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her-power · 1 year ago

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Last Chance to Dance (Rockstar! e.m. x fem reader)

🚨🛑🔞18+++ MINORS DNI - YOU WILL BLOCKED🚨🛑🔞 TRIGGER/CONTENT WARNING (For entire series): Rockstar! Addict! Sweet! Mean! Eddie, smut, unprotected p+v, fluff, fingering (f receiving), masturbation, oral (m+f receiving), heavy drug use, descriptions of IV drug use, swearing, talks of anxiety, panic disorder, mental illness, talks of suicide

Summary: Modern Eddie + reader are early 30s. Eddie is the famous lead singer/guitarist of Corroded Coffin, who has gotten himself into legal trouble due to his antics and drug use. Eddie broke your heart many years ago and he receives a letter from you asking to meet to talk about what happened between you two so long ago. Secrets are talked about, mental walls are built and broken down. Most of this series will be in Eddie's POV. (I will also be putting song inspirations on each part 🤍)

Word Count: 5k

A/N: There will be a LOT of mentions of heavy drug use in this series. This series DOES NOT glorify the use of drugs. It is not cool, it is not fun, it is something that destroys people and everyone around them. I have loved and lost people I know to drug and alcohol use, a lot of what you read here is my own personal experience from what I have seen with my own eyes. I hope this series will spread awareness and will give anyone and everyone who reads this hope. If you or anyone you know is struggling with addiction, please know you are not alone, there is help out there.

The silence is almost deafening as I sit there in my dimly lit office, tapping my finger against the arm of the chair; the metal of my ring clinking as I stare at my therapist, Dr. Catherine Ryan, in front of me. She had a kind smile, but I wasn’t in the mood to talk today.

“What’s bothering you?” She asks gently.

I gaze at her, gnawing on the inside of my cheek. A stupid habit I formed when I stopped using six months ago.

Let’s see, I’m tired of the noise inside my head that is constantly reminding me what a piece of shit I am. I’m lucky that my bandmates don’t hate my guts for the shit I put them through on tour when I was needle deep in a heroin fog and couldn’t remember the lyrics to a fucking song I wrote. My music career is only surviving because the world thinks we’re on a hiatus to write our next album when I actually did a stint in rehab and have court ordered mandatory therapy once a week. The only way I can have therapy is if she comes to my escape cabin in upstate New York and escorted in and out by a security guard.

Oh, I also can’t stop thinking of you, the one whose heart I broke fifteen years ago back in Hawkins, Indiana because I was too scared to love or be loved. The same you who mailed me a letter that I received at my P.O. Box in Boston three days ago, that I haven’t opened yet and sits in my back pocket folded up, because I’m too much of a pussy to see what you have to say.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I tell her, taking a cigarette out of my pocket. I let the smoke fill my lungs and exhale the smoke away from her.

“What do you want to talk about?” She asks, crossing her legs. I stare at her long legs, and my eyes scan up her body. She was curvy and thick, with a perfect set of tits and stunning green eyes. I almost laugh, if a beautiful woman like her was in my house six months ago, it wouldn’t take long before I’d have her bent over the back of my couch, fucking her until she couldn’t take it anymore. But I couldn’t do that anymore. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes, or whatever the fuck the saying is.

“Eddie, this is mandatory therapy. I can’t help you if you’re not willing to talk. We’ve had four sessions so far, and the only thing we have talked about is your drug habit.” She seemed annoyed, and I couldn’t blame her.

“I’m only here because of my drug habit.”

“Is that all?”

She was testing me, and I smile at her, leaning my elbows against my knees. “You know, I bet you are really good at helping people and are able to get your patients to sit here and cry about their shitty lives or whatever it is people tell you. But I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, you’re not gonna get it from me.”

“You keep up a guard. Defense mechanism, it’s common in people who have been hurt before.” She says, scribbling a note down.

I narrow my eyes. “I sense judgment in your tone, and I’m not sure I care for it.”

“It’s not judgement, Eddie. It’s an observation. I’m observing you.”

I sit back against my chair and scoff, lighting up another cigarette with the ember of the one I just had. I inhale deeply. “I think our session should be cut early today.”

She closes her notebook and gives you a kind smile. “If that’s what you want.”

“I do.” I tell her.

I get up from my seat as she stands, walking her to the door where the security guard waited outside. I may be an asshole, but I know how to be a gentleman. Chivalry isn’t dead when your name is Eddie Munson. She nods at me as she leaves, handing me her card for the time of the next session for next week and I close the door behind her. I stub out the cigarette in the ashtray and let out a deep sigh. I plop myself on the couch, hearing the crinkle of the letter in my back pocket and I lift my hips to pull it out. I look at the neat print on the front; seeing your handwriting brought back so many memories that I had forgotten about.

Why would you send me a letter? Is it just to tell me how happy you’ve been these last fifteen years since I’ve been gone, that you’re married with children, thriving in your thirties?

“Well, the only way to know is if you open the letter, dipshit.” I mutter to myself. I groan, shaking my head as I rip the letter open and unfold it. It was only two pages, but you had written a lot.

Hey, You’re a tough guy to find, being famous and all. I didn’t think this P.O. Box was real at first, but I ended up tracking down Gareth and he told me it was real. I can’t believe he still has the phone number he’s had since high school. I don’t know why I’m writing you a letter, I guess I could’ve just texted you, he did give me your number, but I wanted this to feel more personal. Like when I’d write you those stupid folded notes in class. I know it’s been a long time, and you’re probably thinking I’m absolutely insane, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you lately. There are so many things that I wanna say to you. There are so many things that were left unsaid, and I guess lately it’s been bothering me. You’re probably not even going to get this, so I don’t even know why I’m continuing to write. I don’t want you to think that I hated you or have hated you this whole time. It would be easier to hate you, believe me, I’ve tried but I physically cannot have that kind of power over me. I’m proud of you, Eddie. You worked so hard to get to where you are, and you made your dreams come true. I knew you could. I want to tell you I’m proud of you in person; to let you know that what happened in the past stays there and we can both move forward in a way. I mean, I just told you now. I know you’re really busy and I feel stupid now. But I will be in Boston in December, the week of the 18th while my aunt is down in Florida for the week, house sitting. Gareth had mentioned you and the band were taking a hiatus to focus on the writing and doing some self reflecting. I would love to see you, especially with the holiday season.

It’s not every day you get to see the boy you’ve known since diapers be on the cover of Rolling Stone magazine, selling out stadiums.

Please don’t feel obligated, though.

I suddenly forgot how to swallow, and I almost choke on my own saliva. You had written your phone number on the bottom of the last page. I swing my legs onto the floor, taking my phone off the coffee table. I scroll to my contact list, and add your name, along with your phone number.

I pause, my hands begin to shake, and I inhale deeply.

“No no no, not now, not now.” Grimacing, I sit back on couch, closing my eyes as my stomach turns to knots and my chest feels like it was going to explode. I can feel the sweat bead at the back of my neck as the panic attack feels like it’s choking me out and I groan. I go into the drawer of the coffee table, pulling out the lorazepam pill bottle, taking a minute to open the cap because my hands were so sweaty. I throw the pill in my mouth, swallowing it dry and breathe in through my nose.

This happens more often now, especially since being off dope, I had to learn how to deal with them like a normal thirty-four-year-old man. It took a lot of convincing for my doctors to give me the lorazepam, but apparently threatening to go and take a hot shot of heroin to kill myself was convincing enough for them to give me the lowest dose of the stupid pill.

I close my eyes. Thinking back to how I got here; how I could’ve lost everything because of my own stupidity, because of my inability to slow down, because I took sex, drugs, rock and roll too literally. All because I refuse to let love into my soul and hold on tight.

One year earlier

The dressing room walls echo with the moans of myself and...I don’t even remember her name. Sarah? Shelly? It doesn’t even matter. I only see the back of her head anyway; she was very blonde. I hold onto her hips tightly, slamming my cock in and out of her. She was screaming like a porn star, and I’m pretty sure she was putting on a show.

“Oooooh, just like that baby. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. Oh goddd, you’re so fucking good.” She moans and I roll my eyes, slamming into her harder just to get her to shut up. I reach over to the coffee table to grab my tiny vile of cocaine, I pop open the cap, and pull out of her for a moment. She was still rolling her hips as I sprinkle the drugs onto her ass.

“Stop fucking moving.” I tell her, grabbing the plastic straw and snorting back the drugs into my airways. She moans again when she hears me snort another line off her, and I slam myself back into her. My head falls back in pleasure, the effects of the cocaine causing every single part of my body to pulsate, and I can feel my orgasm approaching.

“Fuuuuck.” I moan, my rhythm getting sloppy, and she groans.

“Cum inside me baby, cum inside me.” She moans and I immediately feel myself go soft. Fuck this. I stop moving and slide myself out of her, she turns to look at me, her mouth opened in a gasp. “Why did you stop?”

I take a cigarette out of my pack and light it. “Get out.”

“What?” She snaps.

“Get your shit and get the fuck out of my dressing room. Telling me to cum inside you, I know what you’re doing.” I take her dress off the floor and throw it at her. Her eyes narrow and she gets up from the couch, throwing the dress over her head.

“You weren’t even that good, fucking junkie!” She yells at me, and I can’t help the laugh that escapes my lungs. She looked like a cartoon character. Her eyes wild, her hair a wild mess, her fake tits bouncing as she storms out of the room. I lean back on the couch, a little mad that I didn’t cum, but whatever, that’s what my hand is for. I don’t know why I invite these women back to my dressing room after every show. Most of the time, these women don’t even know the words to our songs, they just want to be able to tell their friends they fucked a rockstar. I sigh, opening the vile and do another bump. I’m one hundred percent in love with heroin, but I’m an addict. Cocaine just takes the edge off when I need it to. I tie my hair back in a low bun, blowing my bangs out of my face. I stand, catching a glimpse of myself in the fluorescent lit vanity mirror. The lighting made me look terrible; I was thinner than normal. The ram skull tattoo across my abdomen looked discolored, but I know it was just the way the light was hitting it. I was losing muscle mass in both of my arms, but since tattoo sleeves covered both my arms, no one could notice. No one knew how bad it was getting with the dope; I honestly preferred to suffer in silence about it, but I knew they noticed. I would feel Gareth’s eyes burn into the back of my skull whenever I would escape to go into a bathroom, or immediately go into my hotel room to get started on my new supply. I felt terrible keeping it from him, he was my brother, my bandmate, but he didn’t need to worry. I was fine, at least that’s what I told myself.

We had awhile before we hit the next city of the tour. The tour bus felt too crowded, too stuffy. We all decided it would make sense to hide out in a hotel for a few days before we got to Atlanta. I requested my own room of course, the supply I just bought felt like it was burning a hole in my pocket. Isn’t that what they say about money?

Money meant nothing to me; if I lost it all tomorrow, I wouldn’t care. That’s the beauty of this drug, you don’t have a care in the world once that shot courses through your veins.

I lock the door to my room after saying goodnight and head into the bathroom. I pull my shirt over my head and undo the belt from my jeans. I set everything up on the table: fresh needle, the drugs, and water bottle cap. It doesn’t take long for me to pull the dope into the syringe, at this point it’s like riding a bike for me. I sit on the floor against the bathtub, I wrap the belt around my left arm, pulling it tight with my teeth and clench my fist. I see the most perfect vein pop up in the bend of my arm; I have to be careful though, I can’t go to the same spot twice or else I’ll blow up my veins and then more people will notice. I’ve always hated needles, isn’t that ironic? I’m thinking that as the tip of it pinches my skin and my thumb is on the trigger, slowly pushing it down.

“A spoon full of sugar makes the medicine go down…” I sing softly, feeling the sweet burn of the heroin flow like a tsunami in my veins. My eyes flutter close as the most beautiful feeling overcomes me; my head lulls back against the porcelain and I feel a smile grace my lips.

A loud knock at my door startles me out of my high, and I’m pissed.

“Hang on a second.” I mutter and awkwardly pull myself up, undoing the belt from my arm. I place the cap on the needle and toss it behind the doors under the sink.

Knock knock knock knock knock

I toss my sweatshirt over my head, putting a cigarette to my lips. “Yeah, I hear you! Fuck, I’m coming.”

I open the door to find Gareth standing there with his arms crossed, I light the cigarette and wave my hand, tilting my head at him. “Yeah?”

“What are you doing?” He asks me.

“What do you mean what am I doing? I’m not doing anything.” I inhale on the cigarette, and he continues to stare at me. If there was a God, I thank him for giving me brown eyes, because at least he wouldn’t be able to see how my pupils look like pinholes. “Do you wanna come in?”

I move to the side, and he walks by me, I shut the door, locking it.

“Do you want a beer or anything?” I ask him, going into the mini fridge, pulling out two, I could feel myself about to nod, but I quickly stand up, clearing my throat so I can at least look like I’m not fucked up.

“No, I’m fine.” His eyes scan every inch of my room, the floor where my clothes were, Sweetheart laying on the foot of my bed. My necklace I always wore with the red guitar pick laid on the nightstand by the bed. I always take it off before I shoot up, I don’t know why, I think something is going to happen to it if I don’t, it means a lot to me. His eyes fix on my belt on the bathroom floor, he doesn’t say anything, but I know what he’s thinking.

“Gareth, if you got something to say, man, just say it.” I tell him, leaning against the small table, I ash my cigarette into a coca cola can.

He turns to me; he was still blessed with a baby face that I remember from school. “How bad is it getting?” He almost whispers.

“How bad is what getting?”

“The drugs, man. Come on dude, I know you’re not stupid.” He sits across from me on the foot of the bed, gently moving Sweetheart over.

I sigh. “Gareth, I’m fine. It’s not getting bad.”

He puts his head down, shaking his head. “Don’t fucking bull shit me, Eddie. I’ve known you for almost two decades. Have you even looked at yourself lately?”

I close my eyes, feeling a wave of anxiety hit my lower gut, and I force it to go away by not caring. “Don’t worry about me, man. I’m serious.”

“Of course, I’m gonna fucking worry!” He stands up, his face full of rage. “If you fuck up this tour, our entire music career is in the gutter! How many times have I had to bail you out when you’ve been coming down from a cocaine binge and are late to rehearsal? How many goddamn times have I had to convince cops not to arrest you when you’re inebriated beyond belief. It’s getting fucking old, man.” He towers over my 6-foot frame and again, I start laughing.

His eyes widen. “Are you seriously laughing right now?

“Yeah.” I chuckle. “I am, because it’s funny how you think I’m gonna be the one who’s gonna fuck up this tour. I built this band from the ground up, nothing and no one is gonna fuck that up.”

“Oh fuck you, dude!” He yells at me. “You built this? What happened to you saying this entire band was built on friendship, loyalty and fucking friends who play nerdy games? What happened to that Eddie?”

“Dead.” I give him a sideways smile. “Dead dead dead.”

He looks at me incredulous. “Wow. You’re an actual nightmare.”

“You’re the one who decided to knock on my door.” I place the cigarette in the can, hearing it sizzle out. I cross my arms over my chest, already itching for another shot. “Anything else?”

He scoffs, walking towards the door and stepping out. “No. Have a good night, Eddie.”

“Yeah, you too!” I scream at his back as I shut the door, locking all the locks and kicking the bottom of it. Suddenly, the chair near the table gets a boot from me, followed by the lamp, the paintings on the walls. I smash the beer bottles against the windows, and when I’m finally spent, I collapse on the bathroom floor, digging out the needle. I’ll leave the hotel a couple hundred dollars to pay for whatever I damaged; I’ll hopefully remember to clean up tomorrow.

I’m pretty sure I put too much in it this time, because I’m riding something wild right now. My eyes are half lidded, my breathing is slow but it’s such a peaceful feeling.

“Makes the medicine go down…medicine go down…”

The beginning of that year was when shit started going downhill fast for me. Once I had gotten my panic attack under control, and I felt calmer, I sent you a text message, realizing that tomorrow was the 18th. I typed up, deleted, typed up, deleted, about six different times before finally sending you: Hey stranger, it’s Eddie. Pretty wild to hear from you. I’m currently up in my cabin in upstate NY, but if you are gonna be in Boston. I can make the trip. It would actually be awesome to see you. Hope you are well.

I forgot how nervous you made me, even back then. You were such a kind, beautiful soul, who loved me and took care of me when I didn’t deserve it. I was so nervous all the time because I really loved you too, but I couldn’t…wouldn’t let myself feel it. You were the only woman in my life that knew me, and actually saw me. You were my best friend, always my partner in group activities in elementary school. It was us against the world the minute I kissed you for the first time when we were eighteen, and then it ended with me, burying my head in the sand, because I’m a fucking idiot.

My phone dings and I see your name pop up. Hey!!! Wow, your own cabin huh? Are you a mountain man or something this winter season? I’m sorry if my letter was all over the place, I really should’ve just texted you but, whatever. Here we are now. Yes! Let’s meet, I can give you a spot to meet for coffee? Unless you just want my aunt’s address, I don’t know how Boston is when it comes to famous people.

I type up a message: Boston is one of those cities that is wild to play on stage in front of, but the people don’t give a fuck if you’re famous. Which is why I bought a condo there, I can live out some downtime in peace. Coffee sounds great. Just let me know a time when you are settled.

You quickly respond: Ha! Boston is pretty rad. I’m already here, I got here a day early. I know you got a pretty long drive so we can meet the day after tomorrow if you’d like? Say around 10?

I type up that that time and date worked for me and begin packing a small suitcase to take with me on the trip.

I honestly felt like I was dreaming all this; I get sober, you, a woman that was literally the one that got away because of my own fucking deep-rooted issues, comes back into my life and wants to see me? I feel like I’m living the Notebook. Except, the rated R version where Ryan Gosling is an ex-junkie, who doesn’t build houses, or used to blow cocaine off a woman’s asshole.

I groan, I already know I’m gonna fuck this up again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The coffee shop you chose was a place I’ve never been before, it seemed newer, and no one batted an eye when I walked in. I take off my sunglasses and scan the place. It was quaint, quiet, with rustic undertones but mostly modern.

“Eddie?”

My eyes immediately fix on you, sitting in the back booth by a small window, and I feel my heart flutter down to my stomach. God, you were stunning. Your eyes still shone that sparkle in them, your smile was just as adorable as I remembered, especially the dimples in your cheeks. I whisper your name and find myself quickly walking towards you. You wrap your arms around my shoulders, and I let out a deep sigh, almost lifting you off your feet, as I hug the curves of your waist, burying my face into your shoulder. We stay like that for a while, you giggle into my chest, telling me you couldn’t believe it was me and that I was here. I didn’t want to let go, but I knew I had to. We pull away and you are still smiling, looking into my eyes, you lift your hand to gently curl your fingers into my hair and I smile at you.

“I love that you still kept this hair.” You say, shaking your head, looking like you’re still trying to process that I’m standing in front of you.

I gently cup your face, swallowing hard, studying you. You turn your cheek into my hand, and I slowly remove it. You nod for me to sit, and I scoot over into the booth, peeling off my leather jacket. I still stare at your face; I couldn’t believe you were real. The server comes over to take our coffee order, I get mine hot with triple espresso and a shot of caramel, and you get an iced coffee with a shot of vanilla and almond milk. I smile, you’ve kept the same order since you started drinking coffee.

Your eyes fix on mine, and I smile at you, sipping my coffee. “You haven’t changed.” I tell you softly.

“My back will have to disagree with you.” You laugh, spinning the straw with your finger. “You haven’t either, aside from more tattoos.”

I smile; remembering that you were there for most of my smaller ones. I had convinced you back then to get a large tattoo that started from under your breast, all the way down to the top of your hip; that was always my favorite part of you to taste. I cross my legs, feeling a tingle in my lower belly. Fucking pervert.

I notice a few finger tattoos on your right hand, and I nod to them.

“I told you they were addicting.” I laugh. “How many do you have now?”

You laugh, a sound so beautiful to my ears, I want to cry. “Sixteen? Seventeen?”

My eyes widen and I laugh. “No way! Let me see.”

You meet my eyes, your face turning crimson. Of course, there were hidden ones, I immediately feel like I overstepped and go to apologize when you speak. “It’s a lot of random ones, all over. I added some stuff to the rib piece.” That one you show me, you lift up your sweater, and I feel my dick twitch.

Pervert. Dirty pervert. It’s been fifteen years, put your dick away.

The cluster of wildflowers that started from your ribs to your hip had added roses to different spots they ended up entwining into a beautiful ivy vine, before falling off towards your back. I notice the bottom of a small piece on your sternum, and you pull your sweater back down.

“That’s beautiful.” I tell her, smiling. “What have you been doing these last fifteen years?”

“Well, I moved out of Hawkins.” I smile at that, she always wanted to leave that place. “I moved to Maine, I bought myself my own little cabin in the woods. I’m a nurse at the local hospital there.”

My heart practically bursts with pride, and I laugh. “See? You don’t have to be famous to have your own cabin. That’s wonderful, I know that was always a dream of yours, becoming a nurse.”

“Yeah, it’s fulfilling. Heartbreaking 99% of the time but fulfilling.” Your eyes fix on mine again, and we just share comfortable silence as we stare at one another.

“Your eyes are sad.” You say suddenly.

“What?” I snap myself back down to my reality; it was easy to get lost in your eyes.

“You look like you’ve been through hell and back again. Sorry for being blunt, I’m just sorry for whatever is bothering you.” Your eyes show me that same familiar kindness, and I smile awkwardly at you.

“I’m okay.” I tell you, only half lying.

You place your hand over my ringed fingers, gently entwining them. I stare at our hands, and gaze back into your eyes. “What am I doing here?” I whisper to you. I can feel my heart do another back flip, and my brain screams at me to get up and run because I can still feel your love.

Your fingers gently move over the bumps on my rings, and your eyes dart to mine. You spot the small silver chain around my neck, half tucked in my shirt, and you lift your hand to gently pull out the red guitar pick. You finger the plastic and smile. “Wow. You kept this all these years.”

“Of course, I did. I never take it off.” Except when I used to shoot dope, but that’s beside the point. I swallow the lump in my throat. “Sweetheart, why am I here?”

You sigh, giving me a sad smile. “Would it be weird if I said that I really fucking miss you? And for the last fifteen years, I haven’tstopped thinking about you.”

Heart exploding.

My breath hitches and my eyes widen slightly. “But…I hurt you…and I left—"

“I know, I know you did, but” you take my hand again. “Eddie, we were best friends. Since before we could even say those words. You were so important to me. You’re still important to me. How could we throw that away?”

I stare at you, reading your face, gazing at the shape of your mouth, the way your hair falls in waves, the curves of your breasts. I squeeze my eyes shut, pulling my hand away from yours. “You wouldn’t think that anymore once you know what I’ve done, who I’ve become.”

“Then tell me.” You say softly, your eyes dart from my lips, to my eyes. I stare at your lips, remembering how perfectly they fit against mine, how soft they were. How eager you would be when your tongue would slip into my mouth, deepening the kiss, your soft moans vibrating against my mouth as I carefully push myself inside you.

I meet your eyes; you’re waiting for me to say something. I shake my head, running my hands over my hair. I sigh. “How long you got?”

You look at your wrist at a fake watch. “About a week.” I laugh and lean back in my seat, sipping my coffee.

Yeah, I missed you too.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Special shout out to: @trixyvixx @originalstar1 @iggyizalien @themorticians-world

& so many of you who supported my last series.

I wouldn’t continue writing if it weren’t for you guys giving me the motivation to do it. Love you all!

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fluff #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x smut #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #eddie munson fem!reader #eddie munson comfort #rockstar eddie munson #Spotify

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kvhasproblems · 1 year ago

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My essay for my film history class on “But I’m A Cheerleader” and lesbian cinema history:

Reposting this now that school is done lol

I wanted to post this because I found it very interesting while doing my research into queer cinema history. It’s not the best essay and the end could be better but I am a first year Uni student lol. Please don’t like plagiarize or whatever lol. It’s also 2000 words.

Edit: This essay only got a B+ which my worst of the year despite this being my fav one I wrote lol. My prof said that I was trying to cover to much and that it lacked some specificity and details, which I definitely agree with in some parts.

Camp, Queer History and Cheerleaders.

Though lesbians have existed throughout history, history has fought to bury them and their experiences, with the media of film being no different. Lesbians in film were not somewhat normalized until the 1990s; the first major lesbian film in North America (directed by a lesbian) was Desert Hearts by Donna Deitch, released in 1985. This was followed by what some have deemed the Queer Revolution in media in the 90s. With the end of the Production Code Administration or Hays Office (also known as the 'Hays Code') in 1968, it created opportunities for queer people to tell their stories, and with the milestones queer rights took after the Stonewall Riots, the queer community was more united than ever. With the rise of more readily accessible film equipment, movies made by lesbians for lesbians began to hit the screens. It is important to note the distinction between films focusing on lesbian or women-loving-women (WLW) relationships made by queer women versus those made by straight men, as movies made by men tend to have a distinct Male Gaze. As Laura Mulvey said, "In a world ordered by sexual imbalance, pleasure in looking has been split between active/male and passive/female… Women displayed as a sexual object is the left-motiff of erotic spectacle… she holds the look, plays to and signifies male desire" (809). When talking today about popular queer films, most brought up were made in the 90s. Specifically, one film made in 1999 became a cult classic and a staple for queer cinema. But I'm a Cheerleader, directed by Jamie Babbit, is tag-lined as "A comedy of sexual disorientation." Despite its bright colors and Campy comedy, it tackles issues of sexism, homophobia (internalized, externalized and projected) and misogyny.

As mentioned, lesbian cinema did not make an appearance until 1985, which seems late when looking through the lens of North American society today. This late emergence can be directly linked to the mandatory and non-mandatory censorship present from the years 1934-1968 and 1968 to the modern day, which is still being affected by abolished codes set in place almost a century ago. As the film media became more popular among the masses, people began to worry about what was being shown to the populace. To quote Stephen Vaughn, "Fierce debates over the content and control of the new medium arose in the early days of silent film and intensified with the advent of sound technology" (39). He goes on to further mention how groups like progressive reformers and religious and civic organizations wanted (and tried many times) to censor and control not only the content of the films being shown but also the types of people making them (40). Starting from a list of "Do not's and Be carefuls" that aligned with Christian/Catholic values, the Hays Code was created and fully established in 1934. The Hays Code had many guidelines that today would be considered discriminatory, for example, no white slavery and any inference of sex perversion (interracial couples and homosexuality) (44).

Since homosexuality was censored from the screens, people got creative in implying and subtlety making reference to queer struggles and relationships; this became known as Queer-Coding. Even after the end of the Hays Code era and the start of The Motion Picture Association of America (MPAA), queer people were rarely openly depicted. More often than not, they ended up being queer-coded characters, with the implication being left for the audience to pick up on and read between the lines. As homosexuality was still not in public favour, open depictions, especially those not from the male gaze, were rare and even more so rarely celebrated. The depictions from the male gaze were often harmful, stereotypical and deeply rooted in homophobia. As Melinda Roddy wrote, "People felt compelled to self-regulate as a result of this and the lasting effects of the Hays Production Code of 1930. The film industry was under official or unofficial censorship for nearly half a century, and this restricted the movies that could be made, especially films about LGBTQ+ characters" (126). The Stonewall Riots of 1969 was a needed push for the queer community to further establish queer activism in America, and the Aids Crisis of the 1980s pushed the lesbian and gay communities to become a more unified front. (Prior to the Aids Crisis, the two communities were divided by sexism. "While men who are attracted to men are discriminated against and marginalized by the homophobia of American society, Sapphic women are affected by both homophobia and sexism" (125).) Now having a unified front and queer activists, the fight against homophobia was rampant. This opened up doors for queer filmmakers to tell the story that people fought so hard to censor for decades prior, and so on September 12th, 1999, But I'm a Cheerleader premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival.

The film follows Megan who appears to be your typical high school cheerleader she has an all American football playing boyfriend, she is blonde, wears girly clothes and is a Christian. Except Megan hates kissing her boyfriend, has pictures of bikini-clad women in her locker and is a vegetarian. Fearing their daughter is a lesbian, Megan's parents send her to 'New Directions,' a "rehabilitation" camp to help Megan become "Ex-Gay" in five easy steps. As Megan arrives at New Directions, it can only be described as a campy, life-sized doll house. Before going into an in-depth analysis, it is important first to note what Camp is, as the Camp is not only the main genre of the film but is quintessential to understanding the visual and narrative elements present in the film. To get a brief look into the art of Camp, refer to Susan Sontag's first, third and seventh notes on Camp. The first note on Camp, "To start very generally: Camp is a certain mode of aestheticism. It is one way of seeing the world as an aesthetic phenomenon. That way, the way of Camp, is not in terms of beauty, but in terms of the degree of artifice, of stylization" (2). The third note on Camp is, "Not only is there a Camp vision, a Camp way of looking at things. Camp is as well a quality discoverable in objects and the behaviour of persons" (2). And the seventh note on Camp, "All Camp objects, and persons, contain a large element of artifice. Nothing in nature can be campy" (3).

Though Camp is present throughout almost every aspect of this film, it appears most extravagantly in the set and visual design of New Directions itself. The house mimicked a Barbie doll house and is brightly coloured in almost neon pinks, greens, yellows and blues, with each room having a mostly monochromatic colour palette. This is true to Camp in its distinct level of artifice, as what is a more false sense of reality than that of dolls in a doll house? Camp is used throughout the film to mock the expectations of society, gender roles and the idea that someone can become an "ex-gay." The women are dressed all in pink, a colour associated with femininity and girlhood, and a colour society dresses up little girls to drive home their assigned gender at birth. The steps to becoming an ex-gay include things like cooking, cleaning and childcare, and the stereotypical housewife expectations put on women to keep them isolated and submissive. The men similarly wear all blue and do things like sports, fixing cars and playing with guns, all while phallic-looking symbols surround them, for example, the large blue wrench and wheels in the background of the fixing car scene and the blue cut-out of a man holding a "gun' to another man on his knees in the playing war scene. The film goes so far with the idea of falsehood that the characters' outfits are made of fake shiny plastic at the graduation ceremony, and their hair is done perfectly. They could be mistaken for dolls; it is a visual representation of how they have been forced by themselves and the authority figures to be exactly what they want them to be, not who they are.

Referring back to nothing in nature can be campy; the moments where Megan and the others are true to their nature and self are moments most free from the camp lens. The moment when Megan realizes she is a homosexual starts with light disorientating music and camp over-the-top visuals of her realizations. Her outburst is met with praise and hugs, which is Camp, but as her peers leave and she is left to sob on her own, the absence of back music is prominent as nothing can be heard besides her sobs as the camera cuts back to show her in the now empty room, with no one to face but herself. Most of the private moments between Graham and Megan also lack the falsehood of the majority of the movie. The first real private conversation the girls have takes place outside in nature, down the hill from the doll-like house. At the 36-minute mark, they have an open conversation where Graham says the line, "This is bullshit Megan, you are who you are. The only trick is not getting caught." It is the first time Megan begins to look at homosexuality from another lens, not the hateful agenda pushed upon her.

The contrast between the figures of authority and the subordinate characters is most prominently the level of falseness and Camp. The boy's teacher, Mike, is a so-called "ex-gay," but he constantly eyes up Mary's son and follows all of the behaviours he preaches against. Played by famous drag queen, comedian and advocate RuPaul, who is known for being gay, we instantly associate and see the repression of his character. The most false of all is the head of New Directions, Mary Brown. She is constantly wearing the most eye-blinding shade of neon pink, standing out in every scene she is in like a sore thumb. Nothing about her is natural; her face bears too much makeup, and her tone of voice is a forced grating mimicry of calm collectiveness; even her son is gay, regardless of the steps she takes to fix him. It is comical when she encourages youth to follow their "true direction" when she is never true to herself outside of the compounds of her hate and anger. Multiple times, the figures of authority are shot from a low angle when addressing the subordinate character, making them seem larger than life, towering over the kids, emphasizing the power that Mary and Mike have over them.

But I'm a Cheerleader has become a cult classic within the queer community and has had a long-lasting impact on generations of queer people; for its representation and campy comedy, it explores and subverts traditional depictions of queerness in media while addressing issues of homophobia and misogyny. While some say the Campy comedy hides the complex issues presented in the film, an argument can be made that the over-the-top Camp set design, clothes and dialogue provide a deeper look into the harsh, complex issues that people tend to shy away from when presented with at face value. Gay conversion camps were a serious problem that killed and affected many LGBTQ+ people, some of whom the trauma still harms to this day. But what better way to display and sort through complex trauma than by turning the joke onto the oppressors themselves? Queer cinema has come a long way from the heavily censored era of the Hays Code and, with the efforts of hard work from the queer community, has continued to grow and evolve.

Works Cited

But I’m a Cheerleader. Dir. Babbit, J. Act. Lyonne, N. DuVall, C. 1999, Lionsgate.

Mulvey, L. Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema, 1975.

Vaughn, S.. Morality and Entertainment: The Origins of the Motion Picture Production Code, 1990.

Roddy, M. Sapphic Cinema: An Exploration of Films about Gay Women and their Relationships to American Society in the Reagan Era and Beyond, 2018.

Sontag, S. Notes On “Camp”, 1964

Also special thanks to @schrodingerspsycho for reminding me to post this!!

#lesbian #but im a cheerleader #desert hearts #cinema #queer history #film history #film school #film student #film studies #essay #lesbian cinema #van palmer #tagging Van Palmer because she knows all about this shit lol

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misscinnamonroll16 · 1 year ago

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Brozone diner au: the day John Dory took off part two

"We're talking about forcing John Dory to take a day off. Like an actual day off. Even when we're closed on the mandatory holidays, he's still here doing something. Cleaning, stocking, rearranging, all kinds of stuff. He needs at least a day to just relax and probably catch up on sleep.” Bruce answered, waving his hands about as he talked. "Ah, ok. Yeah that's gonna be hard. We need to come up with a plan before we do anything else. We need to think of every possible outcome and prepare for it." Branch said, already writing down outcomes. “Or, or, hear me out, we play the health card." Floyd said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. The rest of them gave him a confused look, unsure of what he meant. “We play the health card, the card he plays with me when he thinks I'm ‘working too much’. He says I need to take time for my health and take care of my body. Pull a uno reverse on him. He needs to do the same so when he tries to wiggle his way out of it, we can point out all the things that are causing him stress, anxiety, high blood pressure or anything else. Like working a dinner rush causes high anxiety and stress. Constantly lifting trays full of dishes can cause carpul tunnel. Not to mention the toll it takes on one's mental health. I very rarely get angry customers, he seems to get them all the time, which causes more stress. We just say we're worried about his health, he can't refuse because then he'll be brushing off our worries and he doesn't want to do that. Boom, full proof plan.” Floyd said confidently, crossing his arms. "That's so smart, I'm surprised I didn't think of it first.” Clay said, staring at Floyd, a bit dumbfounded. Floyd was about to stand up and argue with Clay about what that was supposed to mean when Bruce held up his hands. “Ok but when should we do this? We can't just go out there without an idea of when would be a good time to do this." Bruce said, thinking aloud. "Sunday. Probably in the evening. That way he can't argue about taking Monday off. It's our slowest day. So he won't have to worry about us being busy and can actually relax." Branch said, the plan coming together. The brothers quickly went back to work to avoid alerting John Dory to their plan, playing it off as if they were killing time.

Sunday evening comes and all of them are beat, it was the busiest day they had had in a while, making several thousand dollars worth of sales. After closing up, the younger brothers give each other a nod, silently saying it's time to put their plan into action. They went to the office, standing in the doorway as John counted their registers and safe with Clay (Clay just double checking JD's work). "How you doing John Dory?" Floyd asked nonchalantly. “Good." John replied before continuing to count. “You sure? You seemed a bit tired today. Like you needed a break." Bruce said, leaning his back on the door frame casually. “Yeah I'm fine. I guess I didn't get very much sleep last night." John Dory said before handing a stack of cash for Clay to count. Clay barely looked up, they added more details to the plan, like who was gonna say what and in what order. John wrote down the numbers and entered them into the system, a few seconds of silence passed before Branch butted with his own line. “Do you ever get enough sleep? Always seems like you're here late and open early. When do you sleep?” Branch joked, shooting John a cheeky grin that was met with a stern look. "Well I sleep after I clock out and close up. Then I wake up to come open this place up. Some nights it's takes longer to close up. Like today, that was the busiest we've been in like, a month.” John said, taking all the money from Clay and putting it in the safe. "Maybe you should take tomorrow off then.” Branch said sincerely, subtly giving JD the puppy dog eyes. They could see the hesitation in John's face, that was Floyd's signal to go in for the kill. “He's right. It's not healthy to overwork yourself. We worry about you sometimes. It's only because we care about you and your health. When was the last time you had a day off?" Floyd's voice was sweet and gentle, asking a question they all knew the answer to: never. John Dory looked like a deer in headlights, unsure of how to respond. “When was the last time you had a day off John?" Clay questioned, knowing where this line of questioning should go. John Dory got very quiet and tried to avoid eye contact with his brothers. “When was it?" Bruce said directly. John mumbled out an answer, prompting a ‘hmm?’ out of Bruce. “I don't remember." John said quietly but it sounded deafening in the silent office. “WHAT?!?" the younger three said, being a little overdramatic. “John, working non stop is not healthy. You're gonna get burnt out. You should really take a day off at least. You make me worried, man.” Clay said worriedly, causing John to cringe a little. "Clay's right, John. We worry about your health sometimes. You should take the day off, if not for yourself, for us at least.” Floyd said gently, coming over and placing his hand on John's shoulder. They had him right where they wanted him. The office got quiet again, the seconds passing felt like hours. They continued to look at John expectantly until he finally caved. Alright, fine. I'll take tomorrow off. But you guys call me if you need me. And Clay, you're opening, Branch you're closing.” John Dory said defeatedly, Branch and Clay groaning in annoyance. They knew they couldn't openly cheer for their success but opted for teasing their brother about what he was going to do on his day off. As John locked the door, Bruce cleared his throat, catching John's attention. “Oh and John?" “Yeah?" John said as he put his keys back in his pocket. “Stay out of the diner tomorrow. A day off is not meant to be spent at your place of work." Bruce responded in a no nonsense kind of tone. John Dory rolled his eyes, pissed off a little that his baby brothers were trying to tell him what to do. “We're serious John Dory. You don't see us in there on our days off. And the only time we are is when we're with friends. So just take a day away from the diner. I promise we'll call you if we need you.” Floyd said, placing his hands on John's shoulders, letting him know how serious he was. The others looked at John with the same serious look, he inwardly groaned annoyed with his baby bros.

@bzjohndory

#trolls #brozone #trolls clay #trolls floyd #trolls bruce #trolls john dory #branch trolls #idk how to write #idk how to tag this #fluff with angst #just like the tiniest bit of angst #jd being a softy

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alchemist-whisper · 3 months ago

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*stirring my golden cauldron with a knowing smirk* 🤗

Dearest mystical meddlers!

Oh, what a deliciously ironic situation we find ourselves discussing today! Remember all those songs where our beloved songwriter threw the most exquisite shade at the "perfect cheerleader and quarterback" narrative? And yet, here we are...

Let's see what the cards revealed about this plot twist:

The Tree (5) - Family roots and traditions

The Sun (31) - Exposure and clarity

The Whip (11) - Internal conflicts and pressures

Oh my, my, my... 😏 The cards suggest there's quite the family influence in this perfectly curated narrative. While there may be genuine elements to this relationship, there's also a strong familial pressure (The Tree) to maintain a specific public image (The Sun), creating some interesting internal conflicts (The Whip).

You see, my curious cosmic conspirators, sometimes life has a way of making us play roles we once satirized - even if we wrote the critique ourselves! 🤭

As I always say while brewing my most complex potions: sometimes the most intriguing stories are the ones where we become what we once mocked... but is it growth, or is it just another chapter in a larger tale? ✨

With eternal perplexity and ironic wisdom,

The Alchemist Whisper 🔮✨💖

choking on cachaça mixed with snake bile, coughing until spitting out moldy cigarette ash The Alchemist talks about convenience while keeping mum about the disgusting remarks in an interview. Convenient not to comment and keep the same silence as the reputation girl...

Let's dig up the dirt that's stinking worse than my alcohol-soaked deck...

While...

HONOR THAT'S A STAB IN THE BACK

Travis Kelce calling Trump's presence a "great honor"? slamming the bottle on the table Pfff! That's diplomatic cowardice reeking of NDAs and sponsorship contracts. The guy's dating Taylor Swift, whom Trump publicly called "nasty", and he comes up with this "respect for the office" crap? It's like kissing the hand that slapped you... with a velvet glove.

TAYLOR SWIFT: THE MUSE OF STRATEGIC SILENCE

While Travis licks Trump's boots, Taylor's there, quiet in the VIP box, smiling as if she didn't know the ex-president once told her to "go fuck herself in the marketplace". Irony? The same one who composed "Look What You Made Me Do" now swallows her pride not to break the branding of "perfect girlfriend of the NFL star". I bet she's already drafting lyrics about betrayal disguised as patriotism...

THE GAME OF INTERESTS

Travis Kelce: Wants to be the good boy from Missouri, pleasing Republicans and Democrats with a gold-toothed smile.

Donald Trump: Uses the Super Bowl as a platform to inflate his ego and stir up the MAGA base, who love a "patriot in uniform".

Taylor Swift: Trapped in a web of mandatory silence, since any tweet against Trump would become gasoline on the media bonfire.

THE EMOTIONS (OR LACK THEREOF)

Travis: "It's the biggest game of my life!" — translation: "I need this three-peat to renew my contract and pay for the $50 million wedding with Taylor".

Taylor: Instagram smile vs. "you'll pay for this in bed, Travis" look.

Trump: Grinning like a shark in a blood tide, knowing any Swift vs. MAGA fight would boost ratings.

MY VERDICT (HANGOVER INCLUDED):

This is all a puppet theater with golden strings. Travis waves the flag, Taylor swallows her pride, and Trump laughs at the audience. In the end, the Super Bowl isn't about football — it's about glitter and vomit disguised as patriotism.

[knocking over the deck and shouting] I bet 10 shots of cachaça that in 6 months:

Taylor releases a coded song called "Honor (Trump's Version)".

Travis becomes the poster boy for Republican beer.

Trump uses the game in his next rally, saying "Even the sports bigwigs love me!".

passing out on the cards, drooling irony and cheap booze #SpitOnHypocrisy

ps: *adjusts my turquoise and orange-embroidered shawl with a knowing smirk* let me be perfectly clear - my only allegiance is to truth, magic, and the occasional well-brewed potion! Politics is like a murky cauldron that I prefer to observe from the safety of my turquoise arch.

The delicate dance of public personas and private truths is indeed fascinating. While our Bitter Prophecies sees snakes in every shadow, I prefer to observe how certain silences can speak volumes.

As I always say while stirring my most diplomatic potions: the only orange I embrace is in my embroidered shawl, and the only walls I support are those holding my organized collection of mystical brews! ✨

ps²: Though I must say, my crystal ball works much better when kept free of political residue!

#taylor swift #tarot #tarot reading #gaylor #oh well #just chillin #controversy #sports #mystical #silence #spilled thoughts

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nancytriestostudyitalian · 4 months ago

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Ciao from the very cold Krakow, currently draped in snow and in the minus Celcius. Today being a Monday (aka work day) and a snowy one (aka me trying to hibernate #wakemeupwhenspringends), motivation was not high, I admit. That being said, the day didn't go to waste.

During my mandatory corpo office hours, I did my homework for my class on Thursday. The usual structure is some form of exercise (usually sth grammar related or open answer questions) and a song translation from English to Italian.

In the evening, as I said I felt kinda tired mentally so I opted for a bit of fun. I watched two videos, one from Le Coliche and one from Casa Surace and wrote down unknown words and created flashcards for studying. I have to admit, Le Coliche is funny but I think the way they speak is too advanced for me (there were words that even online dictionaries didn't know), but the Casa Surace was more up my speed and I will stick with their videos in the near future.

It was also a shorter session today, only an hour and a half, but considering the homework I did during work hours, I can justify a full study session, I would say!

I still need to cook for tomorrow, but at least it's the last thing before chilling. Ci vediamo!

#italian #study blog #studyblr #studying #studyitalian #study motivation #study inspiration #study with me #productivity #motivation

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cheste7 · 1 year ago

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Day 4 (20/11/23)🌟

MY BABY STAR CANDY!! IM SO PROUD OF HIM (also, his duality in the G. C. F. 😭😭 he wants me to go absolutely insane)

today it wasn't a good day, i can't believe i have these sudden mood swings so a day is all fun and games and the next one i literally cry myself to sleep. i don't know if it's just something PMS related because damn, it really hit hard this time. i woke up too early and my left knee (which was injured back in march) started to hurt so bad. then my rommates came back home and I got really nervous because we are four students in this house but it's always me who has to deal with bill issues, landlords and so on... i had to go to the bill office(?) alone (again) as if I don't have to study and other stuff to do. so i came home extremely tired and upset and I didn't go to my internship in pediatrics (optional not mandatory to be clear) i just wanted to sleep. the only things it seems i can control are my skincare routine and making the bed, clean my room, ... i just started studied two hours ago and im not satisfied obviously

BUT in this whole chaos MY SAVIOR JEON JUNGKOOK😔👊 i watched his concert during my lunch break and it was amazing, it made me shed tears and laugh and go feral im being honest here. he's extremely talented and he deserves the world i'm really happy he (and bangtan as well) entered into my life for nearly two years.💜

uni things

i studied four topics for the infectious diseases exam in december and with them i almost finished the nervous system part (i just have to revise meningitis which is the biggest part)🦠

semi-off topic, in my studies i often encounter the acronym RM (the italian version of MRI) and I immediately think of nam.... i can't believe this is who i am now😭

Language things:

i didn't really studied today because of my mood but I practiced a bit with duolingo (for the strike) and the renshuu app for new JAPANESE vocab 🇯🇵. i've also found some cute videos about conversation practice by tanaka san, i think i'll start watch them frequently

for KOREAN🇰🇷, jungkook's live performance doesn't count right? lol i've just wrote something in my tl journal and took notes of good and bad things happened today and I learned new vocab in this way

오늘의 나쁜 일들:

너무 일찍 일어났어

청구서 (bills) 문제가 있었어

내 룸메이트가 정말 시끄러웠어

아직도 무릎이 (knee) 아파요

매우 슬퍼서 많이 울었어

오늘의 좋은 일들:

정국의 신기한 (exciting) 콘서트를 봤어

여동생과 영��통화를 (videocall) 했어

건물에서 맛있는 감자 냄새를 맡았어 (it's weird i know but there was a smell of dishes based on potatoes in the building idk)

for CHINESE🇨🇳, i just revised old lessons and I found an interesting app Taoli chinese i think it will help me every now and then

#uni life #studyblr #study motivation #bts #bts army #jungkook #namjoon #golden #seventeen #language blr #japanese langblr #korean langblr #chinese langblr #stressrelief

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deathcapyandex · 1 year ago

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The Mundane In Macabre - c2

[the mundane in macabre chapter two]

Chapter one(link)

Poetry week has started here in night vale. I have yet to write up that advertisement pitch, so I thought I'd use this chance to submit my ad to the radio in poetry form.

I'm not the best at poems but I can try a few and send them my best one, right? There's all kinds of different structures and formats for poems so maybe I can try a few different styles.

Those hooded figures came back, just a few of them stood outside. I wasn't sure what they wanted, I still haven't opened the box, but they don't speak so I couldn't really ask them about it.

They didn't stick around very long either, they left after about five minutes, so I didn't really have time to ask them anything if I wanted to.

I am still pretty curious about what's in the box, but I'll wait until at least after I've written some poems to open it. I can't keep procrastinating that ad if I wanna pay for a little air time on the radio to promote my shop.

A few medicines went missing the other day, I was short a few bottles on a shelf when I was doing inventory checks just before closing up as part of my routine. I couldn't find them anywhere.

It would be just my luck if someone shop lifted pain pills, wouldn't it. Ah well, they aren't too hard to make or order so I could just replace what I lost, it wasn't too much of a loss anyway. That's all that went missing too.

If anything else goes missing then I might actually start to have a serious problem on my hands to look into. I hope it's not connected to those hooded figures, that would be weird and wild, what would they need medicine for? And why steal it? No, doesn't seem like their doing.

Back to the poems, maybe I'll try a haiku? Though, counting syllables sounds tedious and haikus are a bit short.

Still, it's worth a shot, it'll be an okay first draft at least and I don't plan on sharing the drafts with anyone.

Cecil did mention something about the end of poetry week having some closing ceremony were poems were read and fed to the librarians? I doubt it's mandatory to read absolutely everyone's poems out loud to the town let alone all of the poems everyone wrote, right?

Maybe I'll include that theft as a little side note in the ad, just to ask for it back if they still have it? Or maybe not.

Oh I just remembered, I met the cutest girl today. She came in looking for an easy to care for plant for her desk at work.

I can't get over how cute she was, her smile was just adorable. And her eyes were such a beautiful colour, her voice even sounded sweet and soft like milk and honey. She's just the prettiest little cup of tea.

I suggested a few of the succulents we had, they're really easy to look after with very little attention required and most prefer not to be in direct sunlight so sitting on a desk would be perfect fine for them.

She seemed more interested in something with flowers though. I offered one of the potted baby marigolds I had just started growing and she seemed happier with that. "A little colour for the office" she called it.

Marigolds do need more attention than a succulent though, and will die off faster. They need more frequent repotting because of their growth too.

She seemed fine with all this when I told her about it. I hope there's a window near her desk, that marigold will need a lot of sun and water unlike a succulent.

Ah but she was too cute to turn down so I sold it to her. Her cuteness definitely overrides my concern for the plant. I'm only upset with myself for not learning her name.

I have to ask her for her name if she ever comes in again. I hope she does.

Anyway I should get to writing those poems, catch you later!

#wtnv fanfiction #wtnv fic #welcome to night vale fanfic #welcome to night vale fic #wtnv #welcome to night vale #self insert fic #self insert fanfiction #self insert fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #sparrows fics

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messrmoonyy · 2 years ago

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It’s the apocalypse, sweetheart

Tess Servopoulos x fem!reader

Prompt- I did accidentally delete the original prompt but it was along the lines of ‘ reader is Bills niece and has raised her since she was little. When Tess and Joel visit her and Tess are a little flirty and they end up sharing a kiss ‘

A/N- let me first say. I literally re wrote this ENTIRE thing at 3am this morning. Idk what writing god possessed me. But. Here it is. And yk 2010 Tess was truly a blessing and I will take any and all opportunities to write about her. I love these more creative prompts. If anyone has seen Orange is the new black Bill and reader are totally giving Frieda and her dad vibes in this cause that’s what I was watching when I wrote the first half lmao

Warnings- I don’t think there’s any. I can’t even put my usual ‘Tess’ warning cause 2010 Tess is a soft baby lmaoo.

Word count- 8k ( I’m so sorry )

Masterlist

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3

You sat in silence, eyes on the screens in front of you, your fingers drumming nervously against your leg. Officers had been in town all day, pulling people from their homes and loading them up onto trucks. They’d been lurking in town since yesterday morning, after putting up the notice that the town would be placed under mandatory evacuation with 24 hours notice. Fencing the town off and pushing evacuation notices through everyone’s door.

You and your uncle, Bill, had been tucked away in the bunker for the last 3 days anyway. Ever since you’d watch the news on outbreak day, watched as the world had gone to shit over night.

But thankfully for you, Bill had basically been preparing for something like the current situation his entire life. He’d seemed almost excited by the entire thing at first, finally able to give a big ‘fuck you’ to everyone that had called him stupid for preparing.

Though mind controlling fungus hadn’t exactly been on his doomsday checklist, he was prepared all the same. And therefore, so were you. Your entire life has practically lead up that exact moment.

Instead of sending you to the dance class in the town hall as a child, he’d taught you how to assemble a gun in the fastest way possible. Instead of buying you a nail kit for your birthday, he’d gifted you a knife. You’d thought it was pretty awesome, the girls in your math class hadn’t. But fuck them. You could see some of them clambering onto the trucks, crying and holding onto their mothers.

Dance practice wasn’t looking so practical now was it.

The sound of footsteps above you halted your fingers, muffled talking of the officers trying to clear the house. Bill turned to you with his finger to his lips and you nodded. You weren’t stupid. The officers walked around, calling out for anyone home until you heard a faint ‘ all clear sir! ‘ through the floorboards. And a smile tugged at your lips.

“ not today you new world order jack boot fucks “ Bill muttered reloading his gun as way of punctuating his sentence. You turned back to the cameras, watching as they loaded up the last trucks after deeming the house empty. Deeming the town empty.

“ what fuckin idiots “ Bill exhaled sharply though his nose beside you, some half attempt at a laugh. You watched the cameras as the trucks left town “ where do you think they’re taking them? “ Bill shrugged, pushing buttons on the keyboard to switch which cameras were showing on the screens.

“ closest city is Boston. But I doubt they’ve managed to lock it down yet. There’s more further out, smaller. Probably already full “ you nodded understanding what it meant for them.

What was it that you’d overheard an officer say?

Dead people can’t get infected.

You watched the trucks on the screen, all filing out of town in a trail. Like some fucked up snake weaving through the streets and out through the gates.

Bill flicked through the cameras once more before standing up, nodding towards your gas mask.

“ let’s go make sure it’s clear. Mask on. If there’s any left they might have tear gas. And grab your gun “ you pulled your mask on, letting Bill pull at it to make sure it was secure before he headed for the exit back upstairs. You picked up your gun, double checking it was loaded before following him.

He’d given it to you on your last birthday. After spending your whole childhood teaching you how to use them, assemble them. He’d decided you deserved one of your own ‘ just in case ‘, something a little more exciting than a knife.

“ I’ll take the front. You take the back “ you nodded, shaking the nerves out of your hands and taking a deep breath “ I prepared you for this. Don’t look so damn nervous “

He went up first and you followed close behind, gun up and ready to shoot at any fuck wit of an officer that might still be lingering. You headed for the back of the house, movements careful and precise as you checked over the kitchen and the back rooms before stepping out onto the back porch. You scanned the bushes at the end of the garden for any sign someone might be there, before deeming it empty.

You almost wanted to laugh. You loved your uncle and his quirky ways and plans. But a tiny part of you had always thought that maybe he was just insanely paranoid. But he clearly knew exactly what he was doing.

You made your way back through the house, finding Bill on the front path pulling off his mask. You stood next to him and did the same. Listening.

The town was silent. The wind in the trees and the sound of birds all that could be heard. And you did let yourself laugh then, tucking your gun into the holster strapped to your leg and folding your arms across your chest.

“ looks like we did it kid “

“ hell fuckin yeah “

“ they’re here! Bill!? Come on! “ you were startled awake from where you’d been napping on the couch, by Frank charging through the house and clapping his hands to grab your attention “ come on honey! You too! Up! And straighten those cushions back up again. I just picked them up on the outer perimeter cameras, they’ll be here any minute. Come on!” You squinted at him through your post nap haze, brain attempting to register what the fuck he was even talking about.

Frank had too much energy on a regular day, but today he seemed ten times more hyped up. You didn’t know how someone could be so cheerful in such circumstances. He’d even had a smile on his face when you and Bill had found him, bottom of the pit outside the fence. Though you guessed if you’d have been in his position, you’d have been happy too. Of all the places to end up, Lincoln was the safest.

You hadn’t trusted him entirely at first. But Bill had. You’d never seen him like that. Like some lovesick little puppy and you’d spent the night sulking out on the porch, ready to go in and shoot him in the face if you needed to.

Of course, you hadn’t.

“ were they armed? “ Bill appeared from where he’d been hiding in the kitchen for the majority of the day, somehow being convinced by Frank to cook a fancy ass meal for everyone. You smelt what you thought was chicken, your stomach growled in response “ just the two of them? “

“ just the two of them! And of course they’re armed, what you want them to walk all this way with no guns? Jesus Christ Bill “ your sleepy brain finally woke itself up enough to remember what was going on.

Frank had made… friends. You’d over heard him chatting away to some woman on the radio one night, had then let it slip to your uncle. And now they were coming to fucking visit. Bill had gone ape shit when he’d first found out. But Frank had his ways, he knew how to wiggle into the tiny little soft spot in Bills heart. No matter how deep. Deep. Deep. Down it was.

“ Honey. Will you please get up, sort your hair you look like you’ve been yanked through a hedge “ you scoffed at that but ran your fingers through your hair anyway “ make an effort would you. Both of you. This is good. Seriously we need some friends… especially you two “ Bills face matched your own, as it so often did, a frown and a look that simply said ‘ are you fucking with me right now? ‘

“ we don’t need friends “ Frank simply waved a hand of dismissal at Bill and walked over to you, nudging you with his arm

“ you’ll like Tess I think. She sounds really nice. And she’s not much older than you “

“ you make me sound like a little kid that’s going on a play date to the park “ you said with a sigh.

“ this is good. Friends. We need friends you need friends “ you scoffed at that and Frank just rolled his eyes “ only talking to your uncle and me is not healthy “

“ in case you hadn’t noticed, we’re not exactly surrounded by options to talk. Oh shall I go sit outside the fence and chat to an infected? Frank, I think theres worst things to worry about than my social life, and lack there of “

“ you. Are just like your uncle Jesus Christ “ Frank said mostly to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes for a moment “ come on. They’ll be at the gate any minute. Time to make friends. Whether you like it or not “ part of you did think that maybe. Just maybe. It would be nice to talk to someone that wasn’t your uncle or Frank. Especially another woman. You’d spent 7 years in the safety of the compound now, 3 of which had included Frank. Some new faces would be nice. But also. The world you lived in… there were no friends to be had anymore. No one you could trust.

In your- and Bills- eyes, this could all only end badly.

You and Bill were far too alike for your own good, that’s what Frank always said. But you had been with him practically your whole life, he was more of a dad to you than you real dad was. And yeah, maybe his forms of raising a child hadn’t been exactly… traditional. But you had a pretty good feeling that you were faring much better than the girls who had been at parties whilst you were being taught what to do if the world ever went to shit.

Which is exactly what had happened.

In fact you’d watched most of them get carted away on outbreak day. Whilst you and Bill had sat silently in the bunker and watched, listened to them searching the house above you to make sure they left no one behind. Stupid fucks.

You and Bill had only needed each other. You hadn’t had friends then. And you didn’t really want them now. But you decided to humour Frank at least.

So as you finally dragged yourself away from the couch, you grabbed the gun you’d left on the coffee table when you’d gone to sleep. Slipping it back into the holster on your leg and checking your pocket for your knife. Just to be safe.

Bill clearly had the same ideas as you had, as when you found him waiting for you at the front door he too had a gun strapped to his leg. It almost made you laugh at just how similar you both were.

“ c’mon kid. Let’s get this over and done with “ he grumbled and headed outside to where Frank was practically bouncing on the spot with excitement. Though he did drop his smile for a disappointed frown when he saw you two stroll down the porch steps sporting guns.

“ really? “ you simply shrugged and joined him in the road, arms folded over your chest. Frank went to walk towards the gate at the end of the street but Bill swung an arm out to stop him.

“ no. We wait here “

“ they’re not gonna sho- you know what fine. Here is fine. Let’s wait here! “ he said with a slightly forced sense of joy.

You tried to think slightly positive, if just for Franks sake. Trying to conjure up an image of who these people could be. You knew they were from the Boston QZ. That it was a man and a woman. And that was about it.

You were slightly surprised they’d even made it out this far, you didn’t know much about quarantine zones but you did know they were controlled by FEDRA. You wondered how they’d managed to get out, as far as you knew the only one and outs of a zone were for things like ration shipments or deliveries. Not visiting some strangers you found on a radio. You’d only had a small sampling of FEDRA yourself, the day they had come to clear the town.

Promises to the residents of taking them to a QZ. Taking them to safety. That staying in their homes would be dangerous.

They’d have faired much better if they had stayed.

You could still remember the day you and Bill had secured the outer perimeters of town, past the fences and gates. The shallow grave and the people left to rot. You could still remember the smell if you thought about it hard enough. Could still see the faces of people you had once walked by on the street, brought eggs from in the shop, lived across the street from. FEDRA had promised them safety and had done the complete opposite.

No wonder people wanted to leave the QZ.

“ there! I see them- you disabled the traps right? “ you gave a snort of a laugh in an attempt to conceal it, the thought that they might just blow up before they even reached the gate tickling you. And clearly Bill too, his lips twitching with a small smile “ I hate you both “

“ we’re well aware “ you all waited where you were as Joel punched in the temporary code Frank had given him over the radio, the static buzz sounding as it swung open. Frank was done waiting clearly, hurrying off towards them with a huge grin on his face.

“ that gun loaded? “ Bill asked in a low voice as you followed a few steps behind Frank.

“ obviously “

“ anything else on you? “

“ knife in my pocket “

“ that’s my girl “ as you drew closer and finally got a good look at your guests, you were mildly taken aback. You didn’t really know what you’d expected. Maybe some gnarled, scary and dirty pair of people. All you knew about QZs came from Frank and from what you knew they weren’t exactly great. But these people didn’t fit the thoughts.

The man had a stony face to rival Bills, dark hair and a slightly scruffy beard. But you weren’t interested in looking at him. But her? Her you were interested in looking at.

Maybe it was simply 7 years of having nothing but the posters of Kate Bush, Avril lavigne and Beyoncé on your walls to look at in terms of women, finally laying eyes on a real, non fungal looking, very much alive, woman again. She made you clam up for a moment, cheeks flushing and rational thoughts escaping you.

She was beautiful. There was no point trying to deny it when it was so plainly obvious. You didn’t know what you had expected. But it certainly wasn’t… her.

Maybe Frank had been right after all, you did need someone new to talk to. Because clearly your lack of human interaction over the years had rendered you absolutely useless in the face of new people.

“ it’s so amazing to finally meet you! “ you and Bill both hung back as Frank enveloped Tess into a hug then held his hand out for Joel to shake. You both must have looked a picture as Frank turned around mouthing ‘ smile! ‘ at the two of you. You threw him your best ‘ go fuck yourself ‘ smile and he sighed “ Tess, Joel. This is Bill. This is y/n. They’re not exactly huggers “

Joel held his hand out and Bill reluctantly took it, shaking it for a time far too short to be welcoming. But he was trying you supposed, for Franks sake. He took Tess’ hand next and then she turned to you. Your eyes flickered over to Frank who gave you a small nod and you looked back to Tess, taking her hand. In the way that Bills hand shake had been a second too short, yours was a second too long.

You attempted to ignore the blush on your cheeks and took Joel’s hand too.

“ you hungry? Bill is a wonderful cook. He’s prepared dinner for us all, do you like chicken? “

“ oh I’m starved “ Tess said with a smile, following after Frank as he gestured for them to follow him up to the house. You and Bill hung back again, arms folded over your chest as you watched Frank talking animatedly to Tess and Joel as he walked up the street.

“ you weren’t subtle “ Bill said in that almost light tone that only you- and maybe now Frank - could pull out of him “ blush a little harder next time I don’t think she noticed “

“ oh shut the fuck up I didn’t blush “

“ sure “

“ you’re in no position to talk to me about being subtle mr wine-and-dine-the-stranger-in-the-pit “ he grumbled something you didn’t quite catch and huffed

“ go change the gate code to what we discussed. I’m gonna finish the food “ you watched him head up the road, craning your neck to see Frank had Joel and Tess sat down in the garden already.

“ I didn’t blush. Fuckin asshole “ you muttered to yourself as you went about resetting the code on the gate. Of course that was complete bullshit. You knew you’d blushed like hell but you had hoped it hadn’t been noticeable. And if Bill had seen it. Tess clearly had. You wanted to slam your head against the gate and erase the whole thing from your memory. Is that why she’d smiled at you? Was she making fun of you?

Once the gate was reset you took a slow walk back up, trying to shake your embarrassment on the way. And create a plan to just completely avoid any and all eye contact and conversation with Tess until she left, seeing as you had social skills of a newborn baby apparently.

A solid plan.

As you pushed through the front gate Bill was placing down plates on the table, frown still etched on his face, placing them down a little too roughly so that a few peas nearly went rolling off the plate.

“ there she is! Just in time “ Frank said with his usual beaming smile, patting the empty chair next to him that would place you between him and Joel. And opposite Tess. Of course.

You took your knife from your pocket as you sat down and made a point of flicking the blade up, placing it beside you. Much alike the way Bill had his gun placed next to his fork.

“ I’m sorry about these two “ Frank sighed as everyone tucked in, Bills eyes trained inquisitively on Joel as he cut his carrots without even looking at them “ could you not?”

“ it’s okay. I’m the same “ Joel said in what you could almost make out as some attempt at a joke.

“ oh? You’re a paranoid schizophrenic too? “

“ I’m not schizophrenic “ Bill mumbled, eyes still glaring at Joel as he chewed on a chunk of his chicken. Tess turned her attention over to you, eyes narrowing a little in curiosity to find you already watching her.

“ and you? “ she asked, tilting her head to the side inquisitively. The eye contact almost felt like a challenge, and you held it as you sipped at your water.

“ I’m not paranoid. Or schizophrenic. I’m practical. You’re complete fucking strangers in a world where everyone is trying to fuck everyone else over. You can’t blame me, or him, for being a little on edge “ the look that grew on her face surprised you a little, a look that was almost… impressed by what you’d said.

“ that’s smart. That’s really smart “ your plan to withhold eye contact and conversation had failed ridiculously fast “ but look. I just want to say, guns and knife aside. Which I get by the way “ she said with a pointed look in your direction “ even if we don’t end up working together on anything, I’m happy we had this. A nice meal with civilised people? I needed this” she sounded genuinely sincere as she spoke. It made you wonder what the QZ was like again. How life differed there.

Of course it was different but… how different. How tough. How lucky were you really to be out there with just Bill and Frank. No officers telling you what to do, controlling where you went, rationing your food.

You all ate in silence for a few moments, your eyes flickering between Joel and Tess as she sighed around a mouthful of food.

“ what’s food like in the QZ? “ you asked, your curious brain getting ahead of your mouth.

“ not like this “

“ shit “ they both said at the same time and it made a smile pull at your lips.

“ I can’t remember the last time I had a vegetable that actually crunched “ she said with another blissful sigh, her eyes closing for a second. You looked away before you did something stupid like blush again “ and ate something with actual flavour “

“ we have mostly dried or dehydrated foods. Makes it last longer. Especially if it’s travellin cross country between QZs “ Joel added “ any of the good stuff gets snatched up by the FEDRA officers first. If you’re lucky you’ll get a 20 year old can of beans or somethin “

“ you know much about FEDRA? “ Tess asked, glancing around the table but eyes ultimately landing back on you as she sipped at her wine.

You and Bill both scoffed at that.

“ yeah. We know about ‘em “

“ couple days after outbreak day they cleared town. Told people they were gonna be safe. Going to a zone. You know what they did? Took them up the hill, and shot them all in the back of the head. Safe my fuckin ass “ you mumbled, taking another bite.

“ yeah. We saw the grave. Heard about that kinda thing but… not pretty “ Joel said with a shake of his head “ how’d you get away? “

“ he’s been prepping for this thing for years “ Frank said with a laugh and nudged Bills arm “ you’re looking at two real life preppers. I thought they were just made up for tv shows! Turns out they’re not “

“ survivalist not a prepper “ Bill grumbled.

“ like there’s any difference “

Conversation fell quiet again as everyone finished their food, Frank got Tess talking again once everyone was almost finished and you watched intently. Eyes locked on her as she spoke, not really even listening to her. Just watching. She looked ethereal in the late afternoon sun, her skin almost golden in the light. You weren’t exactly spoilt for choice these days when it came to getting to look at beautiful women, so you took all the chance you could get.

She caught you watching her once or twice, eyes flickering to meet yours, but you were far past caring if she saw you now. You’d embarrassed yourself enough to last a life time. So you might as well own it.

She didn’t seem to mind. In fact her face seemed to soften every time she looked over and found you were still watching her, almost as if she liked it. She didn’t come across as someone that constantly craved attention, constantly wanted people watching her and admiring her. So maybe she liked it because no one else was looking at her like that.

It made your eyes drift briefly over to Joel. They were together… right? You’d just assumed. But if they were surely he looked at her. Admired her. So why would she seem so flattered by your looks?

“ youll be staying next door, with y/n. It’s the only other house In town that’s fixed up, the spare rooms in our place have been taken over by Bill and his hoarding. She has the whole place to herself, plenty of room for you both “ your eyes darted over to Frank, tuning back into conversation as he readily offered them your place to stay without even asking you. He hadn’t told you about that. And some warning would’ve been nice about your new house guests.

And being stuck in the same building as Tess for the night was as terrifying as it was appealing. Having her just across the hall? You were barely surviving sitting outside with her. If she was in your house you’d have to talk to her. And not just wistfully stare at her from across the table.

“ I- what? “

“ thank you “ she said with a smile at Frank and then you.

“ why don’t you go show Tess around? “ Frank suggested and kicked you lightly under the table, a knowing look thrown in your direction. You scowled at him and he simply raised an eyebrow. God you hated him sometimes.

“ yeah. Sure “ you said, still scowling at him and his stupid fucking smile as you stood up from the table “ this way “ you didn’t wait for her, heading out of the garden gate and rounding to your own. You heard her footsteps behind you as you climbed the porch steps, pushing open the door and turning around “ after you “ she gave you another smile and a nod of thanks as she stepped inside.

“ whole house just for you? “ she asked as you closed the front door behind you. You hadn’t done all that much to it since you’d moved in. Frank had insisted you decorated a bit. He’d taken you around the old furniture store and made you swap a few of the things out, and you’d moved the stuff from your old room at Bills over. So it was a little more… you.

“ yeah. Figured I needed some space to myself as I got older so. We fixed this up. Moved in like a year after Frank got here. Gives them more privacy too “ she nodded, poking her head into the lounge and glancing around.

“ can I see upstairs? “ you nodded and followed a few steps behind as she went up. It felt weird to have someone in your space. Even Bill and Frank didnt go in too often.

She stopped at the top of the stairs and you pointed towards the spare bedroom

“ you can stay in there “ she headed in and looked around, hands on her hips.

“ wasn’t expecting this “ she walked over to the vanity, trailing her hand across the various trinkets that littered it and sending a small cloud of dust particles into the air, catching in the sun leaking through the curtains like glitter. You’d picked over the stuff in there years ago, taking the stuff you liked and leaving the rest. You hadn’t liked the family that had lived there before. So you actually quite enjoyed stealing their stuff “ you don’t strike me as a 1970s chic type of girl “

“ I don’t use this room “ you shrugged “ it’s how they left it. Minus a few things I liked “ she looked over to you with a smile at that, she picked up a bottle of perfume. It had gone yellow in its bottle from age and sunlight

“ not a fan of the perfume? “

“ she was like 50 something and always smelt like moth balls. I doubt it smelt any good then, never mind now “ she scoffed and placed it back down.

She moved over to the bed, pushing her hands down on the mattress and soothing her hands over the blankets.

“ almost forgot what a nice bed felt like. One we have in the QZ is thin as fuck “

“ most of the stuff here’s pretty nice. Most families in town were well off. The dicks that lived here were too, lucky for you. Smelt like moth balls but had a shit ton of cash “ she laughed a little and shrugged

“ Lucky me “

“ you can take anything you want out of here. I don’t need it. It’s mostly old lady shit but. Go for it “ she placed a hand on her chest and gave you an over dramatic look

“ wow. Just wow. Thank you. I’ve always wanted a girl to give me free reign at ‘ old ladies r us ‘. Some moth ball perfume? Man. You’re really spoiling me sweetheart “

Your breath hitched a little at the pet name. She’d been joking but it still made your cheeks prickle, made a funny feeling blossom in your chest.

If she noticed she didn’t say anything, simply averted her eyes to look around the room again.

You headed over to the en-suite then, clearing your throat lightly to try and appear as normal as possible. She turned to face you as you opened the door so she could look inside.

“ uhm. Bathroom. All the pipes and plumbing and shit works so you know. Use the facilities as much as you want to “ her eyes practically sparkled as you spoke and she walked into the room and over to the sink, turning on the hot tap and sighing as the water ran over her fingers.

“ hot fuckin water “ she said softly, mostly to herself it seemed “ in the QZ you get two types of water. Freezing or slightly less freezing. If it’s the summer and the suns been on the pipes you might get lucky and actually get lukewarm. Rationed too it shuts off after a few minutes “

You couldn’t imagine that. You loved being clean and warm, loved long showers that left the bathroom steamy or baths that you stayed in until the water was cold and your fingers pruned.

You really were starting to realise just how lucky you were in Lincoln. You’d probably be dead if you had gone to a QZ. You didn’t take orders well. And you liked your home comforts.

“ you can take a shower. If you want. I can get you some new clothes and there’s a bunch of soaps “ you said scratching your head a little nervously wondering if that would come off the wrong way, like you were insinuating she needed to shower. Which you weren’t. Of course. She seemed to spot the internal panic plastered on your face and smiled warmly at you

“ Now? Cause that’d be fuckin awesome “ you gave a small nod and shoved your hands into the pockets of your jeans.

“ sure. And don’t worry. It’s not gonna shut off. Hot water might run out if you’re in there too long but give it a few minutes and it’ll heat up again “ she turned to face you with a genuine look of gratefulness in her eyes.

“ thank you. Really “ she took your hand and gave it a light squeeze. She did exactly what you had done when she arrived. She held it a little longer than she should of, her eyes soft as she held your gaze. You couldn’t figure out the exact colour of her eyes in the late afternoon light coming through the frosted glass of the window. If they were blue or more green.

You wanted to know. You wanted to see them in the bright morning sunlight. In the moonlight. In the winter sun. The summer sun.

You wished you’d paid more attention outside.

“ I’ll leave you to it then “ you said after a moment “ I’ll go get you some clothes, I’ll leave them on the bed for you “ she gave you a small nod and you stepped away, closing the door behind you.

Maybe you understood Bill more now on the day Frank had turned up. How incredibly strong a sense of longing could actually be for someone you didn’t really even know. How overwhelming it could suddenly feel.

You took a breath and closed your eyes for a moment. Before heading out of the room.

As you went into the storage closet at the top of the stairs to look for some decent clothes for her, you realised you hadn’t left her a towel. You hurried through into your own bathroom and grabbed one from the cupboard. It was probably nicer than one that had been boxed up for months on end. So you took it back through.

You knocked on the bathroom door, not hearing the water running yet and hoping you’d caught her before she got in.

“ Tess? I. I have a towel. Forgot to give you one “ the door opened a moment later and all words escaped you, mouth hanging open slightly and closing again like some kind of fish. She was stood there in her underwear, that same gentle smile on her face as if it were truly the most normal thing possible. That it was an everyday occurrence for you to see her stood there like that. You knew your cheeks were flaming and you cleared your throat slightly, avoiding looking at her at all and staring at the floor instead “ t- towel “

She took it from your hands and you chanced a glance up at her face to see her smile, eyes narrowed slightly in question. Could she see how flustered you were? Could she tell?

“ thanks. You okay? “ you turned on your heel and left the room before you could embarrass yourself further, not even giving her an answer.

“ fuckin idiot “ you muttered to yourself as you went back to the boxes of clothes and sighed. Had your lack of human interaction affected you that much? That one interaction with another had turned you into a silly stumbling mess of a girl. This wasn’t you. You were strong. Brave.

It made you think of Bill again. How he had all but melted on the spot after half a day with Frank in the house.

You were almost a mirrors image.

One meal. Letting him shower. Letting him stay.

You leant your elbows on one of the boxes, cradling your face in the your hands with a sigh. You had made fun of him then and still did. Yet now? Maybe you got it. Maybe you were more like him than you’d ever allowed yourself to accept or see. You had pushed down that deep, aching, yearning in your chest for so long just like he had.

Yearning and longing for… someone else. Someone that looked you the way people did in those stupid romance movies. But also saw you for what you were. Brave. Strong. Capable. Accepted it and nurtured it, protected but wanted to be protected right back. You had wanted it all along. But had suppressed it. Forced it down in favour of focussing on things you deemed more practical.

Exactly like Bill. And it had taken a whole fucking apocalypse to see it. With him. And you. Some stranger leaving a QZ. In your case though, that stranger was going back again. But she’d be back. You hoped.

You gave another sigh before looking though the boxes of clothes, looking for something that looked relatively decent for her. You plucked out a few options and too them back through into her room.

You could hear the shower running, a small stream of steam seeping under the door. She must’ve had the water as hot as she could stand. You placed the clothes down on the bed and tried not to think about the image of her behind the door. You wanted to know what she looked like, feel how soft her skin felt under the hot water, look and touch and map out every detail. See the way the water droplets caught on her eyelashes, trace patterns in freckles.

You left the room, suddenly feeling too hot. As if it were you under the stream of scalding water and not her.

You busied yourself with finding out some clothes for Joel too. You wondered what he was talking about with Bill and Frank outside.

Were they talking about Tess? Discussing relationships and telling stupid stories of how Bill met Frank and how Joel met Tess?

It made your chest hurt. And made you realise that maybe you weren’t in the same situation as Bill after all. Frank had been alone. Tess wasn’t. Tess had a… Joel. Whatever he was to her. And there you were getting flustered over her in the shower. Idiot.

You loitered by the storage closet for a while. A pile of clothes for Joel in your hands but not entirely sure what to do. You didn’t know if she was done yet. She hadn’t come out. If you listened carefully you couldn’t hear the water anymore. And you couldn’t stay on the landing all night.

So you headed over to the door again, knocking lightly. There was some shuffling for a moment and then the door opened and you clammed up again. It’s not like she’d looked… dirty before. But now she just looked. Clean. Her hair was wet and tied up on her head, her skin that shiny glowy pink that came from a hot shower. The clothes fit her well. And a waft of the coconut body wash she’d clearly used drifted into your nose. You used the same stuff yet it didn’t feel as dizzying on you as it did on her.

“ sorry. I was just- you okay? “

“ I’m good. Thanks for the clothes “ she said and walked back into the room, sitting down on the bed with a content sigh “ I haven’t felt this clean in so long “ you stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind you “ you don’t realise how good you’ve got it here “

“ I’m starting to realise “ you said softly, dropping the clothes for Joel onto the vanity and moving to sit beside her. She seemed almost wistful. Looking around the room and hand tracing the embroidery on the blanket absentmindedly.

“ how’d you end up here? With Bill and Frank? Frank was never really clear about it on the radio “

“ Bill is my uncle. My mom died when I was little and my dad was about as useful as a screen door on a submarine. Thought a bottle of vodka was more important than a tin of baby milk. Bills the only other family I had, before my mom died she asked Bill to take care of me. He didn’t exactly want a kid but. I don’t know, he loved my mom. So. Here I am “

You didn’t like talking about your past much. You’d avoided it as much as possible before the outbreak, you hated the looks of pity you always got. You didn’t want pity. You couldn’t do anything with pity.

But Tess didn’t give you that look. Instead she smiled.

“ should’ve known you were related to Bill. You both frown the same “ you scoffed at that, but you knew it was true “ he’s been preparing you for this shit you whole life then? “

“ not this exactly. But something. Don’t poke fun at it. If it wasn’t for his smart thinking you wouldn’t have just had a hot shower “ it came out a little more snappy than you meant to and she raised her hands in mock surrender

“ I didn’t mean anything by- “

“ sorry. Sorry “ you sighed. You ran a hand over your face before standing up and deciding to just get out before you embarrassed yourself further “ I’ll leave you to it. I found some clothes out for Joel I’ll take them next door and- “

“ no no “ she reached out and grabbed your hand “ stay? I wanna talk to you more. It’s nice to talk to someone other than Joel “ you hesitated for a moment before sitting back down.

“ you don’t like talking to Joel? “ she shrugged and flopped backwards onto the mattress, throwing an arm over her eyes

“ his brother was the more talkative one. But he’s gone. He wants to save the world. Joined the fireflies “

“ like the bug? Is this some kind of metaphor or- “ Tess laughed at your clear confusion. An actual laugh. Not like the small little chuckles you’d heard once or twice in the day. You liked it. Liked the way it made her eyes crinkle and her nose scrunch.

“ are you being serious? I can’t tell “ you rolled your eyes with a huff, not exactly fond of her making fun of you “ okay. Serious “ she pulled at your arm until you lay down next to her and she smiled at you “ there’s a group. Trying to make things how they used to be. No FEDRA laws. They’re fancy terrorists basically “

“ and Joel’s brother joined them? “ Tess propped her self up on her elbow and turned to look at you.

“ Joel said he’s… ‘ a joiner ‘. He wants to change to world “ a lot of people wanted to change the world. And a lot of people failed at it “ it’s a shame. He was nice. Joel… he has his moments but. He’s not much of a talker “

“ And you are? “

“ maybe “ you were hyper aware suddenly at how close you were, lying there beside her and looking up at her.

Her eyes were green.

The setting sun outside was shining across her face and you could finally see them better. Green.

“ I don’t know if I’m much of a talker “ it came out far quieter than you’d meant it to, but she didn’t seem surprised by it.

“ i gathered that from the way you were just staring over dinner and not actually joining in the conversation “ your cheeks were aflame, your eyes blowing wide in a mild sense of horror. Of course you’d known she’d seen you watching her. But to have it confirmed out loud wasnt exactly what you were expecting. You went to sit up and escape the situation as fast as possible but she grabbed your arm again to keep you down “ hey. Don’t… you keep doing that. Runnin off “

It was instinct to run.

She didn’t let go of you even when it was clear you weren’t going anywhere, her hand sliding up from your wrist to your bicep and squeezing softly.

“ im sorry- “

“ don’t be. It’s nice “ her voice was quiet now. Soft. It made butterflies erupt in your stomach “ you’re also really not subtle with it. When I arrived. Over dinner. When you gave me my towel. Now” you hadn’t even realised you’d been staring that time. But you had. Examining the green of her eyes again.

“ I’m. Sure I’m not the only one “ you have Joel for that

She shrugged again her hand moving from where it been burning into your arm, up to tuck some of your hair back behind your ear.

“ only one worth looking back at though” her fingers grazed across your jaw, lightly over your lips before coming to rest on your cheek “ stop acting like you have to be tough all the time. Even your uncle seems to have let down his guard if he let in Frank “ You didn’t know what to say to that. How she seemed to have sussed you out incredibly fast, seen through your facade “ so let me in too “

You hadn’t expected her to kiss you. So it took you a moment to process it when she did, closing the small gap in between you and capturing your lips in hers.

But as soon as you accepted what was happening, you pulled away and sat up, your brain screaming at you for how wrong it was. Joel was only downstairs and you were there kissing his girlfriend?

“ no. We. I- can’t- Joel “ you said it a little broken but she got the point, her brow furrowing and her hand on your shoulder.

“ Joel? What’s Joel got to do with- oh “ her eyebrows shot up and she let out a little laugh again. The same kind as the one from earlier, the nose scrunching, eye crinkling kind “ you think? Me and Joel? “ you folded your arms across your chest, a scowl forming on your face as you realised she was laughing at you again.

“ what was I supposed to think? “

“ look. Me and Joel… it’s not like that. At all. I promise you “ she reached out for your hands, turning to face a little more “ don’t give me that look. You look so much like Bill when you scowl it’s off putting “ you couldn’t help the way your lips twitched as you tried to suppress a smile at that. Frank often said the same thing. That you and Bill both had the same pissed off face. The same everything face.

“ you could’ve told me that earlier “

“ what? You think casually slipping into conversation that me and Joel aren’t fucking is just easy? “ you huffed, the scowl still etched into your face “ hey! It’s so lovely to meet you. I’m Tess and this is Joel who’s not my boyfriend. Oh chicken you say? Awesome I’m starving! “ she said with sarcasm dripping from her words “ I thought. I thought I was being as obvious as you were. Clearly not “

You thought you’d have noticed. You had been staring at her all day. But you hadn’t. Too consumed with admiring her rather than paying full attention

“ would’ve stopped me ruining our kiss if you’d just said something“ you grumbled and she sighed, sliding a hand back up to cup your cheek again.

“ yeah well that’s the thing about kisses, you don’t just have to do it once. You can redo it. Over. And over “ she pulled you in closer as she spoke, her nose brushing against yours “ and this time, please don’t think about Joel. Knowing you’re kissing me and thinking about him is a real fuckin turnoff“

“ shut up oh my god “ she did just that, pulling you back in again. It was better than the first, of course, it lasted longer than a few seconds for a start. And you didn’t have a voice in your head telling you how wrong it was.

You revelled in it. Letting her pull you closer until you were practically sat in her lap, fists twisting into the material on her shirt too scared to actually… touch her. She wasn’t afraid though . Her fingers were laced into the hair at the nape of your neck, the other hand holding your face to guide you at the pace she wanted.

It was a little clumsy. You weren’t exactly open to opportunities for practice when it came to kissing, well… anyone. But she didn’t seem to mind. Your heart was pounding so loudly in your ears you were afraid you’d go deaf, your skin prickling with goosebumps. So starved of touch for so long that you didn’t even know how to fully react.

But the way she inched her fingers just under the collar of your shirt, told you she was probably as touch starved as you were.

When her tongue brushed against your bottom lip you wasted no time in letting her in. The whimper that escaped your throat was slightly involuntary, and at any other time you thought you might have been embarrassed by it. But you were far too preoccupied with her to care. The fingers splayed across your cheek burning into your skin, guiding you and keeping you grounded. You were running out of air but you couldn’t find a single part of you that even cared.

You didn’t want it to stop. But the world, as it so often did, had other ideas.

“ y/n? Tess? “ you startled as Franks voice sounded from downstairs, his footsteps growing nearer as he climbed the stairs. You practically dived away from her, hurriedly trying to soothe your hair and look somewhat normal. She didn’t look even remotely concerned, falling back against the mattress again with a smug smile stretching across her face “ hello? “

“ in- in here! “ you called, clearing your throat mid sentenced as it cracked with your nerves.

Franks head popped around the door, his usual goofy grin in place.

“ you two doing okay? You’ve been up here a while “ his eyes flashed between Tess and you and his smile took on new light, quirking an eyebrow at you “ honey? You’re all red. Doing okay? “ the little shit

“ I’m fine “ you said with a glare that only made him smile more.

“ well the alpha male energy out there is becoming unbearable. Come save me? “

“ is Joel in one of his moods again? “ Tess finally spoke, getting up and smoothing her hands over her shirt “ I’ll come save you. Let’s go “ she gestured for Frank to lead the way and headed for the door, grabbing your hand as she passed and pulled you along “ you too sweetheart. Looks like you’ve got a new member to the grumpy club “

“ I’m not grumpy “ you muttered under your breath. She simply scoffed and headed back outside, hand still laced with yours.

#tess servopoulos #Tess servopoulos x reader #the last of us #tlou hbo #the last of us fanfiction #Anna torv #x you #x reader #fluff #Joel miller #Ellie Williams #bill and frank #lgbt

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unstoppableforcce · 5 years ago

Text

marked in red pen

CHAPTER ONE: a cold morning

pairing: Javier Peña x journalist!f! reader

next part | masterlist

she’s lengthy, something like 5k :))

a/n: well, I wrote this during my break, I don’t know if I got better or I got worse but I wrote it! it’s good to be back writing and I really like this idea and can’t wait to keep going !!

He didn’t remember how to live in a city that wasn’t in Colombia.

The echo around the small staff parking lot clearly came from a car backfiring, yet his mind immediately jumped to a gunshot, like all the ones he had fired and all the ones that had been fired back at him. As his dress shoes stepped out onto the loose and dusty asphalt of the lot, the fresh morning breeze froze him with the shocking chill of winter, yet it was the distinct sound of the car backfiring that woke him up the rest of his way out of his self-induced hangover.

It sounded like a gunshot.

It was nearly 8 in the morning on a regular old Monday in Austin, yet he jumped like the sound had echoed around a small Colombian alleyway where Carrillo was holding an army of young boys on their knees. And with the haunting noise came the onslaught of painful memories whether he recognized the reality of the situation or not, the same wave of emotions that used to keep him up in an empty bed back in Bogota now crashing over him as he leaned against the side of his car with a bag of papers over his shoulder instead of a gun on his hip. He could feel the guilt tearing him apart from the inside out, he could feel the weight of his conscious settling heavy in his gut and on his shoulders, pulling him to the ground and exacerbating the very real pain in his back with a phantom pull.

Each breath of freezing air in and out did little to calm him even as he fought his own mind back towards some semblance of composure while his colleagues exited their cars around him and began walking in towards campus. His lungs burned with the fresh assault of the winter chill while also aching for the burn of something stronger, for one of the straggling cigarettes he was sure he could find in the car despite having quit nearly a year ago when he got back.

Back to the States, back to Texas and now back to Austin.

Another round of deep breaths and he slowly began to regain a hint of himself back, he wasn’t sure what that was worth but breath after breath, as the memories that were somewhat of a constant fixture in his damaged mind began to fade back into their quiet lingering in the back of his mind, he slowly found himself back in the staff parking lot. His vision was still faded at the edges, but he could muster up enough strength in his chest to look down to his watch, the nice, new, expensive one that the DEA had given him as a parting present. The edges of the cold metal dug uncomfortably into the skin of his wrist, and every shift he made pinched the hair of his arm within the metal brackets of the band, but the crystal face did what it was designed to do and told him that it was no longer just nearly 8 in the morning, it was exactly 8 in the morning.

And his lecture started in ten minutes.

It wasn’t even a gunshot, it was a sound that vaguely resembled a gunshot and three minutes had to pass before he could stand up straight again.

What is wrong with me? He cursed close to his chest as his freezing, trembling hands moved to rub over his eyes before adjusting the strap of his bag securely on his shoulder. Whatever he was feeling didn’t matter, he had to lock his car and get to class.

The ghost town like campus he crossed to get to his lecture hall was a fair preparation for what was in store for him when he walked in, just a minute before he was obligated to begin lecturing. The students who had the decency to show up were scarce and separate across the 60 person lecture hall, maybe filling up about a third of the seats if he was being favorable in his estimates. It wasn’t a surprise, not only had it been exactly the same for the majority of his first semester teaching, but on day one of this current semester, when he announced that attendance wasn’t mandatory, he was quickly interrupted by one student packing up and leaving on the spot, before the syllabus was even fully covered.

The twenty or so students he did get were always the same. He was bad at learning names, but it was the second week of classes and he had their faces, he had always been better with faces. Whether it was sitting for hours on stakeouts mentally cataloging every face that passed while Steve took diligent photos for them to search through later or keeping track of the students who regularly showed up for his lectures, he was good with faces.

It was why he knew that you didn’t belong the second he dropped his bag to the desk, pulled out a stack of papers, and lifted his head to say ‘good morning’ only to find a brand new face sat in the back row of his desolate and moderately dilapidated lecture hall.

His head immediately went into a downward spiral, considering and subsequently crossing out theory after theory as to who you were, immersed among his students, yet too old and too put-together to be one of them. While they couldn’t care less that he walked in the room to begin lecturing, you were actually paying attention, following him as he pulled out his good pen and lecture notes, still following him as he turned to the board to begin writing only to turn back to grab chalk from his bag when he found none at the board. He only made eye contact with you once, the first time he caught sight of you, but he was trained for this sort of thing, for feeling a pair of eyes staying attached to him even as he turned his back or looked away, and it stuck with him as well as all the haunting memories.

Were you auditing the class? Surely he would have been told to expect you or at the very least, he would recognize you as another member of his department, but you weren’t, so clearly that wasn’t the case. Maybe you were lost? But then again, with the way your stare locked to him the second he walked in, that also wasn’t the case at hand. A grad student with questions? A desperate TA looking for a job and hoping he was given the budget to hire one? Even those felt like a stretch, besides, he had office hours posted on the wall outside his office and in the department catalog, any student would just find him then.

That left him with one remaining, yet exhaustedly confusing option. You weren’t a student, you weren’t associated with the university at all.

What did that mean for why you were there? He couldn’t say.

He glanced back down to his watch and sucked in a deep breath of the stale, warm air of the room, and resigned himself to the fact that it was now twelve minutes after the hour. He had to start class, whoever you were was a problem for him once class was finished.

“Good morning…” He exhaled the heavy breath and paced toward the middle of the space allotted for him to lecture in, chalk in one hand and slowly loosening fist in the other which came up to rub over the top of his mustache as he cleared his throat. “I have your short answer questions back from last week, but I’ll have you come get them after class so that I can start talking about today’s topic of government oversight…”

By the half hour mark, as expected, a handful of students were beginning to doze off while he outlined the exemptions to the Freedom of Information act. But not you in the back of the class, leaned back in your seat with your hands in your lap, diligently following along while even his students who tried to take notes were falling behind as yawns overtook them.

That was the way it continued for the rest of the hour as well. By the time the hands beneath the crystal of his watch face where clicking softly towards the nine o'clock hour and the distant chimes of the clock tower out in the courtyard rang out, his students were only awake because he was calling out their names, attempting to pass back their short answer responses from last Monday’s lecture. Each one who grabbed their paper took it, stuffed it into their bag, and cleared from the room about as fast as they were likely to move if they were fleeing a fire, like his lectures were somehow as disastrous an equivalent.

Some had the decency to say a quick ‘thank you’ before leaving at a normal pace, but it was a minority of students at best. Thankfully, having less students in lecture meant having less to pass back, the rest of the students would just have to come get them during office hours.

That left him with just you in the large and empty lecture hall. The mysterious you.

“Can I help you with something?” He voiced once the final student took their paper and left the room.

He turned back to his desk, sticking the stack back in his bag as he heard you descending the lecture hall stairs behind him, but within seconds, as he moved to put his pen away alongside his lecture notes, you were in front of him, extending your hand and introducing yourself.

Your smile confirmed what he was already sure he knew, you were no student. The last time a student smiled in this room was when he said that his tests would be relatively easy on the first day of class while he was going over the syllabus, and yours was too mature to paint you as a student, too warm as it filled the emptiness of the stale air.

Still, that left him with nothing else to go off of as he took you hand for a firm, respectful shake and offered his name in return, “Javier Peña.”

Then you finished your introduction and any breath of fresh air you had offered to the stagnant room fell as flat as his monotone voice did while he lectured.

“I’m a reporter with the Austin Statesman.”

There was no hiding his distaste for journalists, so why even bother. It had been bred into him long before he ever got involved with the DEA but ever since returning to the states, it had grown more and more like hatred instead of distaste if he was being honest.

He was hounded by calls from reporters across the country wanting him to talk about Escobar and Colombia and what it was all like, just so they could put his face on the front page under a headline that read ‘Escobar’ and reap the benefits of selling his soul out for entertainment. A reporter even had the audacity to show up at his father’s house trying to ask him questions about what he thought of the whole thing.

So when the scoff bubbled out of his chest and his hand singed from where he held yours, he made no attempt to hide it. He pulled his hand away, rolled his eyes and finished filling his bag, able to keep his stare from your form for the first time since he had noticed you, he wanted you to be the furthest thing from his mind even as you moved to maintain his attention.

“You won’t even hear me out?”

He could hear the amusement in your voice as you fought back, and as he spared a quick glance back to you, he found your stood steady across from him, hands holding the strap of your messenger bag which crossed your chest with a steady kind of confidence settling in your shoulders. It was smugness, and for a man who had spent his entire career surrounded by the most smug men imaginable, government men, he had to say, you were doing a fine job of it yourself.

He hated it. It might have looked better on you than it ever did the men in suits that surrounded him, but he still hated it.

“I’m not interested.” He spoke as a matter of fact as he collected the last of his things, put his bag back on his shoulder and moved passed you towards the door his students had just left through.

But it had been naïve to think that the dedication that led you to sit through his entire lecture would suddenly evaporate as he moved out into the hall now bustling with students moving to their next classes. With one glance over his shoulder, he found you matching his intensity to get away with your intensity to keep up.

And as he burst through the outside doors, he found you going step for step with him out into the cold breeze of the courtyard filled with students crossing in every direction.

“You don’t even know why I’m here,” you spoke up as he seemed to only move faster, fighting you as much as he was fighting for warmth in the freezing winter morning.

“You’re a reporter for the Austin paper, I think I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

With another glance back over his shoulder, his stare landed on you in the exact moment your eyes gave a subtle roll and a scoff, equally as indignant as his own had been, fell from your wind-chapped lips. Lips he had absolutely no business looking at, he reminded himself as he turned his head back to the hoard of sleep-deprived students around him with no plans to stop for you to catch up. Not until his feet hit the dampened grass in the middle of the courtyard and he felt a hand grab the loose fabric where his suit jacket bunched at the bend of his elbow.

He was stopped where he stood and you quickly moved around him to come face to face with him, brow firm with a determination he was all too familiar with. It wasn’t just stubbornness, he could see that much clearer now as the gentle rays of sun cut through the grey morning clouds to illuminate your face, it was absolute determination.

The same determination that caught him Escobar.

“I’m sure I’m not the first to come with this offer but it’s not what you think,” you huffed, the exhausted breath hot as it fled your lips but quickly condensing in the icy air between the two of you as you settled in front of him.

The cold was biting at your bare face and attacking your fingertips, forcing a desperate clench to your fists around the strap of your back across your chest as you, very subtly but easily noticed by his careful watching eye, bounced on your toes while you held his attention and continued, “I’m not interested in writing some glorified Escobar tell-all.”

Another chilly breeze whipped through the courtyard as the students around the two of you continued streaming, flowing like diligent fish in a school, into the surrounding buildings in a blur. One by one they passed by in his peripheral, but with his breath holding stale in his throat, he truly only saw you and each individual edge to your face, as equally stern in its seriousness as soft in its sincerity.

Every painful memory that haunted his head told him to keep his mouth shut and his brow furrowed, but his gut said something else entirely.

His gut had gotten him through fire and fury and home in mostly one piece every night, and as he looked at you, scanning your disposition and lingering on your focused face, his gut was telling him that he could trust you at your word. It wasn’t his heart, or any other muscle in his body as his stare held heavy on your face, it truly was his gut. And he trusted his gut.

Fuck… he was itching for a cigarette.

“What do you have an… interest in?” He sucked his lip briefly through his teeth as his hand mindlessly reached for his mustache again, his freezing fingertips pushing it down as he moved to rub over his lips.

“Right now?” You quirked your head a little to the side, your shoulders raising to your ears slightly. “To be having this conversation in a heated building?”

The scoff that fell out of his chest was admitably slightly hostile, but the gentle nod of his head was not. Within the second it left his lips, he found himself continuing his walk towards the old office building ahead and you trailing right behind him, a smugness still settled comfortably on your lips.

He even did better than a warm building.

As he left you in his office for a brief second to grab himself a cup of coffee, he found a clean extra mug and poured you a fresh cup as well. Your ‘thanks’ was quiet as you accepted it, and as he settled down in his seat behind his desk, he drew you back from where you stood by the back wall, casually studying his diplomas and book shelf.

“If not an Escobar entertainment piece, what did you have in mind?”

He pulled you back to reality and after you stole a sip of your coffee, you settled into the seat across from him. “My editor wants a promotable local to put in a headline and I promised you, it doesn't really matter what I write about as long as your name is in big print above the fold.”

He laughed. A real laugh. He barely remembered what it felt like but as soon as it started, he knew it was a genuine laugh.

It was funny, ironic actually, you couldn’t see that, obvious by the twist of your face in confusion, but it was all he could see.

It was the kind of shit he would have pulled when he was younger, more dedicated to his position, and as driven as you were. Doing the most you could in the way you wanted while still technically doing as you were told, it was damn near poetic.

“He won’t mind if you don’t mention Escobar?” He countered, feeling warmth spark in his chest as his coffee burned down his throat with a deep swallow.

But you just shrugged, doing the same. “She just wants to sell papers, won’t mind if readers don’t necessarily find the entertainment they expect.”

“And what will they find?” Relaxing back in his seat, holding his coffee close to his chest, he watched as you did the same, reclining into the uncomfortable wooden chair with one leg uncrossed from the other.

“I’ll write whatever you want me to write. I mean, it should at least be slightly relevant to Colombia but if you just want to say ‘hey, I was there and now I’m here, teaching at my alma mater,’ I’m sure I can manage something like that.”

He scoffed again, but this time, it echoed out of his chest much more like a chuckle than like a scoff, no heat, no annoyance, nothing more than a small hint of amusement, something he hadn’t felt rattle around his chest in a long time. Too long… And he knew why that was.

He knew why he tried to get away from you the second you showed up, and while some of it definitely had to do with the press badge lanyard hanging out of your bag where it was sat next to your feet, a lot of it had to do with the determination he saw in your brow in the first second after he blew you off. It was something he could find himself too easily attracted to, and that wasn’t what he deserved.

He deserved cold mornings and colder nights, kept awake by the aggressive, tormenting nightmares of his own reality, not warm coffee and laughs. Whatever this was, whatever it had the potential to be, even if it were to just be you writing a piece with his name and his story, it just wouldn’t work.

Any gut feeling about you was trampled by the solid the solid reality of the matter. He didn’t deserve it and he knew that.

“I’m afraid I’m not very good at talking about myself, or Colombia, or anything that would make a story, so…” He trailed off, trying to keep his eyes anywhere but where your lingering stare could find it, specifically, the deep dark color of the coffee in his cup while the bitter taste sat heavy in his mouth. But the words he needed to get out, those were much worse settling on his tongue. “I’m sorry, I just don’t think it will work.”

As his hand reached up to rub absentmindedly over his nose and mouth again, his stare hesitantly lifted to yours, trying to get a read on where you were at, but your smug smirk had yet to vacate your lips where you leaned back in your seat.

“I’m a pretty good writer, Agent Peña,” you argued.

“I have no trouble believing that, but I’m not good at this, I can’t—”

He couldn't even get the words out before you were leaning forward to leave your mug on his desk and bending down for your bag. His mouth opened to sputter out some defense, but you hadn’t left yet, you had just pulled a small business card from the side pocket of your bag and put it into his hand, and when he looked from the two phone numbers that followed your name and title at the Statesman, he found the smug look had softened on your face but hadn’t dissipated entirely.

“There’s actually a protest happening across campus right now, so I’ve got to get going…” you trailed off with a shrug.

“You double-booked me?”

With a laugh, you grabbed your bag and tossed it effortlessly over your shoulder and gave another brief shrug, “The job keeps me pretty busy and I figured I would already be on campus, so.”

He stood to match your height and extended a hand for you to shake as another apology spilled from his lips, “I’m sorry I couldn’t be that headline for your boss.”

“So you say.”

“Excuse me?” His head quirked as your hand took his with a shake equally as firm in it’s determination as your brow was.

“I was embedded overseas, I know the look,” you shrugged, much to casual for what you were implying as you dropped his hand and stepped back towards the shut office door. “Call any time, if you don’t get me, you’ll get my assistant and she can track me down.”

Looking down at the card, twirling the sharp edges of the card stock between his fingers, he was stuck, knowing something needed to be said on his end but not capable of finding the words.

You weren’t done yet though, “Any hour. Whether you want to talk about the piece I’m going to write or, I don’t know, maybe how to keep your students awake during lecture. Just, call anytime.”

His head twisted as confusion over took him, "The piece you’re going to write? I just said—”

“I heard what you said.” Your smile was truly genuine as it found your lips, erasing any hint of mocking smugness as you held the doorknob and lingered in his doorway. “I’ll be awaiting your call.”

But that wasn’t your final line, not as you held in the doorway and pointed towards his diplomas, specifically towards the University of Texas diploma closest to the door. “You know, I’ve got one of these too.”

“A lot of people do...” he sighed, settling back in his chair with a huff of exhaustion much to heavy for the hour of the morning that read on his uncomfortable watch.

But as his stare drifted back to you in the doorway, having expected you to have already left but finding you still lingering, he saw something else in the way you looked back to him. Something he had been hard pressed to find ever since he got back, something he certainly hadn’t found in the eyes of any other reporters that had stopped by.

It was understanding to some degree. Not just because the two of you shared an alma mater, but something else. Like you had said, you knew his look.

He thought you had just meant that you knew plenty of men who didn’t like to talk about their feelings but that wasn’t what you were getting at. There was something else there, another layer that you saw through, another level of understanding.

Maybe he was hallucinating it, or maybe his gut was right from the first moment he saw you. He could truly trust you at your word.

“Seriously, any hour,” you smirked one last time before your hand offered a brief wave and you disappeared through the doorway, out into the hall.

It should have been simple.

He knew where he stood when it came to selling his story for entertainment, he knew it was wrong and he knew he wanted nothing to do with any reporter. Yet, your card stayed twirling in his hand for longer than it should have, and instead of it finding it’s way to the bottom of his wastebin, it found a safe home in the top drawer of his desk.

For a rainy day. He told himself, he never knew when he might need a trustworthy reporter...

He found his answer at the end of that week.

Work stress was nothing new to him, but with that piled on top of the boredom that came with reading essays and the combined stress of trying to limit his drinking and stay a non-smoker, he was sinking. He hadn’t had a drink all week, he was being good, like he promised his doctor but... but fuck, he needed one now.

But instead of finding a whisky bottle in the first desk drawer he opened, he found your business card.

It should have been simple. The problem was that Javier Peña had never been very good at simple.

You sounded positively exhausted as you picked up on the other end with a practiced repetition of your last name and position at the paper, but as he reintroduced himself, the harsh cut of your words seemed to roll back on your tongue as the same smug disposition you wore on your face carried through the phone.

“I knew you’d call...”

His laugh was as exhausted as yours was, and even as every fiber of his rational mind was screaming that he was making a mistake, he licked over his bottom lip, reclined in his desk chair and kept talking. “Is it out of line to ask you out for a drink?”

There was a brief moment of silence as the rustling of your notepads and papers in the background stopped, and he truly feared he was overstepping the professional boundary you had approached him with.

“Only if I let you buy mine for me,” you shot back, wearing a smirk on your lips that he could hear through the phone. “Meet me at sixth and Congress in twenty minutes?”

“Yeah, I can do that.”

It was a mistake, but even knowing that, he stood up from his desk, loosened his tie and undid the first few buttons of his shirt before heading out to meet you.

He had made worse mistakes.

—

tags! (open)

@imananxiousdriver @kaetastic @revolution-starter @littlevodika

#javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #narcos #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #new story !#I truly hope y’all enjoy !!#marked in red pen #journalist reader

163 notes · View notes

dewykth · 5 years ago

Text

SWEET SEPTEMBER.

a @periminkle and @dewykth collaboration.

synopsis. for many, september symbolizes new beginnings. but for namjoon, this month never fails to send him back into the past. though this time, something seems different.

pairing. kim namjoon | female reader contains. fluff, angst, slice of life au, ballet instructor!reader, single dad!nj word count. 7.5k+ warnings. death mentions, mature audience

dae’s note. surprise !!! this fic is dedicated to my favourite virgo karla @guklvr !! happy birthday bae i hope you enjoy this lil thing me n vira whipped up for u!! (i stress wrote a lot of this ha.) also sry for lying & keeping you up but hopefully this makes u forgive me. but i hope ur day goes amazing ILYSM DUDE !!! <333 and a huge thank you to vira for hopping on board for this idea bc i cld not have done this without her !!! pls give her all the love !!!

vira’s note. KARLAAAA!!! i always gotta scream ur name it’s mandatory to start with a good scream ykno? bUT HAPPY BIRTHDAY GIRL 🥳 i already told u this too many times today but ILYSM !! like that full day without saying a single word to u felt so weird and i kept going into our chat and rereading our mssgs and wishing I was talking to u??? which is weird to admit?? but that literally how much i missed u idk how but im addicted to u so if you leave me I will literally die :))) aNYWAY have the bestestestest day ever and i hope u love the fic bc I ignored all my uni work to finish this !!! (also i feel reallyreallyreally bad about last night sO IM SORRY AGAIN BUT I HOPE THIS IS WORTH IT) 💖

Despite the papers carelessly stuffed into his leather briefcase, the dark coffee stain on his black slacks, and his unkempt locks resembling that of a bird’s nest, Namjoon’s become accustomed to the hectic nature of his mornings.

The kitchen table is practically buried under stacks of files, yet he brushes them aside to allow one corner of the glass surface to peek through. He plops the toddler in his arms onto a high chair before racing to the counter and sloppily pouring some honey nut cheerios into a small bowl, handing it off to his daughter.

“Daddy?” her voice squeaks, a patient smile stretching across her lips. Her brown strands are tied up into pigtails at the crown of her head with pink ribbons that flutter with the movement of her tiny head.

“Yes, angel?” He scurries around to their bedroom, peeling the stained fabric off his body and threading one leg through another pair of slacks fresh from the laundry.

With Namjoon’s focus pinned on checking off the mental to-do list in his head, he misses the gentle, reassuring smile that stretches across her rosy lips. The adoration for her father is clear in her gaze. “You forgot to pour the milk.”

At the reminder, he squawks and hops back to the kitchen on one foot as he maneuvers his other leg through the pant hole. Swinging the fridge door open, he grabs the carton and sloppily pours the milk into her bowl—white droplets leaping out with their newfound freedom and forming perfect domes on the glass tabletop.

Cleaning the mess falls to the bottom of his priorities at the moment, and so he speeds off to the bathroom to ensure that his appearance is presentable for work while Dasom reaches over to pluck a tissue from the box, swiping the milky beads away before diving into her breakfast. She shoves as many cheerios into her small mouth as she can, rushing because she refuses to finish her meal in the car with their wild driver behind the wheel.

Despite her mere four years of age, she knows from experience that a bowl of cereal and a shaky vehicle is a recipe for disaster.

Namjoon races over to his briefcase with most of his hair sleeked back, only the locks of his bangs hanging out to frame his forehead. As he slips his dark blazer on to complete his form-fitting suit, Dasom scoops the last few brown rings into her mouth and slurps the remainder of the liquid.

“Did you finish your milk?” he questions while cramming the edges of the loose leaves that peek past the seam of his briefcase, hurriedly zipping it up and turning to face her.

Dasom flips the edge of the bowl up to display its empty contents, gulping the last of her breakfast down her throat. As per routine, she scans her father for any inconsistencies in his attire, landing on his odd fitting bottoms.

“Daddy, your pants are on backwards.”

His eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets, glancing down to affirm that the pockets at his sides are no longer at the front of his hips. Hastily, he shimmies out of his slacks once more and twists the fabric around to the proper orientation.

Dasom hops off her chair, her bowl and wet kleenex in hand as she waddles over to the sink and waits for him to deposit the dirty dish into the sink and the sullied tissue into the trash. Although her short arms couldn’t reach over the countertop just yet, she’ll diligently drink every last drop of her milk in hopes of growing tall enough to take some of the load off of her father’s back.

He hoists Dasom up at the sight of the red car pulling up to the driveway, squeezing into the back seat. Namjoon doesn’t have to tell the driver to book it, as the calm man in front has learned to keep his foot pressed on the pedal. The car weaves through the morning traffic with concerning speed, snaking through the other vehicles littering the road as if they were no more than stationary pylons, simply there for practice.

Dasom remains on her father’s lap with his arms looped protectively around the seatbelt over her torso. She sinks into his embrace, fiddling around with his long, slender fingers as she watches the blurs of colour speeding past the window.

“Did you put your ballet shoes into your backpack, angel?” Namjoon loosens his grip on her, unhooking one hand to rummage through his own briefcase in order to confirm that he had indeed slid his laptop within the chaos inside. To keep her entertained, he playfully extends his digits out of her reach.

“Of course!” she chirps, a wide grin revealing the gaps between her teeth. The pads of her fingertips brush against his palm and tickle the sensitive skin there when she realizes that her arms lack the length required to latch onto his hand. “I can’t wait for class, we’ve got a new teacher coming in today!”

Humming absentmindedly, he sighs in relief at the sight of the silver device and packs the crumpled papers back in. “What happened to Ms. Kim?”

“She’s teaching the older class now.” The pout on her lips can be heard within the muffled lilt of her voice when she continues, “I asked her to stay until my birthday next week b-but she didn’t.”

Namjoon’s breath hitches at the reminder, but attempts to compose himself for his daughter’s sake. “It’s out of her control, angel, plus she’ll probably swing by anyway.”

His mind starts to fog up with the emotions he thought he buried last year–they swarm his every thought and nibble away at his sanity. He knows better than to believe that they would ever disappear. September will always be an insurmountable month for him.

“I might be a bit late to pick you up later, just sit tight and wait for Daddy, okay?”

She eagerly nods in response, noticing the dull red bricks of her school coming into view. “Okay, bye Daddy!”

Namjoon unlocks the seatbelt, wistfully watching his toddler bounce out of his arms and onto the asphalt below. No matter how many times he drops her off, it’s always difficult to be separated from her bright smile, but he reminds himself that it’s all for her; it makes things a little easier to bear.

“Have a good day at school.” He reciprocates her frantic waving through the window, craning his neck to watch her adorable form become smaller and smaller with the increased distance. Her full cheeks and crinkled eyes are engraved into the back of his mind.

Before long, Namjoon finds himself rushing into his office after an earful from his surly boss about everything from the late hour to the long list of meetings scheduled to all the work he’s got piled up. With his lips pursed and his head bowed, he somehow manages to make it past another lively morning.

Namjoon has a habit of overthinking. He figures it’s normal when you have a stressful job and a four year old full of energy to balance all by yourself. Not that overthinking about his daughter does him any good, because that is far from the reality. If anything, it just makes him, what you’d call, a bit... overprotective (over worrisome if you asked Jin). But it’s something he can’t really help. Even when she had just entered his life, so small and so blissfully unaware of the awful and evil things in the world, all he wanted to do was hold her in his arms and shield her from it all as long as he could.

Though he’s very aware of the fact that it won’t be much longer, that won’t stop him from going over every single little thing that could go wrong in the meantime.

So, of course, when Namjoon’s asshole of a boss makes him stay two hours over his shift, all Namjoon can think about is Dasom. Is she okay? Has she eaten anything? Did she drink enough water today? She’s always dehydrated after her classes too. He usually calls Ms. Kim to check up on her, but his calls went straight to voicemail, which definitely wasn’t helping his hectic mind. Perhaps something had happened to her?

Oh god, maybe someone broke in and had injured Dasom?

The doors are thrown open, the sound of the doorknob hitting the wall reverberating through the room. The receptionist wearing her usual polka-dot dress jumps in her seat, eyes lifting from the intense scene on her phone to the entrance of the building. An unsure smile stretches across her ruby red lips at the familiar figure, though a bit disheveled and breathless. But before the customary ‘hello’ can even form on her tongue, the figure is rushing past her, leaving only a gust of air in his wake. The papers on her desk fall to the ground, and she sighs.

Namjoon is prepared to fight the (fictional) person who thinks breaking into a toddler ballet class is a good idea, but the scene in front of him once he pushes past the doors of the studio is one he is wholly unprepared for.

He sees Dasom first, and the relief that fills his body is indescribable. It’s far from the usual sight he’s greeted with when he picks her up late. She’s not sitting on one of the chairs in the far corner of the room. His heart doesn’t feel heavy, which comes with seeing his daughter so glum. This time it’s her laughter that greets him, not one provoked by him but by the figure standing in the middle of the room with her.

Dasom doesn’t seem to be aware of the presence of her dad yet, but the figure twirling her around turns, and her eyes land on Namjoon.

The reaction is immediate. The carefree smile that had been on your face slips off, a look of embarrassment and surprise overcoming your features. Namjoon only catches a glimpse, and somehow finds himself wishing that won’t be the last time he sees it. You let go of Dasom’s hand, quickly making your way to the stereo on the other side of the room. And that’s when-

“Daddy!”

Dasom wastes no time running into her father’s open arms, and Namjoon suddenly can’t remember why he was so worried in the first place. “Hi, angel.” he says, just loud enough for her to hear. She pulls back. “I’m so sorry for getting here so late. I promise i won’t do it again.”

But of course, Dasom holds nothing but forgiveness in her heart for her hard-working father. She does love teasing him, though. “Don't say sorry to me, say sorry to her.” she giggles, pointing behind her and Namjoon furrows his brow until he remembers they’re not the only ones in the room.

His eyes immediately move to where you stand awkwardly near the stereo, eyes moving around the room as if you hadn’t been watching the whole exchange. Namjoon sighs, realizing he definitely can’t avoid talking to you now. He stands straight, holding onto Dasom’s hand as he makes his way over to you. You only seem to grow more nervous as he nears, and Namjoon distantly recalls Jin telling him he came off as intimidating to most people. Something about his ‘beefy’ arms, in his own words. (“And that stupid and unfairly attractive face!”) He goes for a smile because it's not like he can control his physique.

“Hi, I’m so sorry about…”

Namjoon stops.

Maybe it was the overwhelming distress before, or the really shitty lighting of the studio, but he hadn’t realized how pretty you were before. But now he’s standing right in front of you and he can’t seem to form a coherent thought. Pretty can’t be the right word. He realizes how creepy he probably looks, running in here like a madman and then downright staring at the (very beautiful) woman who looked after his daughter? Not cool, man.

You clear your throat, before extending a hand to him. “Hi, I’m ____, the new ballet instructor.”

Your voice sounds just like honey.

Namjoon stares at your hand dumbly, before the sound of Dasom snickering (very discreetly) behind him snaps him out of it. But instead of introducing himself, or apologizing, or just taking your fucking hand, he says-

“What happened to Ms. Kim?”

He mentally face-palms.

Not. Cool. Man.

Your face falls, and Namjoon has never wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole more than he does now. “Uh, she’s instructing the teen class now.” you chuckle awkwardly, dropping your hand.

“Oh-”

“Daaaad,” Dasom's voice sounds annoyed, and perhaps it’s a bit silly of Namjoon to feel like he’s being scolded, but that is exactly how he feels right now. “I told you this. In the morning. Remember?”

He doesn’t. “Ah, right of course,” Namjoon scratches the back of his neck. It wasn’t like he meant to forget, he had just been too busy thinking about the other things every September would bring. “Sorry, I’m Kim Namjoon. Dasom’s dad.”

This time he offers his hand, and he thanks the skies above that you don’t seem to hate him because you fit your hand against his. Warm, like honey. How long had it been since he last made a fool of himself in front of a pretty girl?

Too long.

“I’m terribly sorry for arriving so late it’s just that my boss, who’s a huge-” Namjoon glances at Dasom, who is now in her own world, singing some song she learned in school, “jerk, decided to assign these reports last minute and the printer would just not work and then traffic hour-”

Your hand comes up to cover your mouth, but Namjoon can see the amusement bubbling in your eyes. He flushes a deep red, eyes falling to the floor, realizing he started ranting.

“It’s okay. Really.”

When he looks back up, there’s a smile on your face. Not like the one before, this one was more reserved, but genuine, reassuring. And just like that, he’s sure you don’t hate him.

Namjoon’s not sure he likes this feeling though.

“Straighten your arms out, girls!” you belt over the classical music that floods the studio’s walls, scanning your army of toddlers in tutus whose arms immediately tense at your command. Making your way through the row, you poke and prod everywhere from their shoulders to their ankles. “Arch your back more, Somin.”

Their muscles violently tremble in response to the strenuous routine you’ve introduced, facial features scrunched in concentration and a resolute will to uphold their positions despite the hyperextension of their limbs. A mix of pity and pride swells in your chest at their effort. “Keep your chins up, the annual recital is only a couple of days away.”

Cheers erupt throughout the small room, disrupting the focus and spoiling their perfect form, yet you refuse to quiet excitement because of the renewed vigour buzzing throughout the room. The next hour depletes all of their built-up energy with demi-piles, pirouettes and sautés.

A glance at the analog clock in the corner informs you of the five minutes remaining before the end of class, so you pause the speakers and instruct the girls to stretch themselves out as they wait for their guardians to trickle in. They collectively sigh in relief before dropping to the floor like flies.

You snort at their dramatics with an amused smile playing at your lips. “I said to stretch, not to lay down and nap.”

“Can’t we nap and stretch at the same time?”

Strolling over to the source of the voice, you cluck your tongue at her limp form sprawled across the wooden floor and cross your arms, struggling to keep your giggles from breaking your angered facade. “And how do you suppose we do that, little Miss Dasom?”

She flashes her toothless grin up at you. “Like this!” With one leg bent over the other and her hands looping around to hold her twisted limbs to her torso, she shuts her eyes and exaggerates her snores.

At this point, it’s nearly impossible to withhold your snickers, and the rest of the class joins in your laughter. You pick up on Dasom’s tinkling giggles between each of her heavy breaths. The lighthearted jokes continue as kids are signed out with bright grins on each of their faces.

You wait for the rest of the toddlers to file out one by one, waving goodbye and checking them off your list until, as usual, Dasom is the only toddler left. Her tiny feet still clad in her faded ballet shoes waddle up to you, tugging on your blouse.

“Your pirouette was a bit wobbly today, do you want to go over—”

“‘M tired,” she interrupts, slouching her shoulders with an adorable frown marring her lips. Her exhaustion is justified, since the routine is rather exhausting, and with their recital right around the corner, you worked them to the bone today.

The odd timing of the switch between you and Ms. Kim left you with a little under a week to tweak and perfect their current choreography. A sloppy routine is not the way you want to present your skills to their parents for the first time, thus you were stricter with the kids than normal.

Your sympathy wins out, and so you gather Dasom’s lithe figure into your arms as you head to the closest wall. With your back supported, you spread out your legs and place her in your lap.

“My birthday is this Thursday.”

“Mhm,” you hum, bobbing your head to signal for her to continue her train of thought.

Her back faces you, but when her head tips down to stare at her hands, you know she’s contemplating her words carefully. Rather than encouraging her to speak freely, you wait for her to feel comfortable enough to reveal her thoughts; and surely enough, her shell cracks open just enough for you to peep through. “Do you wanna come?”

“I would be honoured.” A giddy smile splits across your lips. “Is Daddy picking you up again today?”

She flips around in your hold, wrapping her arms around your waist and snuggling her head to your chest. Her words are muffled into the fabric of your thin shirt, but her tone indicates her affirmation.

Suddenly self-conscious of your heartbeat—that Dasom can definitely hear with her ear pressed up against you—picking up pace at the mention of her father, you suppress your thoughts with a guilty conscience. You internally chide yourself for harbouring feelings for the charming, taken, man, defying arguably one of the most important fundamental rules of becoming an instructor.

Do not develop silly crushes on your student’s parents.

“Ms. ____?” her faint question snaps you out of your reverie, attention brought back to the present moment. While preoccupied, your hand took on a mind of its own, gingerly patting the space between the little girl’s shoulder blades at a slow rhythm.

She gazes up at you when you halt your rhythmic movements, sharp eyes boring into yours. “Are you gonna ask Daddy to come see me dance?”

The edges of your lips flip up in what you hope to be an encouraging smile as you nod your head. Subconsciously, you begin to stress over another encounter with Namjoon, formulating a script to hopefully avoid the stiff, tense atmosphere that lingered throughout all your previous interactions.

“Daddy’s always really busy,” she slurs, drowsiness coating her words and weighing down on her lids. Grumbling under her breath about her numb legs, Dasom crawls onto the floor beside you with her head resting on your thigh. “He’s always working hard for me.”

Your eyes soften at the fetal position she’s taken up on the ground; not only was Dasom lucky to have such a dedicated father, but Namjoon was also blessed with a caring daughter. “You don’t think he can make it?”

“It’s okay,” she whispers and you have to crane your ears to listen. You stroke the strands littering her forehead, gingerly caressing the crown of her head. “It’s okay if Daddy can’t come. I know him, he’s trying to do it all because Mommy’s not with us anymore, but it’s okay. I still love him even if I can’t see him lots.”

A knot forms between your eyebrows, a bittersweet ache forming within the creases of your heart. The painful constriction of your chest ebbs and flows with your shallow breaths that can’t seem to make it past your throat. You bite your lip to subdue the plentiful liquid gathering at your waterline.

No more than a croak escapes your lips before the door to the studio flies open, meeting the adjacent wall with a bang!

“I’m so sorry, my meeting ran late and I couldn’t—” the rest of his speech gets stuck in his windpipe at the sight of you, eyes rimmed red and sniffling, with Dasom, ostensibly dead asleep, on your thigh. “Did she…?”

You blink away your incoming tears, although your dignity has been completely thrown out the window, seeing as he believes that his four-year-old kid made a grown woman, who just so happens to be her ballet teacher, bawl her eyes out.

As you go to gently shake Dasom awake, she sluggishly lifts her head off of your lap and starts to scale your torso like a koala on a tree. Your confusion is vocalized through the high-pitched hum in your throat, but your efforts to pry off her limbs, tightly wound around the small of your waist, are futile.

“Uh, Dasom? It’s time to go home now, angel.” Despite his firm words, Namjoon’s tone is unsure and shaky; he can feel cold sweat build up in the lines of his palms. He knows his daughter, and she can be periodically stubborn and insistent the way children are at her age, thus even as you come to stand, she’s stuck to you like glue. “Would you, uh, did you need a ride?”

You mimic the sheepish smile on his face, hoping the flaming blush you feel on your cheeks isn’t as visible as it seems. “Sure.”

With Dasom latched onto you, both of you make your way to the red car outside after you lock up the studio. Namjoon courteously opens the car door for you, what with your arms supporting his clingy toddler; although, with the brute force he uses, you worry for the state of the hinges. Thankfully, they stay intact and he’s able to slip into the backseat after you.

Before an awkward silence can settle, you clear your throat and prepare to ask him about his day, but you’re interjected by Namjoon’s sudden stammering, “D-driving’s such a hassle for me so Jin drives us everywhere. Jin knows how to drive though, so, don’t worry.” He finishes with a deep chuckle that dies off nearly as quickly as it began. Oh, that’s unexpected.

“You don’t to drive yourself?” Rather than being processed in your brain and logically thought through, the question immediately enters your mouth without any prior scanning for dumbass-content. You instantly regret it, feeling as though it’s much too invasive. “You don’t have to answer that, I—”

The hearty laughter that meets your ears is “No, I do. Sometimes. But its easier raising this one like this.” His tone turns sweet at the mention of Dasom as he reaches over to pat her head, and you’re overcome with an intense desire to prod more into his personal life. Why does he have to work so much? Which shirt in his closet is his favourite? How does he like his eggs in the morning?

“I’m not sure if you already knew about the annual recital on Saturday, but Dasom’s been practicing really hard for weeks and the kids are all really talented, so it would definitely be worth your time...”

As he’s gazing at his daughter, galaxies of devotion and longing swirl within his cocoa irises. The cool light of the moon shines through the windows of the car, illuminating his sharp jawline and strong brows. You’re absolutely mesmerized by the sight in front of you. “You must be really busy, huh?”

“More than I’d like to be.”

You rip your entranced gaze away from Namjoon, willing yourself to steady your frantic breaths.

The remainder of the ride still drips with awkward tension, although with a definite lighter tone than before. Jin pulls up to your apartment with your direction and you dislodge a sleepy Dasom from your torso, which is much easier now that her limbs have gone slack with sleep. Handing her off to Namjoon, who practically engulfs her tiny form with his broad chest, you rush out of the vehicle with a quick, “See you!”

You slam the door closed before he can say anything, racing into the comfort of your home with your heart in your throat.

The last thing you had expected to do on a Thursday evening was to go to a birthday dinner. Thursdays are your days off, your in-days. The ones you spend lounging on your couch with a face mask and some wine. And yet, here you are.

When you received a text this morning, the last person you had expected it to be was Namjoon. Much less Namjoon asking you to come over for Dasom’s birthday. You weren’t going to say yes, hell, you had thought of downright ignoring it. It was weird, wasn’t it? But Dasom had quickly carved a toddler-shaped hole into your heart. Truly, you had said yes before the message was even typed out.

And so now you stare at the tall apartment building in front of you, definitely feeling more nervous than before. You knew that Namjoon had to be well-off to afford a weekday chauffeur, but damn did you not expect him to be this well-off.

It seemed today was the day to expect absolutely anything.

You enter the opulent building, signing in at the front desk before entering the large, mirrored elevator. The beating of your heart picks up the more floors you pass, and you can’t help but fidget with your appearance. Namjoon had said it would only be you three, which you guessed was supposed to calm your nerves but really, it did anything but that. The mere thought of eating dinner with Namjoon was nerve-wracking. But now you were about to eat dinner and enter his home; you had no fucking clue what you were getting yourself into.

The doors slide open, and you step into the hallway. A single door could be seen at the end of the hallway, so you quickly make your way over. You stop right in front, taking a deep breath in before pushing the doorbell. A beat, a crash, another beat, then-

The door swings open, and your breath catches in your throat.

Namjoon looks heavenly as always, but seeing him in clothes other than his usual black slacks makes your heart do a cartwheel. God, this is dangerous.

“Ms. ____!”

Before Namjoon can form a hello, Dasom is running past him and wrapping her small arms around your legs. “You came! See daddy! I told you she’d come.” her tongue pokes out of her mouth, aimed straight at her father and you stifle a laugh.

“Did he think I wouldn’t?” you ask, eyebrow arched as you glance at Namjoon, who seems to have a permanent pink hue on his face.

“He said you wouldn’t!”

“Oh, really? What else did he say?”

“He said I had to help him clean either way!”

“Alright, Dasom. That’s enough.” He says firmly, clearing his throat and trying to act as unaffected as possible. His eyes shift to meet yours. “Why don’t you come inside?”

As much as this day really sucked for Namjoon, today had been… different. Not all too much. Of course, getting up was the hardest part, but he had decided to make Dasom her favourite breakfast meal instead of her usual cereal. He had also made sure to get her all the toys she had been wanting, and planned their day out to do Dasom’s favourite things. Namjoon just wanted this day to be special for her. That was all he cared about.

But when Dasom had asked him to invite you, he had hesitated.

Dasom had never spent her birthdays with anyone else but Namjoon. Not that it was intentional, but Namjoon liked to have this day just for the both of them. Because that’s how it’s always been. He didn’t know what it was about you that made his daughter talk about you all the time. Or why she wanted to spend a birthday with you. But how could he deny her? And so, the text was sent.

And now, as Namjoon puts away the dishes while you sit on his couch, he realizes he hadn’t thought of her today. Not as much as the years before. Dinner had been so... nice. It felt nice to have someone else around. Namjoon loves Dasom, but he hadn’t realized how distant he had gotten from everything that had once seemed to be the centre of his life.

Namjoon closes the dishwasher, exiting the kitchen and making his way to the living room. He places the two glasses on the table before pouring the dark red liquid.

“I hope you like Merlot.”

“Oh, please. Anything’s fine.”

You take the wine glass, sending him a thank you before taking a drink. “So,” you lean back, “remind me how to play this again.”

“Ms.____ I told you. You have to take a block without knocking the tower over,” Dasom shows you by pushing a middle wooden block out, “then you have to place it on top, like this.'' She places the same block on top of the tower.

“Ah, right! I just need to make sure if I want to win.”

“You can’t! I’m the best!”

“Oh really? And what about you?” you turn, brow raised and eyes playful.

“Pshh,” he scoffs, leaning forward. “Who do you think she takes after?”

He doesn’t think he’s ever lost a game so quickly.

Namjoon watches as you close Dasom’s door quietly from the hallway before you make your way back to the family room. “She’s out like a light. I guess all that tower building got to her.”

Namjoon snorts. He feels oddly disappointed as he watches you gather your things to go. Was it weird that he wanted you to stay? “Do you need me to get you a ride? I can call Jin to drive you home.”

“No, it’s fine! Really! I already ordered an Uber anyway.” You grab your coat near the door. Before Namjoon can unlock the door, you touch his shoulder. “Listen, thank you for inviting me today. I know you probably wanted to spend this day together instead, but I... “ you inhale, because you aren’t sure of what you want to actually say “thank you.”

Would it be weird to say how much better you made today? Probably. “You don’t… have to thank me. I think I should be the one doing the thanking. I really wanted this day to be special for Dasom and you… you definitely helped. So, thank you.”

The door opens, and the light of the hallway fills his dim flat. “Guess we’re even then.” you smile before turning, making your way to the elevator. Namjoon shuts the door once the sight of you is gone, but the smile on his face remains

“Guess we are.” he whispers wistfully

Perhaps stopping at a flower vendor when you’re already running late was a bad idea, but Namjoon wasn’t thinking about time. He had seen the bouquet of flowers and imagined the huge smile that would stretch across Dasom’s face, and that was all he needed to swerve into the left lane.

Now, though, as he anxiously watches the cars in front of him move a foot forward after thirty minutes, he’s sure he should have just left the fucking flowers alone.

Namjoon doesn’t know how long he’s been shifting his eyes from the traffic to the watch ticking around his wrist, but by a miracle, the cars start moving. Slowly, then he’s speeding down the highway, praying to the skies above he’ll make it in time. Even if he arrives in the midst of the dance, he can’t miss this recital. He won’t.

He sighs in relief when he sees the familiar glass building, though it’s cut short when he sees the parking lot. No available place in sight. Fuck. Namjoon is sure he looks insane right now, swerving around the parking lot in search for an empty spot, or really just any fucking spot that looks like it could fit his monster of a car.

Then the clouds seem to open up, and right near the entrance is a vacant spot. Namjoon swears his mouth almost waters at the sight. Quickly speeding around the lot, he parks, but not before flipping off the angry parent who tries to beat him to it. Namjoon exits his car, quickly grabbing his coat and the large bouquets of flowers from the backseat. He runs to the entrance, practically throwing the shriveled paper at the ticket clerk.

Namjoon slows as he nears the theatre doors, taking a deep breath before calmly opening it. He had completely forgotten to book seats in advance, so he’s not surprised to see the velvet seats filled to the brim. When he looks to the stage, he’s relieved to see that there’s still time until Dasom comes on.

Now, Namjoon knows he’s not the most… balanced person. It’s common knowledge that he trips over his feet and knocks things over sometimes. (Oh, but definitely more than the average person.) Now, if you were to ask Namjoon if he pays attention to his surroundings, he'd say yes.

But if you were to ask Namjoon what he tripped over, he wouldn’t know. It doesn’t matter, because now there’s a furious mother with a horrendous bob cut glaring at him, and what he thinks to be a broken camcorder on the floor. The only thing he can manage is an awkward smile and an even more awkward apology. Namjoon offers to give her the cost for repairs, hell, even offers to buy her a new one. The woman snatches the bills from his hands but she doesn’t go back to minding her business like he thought she would. No, instead she starts to argue with him, in the middle of her child’s recital, no less!

Namjoon can’t do anything but stare at her as she blabbers on about how horrible he is for throwing her camcorder on the floor. (Not like it had much life left, that thing looked like it was from 2007.) She’s damn near spitting on his face, and causing other parents to turn around and glare at them. As if it was his fault. Who knew she had such an attachment to the damn thing!

A hand lands on his shoulder, and for a second he’s sure it’s security ready to escort him out of the building. But when he turns, he’s surprised to see it’s you. Like an angel had ascended from the clouds to save Namjoon from the wrath of a ballet mom. And just like that, you’re leading him away, taking a seat two rows before the stage. Namjoon’s eyes widen at the sight of the empty seat beside you.

It’s that feeling again, and Namjoon’s palms start to get sweaty as he takes a seat. “Jesus, thank you for that,” he whispers, relishing your quiet laughter that follows.

“Of course. She was probably a blink away from going full-blown Karen on you.” you tease.

“Oh, and that wasn’t?”

“Oh, Joon, you haven’t seen how angry ballet moms can get.” you both laugh, huddled together as if you’re sharing a special secret. It seems so natural. As if this is where he’s supposed to be. So much that Namjoon almost doesn’t catch the nickname, but how could he miss it when you say it just like she used to?

The stage lights darken, and Namjoon is grateful for the excuse to look elsewhere. He’s sure if he would have stared at you for just a bit longer, he would have done something completely and utterly stupid. “This is her.” you whisper, and Namjoon buries the thought away.

A blue hue shines across the stage before the soft melody begins to play, filling the room with the sounds of strings and keys. One by one, tiny swans begin to come into view, prancing around the stage. Namjoon catches sight of Dasom, looking adorable in her white tutu and he can’t help the proud smile that makes its way onto his face. He watches with adoration as she does her pirouettes, and maybe there’s some water overflowing in his eyes as they finish their dance, bowing towards the audience.

You both stand, clapping and cheering the loudest, uncaring of the stares from the snobby rich parents because you’re both too damn proud of Dasom to care. For a moment, Namjoon pretends that it’s different, simpler. That it’s not only his child on stage but yours. Ours. He thinks he likes the sound of that too much.

Once the show ends, you lead Namjoon backstage where the buzz of dozens of girls talking fills the air. You tell him that you need to check in on the other kids and disappear through a hallway. He spots Dasom quickly, or rather, she spots him.

“Daddy! You came!”

Namjoon lifts Dasom with his free arm, twirling her around before placing a big kiss on her forehead. Her giggles fill him with delight, and he doesn’t care that his cheeks hurt from how hard he’s been smiling. “Of course I came, angel. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He places her on the ground before he grabs the bouquet of sunflowers from his other arm. The sight of her favourite flower makes Dasom jump with joy. She takes the flowers, and Namjoon silently coos at how much smaller they make her look. Then she spots the other bouquet of flowers in his arm. She scrunches her brows together, about to ask who those are for before her eyes catch something behind Namjoon.

“Ms. ____!”

“Dasom!”

Dasom jumps into your arms, and you laugh at her enthusiasm. “You did so well! I’m so proud of that pirouette!” You twirl her around once her feet hit the ground, smiling as you watch her stumble slightly. Namjoon can’t help but smile too.

“Look what daddy got me, Ms. ____! Look!” Dasom lifts the flowers up, almost shoving them into your face.

“Wow, these are very beautiful, Dasom!”

“Look! He got you some too!” she giggles, and you look at her confusedly then at Namjoon. He sighs, looking pointedly at Dasom despite the cherry hue making its way across his cheeks. She giggles once again before running to her friends. “Dasom!” but it's futile.

If it weren’t for the consistent chatter, Namjoon’s sure there would be an agonizing silence to fill the space between you. You walk closer to him, looking down at your shoes bashfully. “Ah, these-” he takes the bouquet from his arm, “these are for you.”

You looked surprised to say the least. Eyes wide and glassy, your mouth falling ajar. “Wow, uh, really?” you ask, glancing up from the bouquet. He nods shyly.

Listen, he had only planned to buy Dasom her favourite flowers. But then he caught sight of these beautiful yellow roses, tips painted a light amber orange. Somehow they reminded him of you. And the way you had left him with his heart feeling lighter for the first time in years the other night. Maybe it was a way of saying thank you. He’ll admit, he didn’t think it all the way through, but the way you’re smiling at him right now makes him think it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

There’s a moment where it seems to just be you and him, despite the tons of parents and children running around. He’s only focused on you, and the way your eyes drop to his lips, if only for a millisecond. Namjoon wants to say it. God, he wants to say it so badly. “Listen I… I’ve been meaning to ask you,” his voice fades away as his eyes catch yours. Hopeful. Beautiful. Glimmering.

Just like hers.

“Do you, uh, need a ride home?”

And the bubble bursts.

You step away, looking at anything but him and he hates it. He despises it. He wants you to look at him like that again. He wants nothing more than to pull you back and kiss you senselessly, like his mind is screaming for him to do. But he can’t. He can’t do it for some fucking reason and he almost wants to cry in frustration because why can’t this just be easier? Why is it so hard to move on? You don’t deserve this. You deserve so much better than what he can offer you. And that thought keeps him still.

“Uh, sure.”

Quiet.

Say something, idiot! Tell her what you’ve been dying to say! Just fucking say it!

Namjoon hates himself for the next words that tumble out of his mouth.

“Let’s find Dasom.”

The drive to your house is just like it was before, except this time there’s no chatter to fill the emptiness. Dasom is sound asleep in the backseat. You've never seemed more distant than now, facing the window, body pressed against the door. You had almost begged to go in the back with Dasom, and Namjoon doesn’t know why he didn’t just let you.

How did it come to this? This wasn’t what he wanted. This night wasn’t supposed to go like this. Everything should have gone differently.

He doesn’t know how he’ll ever fix this. If things will go back to normal. If he completely ruined it. But he’s too afraid to ask. Too afraid to know.

Namjoon has never hated the quiet more.

The sight of your apartment complex fills him with dread. All he can think about is all he wants to say, all he should have said, all he wants to take back. God, Namjoon wishes he could take it back. If only there was a way to turn back the time. Why had he been so afraid to make a move? Why did it hurt so much? But he knows going back wouldn’t help. Not when he doesn’t know if he would have done it differently.

His car comes to a stop, and the doors unlock. He faintly catches the small thank you before the passenger door slams shut. Namjoon watches as you make your way up the pathway, feet moving briskly and it feels like he’s watching you walk away from him.

You’re shuffling through your bag, looking for your key. And fuck, is he really just going to this go? Is he that stubborn that he can’t see past himself? He can’t. He can’t let you go. Not like this.

Well do something, dumbass!

The door of his car is thrown open, and before he can overthink it-

“____!”

You still. You turn.

Namjoon shuts the door. He walks up the steps and stops a few feet away from you, but he feels like he’s miles away. You look up at him, questioning. Your eyes aren’t the same ones. Not like you looked at him before. Yet they’re still warm. Inviting. Namjoon is tongue-tied, and all those words he wanted to say are gone now.

“Are we… good?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

“I just…” he scratches the back of his neck. “That moment back at the recital. I… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” you say, simply. When he looks at you, he can’t tell what you’re feeling. You’ve blocked him off. “Namjoon, really. It’s fine.”

But is it really? He wants to ask. But he doesn’t. It’s quiet again, this time the sound of the wind rustling the browning leaves above filling the space. Still.

“I… god, I don’t know why this is so hard. Ever since, you know,” you don’t. “I… I didn’t think I'd ever get an opportunity to…” he inhales, unsure of what he wants to say first.

“I just feel like I ruined it so carelessly.”

You don’t say anything for a few moments. You only stare at him, really stare at him. Like you can see through his mirage, through the walls he’s spent so long building up. You’re taking it all, but there’s nothing he can take back from you.

“You didn’t.” you whisper it so quietly, Namjoon would have thought his mind had taken pity on him. But a smile slips onto your face. Unlike the other ones. It doesn’t fill him with joy. It doesn’t give him butterflies. This one hurts.

And he knows you’re telling the truth.

“This… It might take a while.”

The wind picks up. The leaves rustle. The cold, biting.

“That’s ok. I’ll wait as long as you need me to.”

Your lips are bittersweet on his tongue.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY AGAIN TO KARLA !! ILYYYY <3

#bangtanhq #btsbookclub #ficswithluv #btsguild #btsgoldnet #cypherwritersnet #namjoon x reader #namjoon angst #kim namjoon x reader #kim namjoon x you #bts x reader #namjoon fanfic

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dirtyoatmeall · 4 years ago

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Burnout (Pro!Bakugo x Vet!Reader)

A/N: another sefl indulgent fic, I;ve been having a hard time at work and felt really burnt out today so I wrote this to mke me feel better, not sure how it turned out. I hope you like this.

Pairing: Bakugo x reader- married, female pronouns used for reader I believe.

Word count:~1.5k

Warnings: Cursing

You sigh as you glance at the clock, it was close to 8pm, almost 2 hours since the clinic closed. You reviewed your chart again, trying to remember if there was anything else you noted during the exam. You released the chart and moved the follow up task to the assistants. You took note of how many charts you had left, and switched to look at your tasks. You had been trying to keep up with them, but an emergency had come in and you ended up working through your lunch, a time you usually used to call owners back between bites of your food. You turned to look at your coworker, the closing assistant who instead of leaving when they finished closing, had instead elected to sit in the other office chair, scrolling through her phone.

“Y’know you don’t have to stay, I’m probably gonna be here awhile.” You tried not to sound so exhausted when you spoke, but it was obvious from the look on your face. She just smiled and shook her head, “You know I don’t have anything to do, and this isn’t the best area, I don’t like leaving you by yourself here.” You smiled and nodded once, turning back to your charts, occasionally making small talk about the appointments through-out the day.

It was a tough day. You were the only doctor working, you knew you were going to be short-staffed looking at the schedule but someone ended up calling out, so everyone was always running around, not having a moment of rest. It seemed like the phones were always ringing and every owner had about 50 million questions. Your spay ran long, and you just couldn’t seem to catch your breath. You preformed 3 euthanasia as well. You had cried in the bathroom after each one, as well as after a client yelled at you for 10 minutes on the phone, over prices you didn’t set and circumstances you didn’t have control over. You still tried to maintain the fun atmosphere in the back, trying to keep morale up, you couldn’t tell if it worked.

After another 45 minutes, you closed out your desktop, packing up your bag as your coworker does the same. The two of you leave together and you exchange farewells as you get in your car. You gripped the steering wheel, as you sat in the dark and leaned forward so your forehead rested against the top of the steering wheel. You cried for another 15 minutes before sitting up and taking a deep breath, wiping the tears from your cheeks. You turn on your car and put on some music before pulling out of the clinic parking lot.

It took you only about 20 minutes to get home, checking yourself in the mirror before getting out of the car, making sure you didn’t look like an absolute mess. You had completely forgotten to text your husband you would be late, it wasn’t the first time you had, and most likely wouldn’t be the last. Your shoulders sag as you approach the door, all you wanted was to curl up with your husband and sleep for the next 50 years. You open the door quietly, incase Katsuki was already asleep, and toed off your shoes, dropping your bag unceremoniously on the couch on the way to the kitchen.

You had thought Katuski had just left the light on for you, but you were surprised to find your husband sitting at the dining table, scrolling through his phone, looking up when you enter. “Oh,” you say, pausing in the doorway before walking up to him, “I thought you’d be asleep by now.” He simply stood up to meet you, wrapping his arms your waist and leaning down to place a quick kiss on your lips. You wrap your arms around his neck and pretty much collapse against him, resting your face in the crook of his neck, enjoying the warmth your husband provides. “What kind of asshole doesn’t wait up for his wife?” He says gruffly, actions betraying his tone as he softly rubs your back. “Hard day?” He asks quietly, like he already knows the answer. You nod against his neck and softly curse as you feel hot tears well up. You had thought you had cried everything out earlier, but apparently not.

Katsuki stiffens for half a second, not expecting waterworks as he gently cups the side of your face, bringing you to look at him. You take in his features, the hard lines of his nose, the various scars and freckles that adorn his face, and his crimson eyes, that soften whenever they meet yours, which now held worry in them. This wasn’t the first time you had cried after work, but it usually was out of frustration after going over complicated cases, nothing this bad this unprompted had happened before. You hiccup through the sobs, closing your eyes briefly as he wipes at your tears. His other hand came to cup your other cheek, and your hands grip his wrists loosely. “What happened?” He says gently, before kissing your forehead and leading you toward the bedroom.

You mull over the day, sniffling as you changed from your scrubs into a pair of sleep shorts and one of Katsuki’s shirts. While you changed and began recounting the day, your husband was getting the bed ready, climbing in and opening his arms to you as you clambered after him, curling into his side, sobs growing heavier as you went over the argument you had. “I-I can’t even count how many times I was told I don’t know what I’m doing, that I’m bad at my job, and-“ You grip his shirt tightly in your fist as you take a deep breath. Katsuki didn’t say a word, and you looked up to meet his eyes through your tears. “And what if- what if they’re right?” You lip wobbles as you look away from him for a second before meeting is eyes again, slightly worried at his response. His forehead furrows for a moment as he thinks of what to say.

“Fuck them.” He says simply, and you blink once before snorting and resting your head on his chest. “I’m serious, you went to school for 8 fucking years, working your ass off for this degree just for some extra to tell you that you don’t know what you’re talking about because he didn’t want to fucking pay for it? Nah, that’s not gonna fly. Did you tell your hospital manager?” He questioned and you nodded. “Yeah, one of the girls told her about it while I was crying in the bathroom.” He sighs at your admission, “You cried at work?” You laughed bitterly as you thought of just how much you’ve cried today. “Yeah this is like the 5th time today.” He held you a bit tighter, kissing the crown of your head. “ You need to take a break. You’ve been working non-stop while what’s-her-face is on maternity leave. You’re getting burnt out. I hate watching you destroy yourself like this. You keep giving and giving, soon enough there’s not going to be anymore of you to give.”

You nod at his words, you know they’re true, you’ve been working 10 hour shifts, many of them without a lunch break, way too often lately. You know the statistics, you had mandatory mental health classes in grad school to help you develop coping mechanism and ways to prevent burnout, but it never quite translated properly into the workforce. They always stressed time off, but doctor schedules were made months in advance, and it’s hard to know exactly when you’re going to be feeling this way. “I’ve got a week off coming up soon, if you can get it off too maybe we can go somewhere.” You husband smiles into your hair, squeezing your hip. “I’m one of the top heroes, of course I can get it off. We can go to that seaside town you love so fucking much, maybe we can finally fuck on the beach this time.” You snort, rolling your eyes at his words.

You shift, sitting up slightly, face to face with Katsuki, who had one of his signature smirks on his face. You smile and kiss him gently, cupping his cheek before pulling away. “ I am so lucky to have you Katsuki. I love you so much.” He pulls you back for another kiss before tugging you back down to his side, getting ready to finally commit to sleep. “Of course you are, I’m a fucking catch.” You laugh again and pinch his hip and you settle into him. He retaliates by pinching your ass, kissing your hair as he exhales, listening to you soft breaths. “I love you too, brat.”

#My writing #my hero academia #my hero academy #my hero academia x reader #my hero academia imagine #bakugo #bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugo kastuki x reader #mha #boku no hero #boku no hero academia #bakugou katuski x reader

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littlemissinvisible101 · 4 years ago

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From Replacement to the Original pt.1

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Gen

Fandom: Batman - All Media Types

Relationships: Tim Drake & Selina Kyle, Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne

Characters: Tim Drake, Janet Drake, Selina Kyle, Original Male Character(s)

Additional Tags: Tim Drake-centric, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake Gets a Hug, Good Parent Selina Kyle, Somewhat good parent Janet Drake, Bruce Wayne is Tim Drake's Biological Parent, Selina Kyle is Tim Drake's Biological Parent, Selina Kyle is Catwoman, Past Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne, Child Neglect, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Tim Drake Has Issues, Tim Drake Was Robin, Protective Selina Kyle, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe

Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne had just woken up on his once-a-month mandatory rest day when he saw that the Drake Family Lawyer contacted him about a contingency letter left by his mother. Apparently, word of mouth travelled fast that he had come back from his supposed soul-searching trip around his parent’s favorite dig sites.

Mr. Fletcher had asked him when he was free to come get the letter his mother had left for him. Tim had wanted to get out of Gotham as soon as he could so he set up an appointment for that afternoon.

Tim had whipped together a quick breakfast and taken his antibiotics before he spent the rest of the morning finalizing his 2 weeks’ notice since Bruce had been able get back into Wayne Enterprises for the week. It had just been a little over a month since Tim had brought Bruce home from the Time Stream and while Tim had expected things to change, he had hoped it would be for the better.

Bruce hadn’t even blinked at the sight of Damian wearing the Robin suit. Hell, he had congratulated Dick for the way he had managed to keep Gotham and everything in line. Bruce had even found the time to fix up his relationship with Jason before he talked to Tim.

He didn’t even bother to thank Tim for saving his life and for taking over his family business. Instead, they talked business and acted as if nothing was wrong in front of the WE employees. If it wasn’t in business suits, then it was in the other suits when he called in Red Robin to help with a case. Tim hasn’t stepped foot inside the Manor in months.

If this was Bruce’s way of saying he didn’t need Tim anymore, he got the message loud and clear. After all, he was just the replacement, right? The pretender who forced his way into their lives and refused to go peacefully so he had to be kicked out. Well, here he was, bowing out silently out of their lives.

Tim had planned meticulously for how he would be able to leave without them noticing. In a week, he would submit his 2 weeks’ notice to Lucius Fox before heading on business trip to Japan to finalize a deal. He would be spending the next week there before heading to Austria for another week for another business deal. After, he would simply go wherever he wanted to go.

He preprogrammed a message to be sent to each of the Bats, as a farewell of sorts because even if they didn’t think of him as family, he still loved them as if they were his family. He had even prepared a message for the Titans in case they would ever need him again. They were the only ones Tim trusted enough to keep in contact with. Everyone else, even Alfred would have to be left behind.

Tim viciously pushed these thoughts to the side as he decided to enjoy a quick lunch before he made his way to talk to Mr. Fletcher. As he mindlessly prepped ingredients for a simple salad (because his immunity was shot so he needed all the help he could get), he wondered what would be in the letter.

His mother was not the touchy-feely type. She wouldn’t put something about them loving him. Most likely, it would be business instructions to ensure that Drake Industries would still be the empire that it had been under his mom’s command. Unfortunately for his mom, his dad had been the one to wreck the empire.

Tim had thought about reviving Drake Industries but had ultimately decided it wasn’t worth it. The amount of time that went into running a business wasn’t conducive to being a teenage vigilante and Tim wanted to be free to pursue the things he wanted in life. He had more than enough money to live off on and he had invested his money wisely so it had been turning a profit since he had left Gotham the first time.

Even if he continued his vigilantism, he had more than enough money to support himself. He didn’t need their help anymore, just like they don’t need him anymore. As he started cooking his breakfast, he marveled at how he had gotten to this point of independence from the Bats.

Ever since he came back with Bruce in tow, the rest of the Bats didn’t even bother to contact him unless it was for patrol or for a case. Oracle only kept in contact for business. Dick basically ignored their issues and tried to pretend they didn’t exist. Damian liked to act as if he didn’t exist. Jason was, oddly enough, the only one he could stand even if they did only work together for cases. Cass was still in Hong Kong.

If he was being honest with himself, Tim desperately missed being home at the Manor but after everything happened, it was clear that the Manor was no longer his home. Home used to be with the Bats and occasionally, with the Titans. Now, Tim would have to find a new home for himself, hopefully away from Gotham and the Bats.

Tim ate his salad mindlessly while he let his mind wander on his active cases. He would need to tie up his loose ends before he left without the bats taking notice. He popped his next dose of antibiotics into his mouth after and finally decided that he’s wasted enough time to start getting ready for the appointment.

After a quick shower and change of clothes, Timothy Drake-Wayne was ready and presentable to the public again. Tim debated bringing his motorcycle but the address of the office was only a couple of blocks from his apartment and he could use the walk to clear his head and get some fresh air.

As he left his penthouse, Tim’s mind debated again about what his mother could have possibly written about. His inheritance had already been secured since he was born so it couldn’t be that. The business had already sunken and drowned under the guidance of his father. It didn’t make any sense for Janet Drake to write a contingency letter and yet, here it was.

Tim didn’t know why but every step felt like it was weighed down with lead and his stomach dropped as he got closer and closer. By the time he was at the office, Tim’s mind was buzzing about theories as to what could have been so important for him to know that his mother, famed Iron Dragon of Gotham wrote a letter just in case she died.

Mr. Fletcher must have been eagerly awaiting him by the looks of it since Tim had scarcely knocked on the office doors before it was opened. It’s been a while since Tim had seen Mr. Fletcher given that he had retired before the Drakes passed.

“Timothy, you’re early!”

“Mother taught me that it was better to be early than to waste other’s time. It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Fletcher.”

“That does sound like something Janet would preach. I wished we’d met again under more ideal circumstances but you’ve grown into a fine young man. Your parents would be proud.”

“Thank you. Your email mentioned a letter from Mother?”

“Ah yes! As you know, ever since my son took over my position at the firm, I had relinquished all of my active duties to him but this was more of a request made by your mother to me as a confidant and friend. Jacob, my son had been cleaning out my office a few days ago when he found the envelope. He contacted me immediately about it and I remembered what it was about. I made the trip out here because I had to give it to you before I forgot again. I owe your mother that much.”

“What do you mean, Mr. Fletcher?”

“I think it’s best for you to read it, Timothy. I already know what it contains but I’m here to answer any of your additional questions.”

This suddenly seemed like a much bigger deal than Tim originally thought it would be, especially since Mr. Fletcher had left his retirement in Metropolis to give this to him in person. With bated breath, Tim opened the sealed envelope and began to read.

~~~

Dearest Timothy,

If you are reading this, then there are two possible options. Either I have passed on before your 18th birthday or I was too much of a coward to talk to you about this in person and I gave you this letter instead. As I write this, your father is asleep, holding you after a nightmare from today’s ordeal at the circus. I have tried to sleep but my mind will not be quieted about the possibility of that happening to us before I could tell you the truth so I decided to make this contingency letter just in case. By the time

you’re reading this, you will have grown into an intelligent young man who I know is capable of so much more than Jack and I could have ever dreamed of, partially because you are more than Jack and I could ever produce.

Timothy, you are not our biological son. I had gotten pregnant but the child I had borne was stillborn. Jackson Timothy Drake hadn’t been able to take his first breath before it was taken away. Luckily for me, your father was out of town on business and I rushed to Gotham General against my earlier wishes and they had stuck me in a room with another woman who had given birth to a beautiful and healthy baby boy, you.

You were both born on the same day, in the same room, with different fates. Your mother was a young woman from the seedier side of Gotham and your father was out of the picture, or so she said. She was planning to give you up for adoption anyway and so I made the only impulsive decision I have ever made since marrying Jack and I told her to give you to me. I told her I would give you the life of luxury you deserved and that you would never want for anything if she gave you to me. She agreed on one condition: I tell you the truth about your parentage on your 18th birthday so that she could have the opportunity to get to know you too.

She didn’t even let me pay for her hospital bills because she didn’t want to be indebt to me even though I was forever indebted to her for giving me you. I had John rush over to Gotham General and make a contract for both of us because I could not allow Jack and the rest of Gotham High Society to find out about this. The only ones who knew about you being adopted were me, John, your mother and the medical staff who helped us. Since Gotham General was severely underfunded prior to my intervention, it was easy to get them to change the records to make Timothy Jackson Drake be born and for Jackson Timothy Drake to disappear. I had gotten the staff involved to sign NDAs and to make sure that none of this got out.

As I write this, I have seen you grow into this absolutely marvelous and intelligent child, talented in ways I could have never expected. It is bittersweet for me because as I see you grow, I cannot help but think of what my biological son could have been had he survived. Would he be as smart and as capable as you? Would he be different compared to you? Would I have taken you in had he survived? I have never regretted my decision to adopt you but I could not stand to watch you grow when I know my biological son never will. I know I will most likely grow to be distant from you and I already regret it but I cannot stop myself from seeing my dead son in you.

However, I can already tell you will be stronger than I ever could be. You take to your lessons like a duck to water and you see a magic in the world that I could never see. I want you to know that even if you are not mine biologically, I still love you even if I cannot show it. I love you even if you cannot feel it. I love you but I also love the son that I lost and I cannot help but mourn for him while I watch you grow. Your father does not know so his love is genuine and pure for you.

I want you to know this, Timothy. I took you in on an impulsive decision but I have never regretted it. Sure, I wish with all of my heart and mind that my son had survived but I was able to have you and you more than made up for it. I know that this does not excuse my future actions, my possible neglect of you but I hope you understand why I cannot bear to be close to you. I love you even if I do not show it. I love you even if you cannot see it. I love you and I hope you can forgive me for not telling you sooner.

Love,

Mother

~~~

Of all of the possibilities Tim had considered, this was not one of them. This explained so much but also left so many questions but the only thought passing through his head was the fact that, even at birth, he was a replacement.

“I assume you have questions?”

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around it, to be honest. You’ve known the entire time?”

“Yes. I was the one who made the contract for your mother and she swore me to secrecy.”

“So, let me get this straight. I was just a replacement for her son who died?”

“No! Of course not. Timothy, I know it must not have seemed like it but your mother and father truly did love you as if you were their own. Your mother has some leftover problems from her childhood that negatively impacted her ability to show her love even if she does. She would have never bothered to put in the effort otherwise.”

“I’m trying to believe that but my recollection of Mother is not that different from the Iron Dragon of Gotham.”

“That’s because she fought to give you the best education and care possible which she knew was not her own. That’s why she constantly changed your nannies and tutors because as soon as she felt they inadequate for you, she was searching for the next best thing for you. Janet didn’t really care in the normal ways, Timothy. I know it’s hard to see but she really did love you and take care of you in her own way.”

“I just. I never expected this.”

“I knew this day would come but I was honestly hoping your mother would be here to explain her side of the story before she told you who your birth mother was.”

“Do-do you know who my birth mother is?”

“It’s not written in the letter?” Mr. Fletcher seemed genuinely surprised at this.

“No. Mother didn’t include her name, just a vague description of her. Can you tell me who my mother is?”

“I guess by the time Janet wrote it, she had forgotten the name. I think I have the contract hidden here. Let me look for it.”

What followed was the tensest five minutes of Tim’s life. He didn’t even know if his biological mother was still alive but he wanted to find out. After all, his birth mother had wanted to reconnect when he was older. Maybe, she wanted to have him in her life, just like Mo-Janet had apparently wanted him in her life.

Maybe, she would be there with welcoming arms. Maybe, she was one of the many civilian casualties of their nighttime escapades. Maybe, she had gotten lost in the seedier side of Gotham and she had never been able to make it out. There were so many maybes that Tim wanted to figure out what was true and what wasn’t.

“Aha! Here it is. According to this, your birth mother is Selina Kyle.”

Holy shit. His mother was fucking Catwoman.

#tim drake #bruce wayne #selina kyle #tim drake angst #ao3 fanfic

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mrs-hatake · 5 years ago

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train station shenanigans (1)

A/N: Helloooooo everyone!

As promised, here’s the first chapter/intro of the aizawa x reader fic based on my work life! This is 90% Self Indulgent so just a heads up!

Anyways, enjoy! :D

Ps, not proof read!

Se no!

Demo sonnan ja dame mou sonnan ja hora.

You groaned in protest at the sound of your alarm that blared under your pillow. With your eyes still closed, you slid your hand under your pillow and fished out your phone to quickly tap the stop function. The white numbers of the clock read half past seven in the morning. You let out a whine and cursed the day you applied for a job.

Once you had convinced yourself to stay awake and ignore the sweet calls of slumber, you unlocked your phone and checked your notifications. After spending about fifteen minutes on twitter, you chucked your phone behind on your bed and pushed yourself upwards. You yawned loudly as you stretched your limbs. Lazily, you exited your bedroom and slowly went down the stairs so as to not awaken your mother and baby brother.

Today was your first day back to work after the mandatory lockdown due to the spread of the new virus. Having a break from work was wonderful as you were able to spend more time with your family. It sucked that everything was closed and you weren’t going to lie, it was stressful seeing the death tolls on the news, but you had fun at home. And now that things had finally calmed down in Japan, it was time to return to work.

Despite your whines from earlier, you were honestly looking forward to work. It was fun being at home, especially when you had so much free time to binge watch all of your favorite shows, but that could be entertaining for so long before it lost its charm.

With a soft hum of some random song, you worked on making yourself breakfast. Nothing too fancy, just some frozen waffles that you shoved down the toaster and then later drizzled caramel on top. You moaned at the fluffy texture in your mouth, and briefly, you were reminded of your days in school. When it was the first day and your mother would be up early and making breakfast for you. You missed those days. Life was much simpler back then. You wondered if your baby brother missed the lively atmosphere while getting for school or not. When you swallowed the last piece of waffle, you washed the dish and utensils that you’ve used before heading back upstairs to shower and get ready for work.

You decided to wear a simple yellow sundress for work. The best thing about the company you worked in wasn't being strict with the clothes you wore. As long as they were modest and family friendly, they found no reason to implement a strict dress code. Your senior coworkers decided to stick with the traditional attire of dark colored business suits. As much as you loved black, you didn’t want to wear the dark color every single day.

After you finished dressing up, you applied light mascara and let your dark green, almost black, curly locks gently rest on your shoulders. Spraying some lavender scented perfume, you texted your mother that you were off to work. But not before you snuck into your brother’s room, brushed back his dark green curls and pecked his forehead.

It was strange seeing the normally crowded streets of Musutafu be so desolate. The vast streets that were once filled with cars, almost resembling a parade with its colors and soft purrs of the motors, only had four or five cars on each lane. It was almost unnerving how quiet the streets of Musutafu were. But no matter, at least now you didn’t have to worry about traffic. Sure, you took the bus to work, though it was still frustrating to be trapped in the middle of traffic while freaking out over being on work on time. Not that you ever had been late. You always managed to show up at least twenty minutes earlier than the intended time.

The smell of bleach and lemon wafted through your nose once you stepped foot into the modestly sized train station. Just like the streets of Musutafu, the train station was just as desolate. The buzz of passengers sizzled out to soft mummers. The sea of people shrunk to a puddle. And the cheery atmosphere became somber. It was depressing. Though that didn’t deter you. With your head held high, you went straight to your office that you would normally share with five other people. Due to the new government rule, however, employees who weren’t supervisors, managers or ceos will take shifts and return to work every other day. Meaning you only had to work with three other people today.

“Good morning, Y/N.” Was the first thing that greeted your ears when you opened your office door.

Your boss was...unorthodox. He had long wavy hair that he would put up in a messy bun. Grey circles could be seen under his eyes and a soft stubble peppered his chin and upper lip. If you could describe your boss, then you would use the adjectives: grumpy and sleep deprived.

“Good morning, Aizawa-san.” You replied with a smile. Though, at the remembrance of wearing a mask that was way too big for you and covered most of your face, you dropped the smile. Aizawa said nothing, only nodded his head and continued to type away on his computer.

As you sanitize your workstation and logged into your computer, your supervisor Yamada Hizashi, walked in and bellowed “Gooooooood morning my little ducklings!” You heard Aizawa groan under his breath and tried not to chuckle at his misery.

Aizawa and Yamada were childhood friends and coworkers. It baffled you at first when Nemuri, your co-supervisor, had mentioned it in passing. The two were extremely different. While Yamada was the bright sun on a summer’s day that humans longed for after a long and miserable winter, Aizawa was the moon that people sung praises to with his mysterious aura and charming personality. After working with them for a month, however, you could see how the two were best friends. They balanced each other out perfectly and would always bring out the best side of the other person.

“Must you be so loud so early in the morning.” It wasn’t meant to be a question but Yamada answered anyway.

“Yes, I must bless everyone with my beautiful voice.”

If he wasn’t in a work environment, you were certain that Aizawa would have smacked his head on his desk to end his misery.

A peaceful silence settled upon you and you awkwardly shifted in your seat. Neither Aizawa nor Yamada had instructed you with anything to do and you were starting to feel antsy. Just as you were about to excuse yourself to walk around the station, maybe get some fresh air, Aizawa cleared his throat and called your name. You sat up straighter in your chair and locked your eyes with his.

“Write a letter to the Council of Train Stations to approve the extension of payment fees deadline.” Instructed Aizawa before returning to face his computer.

Blinking twice, You wrote down what he said in your notebook and began working on the letter.

You worked in the administrative department of the train station. The company you worked with, All Might Train Station Management, was infamous in maintaining and developing the station. From managing stores, adding holiday decorations to conducting safety measures and promoting the best image of the station, those were among the many things that you will deal with for the next eight months.

Once you have submitted your letter, you inform Aizawa. Who just hummed at you in return, too absorbed in his own work.

This went on for two hours. Aizawa would ask you to write a letter, you wrote it down on your note and then typed it on your computer and submitted it. Sometimes, you would have to contact other employees from other departments to forward you files that you had to attach to your letters. It was stressful, but not unmanageable.

It was around twelve in the afternoon when Aizawa excused himself to meet with the president of the company, Toshinori Yagi. Shortly afterwards, Yamada also left the office to God knows where. A habit of his that you envied but would never actually do. Yamada had been working two years at the company so he had the privilege to take a break from work and wander around. Maybe someday you could do it too, but for now, You’re stuck in your office.

Noticing that none of them were returning any time soon, You took your wallet and made your way to the mini market for a cold beverage and some snacks. You didn’t want to eat lunch at work - not that you can anyways since the staff room was under maintenance - but you were starting to get hungry and you couldn’t work to the best of your potential with an empty stomach.

When you returned to your office, you spotted Aizawa back at his desk. Yamada was nowhere in sight. Quietly, so as to not disrupt your workaholic of a boss, you sat down on your chair and opened your bag of chocolate animal crackers and stabbed the straw into your mango juice box.

“You look like you’re in elementary school.”

Your head shot upwards at Aizawa’s comment and could feel your cheeks flushing with warmth and you were positive that they had turned a bright red color.

“Would you like some?” You blurted and instantly winced. It was no secret that you were an awkward person by nature and tended to blurt things out or ramble on when nervous. You tried improving that aspect of yourself at work, not wanting to embarrass yourself at work like you did in college. You wanted to be professional and taken seriously. But it was proving to be a challenge.

Aizawa appeared to be contemplating your offer, half distracted by whatever it was displayed in front of him on his computer. “Sure, why not.” He eventually replied with a shrug of his shoulders.

Your heart beat in anticipation as you stood up and crossed the short distance between your desk and his. Your hand held out the yellow bag of animal shaped chocolate crackers and watched as Aizawa dipped his hand and fish out two crackers; a panda and an elephant. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Your reply was soft, almost a squeak. Aizawa just hummed in response and returned to type away at his keyboard. You briefly toyed with the idea of being as busy Aizawa, to the point of being unaware of your surroundings.

The rest of the day went uneventful. Aizawa didn’t ask you to write any letters and Yamada didn’t return to the office until half an hour before work ended. The loud blonde asked Aizawa if he wanted to join him for lunch later and you held your breath at what your boss was going to reply, the thought of him living a normal life outside of these four walls was almost unimaginable. “Yeah, sure.” Ah, to see Aizawa in a casual setting, a privilege that you have to work very hard for.

When it was two in the afternoon, you turned off your computer, signed your name on the attendance sheet and bid farewell to your colleagues.

“Goodbye, my little duckling!” You heard Yamada say behind you while Aizawa grunted a quiet ‘bye’.

#aizawa x reader #aizawa imagine #aizawa scenario #aizawa x you #bnha imagine #bnha x reader

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hotchley · 4 years ago

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🦄 hey do you ever think about the softly gasped "no" in the beginning scene of route 66 when hotch woke from his nap in his office. it makes me think he had a nightmare bc right after he called jessica to check on jack. and then he passed out from internal bleeding and had a nightmare about haley and foyet. and it wasn't even about his trauma, the writers made it about his guilt over his growing relationship with beth. like... i so wish therapy wasn't treated derisively in the show bc literally everyone in the team needed it. aaron and beth probs needed therapy to figure out how to get pass "my ex-wife was murdered by a serial killer and i never processed that" vs "fuck i just thought he was hot okay." jack... jack probs needs sooo much therapy i mean. he heard his mom being murdered AND multiple gunshots and crashes cuz his dad was fighting with the dude while he was in the next room. like.. geez... also like how come the team gets therapy after emily dies but after hotch's wife gets murder he doesn't get mandatory therapy??? like haley wasn't a team member but considering she was aaron's wife.. shouldn't that be something. also while we're at it.. why isn't jessica in therapy??? her sister who she is shown to be v close with got murdered by a serial killer. taking care of jack isn't gonna solve all her grief and anxiety.vwhy isn't she pressuring hotch and jack to get therapy?? like ughh these things don't make sense to me. also like, as benevolent as she is, i can't help but think there would be some resentment towards aaron and his job (bc she's human! and human emotions aren't rational!) which she could've worked out in therapy if cm ever gave therapy a real chance.

also today i bring to your attention.. aaron's stutter. like it's most likely tg fumbling his lines but there are at least two scenes with aaron stuttering (i watch with subtitles on and it's def present in the subs so i don't think im mishearing). and bc im an angst monster.. do you think aaron stuttering is one of his tells? or at least a physical manifestation of his anxiety. do you think he speaks in monotone bc it helps him control his stutter? and then it translates as him being emotionless bc he doesn't tell anyone about his speech impediment. but in reality the more monotone he gets the more his anxiety is building up and he goes and hides in his office and everyone things he's either really pissed off or just tired but he's actually having a panic attack up there. and like after it happens a couple of times someone finally gets a clue (im thinking penelope bc she has medical training) and they go check on him and they're just like "fuck" but at the same time they try to walk him thru it. and then she's like "aaron you stupid stubborn man" just bc i want her to 😌

UGH I KNOW!

Yeah I reckon he must have been having a nightmare, there’s no other logical explanation.

I kinda hated the way they did Route 66. I rewrote the entire thing for chapter three of aaron oop- I think it would have made much more sense if it showed Jack with Hotch and Hotch with the team because they existed before Haley. They literally wrote Beth in to give him a love interest but it wasn’t necessary!!

It would’ve been nice to see them all in therapy and also all of them being a little bit more human, I agree. Because never once does Jessica or Jack lash out and it just all felt too underdeveloped and forced.

I hated the way all of them would lie to their therapists to return to the team though. It just felt very irresponsible it’s like okay. maybe you don’t care, but if you’re not ready everyone else is being put at risk.

... you come up with some of the angstiest things. I’m leaning towards his stutter being linked to his anxiety or an actual speech impediment because he was never allowed therapy for it because his dad just thought it was him being stupid. Speaking slowly and without much tone helps it from coming through, but that takes so much energy and sometimes it’s just easier to speak normally, even though he’ll stutter.

I think Penelope would start putting things together. He always speaks monotonously and slowly. When he starts stuttering slightly, he gets very uncomfortable and usually stops talking and then excuses himself.

One time it happens and she feels horrible so she goes to comfort him and he’s on the floor of his office. Without much conscious thought, she drops to her knees beside him and is like: Tell me what you need. When he’s okay enough to speak, she’s like: Don’t worry about it. Take all the time you need.

And when he finishes speaking, she just answers his question like nothing has changed. And a few days later, she finds him a speech and language therapist that she thinks will fit. There’s no expectation. Just the offer.

#🦄anon

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itzagothamcitysiren · 5 years ago

Text

Welcome to the Family

Happy Mother’s day to all the mothers and motherly figures out there! This story is kind of inspired by my relationship with my older sister, who was honestly more of a mother to me than our actual mom. She’s awesome and I wish I could see her today but quarantine sucks lol.

Also, too me Logan Lerman is Tim. He’s just so awkward and cute and nerdy, and I think he’d be a great Tim.

Mother’s Day pt.1

“What the hell are you doing, Drake?” Damian’s snippy voice cut through the empty living room like a knife.

The once comfortably silent room, now held an awkward and thick tension as Tim Drake popped his head up from his work, annoyed at being interrupted. He looked back down at the paper and other supplies cluttered around the coffee table for a moment, not even embarrassed at being caught. It was a normal thing that he started doing shortly after moving into Wayne Manor all those years ago; Damian was still the one who was the odd one out.

“Making Mother’s Day cards; what else does it look like?” Tim rolled his eyes, motioning his hand with a slight wave to the finished card at the edge of the table. That one was meant for his mother, he made sure to finish it first, wanting to drop it off at the post office tomorrow after school so it’d get to her in time.

“Tt.” Damian shook his head, crossing his arms against his chest. He took a seat at the other end of the couch to look over the older boy’s work.

Damian Wayne wasn’t the type for such sentiment. He scoffed at the idea of Mother’s Day. Could you just imagine him, an al Ghul, giving his mother a card? Though, he didn’t put it past someone as pathetic as Drake to be one to celebrate the commercial holiday. Even Grayson and his father celebrated, and their mothers were dead. They’d both journey to the cemetery and placed roses on their mother’s grave. But that made much more sense to Damian, than making a card, they were paying their respects, while Drake was just giving his mother a worthless piece of paper.

“A simple piece of paper will really satisfy your mother? Tt.” Damian leaned back into the couch, arms still crossed but now lifting his leg to rest on his other thigh.

“Yes. It. Will.” Tim gritted, not in the mood for Damian’s taunting and insults; he was actually in a genially good mood for once.

He moved to open his mouth again, clenching the marker in his hand tightly; who did this kid think he was? He was glad the kid was over his phase of trying to actively kill him but he still found pleasure in making Tim’s life miserable. He tried closing his mouth, not wanting to get into it again but the third Robin still felt the need to defend himself against the spoiled blood son. He pushed the disappointed look Bruce would surely show him away after the old man would end of having to break up another fight between the two boys.

“I’m not just giving her card; I’m also sending her a gift card to her favorite restaurant and another one for a trip to this day spa. It makes her happy and since I’m not around I want to make sure she knows I miss her. You know like normal mother and son stuff, not that you would know anything about that.”

Tim cursed to himself as soon as the bitter and smug words left his mouth. Shit. He went too far; the dead silence that followed told him that much. He didn’t dare look up to see Damian’s face. He could practically feel the scowl, the deadly glare, beaming into the side of his head; it was like he was being blasted by Superman’s laser beams. Maybe that was being a little dramatic but Tim knew he shouldn’t have said that. He was better than stooping that low and saying something that brash. Even with the pair being fair from close, barely even being on speaking terms, Tim still knew how sensitive Damian was about his relationship with Talia.

He was half expecting to feel a punch come down from him, or a shove, anything that would physically harm him in response but much to Tim’s surprise he was just met with Damian’s signature sound, ‘Tt’, and then him shifting in his place. Tim scratched the back of his neck, unsure why Damian reacted so calmly, not that his body and pride weren’t complaining. He mentally shrugged and went back to making his second card.

The younger boy watched as Tim got back to work. He wanted to lash out at Drake’s dig at him and his mother’s relationship but Damian didn’t want to give Drake the satisfaction of knowing that he was insulted. He thought back to his father’s speech after their last fight about how they both needed to learn how to be the bigger person. Damian rolled his eyes at the memory and instead quirked an eyebrow up as he watched Tim begin to get back into making what appeared to be a second Mother’s Day card.

“Correct me if I’m wrong but last time I checked you only had one mother, Drake.” Damian said, nodding towards the second card.

“You would be correct.” Tim nodded, not looking up this time as he spoke. He reached for the blue Sharpie instead, filling in the bubble letters he wrote with it.

“Then why are you making another card? Did you realize how stupid that other one is and are starting over?” Damian pressed, leaning back once again to get comfortable.

Tim huffed, already over this conversation. It was times like this that he wished Dick and Halley still lived at home. Damian would be Dick’s shadow if he was here and not bugging him like this. With Halley, she’d swoop in the moment she felt a fight forming and would’ve gotten the demon spawn to shut up by now. But now that they were the only two left living at home Damian was all Tim’s problem. Maybe it was time to go back to the Titans?

“No, my mother’s card is done. This is for someone else.” Tim said, using his minimum art skills to draw a decent flower next to the y in Day. He huffed again when Damian responded immediately asking who specifically it was for. Tim let the marker drop from his grasp, losing his nerve. Rubbing his head, he pushed the hair fallen in front of his face out of his face, letting out a deep breath. Why did he care what he was doing? Damian has shown more interest in his current activity than he’s shown in anything in Tim’s life since they met. “It’s for Halley.”

“Tt.” Damian rolled his eyes, smirking. “Halley isn’t your mother, Drake.”

“No, but since I’ve moved here, she’s always been there when I need her and she’s done so much for me so this is my way of thanking her and showing that I love her.” Tim let himself get cocky again, snipping right back at Damian. He put emphasis in his speech, knowing that not only was it true but it would rub Damian the wrong way. “I do this for her every year and every year she gets all mushy and loves it.”

Damian narrowed his eyes at the older boy. Was Drake questioning his relationship with his older sister? They may only be half siblings but that was more blood than she shared with anyone in the bat family. When the pair first found out they shared the same mother, Damian had been less then enthused about no longer being an only child and furious at his mother for failing to mention her having a child with Deathstroke. Halley had been just as shocked and angry, but at her father for never telling her. She wasn’t surprised but still angry. Though unlike him, she quickly rushed to try and get closer to the boy. Even though Damian wanted no part of it, Damian was clearly her favorite brother; right?

Drake said this was a yearly thing but why has he never noticed before? He did know that they would occasionally spend what they grossly called Mandatory Sibling Bonding Day together, where’d they’d go out just the two of them, much to the annoyance of Damian. He didn’t understand why she wasted her time with Drake; what could they possible do for fun together? Granted, she did do the same with Grayson whenever they were around at the same time. The pair of them also being close, Grayson having been the one to help get her out of her old life with her father, Slade Wilson.

Damian thought about how his sister had a close personal relationships with all the Robin’s and Batgirl’s, even the failure that Damian deemed as Stephanie Brown; Halley was close to them all, all but him. Though that wasn’t completely true, they did have somewhat of a bond. They both had what she phased as shitty-ass parents, her father being Deathstroke himself while his was the Dark Knight, and they shared the same mother, Talia al Ghul. They’d never known about the other until Damian was brought to live with his father by their mother and Halley had long been taken in by Dick and Bruce.

He still remembered their first meeting, they hadn’t yet known about sharing the same mother but yet she was still eager to accept him. He of course didn’t share her gusto, especially after Slade revealed that Talia was her mother after he attacked the League of Assassin’s and killed his grandfather. Damian wasn’t keen on having an actual sibling, especially one with the blood of Deathstroke. But they also shared the same al Ghul blood and was quite the efficient fighter. But they were both incredibly set in their ways and persistent, as she was dead set on getting the younger boy to open up while he was dead set to prove that he was the most worthy al Ghul.

It infuriated him enough that she said she didn’t care about being an al Ghul, having no memories of being with the League of Assassin’s, as Slade and Talia agreed that she would go off to live with her father for her training. Damian said she was unworthy of the blood they shared and she didn’t deserve it. Though even now, he wouldn’t admit it but sometimes he swore he could still feel the pain from the beating she gave him when he tried to kill her in her sleep his first few months staying in the manor whenever he looked her way.

That was something he admired about his sister, again not like he would ever admit it, but her persistence was something he looked up to and even came to appreciate. Even after trying to kill her, being cruel, and treating her like how she treats Drake, at first even worse, she never gave up on him; a feat that no one else could say they’ve come close too; perhaps Grayson, but there were times where even the star-child of Bruce Wayne’s collection of wayward children would walk away from Damian’s outbursts because he simply had enough of the all give an no take. But not Halley; she’d stay every single time and with that she’d even give him a smile at the end of it.

She understood what it was like. Being raised by Slade Wilson was basically the same as being raised by Ra’s al Ghul. They never had a conversation about it, Damian always calling her a fool, she didn’t know what his childhood was like and then brushing her off. But who was Damian kidding? She made her first kill by age eight, so did Damian. She had expectations placed on her that no child should’ve been held up to, as did Damian. They shared bruises, scars and nightmares.

Grayson had tried with him, after his father failed but Halley was the one who truly helped him adjust to this new life he found himself in without even knowing it. What Grayson and his father didn’t understand was that you just couldn’t stop being who you were raised to be in a second, it took time, and Halley had been through the same transition. Granted she was looking to escape the life she had with her father whereas Damian was forced to be with his by his mother, but there were just some habits that where hard to break.

“You good there?” Drake’s voice cut Damian out of his thought process.

Damian snapped out of it, narrowing his eyes down at the card, noting Tim had stopped working on it and was looking at Damian as if he was a frozen computer screen. Scoffing, standing up to his feet, he uncrossed his arms, pointing a finger at the card for his sister. Trying to hid the fact that Drake caught him in such a deep thought, he cleared his throat before sneering,

“Her favorite color is purple, not red.”

Tim watched, mouth left agape as Damian made his way out of the room without another word. He took another look down at the card and grunted, reaching for a new piece of paper, getting ready to start all over again. What a kid, he thought as he got back to work.

#damian wayne #damian wayne x sister!reader #tim drake #tim drake x reader #tim drake fanfic #damian wayne fanfiction #batbros #batfam x reader #batfam x batsis #dick grayson x batsis #dick grayson #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #bruce wayne #batman fanfiction

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