you are the “Terror Twins”. Alec and Jane, I see.” The woman knew their nickname? “Oh, yes, I do, dear.” She turned to look at me. “You see, I was once part of the Volturi. Technically, still am. However, I left, way before any of you joined the coven. To put it into perspective, I was there when Didyme lived but I left way before she was killed. Dear Marcus has never been the same ever since. I still feel somewhat of a connection to the coven, though I am able to make my own decisions because I managed to escape them. We were actually passing by Volterra a few times. I wonder how you never noticed us, though our powers would practically make us mentally invisible from Demetri, over here, or any other vampire, really.”

She knew Demetri, too?

“Felix, dear, I know all of you and about you. You see, my dear daughter has a special connection with all of you, a kind of friendship neither my husband, nor I quite understand. It wasn’t easy for her to keep her memories secret; though she is an amazing shield - which makes me so proud, she is kind of “vulnerable” when she is sleeping. And my husband’s magic is quite strong and easy to penetrate her mind and memories when she does eventually sleep.”

Her daughter? Could that be…?

“WHERE IS SHE?” The question slipped out of my mouth without even thinking about it first.

My anger could not be controlled right now. I was pushing myself to my limits to break my fetters, to no avail. Were that woman and that man (Y/N)’s parents? I started making some connections here and there; they looked similar to (Y/N), though so different at the same time. Their immortality, their red eyes, their confidence, and their aggression did not remind me of (Y/N). She had a pure face, a face of kindness, she was not like them.

“You think so? Alexandre, can you please call (Y/N), agapi mou?” The woman turned to the man, and the man started moving his fingers in front of him, creating some sort of a wave around him.

Within a few seconds, the door burst open and the first thing I saw was a red silky fabric flowing around the air. When the fabric settled down slowly, I saw her for the first time after so long. She has changed..a lot. Her (Y/E/C) eyes were replaced by piercing red ones, with a slight hint of (Y/E/C) around the pupils. Her eyes apathetic and stern; her facial features more defined; her hair reached a little below her shoulders, straight and shiny, like her father’s. She still looked as beautiful as ever.

She stared at us, focusing her eyes mostly on me. Her heartbeat sounded steady and strong. I was relieved; she was still human, they had not turned her fully vampire yet. She took a few steps farther into the house, her feet bare but surprisingly clean, no dirt, no grass had stained them. She stood right beside the woman, who I now knew was her mother and Aro’s daughter.

“What are they doing here?” Her voice came out stern, yet it was music to my ears.

I missed her voice so much. I missed her so much. Our mate bond, weakened by the distance and time spent apart, slowly started forming again. I felt it; I felt my existence becoming meaningful again. I felt my breath hitching in my throat, her presence provoking so many different feelings and emotions inside me. However, she still seemed cold and distant, and I couldn’t quite read her face. Did she not feel the same? Has she forgotten me? Does she hate me now?

I saw her gaze getting softer, even compassionate? She approached me and bent down slightly, placing her left hand carefully on my right cheek. She stared deeply into my eyes and I closed mine, leaning on her touch. It was the purest moment I have experienced in my 2000 years of life.

I opened my eyes and stared at her. I saw golden flakes scattered in between the red in her eyes. Once again, she took my breath away. It felt as if I fell in love with her all over again, a unique feeling of refreshment. We were lost in our own little world. She smiled slightly at me, the first time she did after such a long time.

“Enough! (Y/N) get away from him, now!” (Y/N) was forcefully removed away from me by her mother. She was looking at me pleadingly and then turned to look at her parents with such hatred. I’ve never seen her like this ever again, not even with Aro.

“YOU. WILL. NOT. TELL. ME. WHAT. TO. DO!” If looks could kill, (Y/N)’s parents would be dead by now. Her hands started lighting up, bright purple flames rising up. She was trying to intimidate her parents, but neither of them looked concerned in the slightest. She turned to us and with a dance-like move of her hand, we were finally freed of our fetters.

It was her father’s turn to speak. “(Y/N), let’s take this outside.” With a jerking motion of his hand, we all found ourselves, outside, in their house’s front yard.

“They’ve come to take you back to Volterra, back to Aro! Don’t you see it? They don’t care about you! They just want to please their master.” The words came bitter out of her mouth. She had a clear resentment towards the Volturi. “I will not let them take you away from me! Not again!”

“I know, mother, I’ve read their minds, too. Yet, I don’t see why YOU seem to think that you can make the decisions for me. I am my own self. I can make decisions for myself. And I get to choose what I do with my life.” (Y/N)’s voice was certain, powerful, in control. “They are not bad people, mother. They just have to follow orders, just like you followed Aro’s orders, just like I followed yours. That’s not going to happen anymore. I am taking control of my life!”

The sweet, little girl I got to see my whole life was becoming a strong, powerful woman right in front of my eyes. She was radiating power; she was taking control of her life. She was..my everything. She was becoming independent, her own self. To say I was proud of her, would be an understatement. She has always been special, but this newly-found power has clearly given her way more confidence and trust in herself.

She would finally be able to rule the Volturi. If she decided to come back to Volterra, she could definitely take over the coven. No one would be able to resist her or her gift. My thoughts were quickly interrupted when her dad started shouting in Greek.

Demetri, who was standing right next to me, saw the look of total confusion in my eyes. “I’ll translate for you.” I nodded at him. “So, her father says: Enough with this nonsense, (Y/N). Your place is here, with us. You owe us; we taught you what you needed to know about your magic. We taught you how to use it, how to develop it. You didn’t know enough to defend yourself back then.”

“Now, (Y/N) says: I don’t owe you anything. Yes, you did teach me how to use my magic, which I inherited from you. But, you gave me away to Aro. You couldn’t defend me or yourselves against him. You just offered me to him, as if I was a present for his birthday or something.”

“Now, her mother says: You, at least, owe it to yourself to get away from these tyrants. You know they don’t deserve you, so why are you still defending him? It’s that man, isn’t it? Now, (Y/N) says: That man has a name. Now, her mom says: You know, his name means “lucky”, "happy" in Greek. Yet, he hasn’t been that lucky or happy at all, has he? We read his mind, (Y/N), he’s not worthy of you.”

“Now, (Y/N) says: Guess what? I have also read his mind, and I have also read the two of you, as well. Don’t you think that it is only you who can read my mind while I’m sleeping! I’ve been reading your minds any chance I get! I know how you’ve been planning to use me, as a weapon against the Volturi! Guess again! I’m not going to let you manipulate me anymore! And that man deserves EVERYTHING in this world!”

“ENOUGH!” Her father shouted and threw a dark red glowing sphere, hitting (Y/N) and knocking her on the ground. My heart dropped at the sight, but she quickly stood up and gathered so much energy in her own hands, attacking her father with a powerful hit.

He got wounded, his face slightly cracked from his forehead to his jaw, yet he didn’t give up. He was about to attack her once again when his wife stopped him. She was looking at me and nodded to her husband. I heard (Y/N) screaming, but I didn’t make out what she was saying, as I started screaming myself and felt myself getting tossed in the air. Then, everything went black once again.

#felix volturi #felix volturi imagine #felix volturi x reader #volturi #twilight #twilight renaissance #twilight post #demetri volturi #alec volturi #jane volturi #the cullens #the denali coven

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specialagentsergio · 4 years ago

Text

only if you knew

summary: Spencer’s in love with you, but you’re in love with Emily.

pairing: spencer reid x f!reader (unrequited), emily prentiss x f!reader

category: angst

content warnings: description of a panic attack, mentions of bullying and homophobia, swearing

a/n: my take on a fic inspired by heather by conan grey. writing is a hobby i've had for years, but this is the first time i've posted any of it. i hope you enjoy it.

a/n 2: bi!reader, fem!reader bc emily is a lesbian

word count: 3.5k

song: heather by conan grey

series masterlist || masterlist

Spencer isn’t looking for a relationship when he meets you. He wants a relationship someday, but he likes his life the way it is for now. He doesn’t want it to change yet. He thinks that’s why it took him so long to realize he was in love with you.

You join the team a few weeks after Rossi does. Hotch has been wanting to add another profiler to the unit for a while. The fiasco with Gideon’s loss of Sarah and subsequent disappearance, then Emily’s sudden resignation, finally convinces the board that it might not be a bad idea to have more than five profilers on the team.

Morgan and Hotch already know you. You come from the sex crimes unit, and the BAU had worked a case with them a month before he joined. You were just an agent trainee at the time, but Hotch saw promise in you, and has kept an eye on your work ever since. (Spencer wonders how he never ran into you at the academy; you’re only a year older than him and you both joined the Bureau in 2003. Eventually he realizes it’s because you weren’t remediated.)

Despite an awkward introduction (he gives you his spiel about handshakes and how it’s safer to kiss, and you respond with, well, if you insist, prompting laughter from Morgan and Prentiss, and leaving him at a loss for words as his face turns red), you quickly become friends. Your mutual love of reading is how you initially connect. Then he notices you only ever cut off his infodumping when you’re working on a case, and it’s always with a gentle, “redirect, Spence.” Outside of work, you seem genuinely interested in what he has to say, even going so far as to follow up on things you had to interrupt earlier.

You also bond over your shared love of Doctor Who, and begin to join him at Penelope’s place each time a new episode airs. It’s not long before he considers you his best friend.

Spencer tells you things he rarely puts a voice to. He tells you about his kidnapping and subsequent Dilaudid problem (he still struggles to call it what he knows it was—an addiction) after the South Padre Island case, when he doesn’t pick up on Adam’s dissociative identity disorder until it’s just a bit too late.

On the one year anniversary of his solving of the Riley Jenkins case, he recounts what happened the day his dad left in a wavering voice and you run your hand up and down his back when he cries.

He even tells you about the goalpost incident and the real motivation behind that act of bullying, a detail he omitted when he told Morgan about it. (He didn’t have a crush on Alexa Lisben, the prettiest girl in school. He had a poorly concealed crush on the football team’s quarterback.)

You also open up to him in a way you seldom do to anyone. You tell him about the bullying you experienced in high school over your shared sexuality. You tell him about the worst cases you saw in the sex crimes unit, and on a day when you’re struggling, you tell him what the worst day of your life was.

He’s had great friends before, and still does, but he’s never had one quite like you.

Spencer can’t say what the moment he fell in love with you was. He can’t pinpoint when your friendship became something more to him. But he knows the moment he realized he was in love, and he doesn’t need an eidetic memory to recall it perfectly.

It’s such a small thing, nothing big and grand like film and literature portray. He’s showed up to the roundtable with a new haircut. Hotch asks him if he’s joined a boyband, which he doesn’t quite get, but Morgan finds very amusing. You catch up to him on his way out of the bullpen and say, “I liked your hair long, but it looks great like this, too.”

That’s when he knows.

The realization is like a punch to the gut, yet it’s not unpleasant. His world feels turned upside down, but upside down is looking like a fine place to be.

And you just carry on like nothing’s happened, like you haven’t just irreversibly changed his life with twelve words.

---

Spencer spends a few weeks sitting with this new information, mulling over his feelings and weighing his options.

Does he tell you he loves you? The FBI holds annual seminars discouraging fraternization between employees, but it’s mostly aimed towards preventing relationships between supervisors and their subordinates. There’s nothing in the regulations preventing two agents in the same standing from dating (which he knows because he’s read the entire handbook). A visit to HR and a form filed away makes that perfectly acceptable.

But as much as he wants to be with you, he’s terrified of losing your friendship. It’s one of the most important things in his life. If he confesses and you don’t return his feelings, it very well could ruin it. Things would never be the same between the two of you again. He can hardly tolerate the thought of that.

He has everything to lose, yet also everything to gain.

All of his speculation is operating under the assumption that you’re single, but he’s confident in that. You tell each other everything—there’s no way you wouldn’t mention seeing someone. You’ve always told him about any dates you’ve gone on in the past. And if, for some reason, you’d keep it a secret, he’s a profiler. He studies human behavior. He’d notice something going on.

Spencer finds out he’s wrong in what he thinks must be the worst possible way, because you don’t tell him yourself. He finds out you’re taken by accident.

It’s only a few weeks after JJ’s forced departure. They’ve just wrapped up a case in Connecticut, and Hotch postpones their flight home to the next morning so they can all get some solid rest after a grueling three days. Rossi offers to take them out for dinner at the hotel’s restaurant, and everyone takes him up on it.

You and Emily excuse yourselves a bit earlier than normal, but he knows he’s not the only one hurting over JJ, so he chalks it up to that. He finds himself following suit not even five minutes later when he fails to stifle his seventh yawn of the night. He steps off the elevator to the fifth floor and hears some quiet giggling from down the hall, but doesn’t think anything of it, just heads towards the room he’s sharing with Derek. It’s the door right after the one leading to the room you’re sharing with Emily, so there’s no way for him to avoid seeing what breaks his heart.

Emily has her hands on your waist as she presses your back against the door. You’re trying to scan the keycard and open the door from behind, a task you’re struggling with because she won’t stop kissing you.

Spencer freezes, his own keycard dropping from his fingers onto the plush carpet.

“Emily, Emily,” you whisper against her lips, trying and failing to suppress your laughter. “You have to let me open the door.”

“Mmm, fine,” she relents with an exaggerated sigh. She presses a kiss to your nose before taking a small step back so you can turn and scan the card.

Your eyes leave Emily’s face and land on his. You just stare at each other for a moment, unmoving.

Emily notices, of course, and asks you, “what’s wrong, baby?” before following your gaze to him.

That finally snaps Spencer out of his daze and he blurts out, “Sorry!” His voice cracks and he clears his throat as he bends down to pick his keycard back up. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to, to—disturb you. I’m just, just really tired and I’m gonna go to bed now.” He keeps his eyes on the carpet as he passes by the two of you, ignoring you when you say his name.

“Reid—” Emily starts, but he’s already letting the heavy door fall shut behind him and pressing his back against it. His breathing is shaky and he grips the strap of his satchel tightly. He doesn’t bother to turn on the lights—he knows they’d be too much right now—and starts to sway from side to side in an attempt to self-soothe.

It doesn’t work, so he begins pacing across the room, back and forth and back and forth until he stumbles over Derek’s go bag and any semblance of control he had breaks. His tie feels too tight and the way his bag is thumping against his thigh as he walks is maddening. He pushes his satchel off of his body as fast as he can, then claws at the knot of his tie, pulling on it until it’s loose enough to slide off over his head. He throws it across the room.

He starts pacing again, unable to stop one of his hands from flapping as his breathing grows erratic. He trips over Derek’s bag again and kicks it in retaliation, just barely holding back a shriek of frustration and agony and panic because oh god oh god I can’t breathe it’s all too much, too much, I can’t breathe.

Spencer can’t breathe because he loves you, he loves you, he loves you, and you don’t love him back.

---

He loses time.

It happens, sometimes, when he has a shutdown.

One moment he’s pacing across the hotel room floor, trying in vain to catch his breath, and the next he’s letting out an involuntary whine when the room lights turn on. Whoever flipped the switch turns them back off immediately.

Slowly, Spencer comes back to himself.

He’s sitting on one of the beds, hugging a pillow to his chest as he rocks back and forth. His back thumps lightly against the headboard with each motion. He can breathe again, but they’re the wobbling breathes that come after crying. He touches his face and it feels wet.

“Reid.”

It’s a whisper from across the room, and he tenses on instinct.

“Reid, it’s Morgan,” it continues, and Spencer relaxes. He recognizes his friend’s voice now. He makes a small humming noise to indicate that he’s listening.

His eyes have adjusted to the dark now and he can see the vague shape of Morgan walk forward and sit on the bed across from his. “Are you okay, kid?”

Spencer’s breath hitches as he tries to respond. “I.... no,” he whispers. He hasn’t remembered what happened yet—something else that can happen when he spirals—but he feels all hollowed out inside, like someone has scooped out everything that’s him and left behind only a deep, aching pain in their wake.

“What happened?” Morgan asks quietly.

“What happened,” Spencer repeats under his breath. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes as he thinks. What happened. What happened, Spencer?

“You left dinner,” Morgan prompts. “You said you were tired and were going to go to bed.”

That’s right. He left the table and headed to the elevator. Got off on the fifth floor. Walked down the hallway to their room and found—

It comes back in a rush, without warning.

You’re laughing as Emily kisses you, the hand not struggling with your keycard tangled in her hair. Emily places an affectionate kiss on your nose when she pulls away. You freeze when you see him, and Emily calls you baby.

The memory takes his breath away again, and he feels hot tears falling down his cheeks.

“Reid, Reid.” Morgan’s voice interrupts his thoughts. “Stay with me. You’re okay, kid. You’re okay.”

All Spencer can do is shake his head, because he’s not okay, he’s so terribly far away from okay right now.

“Tell me what happened, kid,” Morgan urges. “Then I can help you.”

Spencer lets out a humorless laugh. Can’t Morgan see that there’s nothing he can do, can’t he see that Spencer’s in a thousand pieces on the floor? “You can’t help me,” he says, his voice hoarse from countless tears he doesn’t remember shedding.

“You don’t know that. How about you tell me what’s wrong, and then I can decide?”

“No, I do know that, Morgan,” he snaps. His rational brain recognizes that he’s acting out, that Morgan doesn’t deserve his anger; he’s not who Spencer’s actually angry at. But his emotional brain is the one running the show right now, so he continues, “Did you know?”

“Did I know what?” Morgan asks calmly. He’s keeping his cool, trying to deescalate the situation, and that makes Spencer even more upset. He doesn’t want to calm down, he can’t calm down, not when his world is falling apart.

“Did you know that Emily and (Y/N) are—are fucking?” he spits out. He can’t bring himself to say that you’re in love, despite the fact that the way you were looking at Emily can’t mean anything other than that.

“I... No, I didn’t, Reid,” Morgan replies. He’s not lying, but Spencer almost wishes he was, just so he could have someone to yell at right now. “Why is that upsetting for you?”

Spencer doesn’t answer. He’d never admitted his feelings about you out loud before, not even to himself, and he sure as hell won’t do it now. He knows the moment Morgan figures it out, because he can hear him sigh.

“I’m sorry, kid,” he says. “I know how you feel.”

“Oh, right,” he scoffs. “Derek Morgan, god’s gift to women, knows how I feel right now.”

“Come on, Reid. Being able to leave a bar with someone on my arm doesn’t make me immune to the pain of liking someone who doesn’t like me back.” Derek’s voice is gentle, so much more gentle than he deserves right now, considering all Spencer’s done since he stepped foot in their room is lash out at him.

“I don’t like her, Morgan,” he says quietly. “I love her.”

Derek doesn’t say anything for a while. He doesn’t try and reassure him that he’s okay, that he’ll get over it. He doesn’t use that awful line of there’s plenty of fish in the sea. He just sits in silence with him. It’s exactly what Spencer needs. He doesn’t know how Morgan knows this when he didn’t himself.

Derek always seems to just know.

---

The morning comes before he’s ready to face it.

He wakes up to the sound of the shower running. His head hurts and his eyes feel puffy and sore. A beam of light is cutting through a gap in the curtains, landing on his face.

Spencer rolls over in bed and curls in on himself as his memories from the night before catch up to him. He stays like that, a lump under the covers, until Morgan comes out of the bathroom freshly showered.

“Hey, kid,” he says. “You awake?”

Spencer just grunts in response, unwilling to do anything that isn’t staying wrapped up in this cocoon of blankets. You’ve always called him a “Spencerrito” when he does this. He pretends to hate the nickname, but really, he finds it endearing. Now, though, it just hurts.

Any thought of you and the little things you do, the special things you do, the things that make butterflies sprout in his stomach, things that just yesterday made him feel warm inside, now make him ache all over.

“The jet’s set to take off in about an hour,” Morgan tells him. “If you don’t wanna fly, we can drive back together.”

The offer is tempting; spending an hour in close quarters with you and Emily knowing what he knows now, is not his idea of a good time. But he knows what he has to do. He’s known from the moment he saw the way you looked at Emily last night.

About a year ago, you’d come to his apartment on a Saturday night, looking truly downtrodden. You had been on a date, but it didn’t go well. “I’m scared I’ll never find someone,” you’d confided in him, your eyes filling with tears. “What if there’s no one out there for me, Spence?”

He hadn’t been sure how to answer. After all, he often felt the same way. So he’d put your favorite movie on the TV, dug some ice cream out from the back of his freezer, and stayed up late with you, watching one movie after another until you both dozed off in a tangle of limbs and blankets on his couch.

Slowly, he pushes himself into a sitting position on the hotel bed and looks at Morgan through the strands of hair hanging in his eyes. “You can’t tell her.”

Morgan raises his eyebrows in surprise. “I wasn’t going to, Reid.”

“I mean it,” Spencer insists. “(Y/N) can’t know. Emily, either. They... I don’t want to ruin this for her.”

“Hey,” Derek says, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “My lips are sealed, kid. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Spencer sighs. “Thanks,” he mutters, then attempts to rub the sleep from his eyes. “An hour, you said?”

---

He sequesters himself in one of the corner seats on the jet. He gets multiple worried and confused glances from everyone, including you, but no one pushes, as his body language just about screams, “leave me alone.”

Twenty minutes into the flight, someone slides into the seat across from him and he reluctantly looks up from his book. It’s Emily, looking properly nervous, folding her hands in front of her on the table.

He’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed that it’s not you.

He is sure that he doesn’t want to be talking to Emily right now, though. She took you, she took you, she took you, she took you, runs relentlessly through his mind. He pushes the thought away, glancing down at his book and running his finger across the pages to try and keep himself calm.

“Reid,” she starts hesitantly, and he drags his eyes back up. “I know you’re mad that (Y/N) didn’t tell you about us.”

Well, you’re not wrong, he thinks bitterly. It’s just not for the reason you assume, Emily.

“But, um, that’s not on her,” she continues. “I asked her not to. And it wasn’t just you. We didn’t tell anyone. Only Hotch knew before last night, and that’s because we had to tell him.”

“Why?” Spencer asks bluntly. He does, technically, know the answer. Emily is very private when it comes to her life outside of work. It makes sense that she wouldn’t want to go around announcing her relationship status.

But Spencer doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t understand how she can be in love and not want to shout it from the rooftops. It doesn’t make any sense to him that she wouldn’t want to show you off and introduce you as my girlfriend. He can’t comprehend how she can have you, be loved by you, and not want everyone to know it.

Emily’s slightly taken aback by his question, and she bites her lip as she considers how to answer. “I just... really prefer to keep my work and personal life as separate as possible,” is what she settles on.

“Kinda impossible to do that when you’re seeing a coworker,” Spencer shoots back, then mentally scolds himself. You said you wouldn’t ruin this for her, Spencer. Don’t ruin this for (Y/N).

Her chuckle is nervous. “Well, yeah,” she concedes. “But we make it work.”

Spencer then asks a question he doesn’t really want to know the answer to before he can stop himself. “How long?”

Emily’s eyes fall to her hands as she poorly hides a smile. “Eight months.”

Eight months. Eight months. You’ve been with Emily for eight fucking months, and you never told him, never even hinted at the fact that you were seeing someone. You kept him in the dark for eight months.

You let him fall in love with you when your heart already belonged to someone else.

He doesn’t want to be mad at you. He knows he’s not being fair. He really, honestly, wants to be happy for you, happy that you found what you’ve been searching for, but reality seems hellbent on making that as difficult for him as possible.

“Please,” Emily says, “if you’re going to be mad, be mad at me. I was the one who asked her to do this.”

He stares down at his book for a full three minutes before finally muttering, “Alright.”

He sees her shoulders slump in relief in his peripheral vision. “Thank you,” she whispers, and then she leaves.

Spencer watches her walk across the jet to the couch and sit down next to you. He looks down before you can look at him because he knows he won’t be able to handle what he’ll see in your eyes. It’ll be love in your eyes, but love that’s not directed at him.

Emily took you from him, she took you, she took you, his mind repeats until Spencer makes the first of what’s to be many attempts to accept the truth.

Emily didn’t take you from him. You were never his to begin with.

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

tell me what you thought here!

#spencer reid x reader #emily prentiss x reader #spencer reid fanfic #emily prentiss fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds self insert #angst #spencer reid #emily prentiss #my fic

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mandelene · 3 years ago

Note

✿: feeling so out of it, they need constant attention

You’ve got it! 💕 Thanks for the ask!

Someone asked me to write asthmatic Matthew in the ER a while ago, and I didn’t do it, but here it is now. 😂 I hope it's not total trash.

Sweet Normalcy

Word Count: 1555

Chest pain, the dull aching kind that flares up every time he inhales, that’s all he feels. Keeping his eyes open takes a great deal of effort, but the constant hissing flow of nebulized albuterol being delivered through the mask on his face makes it hard to get any sleep. Maintaining a train of thought for longer than fifteen seconds is also a sudden challenge. When he rolls his head to the right and looks up at the monitor behind him, he sees his heart rate is in the 140s and his oxygen saturation is at ninety-five percent on albuterol and oxygen. That’s not normal for him. None of this is normal. He can’t remember the last time things got this out of control.

“Matthew? Any better, love?” Dad asks him from the chair to his left. He’s been sitting there for hours now, continuously keeping vigilant watch.

It’s a busy night in the emergency department, and it feels a bit like he’s in a bad fever dream. The doctor checking in on him introduced herself earlier, but he can’t recall her name. An alarm goes off every few minutes from someone’s monitor, and it takes him longer than it should to recognize that it’s his monitor making that noise and alerting his nurse to keep coming over to assess him due to his seesawing oxygen saturation and heart rate.

Matthew’s not even sure what time it is anymore. He barely remembers anything. Every hour or so, he will doze off into a fitful half-sleep for twenty minutes or so before waking again and feeling disoriented. A nurse could tell him he’s been here for a week, and he’d believe them.

“Matthew? I asked if you’re feeling any better?” Dad asks again, leaning forward in his seat to grab his clammy left hand and squeeze it gently.

“A little,” Matthew lies, for his father’s sake. He wonders where Alfred and Papa are. They were here earlier, he’s pretty sure.

“I can tell when you’re not being truthful,” Dad sighs, squeezing his hand harder. “You’re not improving. You need to be admitted. This is ridiculous. You should have been admitted hours ago.”

Matthew hates seeing him stressed like this, but he also knows there’s nothing he can do about it at the moment. He feels himself slipping into momentary sleep again, and his eyes flutter shut. He wants to go home. Wants to be in his bed…Is it morning yet?

“Sixteen-year-old with a history of asthma…Patient accompanied by his father. Patient began oral corticosteroid treatment two days ago at home after experiencing wheezing, chest tightness, and coughing that was not fully improving with usual rescue medications…”

They’re talking about him—Matthew realizes that much, at least. He opens his glazed eyes and sees a new doctor approaching him. His ID badge says he’s a critical care doctor. Matthew’s not sure what the difference is between him and the other doctor he saw earlier, but he honestly can’t be bothered to care. He wants to sleep. Desperately. And he wants the chest pain to stop.

“Matthew, buddy?” the doctor says, putting a hand on his shoulder.

He doesn’t want to breathe anymore. His chest hurts too much, and speaking would require taking another agonizing breath.

"Mmmrgh" is all he can manage.

“He’s been less and less responsive,” Dad supplies from the other side of the room, and Matthew can hear the nervousness in his voice, which is unsettling. Dad rarely ever shows how anxious he is when someone’s sick. “I can’t get him to talk to me in full sentences anymore—just phrases.”

The doctor carefully sits him up, and Matthew feels his whole body shake. He rests his elbows against the stretcher to brace himself. A cold stethoscope touches his back, and he shivers.

“He’s still not moving air. He needs to be brought upstairs to intensive care to be monitored. We’ll continue IV steroid treatment and continuous albuterol. If he’s still like this, we can consider non-invasive ventilation and take it from there. Our main priority is to protect his airway.”

Dad says something, but Matthew doesn’t hear it over the noise of the nebulizer. He just knows he’s going to be moved soon and the treatment is going to become more serious now. If he weren’t so tired, he might be scared.

The doctor leaves, and Dad goes back to holding Matthew’s hand. “It’s going to be all right, love. You’ll receive better care soon and hopefully, you’ll start to feel better,” Dad tells him before using his other hand to pet his head. “Try to rest. I’ll be right here, and I won’t let anything happen to you, understand?”

Matthew nods. His eyes do close again, and he does get some brief rest. The next time he’s aware of his surroundings and wakes up, he’s already in the ICU, which means he slept through his transport. The respiratory therapist is setting him up on a BiPAP machine, and once it’s on, it makes his chest hurt even more, which he didn’t think was possible. He grits his teeth against the pain and tries not to make a fuss about it—it would just make Dad worry even more. The air being forced into his lungs is welcome yet excruciating at the same time.

But he doesn’t have to say anything for Dad to know he’s suffering. It’s written all over his face. “I know, poppet. It’s just temporary. It should help.”

It’s so exhausting that he falls asleep again without even needing to think about it. Again, he has no idea how much time passes until he sees the sun shining through the windows of the hospital, indicating that it’s finally morning. The BiPAP mask squeezing his face gets replaced with a regular oxygen mask again, and it occurs to him that his chest feels much lighter and his head is clearer. The worst is over. The air in his lungs feels crisp and refreshing...Almost sweet, even.

“How are you feeling?” Dad asks for the millionth time, still perched next to him.

“Better…For real this time.”

Dad hasn’t slept, of course. He never sleeps in such situations. He was likely watching him all night and conversing with his care team. “Good. You gave us all quite a scare.”

“Sorry.”

“Oh, no, it’s not your fault, love. Not at all…Do you think you’re feeling well enough to have some breakfast?”

“Yeah.”

Dad gives him a relieved smile and then goes off to request a breakfast tray for him. It gets brought up within half an hour, and even though Matthew feels a bit nauseous from the steroids in his system, he knows he needs to eat to gain some energy back.

He’s given some pancakes, a fruit cup, and orange juice. He decides to make a move for the orange juice first because his mouth feels incredibly dry and gross. He picks up the carton and that’s when he notices just how shaky he still is. His hands are trembling violently from all of the bronchodilators in his system.

Dad quickly takes the carton from him, sticks a straw into it, and then brings it back up to Matthew’s lips. “Here, poppet, I’ll hold it for you.”

“…I can do it.”

“You’ll spill it. Don’t be stubborn.”

It doesn’t feel great to have poorer motor skills than a toddler, but Matthew sips some juice through the straw anyway, allowing himself to be fed because he doesn’t have a choice. He finishes the entire carton, one pancake, and half of the fruit cup before his stomach protests. Dad doesn’t seem too happy about him not finishing the meal, but he doesn’t push it either.

And just as he’s finishing up, he finds out Alfred and Papa are outside of the unit, waiting to be allowed in. He’s only permitted to have two visitors at a time, so Dad leaves to take a quick trip home to eat and shower while Alfred and Papa take watch next.

“Dude, you’re alive! Thank God, man. No offense, but you were looking really rough and out-of-it yesterday,” Alfred exclaims upon arrival, bright-eyed and full of pep as always. “It’s good to see you’re looking more like yourself now.”

“We’re so relieved, mon chou. Your father said you may be able to come home as soon as the day after tomorrow.”

“I hope so…Sorry for making everyone worry.”

Alfred throws his hands up in the air and shakes his head dramatically. “I have to teach you everything, don’t I, Mattie? You’re not supposed to apologize for being sick. You’re supposed to milk it for all its worth and make everyone feel bad for you and buy you get well soon gifts. Tell Dad when he comes back that you wanna play the new Pokemon Snap on the Switch.”

“That’s what you want to play, Alfred.”

“Yeah, but we can share it, right?”

“Alfred, your brother is seriously ill, and all you’re thinking about are video games again! Where did your father and I go wrong? You could show some sympathy!” Papa scolds, pinching the bridge of his nose in aggravation.

“It was a joke! Kinda…Obviously, I love ya, Matt! I was really worried, too!”

And he has never craved normalcy as much as he does now.

Yup. Things are already going back to normal.

#hetalia #aph canada #hws canada #aph england #hws england #aph france #hws france #aph america #hws america #aph face family #hws face family #drabbles #hurt comfort #asthmatic matthew

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marvel-ousnesss · 4 years ago

Text

The one with the boiling rock (Zuko x reader)

Pairing: Prince Zuko x firebender!reader

Summary: Y/N follows Azula after she overhears the Firelord's plan to get rid of his banished son. She fails to warn Zuko and ends up in the Boiling Rock thinking he's dead. Spoiler alert, he's not.

Word count: 4k-ish

masterlist

A/N: For the sake of avoiding any signs of a love triangle, let's throw cannon away and pretend Mai and Zuko are just good friends. Love you all so so much. 💜💜💜

Servants vowed to you as you waltzed through the galleries of the palace, looking for your father, General Yuan. That morning, he had told you to join him in the training arena at sundown, once the war meeting was over. You were planning on taking no detours, but that changed once you heard loud, thundering footsteps coming from across the hall. The Firelord walked with his head held high and his hands behind his back, the princess trailed right behind him, closely listening to his every command.

"Your brother is a failure and your uncle is a coward and a traitor," he declared. "I cannot risk having them on the loose with the avatar's capture on stake."

"I completely agree, father, they must be dealt with." She quickened her pace.

He turned toward his daughter and she lowered her head in an indication of respect. "I've decided to send you, Azula, to effectuate their imprisonment or, be the case, take them out.” The princess’s head rose, proud. “I only trust you to do what must be done."

You hid behind a column to remain unseen while they walked past you, using your hands to silence the gasp that threatened to spill out of your mouth. The Firelord's cruelty had surprised you the day of the Agni Kai, images of Zuko’s crying silhouette curled in a fetal position were still plastered in your mind. And, even knowing he was capable of that, you didn’t find a way to comprehend how he’d not only kill his only son but he'd use his daughter to do so.

That evening, your head was elsewhere while training. Your flames, usually potent and vibrant, were shining a faint tone of red. Your aim too was sloppy, as evidenced when your fire whip was easily blocked by your father every time you tried to strike.

"Something's in your mind." He lost his stance and approached you, inviting you to do the same.

"I'm just a bit distracted," you lied, looking down at your feet.

"We can head home if you want." He offered you some water.

You nodded.

Your family's house was not far from the palace citadel, as your father was one of the most prominent figures in the Fire Nation army. You walked in silence, not even looking at him but, once you closed the main door, you couldn't hide your concern. You sat down at his study, and, after taking a sip of your tea with a trembling hand, explained what you had heard.

"Firelord Ozai is sending Azula after the prince and General Iroh.”

Your father's eyes widened for a moment, as he had once fought alongside the kind general, but he regained his serenity immediately. "It is a reasonable move. Getting the avatar was just a way to keep the prince at sea, but now is not the time to let a traitor and a teenager have the power to control the odds of the war."

Your jaw clenched, then you swallowed hard and, unable to speak, nodded. You understood that it was probably what needed to be done, strategically speaking, and that, even if your father personally disapproved such cruelty, he was in no position to defy the Firelord; but it was Zuko whom you were talking about, it felt more than wrong to accept his cursed fate with such ease.

"Y/N, you have always been kind-hearted, and it hurts me to see you worry, but you need to understand that some sacrifices demand to be made for the sake of victory."

That night, you were about to send a letter to the exiled members of the royal family, but there was a feeling of uneasiness that made your stomach ache. There had to be something else you could do… That's when it hit you.

Azula and her unit weren't leaving until the following week. So you used that time to gather supplies, dig into whatever scroll you could get your hands in and steal --no, borrow-- some of your father's maps. The day of your departure came, you got up before sunrise and headed to the base from which the princess was sailing, leaving behind a small note for your father to see.

You waited for her to show and, once her ship lifted anchors, so did yours. You knew how to sail except you had never done it without a crew. The ship you had stolen wasn't big, it was a fishing boat domestic fleets used every once in a while, so it was relatively easy to stay in control and out of the princess' sight.

The journey lasted but a few days before Azula's ship was pulled to the shore, but the tides were too strong and you weren't as experienced. Hoping for the best, you waited until nightfall to reach the land. You spent the night searching but had no luck, so you made camp near the docks. After you finished setting your tent, you headed toward the ship you'd been following, hoping to get a glimpse of whatever was happening on deck. Luckily, there were two soldiers conversing while standing watch.

You climbed onto the ship and hid behind reserve boxes, listening to their exchange from within the shadows.

"I can’t believe I’m in the mission to capture the Dragon of the West," one of them practically squealed.

"Don't get too excited, I heard he’s not the same anymore." The other one laughed gratingly. "Besides, it's not like there's gonna be a fight or anything; the princess told them Lord Ozai wants them back at the palace. Poor fools’ gonna board voluntarily."

You stepped back, teeth gritted and fists tightened. Making them walk into a trap was a devious move, but it didn't really shock you. Azula had always been ruthless and calculating. You were about to jump off-board when you tripped and made the box tower collapse, leaving you exposed.

“Hey!”

The guards immediately turned your way. Instead of reacting, you found yourself frozen on the spot. It was certainly not a time to be panicking. You took a breath and, with a kick, threw a stream of fire at the man in front of you and ran toward the dock while he recovered. However, the other guard had alerted the rest so, at the very entrance of the ship, awaited Azula, dressed in a wine-colored night-robe.

She didn’t even look phased; if much, she was mildly annoyed that you had disrupted her sleep.

"Long way from home, Y/N. I'm guessing you didn't just come to say hello."

You opened your mouth but no words rolled off your tongue. You raised your hands and lowered your head in surrender, to avoid further trouble.

You were a more than capable warrior, you knew that. Nevertheless, the sole thought of facing her made your body shake; let alone while outnumbered.

"That's what I thought," she smirked. "You're a coward, just like my idiot brother. And, just like him, you'll get a coward's treatment. Seize her."

Two soldiers grabbed your arms and roughly pressed them behind your back, restraining you with metal cuffs.

"You know what to do."

They both bowed their heads and yanked you below deck. As you walked to the cellars, one whispered, "what do we do?"

The other one huffed. "The cooler, dumbass."

————————

Third-person POV.

Zuko knocked on the door three times, trying not to seem too anxious. It had already been two days since he arrived home as a hero but, as such, he had been busy with appearances and meetings. He took a step back and fixed his robes, his right foot tapping as he awaited a response.

The door cracked open, revealing a young woman, a few years older than him. He gave her a small smile but she didn’t see it, her gaze fixated on the wooden floor as she bowed deeply.

“My prince,” she greeted. “How can I be of service.”

“Hello.”

She straightened up.

“Is Y/N home?”

Her expression shifted, then she cleared her throat. “Not at the moment.”

“Oh, uh, thanks.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

At that moment, General Yuan strolled through one of the doors that connected the main area of the house with the other hallways. His eyes were framed by dark circles and his shoulders fell limp, not the way he carried himself outside.

He faced Zuko’s and immediately stood taller. “Your highness,” he said. “There is something you need to know.”

———————

For a moment, you eyed the two guards overlooking the yard from an upper balcony. You gave it no mind when one of them rushed downstairs but gulped when the other one fixed his attention on you, nothing good could come from that. Before he caught your eye, you lowered your head and let your shoulders fall, hoping he'd lose interest. Thinking it had worked, you retired to your cell. However, as you walked, your arm was roughly pulled.

You tried to break free and struggled for a few seconds, trying to root your feet to the ground. The guard easily overpowered you, for you had too little strength to resist, and threw you into an empty cell.

He still had hold of your arm, but you didn’t fight him. It was better to avoid acting up, you had learned that. However, you knew they appreciated respect, so you lifted your head and asked, "What do you want?"

Even the helmet didn’t conceal his shocked façade. “Y/N?”

He took his helmet off and tears flooded your eyes. You wrapped your arms around his middle and let out an involuntary whimper followed by an excruciating stream of sobs. At first, Zuko was a bit taken aback by your reaction, as his muscles tensed. But then he too faded into the hug and allowed himself to breathe your familiar scent.

“I thought you were dead,” you whispered.

“What?”

“I- I wanted to warn you about Azula.” You take a deep breath, not ready to let go of him. “When your father sent her after you, I followed, but she caught me when I sneaked into her ship and I-.”

He grabbed your shoulders and stretched his arms so he could look at you. His face like porcelain and his mouth agape.

“You sneaked into my sister’s ship? Alone?” Zuko let go of you and ran his hands through his hair. “Are you, Y/N, are you out of your mind? You could've ended up dead, no-" Now, he was screaming, his golden eyes blazed with worry."-you could've ended up worse than dead!"

Your lip trembled as you shouted back, "well, surprise, so could you!"

"You went on a suicide mission, alone!" He started pacing around the small room. "I can't believe you did something so stupid."

"At least I had to try, Zuko." This time, your voice was tight.

"Y/N, she's. Ahh!" He stopped pacing and threw his head back with a groan. Without a thought, he stepped toward you and, once again, engulfed you in his embrace. "I’m glad you’re okay."

Zuko's head fell limp on your shoulder while he calmed down, your hand rubbed his back soothingly for a moment before he brought back the distance between you.

"Listen, we're getting out of here."

"How?"

"Just trust me, I'll come to your cell and get you."

He flashed you a quick, closed-lip smile and walked out. You followed after a few seconds and went back to your cell. A few hours passed and you had no news from Zuko, so you headed down the stairs with the rest of the inmates.

You were mopping the floor, keeping your work focused on a relatively small area of the room when you spotted the familiar mess of raven hair, only now he was dressed in a uniform that matched yours. He dragged his water bucket toward where you were and began mopping next to you.

"Are you gonna tell me the whole story now?"

You didn’t know what had driven the banished crown prince to break into a high-security prison, but the response you got was far from what you expected.

“I kind of joined the avatar.”

“Weren't you trying to capture him so you could go back home?”

“I’ll explain later,” he said, looking past you and directly at a guard. Zuko grabbed your hand and guided you to where he and another girl in prison uniform were standing.

They gave you a questioning look.

“Um, guys, this is Y/N. Y/N, Sokka and Suki.”

After an awkward wave, you took the time to look at them in detail.

It was a girl you had seen a few times, from a group of Earth Kingdom warriors; and a brunet, blue eyed boy you had never seen but could guess came from a water tribe. They were slightly shocked but didn’t really question your presence, making you relax.

After a brief explanation of everything that had been going on since you were captured the four of you came up with an escape plan that would’ve been perfect if it wasn’t for the undesired addition to your team, Chit Sang.

You, Suki, Chit, and another two people he introduced as his girl and best mate would wait for Sokka and Zuko to show up at the blind spot. Then, the all of you would ride the cooler to the other side of the lake. That's where you were now, sitting on a rock with Suki while Chit and his friend discussed over where to go after the escape.

To be honest, their petty argument was beginning to annoy you, so you turned to Suki, who was using a stick to doodle on the sand.

“So, how do you know Sokka?”

Her cheeks reddened slightly so she turned her head sideways.

“Sokka,” she chuckled, “We first met a few months ago, when he, Katara, and Aang went to my island. The rest of the Kyoshi warriors and I thought they were spies.”

“Kyoshi, where have I heard… oh, Avatar Kyoshi,” you recalled. “My father once gave me a scroll about her.”

You were about to continue, glad you’d found something to talk about, when Chit’s complaint cut you off before either of you could say something else.

"Took you guys long enough," he scolded Sokka and Zuko, as they slid down the cliff with the cooler. You, Chit and Suki quickly placed yourselves against the cooler to help the others and then the five of you pushed it into the water.

You were about to go ahead with the plan, when they brought up the following day’s new arrivals. That changed everything.

“Sokka?” You approached him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Rescuing your dad is your chance to redeem your honor,” Zuko noted.

Sokka fell to his knees, deep in thought.

He looked at the group apologetically. “We wouldn’t be here if I had cut my losses at the invasion,” he sighed. “I think it’s best if we call it quits.”

You crossed your arms, and stood tall. “No, ” you deadpanned. “I know how it feels to fail, Sokka, specially when it’s someone you really care about.” Your eyes met a pair of golden ones. “It hurts so much not to try. I’ll help you, whatever you need.”

Without a word, Sokka stood up, and walked closer to the lake with his head low.

Zuko rested a hand on his shoulder. “Y/N’s right, you can’t quit because you’re afraid of failure. How do you know you won't make it if you don't even try.”

“Well, if you cookies are done, can we get a move on?” Chit glared at you while tapping his foot.

Sokka shook his head.

“You guys go," you said.

"Suki, you've been here long enough," Sokka pleaded, stepping closer to her.

"I'm not leaving without you, Sokka."

Zuko mimicked Sokka's actions, turning your way. "And I’m not leaving without you."

It was settled.

"I hope this isn't a huge mistake," Sokka sighed.

And it wasn’t, the plan failed and Chit and his people were brought back in. He had tried to row the boat and earned a burn, which was followed by a blaring scream. You watched from one of the outer beams of the building while waiting for the new prisoners to disembark the gondola. Your hope threatened to abandon you but, right before you voiced your thoughts to give up, Sokka's dad emerged.

That's how you ended up in the very place you had started, your cell. You laid on the metal bench provided and closed your eyes, having decided to use the spare time to practice a little. You placed your right hand on the metal wall and outstretched your right, pointing two fingers at the opposite wall. The surface under your palm turned red-hot and that's where you started truly working.

You exhaled deeply and began absorbing the heat you had generated. Bit by bit so it would efficiently pass through you and leave in the form of a thin trail of smoke. What you were doing required deep concentration so when the door creaked open you didn't even notice the intruder. Your eyes broke open as you retrieved your hands, the wall returning to its initial gray color.

Sokka was standing in front of the now-closed door, he blinked a few times before finally asking, "were you fire bending metal?"

"Oh, no." You sat up and chuckled, "it's called heat controlling. I project heat into a surface, then let it pass through me and then out, via my other hand."

"Cool." Sokka's mouth fell. "So it’s like... reversed fire bending.”

“I guess you can put it like that.”

“Anyway," he spoke with determination, looking through the small window. "I've talked to my dad. We have a plan, be in the yard in an hour and a half. I'll go tell the others."

“Sure,” you smile. “Thanks, Sokka.”

The plan was simple: start a riot and use the gondola to escape. Easier said than done, even with the riot, you were still trying to figure out how to grab the warden and, on top of it, had no idea where the fire prince was. Although your uncertainty didn’t last long. Before you knew it, Zuko got his ass to the courtyard, Suki took hold of the warden, and the seven of you ran upstairs to the gondolas.

On the bridge to your awaiting vehicle, you encountered a few guards. You blocked their first attacks but when Zuko announced the warden was coming with you they gave you no more problems.

"Everyone in," Suki ushered you.

You let them get in before you as she held the door, then tried to run back and help Zuko, but Suki pulled you in and closed the door.

From the gondola, you watched him pull the lever and kick it so they wouldn't stop you, your grip on the rail making your sweaty hands pale. He leaped toward you and barely managed to grab Sokka's hand. You let go of the rails and relaxed, knowing you had all made it, but the moment ended when you saw Azula.

"Shit," you groaned.

"Who's that?"

"My sister and her friend."

Suki smirked. "This is a rematch I've been waiting for."

You just huffed and jumped on top of the gondola. As Azula and Ty Lee advanced toward it, you tried to take them down with fire-jabs but Ty Lee was too fast and Azula swung and easily dodged them. They landed on opposite sides, surrounding the four of you. You immediately charged toward the princess, determined not to fall without a good fight. Not this time.

Next to you, Zuko shot multiple fireballs out of his fists but neither of you had luck. Azula redirected every blow and you let out a frustrated growl.

"Even together,” she scoffed, “you’re pathetic."

Again, you tried; opting for a blazing ring to try and knock her out of balance. While you advanced on her Zuko covered you and blocked her blows, this gave Sokka a chance to get near. A blow of his sword took away her balance but she recovered quickly and threw a missile that you managed to dodge by merely a few inches, falling back against the pulley of the gondola.

You got up once more but Azula's strikes were fast and repetitive, so you and Zuko would wear yourselves down by trying to block each one. You panted, concentrating to maintain your shield well built, but lost your stance when the gondola shook violently. Azula and Ty Lee fled the scene, as the guards were about to cut the line; the four of you jumped back inside and warned the others. But someone stopped the guards, you narrowed your eyes in order to see who and emitted a gasp when you recognized Mai's figure.

But the situation you were in left no time to ask questions, the six of you sprinted away as soon as the gondola touched land. Zuko stopped after a few yards.

"Zuko, come on," you urged.

"Yeah, what are you doing?"

"My sister, she must've arrived here somehow." He ran toward a cliff and smirked when he looked down. He was right, there was a Fire Nation dirigible parked by the seashore.

To say that you were exhausted after the journey would be an understatement. Not only had the last two days been more draining than the previous few months but you had used your bending to fuel the dirigible the whole way to the Air Temple. You didn’t complain, you were glad to be safe. Not to mention that you finally got a chance to catch up on Zuko’s unlikely adventures.

“We’re here,” Sokka peeped.

You looked through one of the windows and almost didn’t believe what you saw. You had read multiple scrolls about the magnificent Air Temples and the people that lived in them but had never even imagined visiting one.

You landed and the door opened. You were hesitant to step outside and Zuko took notice, so he offered you an encouraging smile and squeezed your hand. For a second you had forgotten that he was also a newcomer to the Avatar’s group so he shared part of the nerves you felt; besides, you knew that, whatever reactions you got from them, he’d stand by you.

A small girl inquired, “did you at least get some good meat?”

“Yup, the best meat of all,” Sokka answered with a beam. “The meat of friendship and fatherhood.”

That's when the four of you stepped forward, but you remained concealed behind Chit.

The three kids smiled when they saw Suki and Hakoda, and Chit was quick to introduce himself with a matching smile on his face.

Your hiding place disappeared when Hakoda ran to hug who you guessed was Sokka's sister, Katara, and the others advanced right after.

When they finished greeting their friends, the group turned its whole attention to you, still standing on the dirigible bridge.

The bald kid, Aang, as Sokka had briefed you, gave you a kind smile; Toph, the little girl, tilted her head in curiosity, and Katara just quirked a brow.

Zuko cleared his throat, walking to your side. "Everybody, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is everybody."

"Hi, guys," you waved with a shy smile.

Requests open!

#prince zuko #Zuko #zuko imagines #zuko x reader #zuko imagine #atla #atla imagines #Avatar The Last Airbender #avatar imagine #prince zuko x reader #zuko drabble #zuko drabbles #zuko blurb #zuko blurbs #prince zuko imagine

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dulce-pjm · 3 years ago

Note

Hi! Could I request a Jin or namjoon arranged marriage! au with “One more kiss.” Thank you!!

of course!! let’s do it ;) took some creative liberties since i got multiple arranged marriage requests, hope that’s okay!! it's rather angsty

namjoon with au #1 - arranged marriage!au and prompt #6 - “One more kiss.”

make your own request here using these prompts!

rainy day promise

namjoon x reader! ft. bestie!hoseok

word count: 2.4k (i’m honestly so proud of myself for not making this a borderline oneshot)

genre: fluff, angst, arranged marriage!au, (very very slight) historical!au and wartime!au

summary: when namjoon’s away, all you can do is worry.

The rain has always made you sleepy.

It reminds you of quiet nights by the fire, curled against his chest as he reads to you. It makes you feel him kissing your temple softly and whispering “Good night, love,” when he sees your eyes flutter closed and your breaths become heavier. The rain and his memory are too comforting, too tempting to resist drifting off into dreamland.

“You alright, Y/N?” The question has you jolting in your seat, eyes flying from the drops cascading down the window to the man next to you, a warm smile gracing his sharp features.

The meal in front of you has long gone tasteless and your date has noticed, picking up at how you’ve gone from merely playing with your food to not touching it altogether.

“‘M fine,” you murmur, shoveling a few potatoes into your mouth despite the nausea rising in your stomach. Your eyes go wide when he grabs your wine glass, taking no time at all to fill it.

“You’ll be better if you drink a little.” You feign glare at him but his smile remains stern.

“I’m really alright, Hoseok.” You take a swig of the wine anyhow, letting the drink warm your cheeks and sting at the back of your throat.

“You’re worried about him, aren’t you?” You don’t answer, suddenly finding your untouched peas very interesting. He’d be picking them off your plate if he was here. Hoseok places a gentle hand on top of yours. “Y/N, there’s no sense in getting all worked up. He’ll be okay, always is.”

There’s a clang on the opposite side of the table when your uncle’s silverware hits the table.

“What are you two talking about over there?” You briefly cringe, summoning a sheepish smile you’ve worked to perfect over the years.

You both brush it off. Hoseok, ever personable, is able to change the subject before you can blink, chatting with your aunt about some upcoming play he’s directing.

Hoseok is wealthy, like his father and grandfather before him. He’s kind and funny and better with people than you’ve ever been. He could provide you with a comfortable life, away from the war. That’s why your aunt and uncle chose him for you, why they orchestrated this arrangement underneath your nose.

You hadn’t rejected him, not exactly. You’ve never been in any position to reject the courtship or engagement. But both you and Hoseok know your heart lies elsewhere.

Your aunt grabs your hand, but her gaze lies on the man to your left. “I mean, really, Kim Seokjin! When word gets out, there’ll be rioting on the streets just to get into the show, I’m sure of it.” Hoseok laughs awkwardly, giving you sparing glances to keep track of your worrying mind.

“I was just as surprised as you when he auditioned. It’s been an honor to work with him. I actually hope to—”

The dining hall door slams open. You whip your head towards the door along with the rest of the guests. The messenger is drenched, looking haggard with disheveled hair and rain still dripping down her face.

“I— I’m sorry, sir—” Her teeth are chattering. “The merchants returned. There was—”

“Slow down, Hana,” your aunt says, always maternal. “It’s alright. Take your time.” She nods, taking a deep breath as a puddle of rainwater forms around her feet.

“There was an injury. The carriage flipped while they were passing through the valley, because of all this rain.”

You’re on feet before you can think twice, heavy dining chair scraping against the hardwood as you push it backward. Hoseok shoots you a warning look that you don’t catch.

“Excuse me,” you mutter. “I’m not feeling well.”

Hoseok stands with you, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I’ll escort you.”

Your uncle shakes his head, scolding, “No, stay with us, Hoseok. It wouldn’t be proper.” You could laugh. Neither of you has ever been particularly proper with each other.

You bid your aunt and uncle goodnight, ignoring a concerned stare from Hoseok. As soon as you’re out of sight, you dash towards the basement, towards the closet you always meet him in when he returns. You pray you’ll see him there and not surrounded by medics.

The closet is placed discreetly, the door hidden by old barrels and shelves, bare walls and damp floors making this corner of this house largely unused and untouched.

You knock thrice on the door, pause, and knock a fourth time. When the door doesn’t open, you repeat the code.

No answer. Your heart drops into stomach as you stumble backwards, breathing spiraling out of control.

“Hey, love.” A soft hand lands on the small of your back and you gasp, spinning to face him. He’s all smiles, lips stretched into his dimpled cheeks as he resists the urge to kiss you right here. “Miss me?”

You throw your arms around his middle, pressing your face into his chest as he digs his nose into your hair.

You know how self-conscious he is about his intimidating aura. His sharp glances and sharper words often have most of the staff avoiding him like the plague, but to you, he’s all soft embraces and blushing cheeks.

“How was the trip?” The two of you are perched on worn stools that wobble when you lean too far one way, arms wrapped around each other to keep them from moving too much. Your head is pressed against his shoulder while he traces patterns on the back of your hand that's resting on his thigh.

“It was... amazing. Honestly.”

“I’m glad.” And you are. But you can’t help but always worry. These trips are dangerous and take much too long. When war and battle beckon at your door, every day without him in your sight is another day of anxiety.

Namjoon is a servant of your uncle’s house. He’s a cartographer, having studied at the same university as Hoseok and yourself, earning admission through his merit alone. The first times you saw him, he was bent over old maps and worn books, the weak candlelight illuminating the texts in front of him and his face poorly. Under the ruse of taking nighttime strolls, you’d found yourself sneaking peeks at him more often, smiling softly at the dark tufts of hair he’d run his fingers through until it stood up on his head.

You remember when Hoseok introduced you to him officially, tired of hearing you gush about him, and the three of you became a unit, joint at the hip wherever you went.

You hadn’t realized how good those days were, not when you had them. When you and Namjoon were giggly and sweet and bashful and it took Hoseok fighting tooth and nail for either of you to confess your true feelings. He’d been delighted when you finally gave up on hiding it, nearly shrieking in joy when he saw Namjoon sneak a peck on your cheek in the corner stairwell.

Those days were golden and joyful, full of laughs and long nights doing schoolwork and attending fancy university parties only to sneak away with half the buffet.

The days were good. Until they weren’t.

Until your uncle and aunt and Hoseok’s parents informed you of their longstanding agreement: that the two of you be married.

It’d been nothing but an absolute shock, but the both of you knew better than to say no, knew better than to risk their wrath. Hoseok would have been fine, though his parents certainly would have been unhappy. But if you rejected your uncle's wishes, an orphan with nothing but gratitude for their kindness in taking care of you, you couldn't be too sure they wouldn’t just relieve you of your position here, sending you to the streets. And you and Namjoon had neither the means nor the connections to fend for yourselves in the city, not in times like these.

When Hoseok got on one knee the next week in your dining room with Namjoon watching from the corner, newly hired by your uncle at your own suggestion, you said yes. Neither of you wanted it, but Namjoon insisted Hoseok go through with it, too caught up in his worry for your safety to think of himself.

It'd been difficult keeping the ruse, especially once your university days were over and there were much fewer places tucked away from your aunt and uncle's eyes and ears. It'd have been much more difficult without Hoseok, but he's always been the charmer out of you three, easily diverting attention and prying eyes when need be.

"I actually got you something."

Your eyes light up in surprise as you shift to face him. "You did? But you said—"

"I lied," he replies with a small smirk. "We always planned to stop by a few cities. I just wanted to see your face when I surprised you."

You giggle softly, lightly slapping at his arm. "You still lied.”

“For a good cause,” he jokes, pecking at your cheek before drawing a small box from his pocket. His cheeks flush slightly as he hands it to you. It reminds you of those first times you spoke to him, when you were both sputtering messes that could barely hold eye contact for longer than a moment.

It’s small but heavy in your hands, the size somewhat indicative of its contents. It fits just so in your palm, and when you open it, tears spring into your eyes at the small ring nestled into the velvet cushion. It isn’t shiny or decorated with diamonds or worth half your university tuition like the ring Hoseok gave you. It’s humble and wooden, deep brown and adorned with intricately carved with roses and other patterns you don’t recognize. Your thumb runs over the grooves almost instinctively, as if trying to memorize the feeling as quickly as possible. You can almost see his face when he spotted it in some market or shop, see that lit up expression on his features when it reminds him of you.

“Oh, Namjoon...” You swipe at your eyes quickly, but when you meet his gaze, there’s already a few stray tears cascading down his face.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts as you smile, lifting your hand to cup his face, thumb brushing away the tears on his cheeks. “I know it’s not much. But I thought you might like it. It’s discreet, so I figured you could wear it around, if you wanted to.”

You chuckle softly and wonder what you’d done to deserve him. “It’s perfect.” You remove Hoseok’s engagement ring from your finger and quickly replace it with Namjoon’s. You already know you’ll be running your fingers over it again often, treating it like a tether to him when he isn’t here. It won’t sit on your ring finger, of course, but for now, you leave it there, admiring its simplicity.

Namjoon takes a deep breath, pulling your hands into his. “I know everything’s uncertain right now. And I know that might not change for a while.” He runs his thumb across the ring, looking at it intently before lifting your whole hand and kissing it gently, plush lips ever soft against your skin. “But this is a promise. That one day I’ll sweep you off your feet and we won’t look back.”

You laugh loudly this time, maybe a bit too loudly, but you don’t care. “If I don’t sweep you off your feet first.”

He doesn’t ask the question hanging in the air, but your response is enough of an answer as you pull him in for a kiss by the back of his neck. You can taste the saltwater from both of your tears, the moment both incredibly joyful and bittersweet.

When you pull away, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear while you run a thumb over his dimples, all affections.

“It’s late,” he murmurs. “We should go.”

You sigh, hand dropping from his face. You wish you could drag him to your room, sweet talk him into playing with your hair or reading with you for a while, but you know he’s right.

You rise with a nod, feet dragging behind you as you make for the closet door, listening outside for a moment on the off chance that someone’s up late and nearby. Namjoon stays in his seat, always leaving after you to decrease suspicion and allow you to get to bed first. When no sound meets you other than faint thunder, you crack open the door, stepping outside.

But just as you start to close it behind you, Namjoon grabs the edge of the door with his hand, sticking his face out to meet your startled gaze.

“Wait.”

“Is something wrong?” You search his face with concern, wondering if you should have said more earlier, if you’d hurt him somehow.

“No, no.” He shakes his head fervently with a smile. “No, that’s not it.”

You furrow your brows at his antics, though you’ve always loved seeing his more silly side. “Then what do you want, Mister Kim?”

His eyes glint with mischief. “One more kiss, Mrs. Kim.” Your cheeks are flushed, but laugh as you grab his shoulders, pulling him close to you as you let him press his velvety lips onto yours, savoring the feeling until he’s with you again.

“Love you,” you murmur, peppering a few more kisses on his chin and cheeks for good measure.

“I love you too,” he whispers. “So much.” He starts to shut the door, but pauses, lips down turned slightly in a frown. “Oh— don’t forget to move the ring to a different finger.”

You nod. “I won’t.” It’s bittersweet as the door closes, a reminder that the bubble you two have created yourself only goes so far, that this isn’t quite as real as you want it to be.

Namjoon saves the longer, more elegant speech and proposal for a future date, like its own unspoken promise. One day social status and money and survival won’t stop you. One day you’ll both be coming home from long days to love each other unabashedly, to embrace without fear or time constraints.

You smile to yourself as the rain patters outside, your feet echoing behind you as you creep back to your room.

You wish Namjoon were with you as you climb under the sheets, feeling a bit cold without him here.

Yes, the rainfall makes you sleepy but as your head fills with thoughts of Namjoon and his promise, you grin stupidly to yourself, thinking you probably won’t get too much rest tonight.

#dulce-pjm: request #anonymous #bts fanfic #namjoon fluff #namjoon angst #namjoon fanfic #namjoon scenario #namjoon x reader #lol this was almost a lot angstier #but i couldn't do it lol #i have another rather angsty request approaching so i decided to chill out a bit with this #and now i'm so soft #i love soft joon <33 #it was fun to write sweet anon!!#tysm #xoxo

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transsergio · 4 years ago

Note

154 ("Are you sure you two aren't married?") with Moreid !

this is an ask i asked myself (ashdsd) a month ago and i’ve had the draft sitting in my docs for that long it’s driving me nuts just t a k e i t (ROUGH EDITING WARNING)

1.5k words, Moreid, rated G for God Why Can’t I Finish Anything

The case was over. At least, in terms of the unsub. In terms of their trip home, they were yet to leave LA. The rest of the team were on their way to the airport, but Morgan demanded a detour.

“We’re going to make everyone wait,” Spencer complained.

Morgan shrugged, casually parallel parking their hulking SUV. He leaned over the center console and pointed at the coffee shop wedged into the street corner. “The team will be fine. I need whatever they’re selling if you want to make it to the jet in one piece.”

Spencer sighed but gathered his shoulder bag in his lap. If nothing else, he really didn’t want to spend any more time in the California heat. How many cases did they really need in the dead of summer? Spencer knew the statistic, but it didn’t make the temperature bearable.

Before Spencer could reach for his door handle, Morgan had yanked it aside for him. He beamed down at Reid like this was some kind of victory.

“I can open my own doors,” Spencer grumbled as he scrambled from the car. Morgan scoffed behind him.

“I would also accept a ‘thank you’,” he teased.

Spencer didn’t return the favor. Instead, he strode into the coffee shop by himself and let the glass door shut behind him. He only looked over his shoulder once he’d claimed a place in line. Waiting in the Los Angeles sunshine, Morgan stood with his hands on his hips and an eyebrow raised. Spencer was sure he was glaring behind the sunglasses as he stood, statuesque, a full ten to twenty seconds before breaking down and opening the door himself. Spencer didn’t try to hide his smirk.

The line was only six or so customers long, but the room was tight. There were no tables inside, only staggered chairs to discourage patrons from sitting around and having a bite. Nonetheless, the glass case beside the register was stuffed with pastries – most of which were loaded with some kind of cream cheese. While Spencer debated going back to the car and grabbing his Lactaid, Morgan scanned for the options with the most protein.

They shuffled forward bit by bit and tried to settle their order, knowing Derek would be the one to do the talking.

“I’ve got a tall black coffee and a breakfast sandwich. You?”

“Do you think they do Frappuccinos?”

“I would say, yeah. This is LA, Reid.”

“Fair point. Alright, then an iced caramel Frappuccino and… a chocolate croissant.”

Morgan folded his arms over his chest. “Really? You’re going to put away all that dairy?”

Another customer cleared the counter and they inched closer.

“Yes, Morgan, really. I know what I’m doing.” Reid rolled his eyes.

“I know you do. But I’m the one sitting next to you in a metal tube for five hours.”

“So?” The more Morgan tried to parent him, the more defensive Spencer became. “Parent” wasn’t even the right word, but Spencer was never sure what Morgan was doing – it felt protective, but verged on condescending. And it was different when they were out in the field. Reid didn’t mind being tackled to the ground when they were suddenly under gunfire, even if he whined about grass stains later. Morgan never hit him too hard anyway. What he did mind was being thought of as a child, even if he was one comparatively.

Morgan shrugged. “Don’t come crawling to me when you’re gassy for half the flight.”

This conversation was now bordering on paternal.

Spencer kept his mouth shut as they scooted over the sticky tile floors. God, he wanted to go home. When they finally reached the register, he cringed as Derek laid his palms on the cashier’s counter. He watched Morgan mask his disgust as he slowly drew his hands back and wiped them on his pants. At least they had that much in common.

The cashier took Derek’s order and asked, “Anything else?”

Derek looked to Reid expectantly. Spencer furrowed his brown and nodded. Morgan didn’t need to double-check with him. He was an adult who’d made up his own mind, for the love of God.

Derek returned to the barista as if they were throwing caution to the wind. “And I guess, a grande caramel Frappucino with a chocolate croissant, please.”

“Iced,” Spencer mumbled, nudging Derek’s elbow.

“Sorry, an iced grande caramel Frappucino.”

The barista’s eyes flitted between the two of them, though she said nothing. She handed Derek his change and they moved to wait at the end of the counter.

“Was that so hard?” Spencer asked under his breath. He didn’t need to glance up to know Derek heard him; Derek always did, even when the team was working too fast and their voices piled on top of each other. Spencer’d have his eyes trained on some mark in the table, a wrinkle in their documents, or the only non-bloodied piece of evidence as he spoke. When he eventually made eye contact, Derek would be set on him and him only. Reid wasn’t sure if he felt like he was being watched, or paid attention.

And since Derek made no comment, he must’ve ignored him. Like he was a petulant child.

Or, he was still trying to wipe the mess from his hands.

When Spencer realized it was the latter, he dug into the outside pocket of his bag.

“Here,” he offered, taking Derek’s hand in his own. He squirted a hefty helping of hand sanitizer into Morgan’s palm and without thinking, rubbed it in himself. It was an economic decision, Spencer decided, considering he only had so much hand sanitizer. Sharing is caring, right?

Morgan kept quiet until the little bottle was tucked into Reid’s satchel again. He murmured, “Thanks.”

Spencer nodded. It was Derek’s turn to avoid eye contact. Maybe he just didn’t like the reverse; that Spencer could take care of him for a change.

“Reid? Spencer Reid, your order’s ready,” a barista called.

Spencer rolled his eyes. Of course Morgan used his name. It was a turn-taking system that allowed Spencer to speak as little as possible, but made Morgan feel like coffee was a two-person job.

At least they each carried their own drinks. As they were heading out, Morgan ahead of Spencer just to hold the door for him, the barista yelled after them.

“Mr. Reid, wait! Your husband’s food!”

Spencer whirled on his heels to see one of the staff dangling a paper bag over the edge of the counter. He stumbled towards them with intermittent glances behind to make sure Morgan didn’t follow him. God, he hoped Derek didn’t hear that. The whole jet would be in on the joke in under an hour.

Reid thanked them and took Morgan’s sandwich, all while trying to correct the mistake. “Actually, we’re just co-workers.”

The barista looked him up and down. “You sure you two aren’t married?”

“Pretty sure,” his voice cracked, “But, thanks again.”

Reid’s cheeks heated. They had to be bright red. He could hope he was as pasty as always, but he’d also need Morgan to be so hungry he didn’t notice… whatever this was. Spencer had been humiliated plenty of times in his life, and this didn’t feel like that. It wasn’t his mistake, after all. But something inside him burned.

Sure, there were indicators that they were closer than your average peers. Those same indicators popped up with everyone in the unit. It was bound to happen when you spent the majority of your time around the same six people, more-so when four of those six people were highly trained behavior analysts. But had anyone ever thought he was dating Prentiss, or engaged to Rossi? If they did, they’d never be confident enough to say it out loud.

Spencer flashed through the last twenty minutes of his life. He had never shared hand sanitizer with Prentiss, had never had Rossi care enough about his dairy intake to say something. Had never felt so over-protected and playful and embarrassed at the same time. Was that how Morgan flirted? It couldn’t be. He saw how Morgan and Penelope treated each other. It was blatant, grossly sweet, or plainly gross. But they were kidding (on some level). If Morgan was genuinely flirting, would he hide it?

He was at the car before he could come to a conclusion. Morgan swung into the driver’s seat and took his sandwich from Spencer’s limp hands.

“Reid. Kid. What’s going on?”

“What?” Spencer asked. He turned to Morgan. Derek’s sunglasses sat lower on his nose now. His brow was creased and he held Spencer at eye contact-gun point.

“What’d the barista say in there? Looked like you were talking.”

“Oh,” Spencer shook his head. He tried to focus on situating his bag under his seat. “Nothing. Just making sure it was the right order.”

“You sure?”

Spencer sighed. “Yes, Mom. I’m sure.”

Derek backed onto the street and the tangled web of LA highways in silence. The radio filled in some of the gaps as Reid fiddled with the stations and LA drivers were liberal with their car horns. As they slowed into stop and start traffic, Derek relaxed his grip on the wheel. He cocked his head to the side.

“Kid?”

“Yeah?”

“Never call me ‘Mom’ again.”

Oh. So maybe this wasn’t paternal after all. Reid blushed.

#criminal minds #moreid #derek morgan #spencer reid #cm #mine #Anonymous

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erin-bo-berin · 4 years ago

Text

Growing Family

MASTERLIST

Woo I’m finally back to writing some! It feels like it’s been a lot longer than it actually has since I’ve posted a new fic. I hate to disappoint, but this is just fluffy daddy Spencer today, but I am working on a few new smuts that should be coming up next so stay tuned for those! Also shout out to @velventeenaries for coming up with some of the lines Rossi said when we were having a convo on this situation. Thus, the inspiration for this fic was born. Happy reading!

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: G (fluff)

Word Count: 2,557

“Penny G at your service, how may I help you?”

You smiled at the familiar female voice that came through the speakers of your car.

“Hey Penelope,” you said.

“Y/N! My favorite non-BAU chica! What can I do for you, today?”

You chuckled knowing good and well the chipper, eccentric and kind hearted blonde was most likely swinging in her chair, twirling a feathery pen in her hands as you spoke.

“I was just curious if the rest of the team was back yet? If so, I wanted to swing by before heading home. I just got out of my doctor’s appointment.”

“Please tell me you have ultrasound pics!” Penelope’s voice grew in excitement.

“That I do,” you grinned.

“Okay, good. Yes, they’re here and you better be here in 5 minutes or less or I will hunt you down for those pictures. PG out.”

You shook your head, exasperated by the usual antics of Penelope Garcia. She was basically the fairy godmother tech analyst of the Behavioral Analysis Unit—the department of the FBI where your husband Spencer worked.

Just recently in the last few months, you and Spencer had found out you were pregnant. Being that it was yours and his first baby, the excitement was unreal but it wasn’t just limited to the two of you. The rest of the BAU were just as excited too.

Garcia was maybe on another level of excitement though. She was already planning on things to buy for the newest BAU baby. It had been almost four years since a new little bundle of joy had arrived within the extended BAU family. Rose Mary Simmons, the fifth and final child of team member Matt Simmons and his wife Kristy, was no longer a baby. She was speeding towards four and would be starting kindergarten in only a year and a half.

“You know I love all my godsons and goddaughters,” Penelope had told you, not long after you and Spencer had announced your happy event, “But I need more baby love in my life and thank God you’re having a baby. I will happily babysit any time you want.”

“Oh, Garcia,” you snickered to yourself, thinking back on the memory as you maneuvered your car through the busy D.C. traffic.

As you’d told Garcia, you’d just gone to your latest doctor’s appointment. You were about 15 weeks along and already showing more than you expected to, which peaked your curiosity. If you were to guess, you could easily pass for 5 almost 6 months pregnant, not barely 4.

You had planned to ask the doctor at today’s appointment if she was sure it wasn’t twins. You had a strong feeling it was. Being only 15 weeks though, you’d only had one prior ultrasound around 7 weeks—not long after you’d discovered your pregnancy and even then, the ultrasound had revealed only one heartbeat. Typically, an expectant mother didn’t have another ultrasound until around 20 weeks, obviously to determine the sex, but your doctor thought it best to check. If anything, it was possible that you were just carrying further forward than usual. According to Spencer—and the many times he’d told you this—it was extremely possible it was just the way your body carried pregnancy. You knew well enough that bump sizes varied greatly.

You’d hoped Spencer could join you for today’s appointment—one that had been scheduled last month—but unfortunately, he’d been away on a case with the team and was on the way home.

You told him you could easily reschedule, but he heard nothing of it.

“You’re going today. Just to make sure little one is okay. You can show me the pictures when we’re back,” he’d said to you, earlier that morning, over the phone.

You’d reluctantly agreed.

But now, you couldn’t help but smile at the little secret you had.

•

“There she is!” Garcia squealed, running towards you practically the moment you stepped foot out of the elevator.

“Hey, Penelope,” you smiled, embracing your friend.

“How are we feeling?” she grinned, pulling away to rub your bump, “Is it twins like you thought?”

You chuckled, knowing Garcia wasted no time in getting to the point.

“Well, about that…” you took her arm, walking with her into the doors of the BAU.

You’d filled Garcia in on the way towards the briefing room where most of the team had settled for the time being, just trying to relax after the trip home. If her huge smile was any indicator, Spencer would know before you could even get the words out.

“Whoa! If it isn’t baby mama Reid,” Luke grinned, coming to give you a brotherly side hug, “Wow, you’re enormous.”

Garcia’s eyes widened, swinging an arm out to hit Luke’s chest—hard.

“Ow! Uh enormously beautiful I mean. You’re glowing,” he tried to cover.

“Nice save,” you laughed, heading over to your husband, who was anxiously awaiting to wrap his arms around you.

“You idiot,” you heard Penelope mumble to Luke, “You never tell a pregnant woman how big they are.”

You bit back a laugh and melted into Spencer’s embrace. He’d been gone for almost a week and you’d missed him, a lot.

“Hi, baby,” he grinned, picking you up as he hugged you.

You bent your legs slightly as you were lifted a few inches off the ground and hugged his neck, tightly.

“Soon you won’t be able to do this,” you laughed, then waved to the rest of the team in the room, “Hi guys.”

You patted Spencer’s shoulder lightly.

“Spence, set me down long enough so I can say hi to everyone and not be rude,” you laughed.

He obliged with a grin, giving a quick pat to your bump and you went to hug Tara, JJ and Matt.

“What’d you find out?” JJ asked, “Spence mentioned you had a doctor’s appointment today.”

“Well…” you trailed off, nervously.

“Is the baby okay?!” Spencer asked, his face morphing into panicked concern, his brows furrowed.

“Everything’s fine,” you reassured quickly, “But it’s not just a baby,” you said hesitantly.

His eyebrows rose, looking shocked.

“It’s twins?”

“Not exactly,” you laughed hesitantly, “We’re having triplets.”

Spencer looked as shocked as you felt when the technician had told you the same news. To know you weren’t growing one baby but three.

He stood for a second, blinking at you in surprise. You were about to say something when you suddenly realized how pale he was. He swayed on his feet before falling backwards.

“Spence!”

“Spencer!”

“Reid!”

Everyone shouted at once, your shriek of his name probably the loudest. They all moved into action at once as you stood horrified, afraid something was terribly wrong.

Luckily, Matt had been quick enough to catch Spencer before he hit the ground. With he and Luke on either side, they managed to sit him in one of the chairs, his head lolling back.

“Is he okay? What’s wrong?” you asked, quickly at his side, not knowing exactly what to do.

“He’s fine, he just passed out, that’s all,” Tara reassured you.

You nodded in relief, taking a seat in a chair next to him, taking his hand.

There was a commotion at the door and you looked over, seeing David Rossi running in—unit chief Emily Prentiss on his heels.

“What’s all the noise about?” Rossi asked, eyeing Spencer, “What happened?”

“Spencer fainted and Y/N’s having triplets!” Garcia exclaimed.

Rossi’s eyes flickered to Spencer once again.

“Nah, kid’s just sleeping. Making up for the next 18 years of it he’s gonna lose.”

“Dave,” Emily sighed, exasperated, coming over to bend down and hug you.

“Congrats,” she grinned, “Not only are you having triplets, but you’re the only person that’s made Spencer faint.”

You laughed a bit.

“Definitely wasn’t my intention.”

“He’ll be fine,” Rossi waved a hand.

Just as he said that, a groaning came from your right and you looked over, to see Spencer stirring.

“What did I tell you?” Rossi said, coming over to give his congratulations with a big smile.

“Bouna fortuna,” he grinned, giving you a kiss on each cheek.

“What happened?” Spencer groaned, his hand slipping from your grip to rub at his eyes.

“You just got the shock of your life, kid,” Rossi snickered.

“The last thing I remember is you saying triplets and everything went black,” Spencer said.

“Yeah, you fainted,” you tried to hold back your grin and failed.

“Are we really having triplets?” Spencer asked, eyes wide once again.

“I’m afraid we are,” you grinned.

His look of surprise quickly turned into one of excitement. He grabbed your face, kissing you hard, not caring about kissing you in front of the others. The rest of the team whistled, clapped and laughed, their joy just as huge as your own.

Rossi’s following remark made Spencer pull away from your lips and laugh. Your mouth curved upwards and joined him.

“Don’t forget! David is a great name for a boy!”

•

Everyone was gathered at your baby shower. You had been speechless when you first saw the amount of stacked diapers and wipes—along with at least 5 diaper cakes from different team members. You were sure that those would last maybe a week or two with three babies to change.

“Kid, come on! We’re a family! I’ll be grandpa Dave! We can get matching shirts that say Big Dave and Little Dave!”

You laughed, overhearing Rossi’s exclamations to Spencer, all the way from the food table.

Months had passed and your belly had grown exponentially. You could hardly believe that your body was capable of carrying three precious little babies.

Even though your belly was covered in stretch marks, your back hurt and your feet were swollen, you couldn’t be happier. You and Spencer would soon start a new chapter in your lives—a scary one, albeit exciting one too.

Only a few weeks after your reveal of the babies to Spencer and the BAU team, the two of you had discovered you were welcoming two girls and one boy. Ever since then, Rossi had been hounding you about naming the baby after him.

Unbeknownst to him, you and Spencer had already picked out names and were going to surprise Rossi after they were born. But due to his current banter with Spencer, you knew you wouldn’t be able to hold the secret for any longer.

“Rossi,” you grinned, very much waddling over to the two men, “You're incorrigible.”

“I know. It’s the Italian in me,” he replied, nonchalantly.

“Well, much to Spencer’s dismay I’m sure, you’ll be happy to know you’re getting your wish,” you said.

Rossi looked stunned for a moment. You were positive this was the only time in the years you’d known him that he’d ever been stunned speechless like this.

“We decided to name our son David Gabriel Reid,” Spencer beamed, “We didn’t want to cause any confusion on names, so we’re going to call him Gabriel, but he can still be your little Dave if you want.”

It finally looked like it had sunk in when Rossi pulled both you and Spencer into a big hug, smiling bigger than you’d ever thought possible.

“That’s perfectly fine by me,” he grinned, kissing the tops of yours and Spencer’s heads, “I’m gonna teach him to play ball and how to cook spaghetti carbonara.”

“Don’t forget, you’ll have two little girls to deal with too,” Spencer laughed.

“Oh don’t you worry. They’ll learn how to cook and drop kick anyone who even looks at them the wrong way,” Rossi smirked.

“That, I don’t doubt,” you snickered.

“Speaking of,” Tara asked, popping up in the conversation, “When are you going to tell us what you’re naming your three little geniuses?”

“Yeah, I wanna know too,” Luke piped in, also walking up to the now small gathering.

JJ, Matt, Emily and Penelope followed behind him.

“Well if you didn’t catch it before, Baby A—the boy—is going to be David Gabriel,” Spencer beamed, “After the best father figure, mentor, co-worker, friend and member of this crazy BAU family. I couldn’t think of a better name to give my son.”

There were cheers all around as everyone lifted their glasses of champagne—apple juice for you—and clinked them together in celebration. You couldn’t help the huge grin that spread across your face to see how happy it made the well known, lovable, David Rossi.

“What about the girls’ names though?” Emily asked once the noise had settled down.

“Well there’s a bit of a backstory to that before we tell you the names,” Spencer began.

“We chose Gabriel’s name together because we already knew we wanted to actually make part of his name after Rossi, but we each picked a name, separately. One for each girl. Spencer decided on a name for baby B and I, baby C.”

“It’s also kinda funny what we both came up with,” Spencer interjected.

“Before the babies are born, kid!” Rossi said, “What are the names?”

“Baby B is Abrielle Jade—a name Y/N said she wanted to name a little girl on our very first date.”

Luke whistled.

“I’d be surprised that you remembered that but then again, you’re you.”

“Believe me, I’d forgotten I’d told him that, myself,” you chuckled.”

“And the other little girl is?” JJ prompted.

“Spensa Rae,” you said, looking at Spencer, a twinkle in your eye, “I wanted to name her after her daddy in some way, but it’s unique enough to be her own name as well. Rae is after my grandmother, too.”

“Those are the cutest names!” Garcia squealed, “Perfect timing time to give you my present for little Gabriel, Abrielle and Spensa then.”

She hobbled off in a partial run—not able to move too fast because of the grass in the backyard and her high heels—and grabbed three gift bags. She came back, handing them to you.

“Open it, open it!” she beamed.

You laughed at her excitement, pretty excited yourself. You handed one bag to Spencer as you reached into one bag, then the second, pulling out two matching onesies.

You looked over to see Spencer pulling out a third matching onesie from the gift bag you’d given him.

“Read the front,” Penelope beamed.

Opening one, you saw it read Rossi’s Sous Chef #2.

You laughed, opening the other which had the exact same thing printed on the front, but instead of the number 2, there was a number 3.

You peered at the one in Spencer’s hands, finding number one.

“Penelope, these are great!” you laughed, showing Rossi the outfits.

“These babies are going to be so loved,” Spencer smiled demurely, his eyes shining bright with tears.

“They will have plenty of people to love them,” Tara said with a bright smile.

“Lots of arms to hold them and cuddle them,” Luke added.

“Hands to help change diapers,” JJ piped in.

“Lots of kisses and bedtime stories,” Rossi said.

“Plenty of kids to play with them,” Matt chuckled.

“And a godmother to spoil them!” Garcia beamed.

“It’s not just your little family growing,” Emily smiled, coming to stand in between you and Spencer, wrapping an arm around each of you.

She looked around at the team that filled the backyard on this wonderful, summer evening, all gathered to celebrate the miracle of life.

“It’s our BAU family growing, too.”

TAG LIST: @dreatine @reid-187 @groovyreid @reidslibra @iamburdened @cindywayne @sundippedprincess @missprettyboy @hushlilbabydoll @sammy-jo1977 @haileymorelikestupid @lemonypink @teamkiall @redbullchick @ifeelloved @one-sweet-gubler @nanocoool @delightfullyspeedyearthquake @unsteadyimagines @ughitsbaby @inkwiet @pennythetechgoddess @capt-engr-ssa @sixx-sic-sixx @spencersdolore @reidsstudies @disney-dreams-world @chocolatecalzoneherringbonk @mggwhore @andiebeaword @cupcake525 @be-the-bravest @gretaamyk @hopebaker @prisonreid @httpnxtt @daviddoughboy @pastathighs @marvels-gurl @blushingspencer @simp-for-mgg @victorzsaszmydaddy @inlovewithamess @im-inlovewith-mycar @xshakesqueerx @queenofmischief @mattgraygubler @yeah-its-jackk @itsarayofsunshine @alexisparmentier @la-vie-en-amour1 @pinkdiamond1016 @itsmytimetoodream @saintd0lce @cherryxblossoms @jessaminelovelace @rainsong01

#spencer reid #spencer reid gifs #Spencer Reid fic #spencer reid fluff #dr spencer reid #dr spencer reid gifs #dr spencer reid fic #dr spencer reid fluff #dr reid #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds gif #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

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themangolorian · 5 years ago

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look how long this love can hold its breath

Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

pairing: javier peña x reader

summary: (slow burn/fake married) When Pablo Escobar escalates his war on Colombian law enforcement, the DEA is getting desperate to pin down his location. Reader is forced to go undercover with another agent, one she can’t stand, Javier Peña. Worst of all, she’ll have to try to infiltrate the Cali Cartel while pretending to be Peña’s wife.

warnings: mild language

a/n: i know it’s a generally overdone trope but i couldn’t resist doing my own version of fake married Javi with a pretty antagonistic reader. hope you all enjoy!

You’d been assigned to an undercover assignment of sorts. You were infiltrating the Cali Cartel. Sort of. The mission was simply to gain inside information on Escobar’s whereabouts. To finally bring that hijoeputa down.

The only problem was your assigned partner.

Javier fucking Peña.

You’d never worked with him, but you knew his reputation as a womanizer. His machismo. And, worst of all, he was an American.

You’d encountered him briefly on separate occasions in the briefing room and each time he’d rubbed you the wrong way. He had a habit of talking over you and every other woman in the unit. Well, honestly, him and his partner Murphy liked to talk over everyone but- to put it plainly, you didn’t like Javier Peña.

“What’s the plan?” You asked in your typical no-nonsense way as you joined him and Murphy in the briefing room.

Incredibly, the up aboves had put these two pendejos in charge of the operation.

“Hola amor,” Peña lilted at you with a smirk from his seat across from you, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

You glared at him. “What the fu-.”

“You’re married.” Murphy tossed the manila envelope on the table in your direction, interrupting your outburst.

He knew you and Peña got on each others’ nerves. This was his way of avoiding the inevitable bickering. It was a shitty way of doing so though.

You cursed under your breath as you fell into a chair and swept the envelope open.

The other two were quiet as your eyes scanned the documents.

“Fuck no.” You pushed the papers containing your’s and Peña’s aliases back at them.

Señor y Señora Villalobos. Dealers disguised as diamond salespeople. Married. To each other.

“Told you.” Peña told Murphy, his tone all-knowing.

“Cállate,” you snarled at Peña.

“You first,” he glared back.

“Hey,” Murphy exclaimed. He rested the tip of his index finger on the files and glared at you both now.

“This isn’t a request. These are orders.” He rubbed at his mustache and this time directed his gaze at you. “You either follow the mission or find another job.”

You glared from him to Peña who didn’t meet your gaze, too busy staring at a point on the table.

You threw your hands up in defeat, reached across and snatched the folder then huffed out of the room, muttering all the while. “Estos tontos Americanos vienen a mi país y piensen que tengo miedo de ellos, malparidos...”

Murphy looked from your retreating figure to Peña who was watching you walk away with amusement in his eyes. “What was that? What did she say?”

“She’ll do it,” Peña said, smirking. He stood and picked up his own file. “And learn Spanish while I’m gone, cabrón.”

Peña rapped Steve on the arm with the file affectionately and then he was gone.

Steve rubbed his face again, tiredly, worried that given the short fuses of both you and Peña, the DEA was making a huge mistake.

*****

“¡Apúúúúúúrateeee!” You dragged the word out, tapping your foot impatiently against the brake.

You were in an agency assigned car waiting around the corner from Peña’s flat for the pendejo to come outside so you could start the long drive to Cali.

Finally.

He threw his bag into the backseat then slid onto the passenger’s seat.

“Amor,” he greeted you with a sardonic smile as he slipped his sunglasses on.

“¿Y por qué tardaste tanto?” You ignored the stupid nickname he was no doubt using to taunt you in order to ask him what had taken him so long.

“I couldn’t find the rings.” He held up a shiny golden wedding band, and you saw a matching one already around his own finger.

For a beat you merely glared at the ring as if all of this was its fault, then you were taking it and roughly sliding it onto your own finger.

“Careful,” Peña said as he inclined his seat so he could sleep. “Keep being so charming and all the narcos are going to want to marry you.”

You revved the engine and took off jerkily, turning the volume of the radio up to drown him out.

The trip was a long one. You both took turns driving. Peña kept turning down the radio while you drove so he could sleep, and you kept changing the station while he was driving. You argued over where to eat and what temperature to keep the air at or whether to open the windows.

“We’re supposed to be married, not divorced,” he’d quipped at you once while he was driving after you’d knocked his hand out of the way of your water bottle as you reached for it.

You turned the heater up then, knowing it would bother him, even though you were already sweltering. He left it though, too stubborn to engage you at your game.

Until you opened your window. Then he was slamming the shut off button for the heater.

You glared at him...then- A mansion outside his window caught your eye. You watched it whiz past.

“What?” He slowed and turned the radio volume down.

“You passed it.” You sat back in your seat. “Coño.” You muttered under your breath.

He pulled the car over. When he let the car idle instead of turning around, you looked at him to see him already watching you, sunglasses off.

“What?”

“This is it. One wrong move and we’re both dead.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. You glared fiercely his way. “Are you reminding me how to do my job, Peña?”

He sighed. “Just- I know we don’t get along, but this weekend, we don’t have a choice.”

You rolled your eyes. “Look just because you swooped in from the grand US of A to save all us heathens,” you fluttered your hands mockingly, “doesn’t mean I need you to remind me of my job. I’ve been doing this for longer. If anyone in this car understands what’s at stake, it’s me.” You finished, angry.

“That why you hate me so much?” He asked thoughtfully in a tone so soft you had to look at his face to discern his intent for asking.

He wasn’t glaring anymore. If anything, he seemed curious.

“I don’t hate you,” you muttered but your tone belied your words.

He chuckled. “That’s a good start.” He started turning the car around. “Amor.” He added and suddenly you were fuming again.

*****

The introductions with the narcos and their wives went well enough, better even than you’d hoped. They accepted you as one of their own. It wasn’t hard for you to fit in, you were Colombiana to the bone. Peña on the other hand… But he’d sold it well. Almost too well. This had been your first opportunity at seeing how much he’d picked up during his time in Colombia so far. And it seemed like he’d picked up a lot.

Peña hadn’t been wrong when he’d indicated some of the narcos would take an interest in you. They greeted you both warmly, but their hands enveloped yours tightly and their eyes lingered just a moment too long. You thought Peña must have noticed too, and surely he worried that allowing such blatant flirting would endanger your cover.

That must have been why you suddenly felt his arm encircling your bare shoulders. You tried not to tense in surprise, so much so that you let yourself relax against him in a natural manner. He continued the pretense, kissing your forehead as he made a joke with the narcos about keeping the wife happy.

Inside, though, you were having a crisis and you hoped the look on your face was one caught between amused and loving. A shock had gone through you when Peña’s lips had met your skin. His act was so convincing; how was he so good at this?

You thought back to the first stop you’d made earlier on in the car drive. When you’d gotten out of the car, Peña had whistled softly upon seeing your sundress, warming your cheeks and angering you simultaneously. But he’d said nothing else. And you’d thought on it during the ensuing drive. Normally you wore suits to the office, pants and skirts, but suits all the same. And you’d made a point of never going out with Peña or Murphy. So he’d never seen you in anything else. Against your will, you wondered what the whistle had meant. Not that you cared, but you didn’t need to add one more thing to the long list of things you already had to think about.

You smothered the thoughts. They were distracting and unnecessary and right now you were lucky that Peña was so good at this because he was carrying you both.

As you trailed the narcos out back to sit and have drinks by the pool, you slipped your arm around his waist, needing to carry your weight in the farce and not wanting to have to hear later from Peña about what you should have done.

“Así,” you heard him murmur approvingly.

You dug your nails into his side and heard him grunt in pain.

Your smile then at the wife of one of the narcos holding out a drink for you was genuine.

You spent an hour bantering back and forth with the other couples.

If you didn’t know any better, you would think Peña was happily married in his private life. He played the part perfectly.

As you were both sitting at the poolside table, he would reach over absently and take your fingers in his. The first time a jolt went through you again. But you took the cue. You alternated touches. You would rest your hand on his thigh. You swore he jumped the first time you did that, but he hid it well. He took long draws from your glass. Once he even fed you an olive. If you didn’t know any better, he was enjoying torturing you. He knew you hated olives. But the gesture drew laughs from the men and awwws from the women. It was then you noticed how they were swooning over Peña. It upset you only because you realized that if the pinche idioto was in the position to do it, he’d sleep with all their wives.

Finally and blessedly, your hosts suggested that you two retire to your room before dinner. Peña was to join the other men in Pacho’s office just before dinner for a discussion. You assumed that was when any useful information would be recovered. You realized then that you were here more for decoration than anything.

You fumed as you let Peña lead you by the hand up the mansion’s grand staircase. You both followed the housekeeper who led you to your room.

You dropped Peña’s hand the second the door closed behind you. He gave you a look but then the two of you were scouring the room, searching for any hidden recording devices. You shook your head at him, but he put his finger to his lips and tilted his head toward the bathroom. You raised your hands questioningly but followed him all the same.

He was reaching into the shower and turning it on full blast.

“¿Qué haces?” You hissed at his ear, having to get close to be heard.

“We don’t know for sure it’s clear. We only talk freely like this.” He murmured into your ear, his breath tickling your skin. You shivered involuntarily at the sensation.

You both established that your cover had been bought. And what most likely awaited him at the meeting. You left him to take a shower and went to lounge on the bed.

Several minutes later, the door to the bathroom opened releasing a wall of steam and-

You sat up, glaring, “What are you doing?”

Peña put a finger to his lips furiously. “Adonde está mi maleta, amor?” His sweet tone was a direct contradiction to the furrow in his brow. He shook his head at you, gesturing to his suitcase as if to ask how you expected him to get dressed without clothes.

“Allí, corazón.” You said for show, just in case, glaring at him as he took his time going through his bag to find an outfit. Your eyes tried not to linger on his bare skin and the way water from the shower trickled down his toned back.

You averted your eyes when he turned back, but he was smiling as if he knew you’d been watching him, so you flipped over on the bed to face the other direction.

When Peña left the room with the sound of a fake kiss, you were too nervous to sit still. You had to get ready for dinner anyway. But you were anxious all the same. Your cover could be blown at any second. You stored a handgun under the bathroom sink before getting into the shower and kept an ear out for any strange noises. But nothing happened. You dressed and put your perfume and makeup on. Still Peña was absent. You slid a smaller gun into the holster on your inner thigh and went to join the other wives wherever they were.

They turned out to be in a bar off the kitchen. Luckily already tipsy and talkative. They handed you a drink, but you took only tiny sips as you engaged them in conversation. You struck gold when one of them brought up Tata, Escobar’s wife. They were gossiping over who had a better kitchen. You hung onto every word while providing input as shallowly as possible. Apparently your and Peña’s kitchen was inlaid with marble and dark hickory wood.

Nothing they said gave up the location of the Escobars though and the subject soon turned to jewelry, at which point the women fawned over the diamond necklace provided to you by the agency. Which was your cue to try to sell them diamonds.

Soon enough the staff came in to lead you all to the formal dining room where the men were waiting. They all stood but it was Peña’s face you were focused on.

His lips parted when he saw you and his brow smoothed over. His eyes traveled from yours down along your entire figure. You couldn’t help but get the slightest bit flustered. You avoided his gaze, but he was coming your way to take your hand and lead you over to the seat next to his. It was strange. Surrounded as you both were by actual enemies, it felt like you were the only two in the room. It confused you and irritated you, but you managed to catch your breath again once you were seated at the dinner table. You ignored Peña’s dark eyes on you and took a long sip from your wine glass, trying to focus on the mission at hand.

“Not too much,” you heard him whisper as you placed the wine glass back down.

And there he was.

Underneath the table, you adjusted your feet, “accidentally” stepping on his shoe with one sharp heel.

The curse he muttered in pain under his breath had you smiling as you dove into the conversation, ready to take on a room full of the people who had played the bad guys in your life for so long.

masterlist

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judyhopps934-mt-zd · 4 years ago

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Thoughts on Miraculous New York: United Heroez

Warning: Spoilers! I am back! Also, this is my 700th post, so yay!

The new intro is so cool! I stan! Will it be the same for the Miraculous World Specials (ie. Shanghai)??

Mr. Pigeon? Akumatized for the 51st tims?!?!?!?! I thought he moved on from pigeons and went with rats?!?! (Timetagger anyone????)

The Spacesuits! So cool! (By the way, its the purple potion).

Ladybug and Chat Noir are very autonomous, trust connected from their bond, and super efficient! (You will see where this comes into play later on.) Ladybug could have not gotten a better partner than Chat and she says this herself.

The rose scene after defeating Mr. Pigeon! I loved it so much and its better than expected!

Oh Marinette, didn't you say you have moved on from Adrien? I think her heart has yet to catch up with her brain, which takes time. Time will tell...

Tikki is visibly annoyed with Marinette saying she will move on and yet act like she still has a crush on Adrien. First of all, that is the fandom's mood. Second of all, be patient. Time will tell...

The sock puppet film was adorable. And apparently famous in NY amongst the Queens students (thank you Zag for including another NYC borough!)

Miss Bustier is pregnant?!?!? Wait...IS SHE IS MARRIED?!?!?!? Whether she is married or is seeing someone, this is still shocking (unless her prefix in the French version is Mrs.)

Poor Mrs. Mendeleiev. The class was less than satisfied with her being their chaperone. I know she is not the fun teacher, but she still has feelings and I know she is a nice person. People tend to judge and despise teachers based on them being fun or not, which is unfair. But karma comes after the class since throughout the trip, she becomes the teacher they think she is. What? She could have been fun.

Lila was not welcome in New York to begin with. At least she won't be causing any problems on the trip (though I wish she went to Antarctica).

Marinette has done more for Adrien in this episode than in all three seasons when she promised him that she will find a way to convince Gabriel to go to New York. I guess her deciding that he is "just a friend" has allowed her to do more for him than beforehand.

But she still collects pictures of him, so we will keep quotations on "friend". Or we need to give her a break (Alya I am looking at you). We'll see as we go on.

I am happy Nathalie is alive, though I am not happy with the fact that she showed Gabriel the Eagle Talon Miraculous. And he plans to go to New York. And that this is the only reason he lets Adrien go to NY.

Speaking of which, the Miracu-class showed up to his place, with Marinette being the spokesperson to yell at Gabriel Agreste's freaking face. Good for you Marinette for fighting against Gabriel. Though you did not have to put up a long fight, which while shocking, is also worrisome.

Adrien was understandably sad to not be able to go to NY. Kagami seems happy about it though. Maybe too happy...

Yes, I know that Kagami and Adrien are potentially dating (Battle of the Miraculous ending anyone? *sobs in Adrienette stan*), but it still pains my Adrienette stan heart though when she kissed him.

Of course Chat Noir will be sad to see Ladybug go. But she brings this cute cat buzzer and seeing him play with the buzzer was adorable. Ladynoir anyone?

Adrien is stuck with this dilemma: NY or Ladybug? Poor sunshine boy was shocked to hear this news. He initially chose Ladybug and wanted to stay and alert Ladybug about the new situation, but Plagg was like "FREEDOM! GO AFTER IT! BESIDES, YOU CAN USE YOUR SPACESUIT TO RETURN TO PARIS IN THE EVENT OF AN AKUMA!" Seemed like a good plan...initially. (Plagg, I am after you...sorta).

Of course Marinette will miss the bus, but Luka?!?! They either trying to remind me of Miracle Queen or Luka is superhuman for being able to show up to her place and peddle so fast that they caught up with the bus. Pains my Adrienette heart once again to see her kiss him, but he does have a point about her needing some clarity in NY.

Then we have the plane scene. Poor Marinette was panicking over sitting next to Adrien (really now universe?!). There was more to the scene: from the AC trouble to the seat reclining at the wrong time to Adrien placing the luggage in the compartment (not in that order exactly). It was somewhat cringeworthy then seeing that Marinette went to swap seats with Mrs. Mendeleive (though she only did it when Alix whined).

Note to self: DO NOT SIT NEXT TO MR. DAMOCLES IN AN EIGHT HOUR FLIGHT. He is not very conscious about personal space as he took over Marinette's seat when he was asleep and woke Marinette up. And sleeping with a bucket of popcorn? Really?

If anyone has ever been on a plane, turbulence is common, and Marinette's experience with the Bathroom is very relatable. That's why I only go in an emergency.

Adrienette watching a sunrise! (Or sunset? They are not too clear on this, especially since they arrive at the hotel at night, but everyone was asleep on the plane). And get this: Adrien complimenting Marinette and hugging her tightly! (Just a friend now, huh sunshine boy?)

Alya and Nino are a mood when they say that they love their friends, but they wish that they could express their love to each other (Operation: New York).

Alya, did you really have to tell Marinette that NY is the city of love? Thank you for making her feel even nervous.

TechnoPirate and the United Heroez everyone! (By the way, Alya needs a chill pill because she was WAY too excited to be rescued by the United Heroez. And the Owl Mr. Damocles? Really?!)

Note to everyone who does not live in NYC: no, there is not a superhero for every job.

Ladybug and Chat Noir are exceptional superheroes, but Marinette and Adrien cannot open or walk through automatic doors, which is funny and kind of sad. Peoples, your saviors of Paris.

Sabrina has her own story peoples! She is given her own love interest from Astoria! I love them! And how he invited her to the rooftop party.

Alya, do you really have to tease her and Marinette at once. "Maybe you will make a "friend""

Aeon, I agree: Marinette and Adrien are made for each other. But you sound like Master Fu in Stoneheart. Are you secretly Master Fu???

The feeling is mutual Chloé. Marinette and Alya do not want to be your roommate as much as you don't want them to be yours. And I know you do not want to be there in the first place (my city is beautiful btw).But I am happy you did not rat them out for going to the rooftop party.

When they hid from Mrs. Mendeleive, Marinette and Adrien ended up in Jess(Sparrow) and Aeon(Uncanny Valley)'s room.

Magic hotdogs!

Remember the Hotdog Scene I posted over a week ago? That really was Adrienette and it was better than before, with them floating up and dancing to the song from Despair Bear! Yes! Best scene so far!

Doorman! I want him to be my college professor!

Okay, I know I am desperate to see Marinette and Adrien get together, but really Alya, Nino, Jess, and Aeon? Put them in DANGER?!?!? I cannot.

So Marinette and Adrien are put in danger and actual danger. Danger: Jess and Aeon simulating a dangerous situation. Actual Danger: Hawkmoth in New York having akumatized TechnoPirate and make him break into the museum to get the Eagle Talon. Oof.

Then where my Ladynoir heart wears off: Ladybug and Chat Noir seeing each other in NYC to save their civilian selves. They have seen Paris being destroyed by a sentimonster, with Chat supposed to be there and call Ladybug.

Uncanny Valley and Sparrow see Ladybug and Chat Noir in action and decide to be like them because they do not have that same freedom. Look, I feel them, but I still think they should have called for the United Heroez. Plus, cool transformations!

Remember the whole thing about "autonomous, trust formed by their bond, and super-efficiency"? Yeah, that was Sparrow saying that. But Ladybug and Chat Noir are now currently lacking the last two because of the whole "Chat you are supposed to be in Paris" ordeal. Well, you are generally right Sparrow, but now they have their own issues.

Of course, the new lack of trust (and Ladybug making her anger verbal) has affected their ability to fight TechnoPirate inefficient. So much Chat cannot defend himself and while trying to free himself...

HE CATACLYSMED UNCANNY VALLEY!!! This took a dark turn as this is the first time he cataclysmed a "person" (though she is an android, but still a person by standards. I mean Majestia was understandably very upset and I get it).

Majestia punching TechnoPirate into multiple NY buildings: woah.

Ladybug manages to fix everything, but two problems arise:

1. Knightowl wanted to take away their Miraculous and reveal their secret identities. They are now somewhat fugitives in their eyes for almost killing Uncanny Valley.

2. We see the limitations of Miraculous Ladybug. While Ladybug repaired NY, she was unable to repair Paris and the damage caused by the Robostus sentimonster. Which not only indicates that the Miraculous Ladybug cure only repairs the damage created by a specific villan, but that they have to be present. Here, there were too late.

Here is where my Ladynoir heart shatters: 1. Marinette sobs over how she was unable to repair Paris and felt horrible about how she failed them, and 2. Adrien renounced Plagg because of what happened to Uncanny Valley AND for disappointing Ladybug. Then, he runs off and Marinette sobs over losing Chat Noir. It was very sad that I wanted to cry.

I know this part is still very sad, but can I say that Tikki and Plagg are cute together in Marinette's purse? Poor timing? Moving on.

Aeon and Jess are disciplined by Majestia and Knightowl for disobeying their orders and for straying from their mission: protect the French class.

Are Majestia and Knightowl together in their civilian life? And Aeon and Jess are sisters?!?! I stan.

Here's the thing: I like how the special stayed true to this part of the Miraculous Comics. There, we find that Knightowl is a woman (which you can find out from this scene or at the end). And i just stan her relationship with Majestia.

Also, how dare the writers forget the Miraculous Comics! Sure, they might be different entities, but still: how dare they let the United Heroez forget about the power of the Miraculous Cure! I know that Chat Noir should be more careful about his cataclysm and Majestia has a right to be upset, but still: they had a deadly plan set in the comics to defeat a villan and called on Ladybug to cure the millions of dollars in damage. But hey, to each their own.

Also, somewhat unrelated, but Julerose appeared in the beginning and I am here for it!

Gabriel kidnapped TechnoPirate and akumatized him again while giving him the Eagle claw jewel to liberate people from their fears or other factors. Oof.

The kwami for the Eagle Miraculous is relatable. We would all wish we had our previous owner and fear about our power going into evil hands, right?

Now back to Adrien and Marinette, my heart breaks to see Adrien having to go back to Paris because Gabriel delcares NY as "too dangerous". YOU ARE THE FREAKING DANGER THOUGH! YOU MADE TECHNOPIRATE DANGEROUS AND RELEASED HIM FROM DANGER!

Marinette decides to go after him, but falls over from the bike she borrowed due to the rainwater as she begs him to stay.

And peoples, the moment we waited for three seasons (sorta): Marinette finally utters the words "I love you" when referring to Adrien. Too bad he got too far for him to hear her.

Also, who was going to get her off the road when she broke down? Is that her form of closure?

The United Heroez are now under the Liberty Eagle Miraculous' influence, which made them go haywire. Huh. So Jess and Aeon now have to save them with the help of the French Superheroes!

So Aeon was able to uncover that TechnoPirate is akumatized and using a Miraculous through her scanners. I stan her!

Also, she was able to recognize Marinette is Ladybug and Adrien is Chat Noir. And we have a reason to explain why everyone is blind: there is a quantum mechanism in the suits that makes them unrecognizable when compared to their civilian form in the eyes of humans. She can only figure out their identities since she is an AI android. So our theory about everyone having a reason to be blind is correct AND we can cut everyone else some slack. Please.

Marinette confessed that she needs Chat Noir. This was what we wanted to hear after all that has happened: what she said in the beginning, but now in the most genuine form. I have no words other than that this is heartwarming and heartbreaking.

Adrien was worried over Ladybug's disappointment, but Uncanny Valley is amazing in the sense that she recorded Marinette's genuine words, which inspired him to come back.

Plagg, you literally make light of everything. He literally made faces in front of Uncanny Valley because she can't see him. I can't.

Ladybug and Chat Noir's reunion healed and broke me. It was so emotional as Ladybug expresses how worried she was and how she missed him and Chat explaining while admitting his mistakes.

Time to take down TechnoPirate while using Doorman's powers to take the Eagle Talon and freeing everyone. The fight scenes are epic per usual, this one especially.

TechnoPirate counting down the time was alarming, but also funny as he makes light of it.

Hawkmoth, you would have been to blame for the World War III because of your ultimatum, not Ladybug and Chat Noir.

They missed the countdown, but Majestia stops the rocket and sends it to the sun. What the hell?! What if the sun exploded?!?!?!?! (I dunno? It was an atomic bomb for starters?)

So TechnoPirate is defeated and the United Heroez apologize for misjudging our Parisian superheroes and decide to no longer treat their children like kids.

So Paris for the first time in forever needs to undergo actual reconstruction, but Nadja is somewhat forgiving as she mentions that they needed to help the United Heroez and save NYC, where Hawkmoth also was. Hope there are no hard feelings?

Marinette had the idea of having the banner saying hello to Adrien, which he watched on the plane. So nice of Marinette the class to do such a nice thing for him.

Chloé, we might have somewhat forgotten that whole Miracle Queen stunt, but I am glad to see you enjoyed NY even if you will not admit it.

There are more Miraculous around the world. At the end, we need to fear Hawkmoth. Also, there are more Miraculous guardians and I am glad to see Jess convince one of the Guardians to create a new team of next generation superheroes

Overall, the New York special did not disappoint. We got Adrienette and Ladynoir (even if we know that Lukanette and Adrigami are also a potential reality, though good news for the shippers). We also saw the New York superheroes. Though there are some points that really surprised me (ie. The Ladynoir trust fight and Uncanny Valley dying temporarily and Paris being destroyed), I enjoyed watching the special.

I am worried about the Love Square, especially with Marinette though, but that is for another post. To sum up, we know what happens in NY stays in NY, but since the season 4 synopsis mentions Marinette struggling to find time to tell Adrien her feelings, I think that the Love Square is not 100% dead, but I am not too sure. Oh well, let's leave that for tomorrow.

I stayed up for another hour or so, so I will sign off. In the meantime, go ahead and watch it on an Instagram Page or on Disney Channel or wherever you can watch the special because I will tell you this: you will not regret it! (I watched it twice and will watch it again tomorrow!)

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