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oddlykilledghosts · 1 year

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Someone That Actually Likes Me - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Working at Family Video and constantly being a witness to Steve’s neverending flirting, reminds you of how much you want to be liked by someone and like them back. It just so happens, at the same time, Dustin is up for some meddling between two of his elder friends.

I may or may not be thinking of making a part two?? depending on how this goes?? who knows?? no it should have a part two

Word Count: 4.2k

Pairings: Eddie Munson x reader, FamilyVideo!reader

The day was starting to become boring. There didn’t really need to be three workers at Hawkin’s local Family Video (even on a Saturday), but you had come into work anyway and pulled yourself together enough for the first couple hours. You tried looking your best, fixing your hair and putting on some fun makeup, as well as applying some electric blue eyeliner and smiling at yourself in your mirror when you topped it off with bubblegum pink lip gloss. You might not have been the preppiest person, but you sure loved the colorful makeup the 80s had brought on the masses. Hopefully it was at least enough for your flirting to be successful in getting customers to rent more movies. Unfortunately however, one of the only customers that the store had had all morning was Dustin, looking for another copy of Neverending Story (something about his girlfriend, Suzie, that you didn’t bother asking about further) and he had not even bothered to ask about your day (something about a pressing D&D campaign that was happening that very night). The other, a girl Steve was chatting up about what you were pretty sure was Pretty in Pink, even though you had never so much heard him mention ever even seeing that movie before. You rolled your eyes at the sight of the two; Steve, leaning up against the wall his body tilted toward the girl, and the girl not even the slightest bit self-conscious in the way she placed her hand on Steve’s bicep and laughed at something you were sure wasn’t that funny.

You felt a shoulder brush yours, and suddenly Robin was at your side seemingly done with rewinding the old tapes. “You’re sulking.” She said plainly, but even without looking you could tell she had a smug smile on her face. You and Robin had become fast friends. Faster, because you both loved to make fun of Steve.

Sighing, you shrugged and said, “Maybe. Is it so wrong?” When Robin didn’t respond you resorted to turning your body away from the couple so that you could look at your friend and you found her giving you a disappointed look. Yet the smug smile hadn’t vanished. “What’s so bad about wanting someone to like me enough to pretend to like Pretty in Pink?” You definitely were sulking. Steve flirted with almost every girl that came into the store, it couldn’t possibly be that deep. But again, no one had quite been desperate enough to be an expert on a movie they’ve never seen for you. It had been awhile since you had felt seen by someone worthwhile. Flirting with customers felt hollow, however much it may have helped your job.

Robin laughed and headed towards the computer to report the intake of tapes she had just finished with, typing fast on the keyboard. “I think it’s wrong when you’re longing for someone to pick you up with a Steve Harrington move.” She paused, feigning thought and continued, “But maybe it isn’t wrong. Maybe it’s just sad.”

“That hurts Robin.” You pointed to your heart and faked a pout, “Right here.”

Steve and the girl, who you assumed was now going to rent Pretty in Pink as it was held in her perfectly manicured hands, were now making their way over to the register. This meant you and Robin had to make busy and not totally fail at watching the couple out of the corner of your eyes. The girl couldn’t stop giggling. You almost scowled, but held back your facial features. It wasn’t embarrassing for her, you couldn’t care less whether she giggled for the rest of her life just because of this small encounter with Steve, but it still felt maddening to listen to someone else be so happy when you just felt bleh. Finally, before leaving the girl wrote down her number on Steve’s hand. Which would only be unfortunate for the boy if he found another girl to flirt with later in the day. The good thing for him was that you were close to closing and he could go home, wash his hand and be able to start anew the next day. Woefully, you would be there to watch.

You watched painfully out of the corner of your eye as Steve skillfully aced what boring small talk came out of the girl’s mouth as he checked out her rental. Gag. When the girl finally left, Steve’s demeanor changed and he was back to his regular self. Still handsome and charming, just putting on less of a show.

Robin beat you to speaking first by saying quickly, in a hushed chuckle, “Y/N wants you to flirt with her.”

Steve’s gaze immediately fell onto you, cocking his head in what was obvious confusion. And yet a smile tugged at his lips, “Is that so?”

The heat in your cheeks burned furiously and while you knew Robin was joking, you felt the undeniable urge to duck your head under the counter and stay there until everyone left. “No. That is not what I said. I merely want to be flirted with. By someone,” You shoved past Steve and picked up a pile of tapes that needed to be reshelved, “That actually likes me.” This time you really did duck behind the shelves, putting back the tapes where they belonged, thankful for the cover and blissful in not seeing Steve’s reaction to what you had said.

Steve’s voice followed you into the racks of movies, “Who says I don’t like you?” You hadn’t realized he was now standing at the end of the aisle you were in and bumped into his chest on your way to exit, dropping the remainder of the tapes that had been in your arms. Sometimes, you wished you had Steve’s effortlessness he used while flirting. You would definitely run into people a lot less.

The two of you then simultaneously leaned down and began to pick up the movies when the bell to the door rang.

A new customer.

“Hello?” A new voice rang out. “Anybody here?” Apparently, Robin had been quick to hide in the back of the store and pretend to be busy while you and Steve worked with the small amount of foot traffic that made its way into the store. She often did this when she decided she deserved a break, and for all it was worth, she dealt with you and Steve almost every day so you’d say it was pretty well-earned. Footsteps sounded on the linoleum floors. “Helloooo?” This time the voice held onto the word in a singsong tune until it petered out softly into the store. The guy's voice sounded playful and amused as if this (aka a Family Video in Hawkins, Indiana) was all such fun.

Still busy with the tapes, Steve didn’t react to the newcomer and instead whispered a soft, “I got this.” to you before shooing you away in hopes that you would be able to deal with the customer. If the stranger to the store had been a murderer, you would’ve had to fend for yourself. Well, of course you had Robin but it was obvious you would die first in such close proximity. But clearly, when you stood up and found the long mess of wavy hair staring at you from the top of the shelf you were behind, that was not the case. He was smiling satisfyingly and his brown eyes gleamed from behind the rack of tapes when you popped up from the floor.

“Hello.” He said pleasantly.

As you walked out from behind the stack, the customer followed. And when you finally reached the other end closer to the register and the door, it gave you both the chance to view each other fully. Your eyes went immediately to his shirt, and it triggered some sense of deja vu that settled in the atmosphere. The devil logo sneered playfully back at you as you stared at the guy’s chest. Unlike your unwavering gaze on his torso, his eyes, unbeknownst to you, hadn’t left your face. “You must be Y/N. Didn’t think you could be prettier up close.” When you looked back up, he gave you a smile that reminded you of the Cheshire Cat. Playful, but somehow devious. A new feeling shook through your body, ending up in your cheeks which were now charmingly warm.

Your hands went instinctively to your face, where the new warmth was homed, in an act of sudden shyness and you smiled softly, “And you must be…?” Then you knew where the shirt had popped up in your memories. Of course. Dustin wore one just like it constantly. You looked further in your mind as Lucas and Mike also popped up in your head wearing it on certain school days. Days that always came with some obligation on their end. Then it struck you. D&D. Which meant that this was…

“Eddie.” He said with another overconfident smile. He didn’t hold his hand out to shake or anything, but was pleased when you kept your own grin. Of course you remembered him from school, even though his hair was a lot shorter in your recollections. He was your age too, although he still hadn’t graduated (unlike you and Steve who had done so the year before). Truly, you should have recognized him sooner. It wasn’t like Dustin constantly talked about him as if he were some mythical creature to be worshiped. That was totally not the case.

“Right,” You said sincerely as you shook your head and led him to the large counter in the center of the room. As if by magnets, your eyes kept trailing to his leather jacket. Had you ever noticed how attractive leather jackets were before? You’re sure you had, just not in such close observation. Quietly you chuckled to yourself as you continued, “I should’ve known too. The shirt says it all. Dustin’s a part of your campaign, right?”

Eddie’s performance of a smile shifted into more of a genuine beam as you got another thing right. The first was your unwavering smile, people’s expressions usually didn’t hold steady with him. Yet because he was still a little surprised you knew what a campaign was, he didn’t answer your question. People usually skipped over the D&D terms and just called it a club as it said so on the shirt, but it was nicer when people paid attention to the details. Especially about something most people in Hawkins considered so nerdy. Something people would usually turn their heads at when they found out it was led by a freak like him. You were trying, though it was obvious you didn’t know much on the subject. And that itself was different.

There was a beat of silence between the two of you as Steve, at long last, popped up, seemingly having finished picking up the remainder of the fallen tapes. He made a load of noise as he struggled to get up and his sneakers squeaked awkwardly on the floor. Then, as if to further his inopportune entrance, the boy looked suspiciously between the two of you, trying to send you a secret look that asked if you wanted him to take over as Eddie’s guide to Family Video. You didn’t miss the message Steve was trying ‘ever so subtly’ to send you, but you ignored it. Dustin’s opinion mattered some, and you wanted to learn a bit why he looked up to the boy in front of you so much. Eddie was definitely different from most of the crowd you rolled with (though you could see Robin losing her mind over a nice leather jacket) and in this case, different was refreshing.

Taking things into his own hands, Steve walked over to your side of the register and leaned against the counter slyly. You noticed, amusingly, a piece of hair had fallen in front of his eyes and he was trying not to jump up and fix it. “Did you need any help finding anything?” His head was directed at Eddie, but his eyes stayed on you.

“And here I thought, Y/N was being ever so helpful.” Eddie mocked Steve, an innocent look on his face. You thought back to high school…they didn’t have anything against each other, did they? Sure, there was that rivalry that Steve had fully concocted on his own because he was jealous that Dustin had another older boy to look up to. But other than that it seemed as if the boys had barely interacted. Then again, not everyone had gotten over “King Steve” as easily as you and Robin had. No one had seen just how nerdy and awkward (and sure, you could say endearing) as Steve Harrington really was on his off days of being a former high school douchebag.

“Well,” You said as you flattened the creases in your work pants. “I was about to be.” This time you turned your head to Steve who was now a breath away, “I don’t think that Eddie will want your expertise on Pretty In Pink anyway, Harrington. I’m sure Robin needs help in the back.”

Steve squinted at you while you saw Eddie hold back a small laugh. He, at least, thought your comment was amusing. “I don’t think-” And there were those brown, puppy dog eyes. Save them for the next girl, Harrington, you thought to yourself.

“No, I’m very sure that Robin needed help. It’s a mess back there.” You pushed Steve back out from the counter and towards the back room where Robin was most definitely not busy. “It’s one customer Steve, take your break.” With him sulking, you had to push him all the way into the back of the store, where you did happen to catch a glimpse of Robin watching Teen Wolf (just as Micheal J. Fox turned hairy) on one of the old TVs they kept back there.

When you got back to the register, Eddie had made himself a little more at home. He was leaning against the counter, albeit the opposite side from you, and was playing with some of the rings on his fingers. You tried not to stare at his hands and the intricacies of his jewelry, wondering quietly where he got them all. And yet he had not made a move towards any of the movies in the store. The best thing about Family Video was the browsing, in your opinion. Sure, you had limited choices. It was only one store. But being able to actually have the options in your hand, and sift through favorites and classics was one of the reasons you liked working there. It was a tangible way to like films. And still, Eddie had not moved from the spot you had left him. Usually, no matter how helpful you seemed to think you could be, the minute you stepped away customers went with their bad selves in the store. Most of them thought they knew more than you. Which was rarely true.

Eddie almost looked uninterested, and a little nervous. But it was such a stark contradiction to how you had just perceived him that you questioned your own perceptions of things and moved on.

“So,” You started looking at Eddie and placing your hands on the counter in front of you. “What are you looking for?”

“War Games.” Then, after a beat, “The one with the computer. Want to play a game?” He said in a robotic cadence, copying Joshua’s voice. You ignored the fact that in the actual movie, it says ‘shall we play a game?’.

“Yup, I know the one.” You mused. Truly, you had seen most of the movies the store offered. Keith, the manager, made it practically part of the job. ”With Matthew Broderick, right?” You motioned for the boy to follow as you began making your way to the section of the store that you knew the tape would be in. “I really enjoyed that one. Sure, it’s fiction, but it shows just how far technology can go.” You weren’t sure why you were rambling, but Eddie just followed nonchalantly behind you, his hands stuck in his pockets as if he were a little kid with sticky fingers.

When you reached the section you grabbed the tape and turned back around to be met inches away from the D&D player’s face, almost knocking heads. He backed away first, suddenly shy. Then when he spoke, he backed away another step as if one wasn’t enough. You didn’t notice, however, that as he talked his body subconsciously tilted towards you. If you had noticed, it would’ve reminded you a lot of how Steve and the girl from earlier looked. “It’s actually for Dustin, I owed him a favor.” Then with a more sarcastic spirit, “As if I don’t have things to do. Said he meant to get it and the only other time he could come back was during our session so…”

“As the leader, don’t you have minions for that? And isn’t Dustin one of them?” You laughed lightly, still waiting for Eddie to take the tape from your hands.

“Yeah but Dustin’s-” He didn’t mention how much he liked it that you knew, at least in some capacity, that he was the dungeon master.

“Special.” You finished, nodding with the secret knowledge you, and only a select few had of Dustin Henderson. “Yeah, I know. But wasn’t Dustin already here today? He could’ve picked it up then.” The tape remained in your hands as you talked, with no movement from Eddie indicating that he was going to take it any time soon.

Eddie’s dark eyebrows knit together, harboring a soft annoyance there, although it didn’t spread to the rest of his face. Then like a light turning on, so slowly, “I think Dustin is trying to set me up.”

You smiled, especially since you knew Dustin would scheme to do just that. He meddles too much. “In what way?”

Eddie’s voice was low this time, all of his former confidence gone, scrubbing the surface of a softer interior, “With…you.” If it had been winter, you could’ve sworn that you would’ve been able to see one clear breath exit your lips at his words; as if all the air in your lungs had decided to vacate at once. Yes, it made sense to you that Dustin would try to set up his friends. But it didn’t make sense why Eddie came to that singular conclusion so quickly. And yet, you’d heard so much of Eddie over the past two weeks. Had you really tuned out Dustin that much? That the constant compliments weren’t just brags? That they could’ve been for your benefit. They surely weren’t for Steve’s.

Then, as if in an instant, it all turned back on and Eddie straightened his back, “Well, this has been nice. But I actually have some unsavory activities to get to and I’m sure-”

Without thinking, you grabbed his arm stopping him from leaving the aisle of movies you were in. He protested for a second, stopping in his tracks, but turned back to you easily. Still guarded from the prying eyes of your coworkers as you stayed behind the stacks, you questioned the brunette, “Wait. What are you talking about?”

Eddie studied your eyes for hints of deception and insincerity, thinking that there must be at least some trace there for the simple fact that you hadn’t fun away yet. “Dustin, he’s a troublemaker. And here I am. In the making of his trouble.” Hints of Eddie’s mask were being put back up, and it looked as if he wanted to run out of the store.

“No,” You shook your head. “Go back. Why would Dustin set us up?”

“Right. Because ‘we’ wouldn’t make sense.” There was that wall again, still playful but defensive.

You felt your eyebrows knit, “No. It just-” This time you were the one searching his eyes. Again, there were your memories flooding back up. Just as clear as day you had graduated last year and there was Eddie, floating around in your mind. In his band. Late nights passing each other after respective basketball games and D&D sessions. In the cafeteria. And in every single one, you found those deep brown eyes staring back at you through your own mind. The reason Dustin was talking Eddie up was because Eddie liked you. And in those memories, no one else paid him any mind. But you had.

Had Eddie Munson talked about you to Dustin?

“Ask me out.” You said finally, letting go of his arm that you hadn’t realized you had still been holding. It had probably kept him from running initially, so no harm done.

Eddie laughed, suddenly taken aback, “What?” Then realizing you were serious, “I don’t think it counts if you tell me to do it.”

“Do you want me to do it?”

He thought for a moment, pretending to be vexed. “You realize if I ask you, we’re doing what Dustin wants.”

“Mm-hmm.” you hummed as a small response.

Eddie straightened again, this time with truer confidence, “Will you, Y/N…” He leaned forward, bowing a bit in front of you for show, which made you laugh, “Go out with me?” Then he perked up and placed his hands on his chest as if to protect himself from impending doom.

“Would you still want the movie if I said, yes? I have a quota.” You joked as you wagged the film in the air with your hand.

Eddie squinted at you, and yet a small smile tugged at his mouth and he staggered backwards. He struggled out the words as he held his chest where his heart would be, “I’m sensing that you’re saying yes.” Then he recovered slowly, his hands beating up and down where his chest would be and added, “My heart just grew three sizes.”

“Oh did it?” You smiled through a loud laugh as you put the tape back on the shelf. “I think you’ll still need a receipt though.”

Before Eddie could protest, you quickly walked back over to the register, leaned over the counter to grab a post-it and wrote your number speedily on the small piece of paper. Then, again, when you turned around to walk back you bumped into Eddie this time steading yourself by holding onto his arms. You had been walking faster than usual, with an excited energy around you, but was glad when you were able to touch him. Because yes, Y/N, he’s really there. Instead of feeling self-conscious, you stuck the post-it to the front of his shirt playfully. “There. Transaction done.” At the same time, you decided to ignore the two spying heads peeking out from the back room.

Eddie peeled it off his shirt gingerly and looked at it with a cocky grin, “You’re one of the good ones, Y/N.”

“Like it or not, so are you Eddie. At least,” You smirked at him. “From what I’ve heard.”

And then he and his leather jacket were gone. Not without him looking back at you as he left, for good measure.

You reminded yourself to hit Dustin over the head and thank him.

It took no longer than five seconds after the Munson boy had left for Robin and Steve to emerge from their hiding place. Usually, they wouldn’t have provided you any privacy during your interaction so you had to at least be somewhat thankful (even if you didn’t say it aloud). You sighed, turning around to face them, “What’d you hear?”

Robin, of course, exploded with energy the minute you invited her to talk, “Um, everything?” She immediately slid into the counter, leaning towards you and talking excitedly about how she wanted to help you get ready, even though she wasn’t sure she shared the same fashion sense as you. Really, she wasn’t sure she wanted to help with the fashion at all, but just wanted to be there before the date. Before you could remind her that technically there was no set date yet, she started prattling on about how you needed to prepare. Maybe Dustin could lend you a D&D book. She was sure she had at least one Metallica cassette somewhere. You were switching into a different social circle after all, you needed to know these things. You could tell Steve had filled her in on Eddie while they had been hiding together, though you knew she had been there on occasions as well when Dustin couldn’t shut up about him. This continued for a while, even after you assured her that you don’t need to change your whole personality to go out with Eddie. If you were lame and preppy then so be it. And then, to get his attention because the both of you had practically forgotten he was there, “Steve…?”

Steve, who had gone back to reshelving some of the videos that had been misplaced by Dustin earlier in the day and didn’t seem as interested in quelling Robin’s ramblings as he usually is, smiled sheepishly, “I think Y/N found someone to flirt with. Someone that actually likes her.” He just quoted you, back to you. Get your own lines, Harrington. And stop pretending to be a responsible worker.

“And he didn’t even need to pretend to like Pretty In Pink.” You said, raising your eyebrows smugly in Steve’s direction.

“Ha. Ha.”

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secretdiaryofcrowley · 20 days

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Where we left off: Nina scolded me for being mean to Maggie...

Now she actually WANTS me to be mean to Maggie and even meaner to Muriel. People! Will you ever make sense?

But let's rewind and start... right here.

"For once in your life, trust somebody."

No, no, wait, that's too far back. A little further along.

"Fine", Nina says, although it's not. "You've made your point, Mr. Crowley."

Did I? And is my point pointy enough for you to go away, never come back and leave me to my misery?

It certainly seems so, because Nina backs away. "We can offer you our friendship, we cannot, however, make you accept it. I still think you're making a mistake, but the choice is yours, and you're old enough to take responsibility for your own actions."

She falls silent for a moment. The sun's setting with the buildings casting long shadows over the road.

"I'll leave you alone from now on." Nina half turns, looks back over her shoulder. Her features seem calmer than before, but there's still some anger in her eyes. "And Maggie will too, once you explain to her that you don't need or value her friendship. I trust, you will do this soon and won't leave her worrying about you any longer."

What? "Explain to her... what?"

"This. Do you think, ghosting is an appropriate behaviour?"

"I'm not a ghost, 'm a demon."

"Don't take it literal." She sighs. "Ghosting means not answering people's messages and pretending you aren't there. It's very hurtful to others because it leaves people worrying and they never get any closure. That's what you've been doing to Maggie and me and I haven't even started to talk about Muriel."

I didn't know there was a word for it, but I never meant to do anything. How can I do anything by doing nothing? It doesn’t make any sense.

And yet, I know she’s right. Doing nothing sometimes hurts people most of all. Simply standing by and just allowing things to happen.

“What’s that with Muriel? There’s a croak in my voice I can’t supress right now. “I don’t understand, what do they have to do with it?”

“She… wait, Muriel uses “they”? Nina seems surprised. “I assumed since you and Mr. Fell both look like guys and she… they chose to look like a woman... you can all choose what to look like, can’t you?”

Great. Humans are not supposed to know about any of these things. I hope no one tries to erase her memory or turns her into a pillar of salt.

“Yes, we can, but Aziraphale and I have been to Earth for such a long time that we understand the concept of gender. We use the ‘he’ pronoun when we present male and the ‘she’ pronoun when we present female. Most angels don’t know or don’t worry about these things, so they go by “they” unless it feels right for them to go by something else. Muriel has only been to Earth for a couple of months and it’s their first time here, so they wouldn’t worry about gender or pronouns yet. “They” simply makes most sense in their case because it’s neutral and doesn’t assume anything. And before you ask, no, we don’t.”

“You don’t what?”

“Procreate. I thought that would probably be your next question.”

She tilts her head to the side, giving me a long apprehensive look. “So, you’ve had this kind of conversation with humans before.”

“Well... occasionally.” It’s not that I never had closer bonds with humans before. I just try to avoid it because it’s trouble.

Fortunately for me, Nina does not press the point.

Instead, she takes a deep breath and starts talking about Muriel.

~*~

More Diary Parts

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / 20 / 21

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziraphale x crowley #ineffable idiots #nina #nina tells crowley not to be an idiot #muriel #muriels pronouns

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avatarmerida · 2 years

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Lost in Song

A section from a longer Band AU fic I’m working on. Based on The Owl House band au started by @soldrawss that I’m obsessed with rn. Song is Fred Astaire by Jukebox the Ghost which I’m also obsessed with rn.

———

“All right everyone, gather round! Let’s watch the tape from the performance!” said Luz excitedly as she ran from behind her drum set. She grabbed an old camcorder that no one had seen her place on the hood of Hunter's car right before they started rehearsing their set. She began rewinding the tape and everyone gathered around her to see.

“Why are you filming us? You’re not trying to start a vlog again are you?” Willow asked Luz, giving her a teasing grin.

“No! I’m helping us with our audience presence,” answered Luz. “Or our presence in the audience. To the audience?”

“She’s filming us to see what we look like while we perform,” offered Gus.

“Yes! Exactly!” exclaimed Luz. “And I didn’t tell you so it would be a more authentic performance.”

“Well that seems a little illegal but okay,” said Hunter, rolling his eyes.

“Fine, sure whatever,” said Luz, pressing play. “Aw there’s a part where we all bop our heads at the same time! That’s so cute! It’s like we’re cosmically connected!”

“Or just keeping beat to the same song,” said Gus flatly.

“Aw, and your drumstick twirl looks sooo good! That practice really paid off!” gushed Amity.

“Why thank you, sweet potato.” smiled Luz, kissing her girlfriend’s temple.

“Hunter… are you okay?” Luz asked as the forks t song came to an end.

“No more so than usual, why?”

“In the tape you just look so… stiff,” said Luz, holding the camcorder up to him. “You’re just… standing there.”

“I’m singing?” Hunter said as though it was obvious. “Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?”

“But you’re singing about dancing and you’re stuck to the ground like a tree,” Luz went on. “You’re supposed to be the front man, you’re the one everyone’s looking at and you’re giving us nothing.”

“I’m not much of a dancer, so sue me,” Hunter said, slightly hurt. “I don’t want to risk the song sounding weird or something.”

“You should at least try, move around a little bit, engage,” offered Gus. “It’ll probably be easier when there’s a bunch of screaming fans in front of you-.”

Gus saw the terrified look on Hunter’s face and quickly changed directions.

“-or it’ll help you build a routine and keep you focused.”

“Well you don’t want it to feel too rehearsed,” pointed out Luz. “Music is supposed to be free and spontaneous and fun!”

“Well, some people happen to find focus and routine fun.” said Hunter smugly.

“Well, this is rehearsal so let’s try rehearsing it,”offered Amity. “Hunter, you do look kind of bored but we can’t put all the pressure on you, we should all be engaging. Why don’t you try storytelling? Try acting out the song, showing the feelings in your face too.”

“And how exactly am I supposed to do that?”

“Pretend you’re singing to someone or about someone,” offered awillow. “And pretend they’re here, listening. Don’t try to force it, let it find you.”

“Good idea! Hunter, pretend you’re singing to Willow,” said Gus.

“What?”

“She's the closest to you onstage and she can move around a little too, you can interact with each other,” said Gus. “Try it out until you find what works for you.”

“Yeah okay sure,” gulped Hunter, feeling more stuck than before. How was this supposed to go down? He couldn’t even let himself think about Willow during this song let alone look at her. But he didn’t want her to think that he thought it was impossible for this song to be sung about her but he didn’t want it make a fool of himself either.

“Hey don’t worry,” Willow whispered as though reading his mind as she walked by him to take her place. “Just have fun.”

Hunter gave her a small nervous nod as he tried to steady his breathing. He was still getting over his stage fright and now he had to sing to the girl he… thought was pretty cool in front of everyone like it wasn’t a big deal?

The song started with Willow playing them in and Hunter usually looked to the ground and counted the beats, too worried about becoming distracted but now he looked at her and saw how she conveyed that she felt the music she was creating. She moved her head up and down and soon her shoulders joined in as her braids traveled from side to side. She brought her eyes up to him and gave him a wink as though to cue him and he took the mic from the stand so he could move closer to her, not wanting to disobey her cue.

He didn’t have to do much, right? Just sing the same song he’d been singing for weeks while looking at her. It was what, three minutes he had to pretend he wasn’t totally freaking out internally. He could do that right?

It seems like I can do no wrong

Through your eyes

Sing the wrong lines to my own song

You don't mind

Make it up as we go

All the words we don't know

She looked back at him as though she also believed the words were true. It made sense, Willow had more experience and knowledge of music so of course following her lead was the right move. It was so odd because he was so sure he’d be nervous but singing to her now and she want to sing better. The words sounded different, maybe because he wasn’t just hitting notes he was saying something. Was that cheesey? No. Was that was what he was supposed to be doing the whole time? He didn’t care about sounding good he cared about sounding sincere.

Those eyes, damn, those eyes

They get me every time

Those eyes, in those eyes

I can do no crime

When dance like I don't care

You call me Fred Astaire

He felt bold for a moment and noticed her glasses were smiling and pushed them back to her bride in step with the music. Willow didn’t seem to mind, in fact she appreciated it. During the bridge when she took a break from playing to clap, Hunter seized the moment and offered her his hand. She took it, no hesitations just a playful curiosity and Hunter dared to offer his hand to her and pull her towards him when he took it and spin her. It fits the song, he told himself, it’s a part of the musical journey. He hasn’t felt this lost in a song in a long time and never with someone else. The adrenaline was taking over and Hunter felt particularly bold as the song reached the buildup into the acapella bridge.

When I lose myself

There is no one else

Who ever sees through me

Quite like you

He sang this directly to her and he meant every world. As he sent each word to Willow, he made sure it carried to sentiment, beyond the music. So he put himself in the mindset that within these three minutes there were fear or consequences.

Those eyes, damn those eyes, they get me every time

Those eyes, in those eyes, I can do no crime

When I dance like I don't care

You call me Fred Astaire

Was his hand under her chin? Tilting her head up to look into his eyes? What was he doing?!?! What if she needed to look down to make sure her hands were in the correct position on her bass??? It was acapella, it was okay he had time. But she looked surprised, did she hate this? Did she feel indifferent? Did she respect his artistic interpretation???

But there she was, joining in the chorus as usual. Maybe he hadn’t ruined things. Maybe they were on the same page. Maybe she was professional and understood the creative process better than he ever would and wasn’t overthinking this like he later would because she knew that in the grand scheme of things this was only a three minute segment of a rehearsal.

He was used to feeling different when he sang, feeling free and light, but never had he felt so bold and…(dare he even THINK this???) flirty.

But even though Hunter would later overthink every second, he still managed to get lost in the moment. These instructive thoughts and possible regret did not manifest until after the song had ended when his soul re-entered his body and found that instead of standing center stage as usual, now he was beside Willow watching her end the song. Was he... dancing? He shuffled his feet as he watched Willow swiftly move her fingers, feeling like the music was now making the colors brighter, creating an aura around Willow inspired by his words. He was so mesmerized, he also didn’t hear the rest of the band calling for him until Willow redirected his attention.

“Wow! That sounded great Hunter!” praised Gus.

“Look who has some moves after all!” Luz laughed.

“Yeah, a major improvement,” agreed Amity. “I could tell you had fun, but next time maybe don’t focus so much on Willow.”

“What? But you said to-.”

“We said interact with her, act like the song as about her, not forget the rest of us were here,” teased Gus.

“I did not-.”

“I stopped playing the whole second chorus and you didn’t even notice,”Amity deadpanned.

“Oh! If we’re doing romantic serenades, I’ve got one I’ve been saving-.” started Luz but Hunter cut her off, lest Willow be made uncomfortable by the implication.

“No! No, it’s just… I’m really good at following directions,” said Hunter, slight panic creeping into his voice. “So next time just be more specific about what I should do. You said to sing to Willow so I did.”

“Well, I liked it,” said Willow brightly. “I think you did perfect Hunter.”

“Really?” said Hunter basfully, twirling the microphone cord. “Uh, thanks. You too.”

“Okay, well let’s take it from the top, and this time try and use the whole stage,”’said Luz, tapping her drumsticks to start them off.

The song quickly became Willow’s new favorite song to play. Even if Hunter never gave a performance like this one again, it was enough to confirm her suspicions. She knew Hunter was a talented singer and a great performer under the right circumstances. But he was not an actor. He could not fake emotion, even on his best day he couldn’t get away with telling even the smallest white lie.

So even though he’d surely blame it on the music and his amazing ability to follow directions, Willow was fairly confident he wouldn’t be able to perform this song while looking into the eyes of anyone else.

She made sure it was a permanent addition to the set list.

#huntlow #toh band au #toh #winter toh #willow park #hunter wittebane #the owl house

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

I turn and reach for you

Summary: Three months after Hankel, Spencer starts getting terrible nightmares that keep him up at night. He tries desperately to keep his secret until one day when it's all too much to bear anymore. Luckily, Derek Morgan is there to hold him together as he falls apart.

Tags: nightmares, hurt/comfort, ptsd, angst with a happy ending, fluff, literal sleeping together, getting together, post-revelations TW: past non-con drug use mentioned once in passing

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 2.1k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

This feels the "Nightmares" square on my Bad Things Happen bingo card, and was written for this prompt by @i-write-whump. Title from a poem by Devon Strang.

After Spencer is kidnapped by Tobias Hankel, he stays with Derek. Nobody on the team wants him to be alone, and he’s always felt the most comfortable with him, so it makes sense. Besides, he’s got the space.

Spencer sometimes wonders whether the team pushed so hard for it because they genuinely believed that, logistically, Derek was the best option, or because they could also see the slow-burning romance simmering under the surface of their relationship. They’ve always had a special friendship, but Spencer can feel the growing tension: the deep and intense looks they share mid-case, the lingering touches on backs and arms, the affection leaking into each ‘pretty boy’ and every ‘Der’.

Perhaps if Hankel never came into the picture they’d already be together — it really had felt like they were on the precipice of something special — but it’s three months later and Spencer’s still sleeping in the spare room; there’s still just as much will they, won’t they lingering in the air between them.

He tries not to mind too much. After all, he’s never had so much free access to the man he’s pined after for years now, and they’re living in each other’s pockets. Almost every waking hour is spent in one another’s company: they cook together, eat together, watch films together, and neither of them are showing any sign of getting sick of it. But every time they’re cooking pasta and Derek says something ridiculous, Spencer wishes he was allowed to lean in and kiss the tip of his nose; every time they sit down to watch something together, he wishes he could burrow into his side and rest his head in the crook of his neck.

(Sometimes, Spencer wishes he could rewind to the weeks immediately after the Hankel incident when Derek would carry him around the flat to keep him off his broken feet; when he could press his face into his shoulder and inhale the scent of complete and utter safety.)

It’s almost torturous, being so close yet so far.

He isn’t quite sure why the nightmares start so late. The nights during the first couple of months are blissfully dreamless, so exhausted from the physical and emotional trauma that sleep was a tantalising escape, but once he’s back in the field, once normal life resumes, everything changes.

The first time he wakes up sweating and panting, heart pounding as he tries to convince himself that he’s no longer in Hankel’s clutches but is safe and sound in Derek’s apartment, he dismisses it as a one-off. He hasn’t had nightmares yet, so why should they start now? He doesn’t go back to sleep that night, too shaken to relax back into the comforting embrace of sleep, too afraid of deception: that he wouldn’t sleep dreamlessly but that the nightmare would be waiting for him once again.

The second time worries him. He gets up this time and gets a glass of water as quietly as possible, leaning with his back against the kitchen counter as he ponders what this could mean for him. The thing is, they’re so incredibly vivid. It really feels like he’s back at the mercy of a three-in-one torturer armed with drugs and belts and guns, genuinely unsure of whether he’ll ever see his family again. He doesn’t go back to sleep this time, either, instead pacing around the living room until Derek wakes up. He lies that he’s only been up for half an hour, and Derek believes him.

The third time solidifies for Spencer the fact that this is a problem. Three is a pattern, everybody knows that, and Spencer spends the rest of the night scouring the internet for studies conducted around delayed trauma responses and discovers the prevalence of delayed-onset PTSD. He’s tempted to contact a professor he met during his third PhD who specialised in the psychology of trauma, but he thinks better of it. Admitting these nightmares would be admitting defeat.

This is something he has to deal with alone.

(He ignores the truth that it’s more fear than anything else that keeps him from telling anyone: fear of being seen as weak, fear of nothing changing, fear of voicing his trauma out loud. It’s easier to pretend it’s about independent agency.)

It doesn’t affect him too much at first. Sure, he’s scared to go to sleep and he sweats so profusely that it soaks through his bedsheets almost every night, but he’s managing. He’s okay. He contributes just as much to their profiles and takes down unsubs without flinching. He dances around Derek like they have done for over a year, and he sits through Dr Who marathons with Penelope just fine. So what if he’s a bit tired? He’s stared down some of America’s Most Wanted and interviewed famous serial killers, he can cope with a little fatigue.

It doesn’t stay that easy for long.

Soon everybody’s asking about the bags under his eyes, his slower reaction times when they visit the gun range, his twitchiness around the team.

“Are you sleeping okay, Spencer?” Penelope asks him one day, brushing a curly lock of hair behind his ears as they sit side by side on the sofa next to a conked out Derek.

He can’t nod his head quick enough. “Yeah! Yes, uh. Yes, Penelope, I’m sleeping fine, I promise,” he says as convincingly as he can, flashing her a smile. He hates lying to her, but he can’t let anyone find out, he just can’t.

Slowly, he begins losing his grip on reality. He’s almost delusional from the sleep deprivation, and he starts seeing Hankel everywhere he goes. He’s stood behind the fridge door, in the foyer of the FBI Headquarters, in the toilets of a local police station, stood right behind the unsub they’re currently trying to talk down, goddamnit.

He’s beyond exhausted, but some nights he still refuses to sleep, too afraid of what awaits him in his dreams, too afraid of the fear he knows he’ll carry into the next day, too afraid of feeling weak again. Helpless. Completely and utterly without agency.

He sits up with his back against the headboard, the main light off but the lamp switched on, scrolling through as many scholarly articles as he can read in a night, drinking cup after cup of steaming black coffee. Most nights he makes it through till morning without sleeping a wink, but sometimes he can’t stop himself from drifting off The nightmares on those nights are the worst.

He isn’t okay and people are starting to notice. Everyone’s walking on eggshells around him right now, but he knows it won’t be long before Penelope organises an intervention that Hotch hosts and Derek directs. The worst part about it is that he feels like a trainwreck waiting to happen. He’s headed straight for complete and utter collapse, and the only possible way to stop the train in its tracks is to reach out and get help, the one thing he can’t get himself to do.

And he isn’t even really sure why.

It all comes to a head on a warm night in July. He’d fallen into bed that night deliberately, actually intending to sleep for once. The bone-deep tiredness had finally caught up to him and he didn’t even care that he was walking straight into the arms of Tobias Hankel, if it meant he got even an iota of refreshing sleep, then it would be worth it.

But he isn’t quite of the same mind when he wakes up at two in the morning like he does almost every night: soaked in sweat with his heart going a million beats per minute, with only one difference. Tonight, he’s crying.

Maybe it’s the emotional turmoil of the last few months catching up to him, or maybe it’s just the severity of this particular dream, but whatever it is, he can’t seem to stop even once he’s awake. Sobs wrack his shoulders as he cries miserably into the pillow, finally letting out the emotions he’s kept bottled up so tightly, and he’s almost wailing after a couple of minutes of anguish.

All he can think as he cries helplessly is how badly he wants Derek. He wants to be wrapped up in his strong and safe embrace, he wants to feel the movement of his soft goatee against his cheek, he wants to inhale the comforting scent of his sleep t-shirts, he wants the warmth and solace that only Derek Morgan can give him, and in that moment, emotionally distraught and so incredibly sleep-deprived, he decides to get it.

He stumbles out of his bedroom and down the hall, stopping once he reaches Derek’s door. He hesitates for only a second before he pushes it open slowly, allowing the light from the lamp they keep switched on in the hallway to gently illuminate the shadows of his bedroom.

“Spencer?” Derek asks groggily, immediately sitting up and wiping his eyes. “What’s wrong? Are you crying?”

At the acknowledgement of his tears, Spencer starts to cry harder, and as embarrassed as he feels, he can’t slow the steady stream of tears rolling down his face as he stands in the doorway like a child in their parents’ room.

“Spence,” Derek says again, gentle and sympathetic, “come here.” He lifts the duvet up and scooches over slightly as if to make room for him in his already spacious king-size bed.

He doesn’t need to be told twice, though, and he stumbles forward, collapsing into bed and wrapping himself around Derek instantly. His arms come up to circle Spencer’s waist, caressing him gently as he holds him close to his body, shushing him quietly.

“It’s okay, Spence,” he murmurs. “I’m here now, alright? We’re gonna fix whatever it is, I promise you. We’ll get through this. You’ll get through this.”

He lets himself cry and cry and cry until his tears are dried up and he’s hiccupping from the force of his sobs. He would feel terrible about the damp spot left on Derek’s t-shirt, but he simply doesn’t have the energy. Instead, he continues to lie there on Derek’s chest, listening to his softly spoken assurances and losing himself in the sensation of Derek’s fingertips caressing the skin of his waist.

After a couple of minutes of silence, interrupted only by the odd hiccup from Spencer’s tired lungs, Derek finally asks the question. “What was that all about, pretty boy?” he asks with a tenderness Spencer isn’t sure he’s ever heard before. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Been having nightmares,” Spencer whispers, keeping his eyes closed against Derek’s imploring gaze.

He feels Derek tense beneath him, his fingers briefly pausing before resuming their comforting patterns on his waist, and a heavy breath escapes his lips. “For how long?”

“Last couple of months,” he mumbles, and somehow another tear manages to escape Spencer’s screwed up eyes.

“Well,” Derek sighs, “I suppose that explains a lot. We’ve been so worried about you, Spencer. We had no idea what was going on but we could all see you withdrawing, and it wasn’t exactly a secret how exhausted you were.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Derek says sadly. “I should’ve pushed harder to figure out what was going on with you. I’m so sorry you’ve had to deal with this all alone.”

“I didn’t know how to tell anyone,” Spencer says, suddenly desperate to explain as he shifts slightly to look Derek in the eye. “I was so scared and I didn’t want anyone to think that I was weak or I couldn’t do my job anymore, and I just didn’t know what to do.”

“I know, Spence,” Derek says soothingly, “but you’ve told me now, haven’t you? And I’m going to do everything I can to get you some help. We’ll fix this, baby. I promise you, I’m going to make sure you’re happy and healthy again if it’s the last thing I do, okay?”

Spencer sniffs a little, wiping tiredly at his eyes as he blinks up at the sincerity on Derek’s face. For the first time in far too long he manages a smile. “Okay.”

Derek runs a hand through his hair before dropping a kiss to the top of his head. “Do you want to sleep here tonight?”

Spencer’s smile widens and he buries his face in Derek’s chest again as his cheeks flush red. “Please.”

Months later, they’ll realise they never officially asked one another to be in an actual, exclusive relationship. Months later, they’ll know instinctively and with absolute certainty that this night was the night that changed everything for them, and exactly one year later, they’ll celebrate their first anniversary on that date.

Tonight, though, they sleep curled up next to one another in Derek’s bed, and although Spencer doesn’t fall into the same dreamless sleep he grew used to immediately after Hankel, for once he isn’t haunted by nightmares, but dreams inflected with hope for what the future holds for them, and he’ll take that over dreamlessness any day.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @lesbiantodds @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @enbyspencer @reidology @transhanniballecter @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @ @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @im-autistic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids @ropoto @thosecriminalminds (add yourself to my taglist)

#my writing #moreid #derek #spencer #derek morgan #criminal minds #spencer reid #moreid fic #moreid fanfic #moreid fanfiction #cm #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #derek morgan/spencer reid #derek morgan x spencer reid #spencer reid/derek morgan #spencer reid x derek morgan #userpenemily

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boldlyvoid · 3 years

Text

ain't it fun? | part two

Part Two

summary: reader just needs an NA meeting before they have a meltdown, they end up with the best friend they could ever make.

warnings: falling in love, fluff, hurt/comfort, implied/referenced smut, non-descriptive

a/n: so glad you liked part 1 I couldn't help myself from continuing

word count: 3k

from the beginning

She’s laying in his bed, one of his friends showed up early and she’s pretending she’s not there. But his friend brought breakfast and it smells good and she’s starving.

After crewing the hell out of her lip and 5 minutes of hyping herself up; she gets up off the bed, still in her sweater and shorts from their movie night, and she slowly opens the bedroom door, peaking out to see if Spencer was in view.

“Hello?” A friendly man spots her, standing as he makes his way to shake her hand. “I’m Derek.”

“Y/N,” she smiles.

“Pleasure to meet you,” he smiles back. “What’s going on here?” He gestures to her and then back to Spencer as he exits the kitchen and sees her.

“We watched star trek all night, if you don’t believe me I can make him recount it to you from memory?” Y/N replies, smirking like she knows him just as well as his friend.

“And how might you know Spencer?” Derek teases right back.

“He’s my best friend in the whole world,” she replies like it’s nothing, “and I live across the hall.”

Derek shoots a look at Spencer that’s almost proud, almost emotional, like a mom who heard she’s going to be a grandma, “Is that true?”

Spencer blushes, “she’s my best friend.”

“Tell me how this all happened!” Derek is more than excited, sitting down on the couch with a wide grin as he waits to hear more.

“Um, we met in the hall, we have the same interests and now we watch movies together and have sleepovers with candy and popcorn, like we’re 13-year-old girls? I’ve even braided his hair,” she avoids the real reason why they met. Unsure if Spencer has told anyone about his drug problem or not.

“And now I’m going to go finish sleeping in my own bed,” she makes awkward finger guns at the door accompanied by her most awkward smile and she’s off.

Spencer follows her out into the hall, closing the door and looking at her apologetically; “I’m sorry, I won’t tell him anything more about us if you don’t want me to?”

“Us?” She questions? “You tell me you love me a lot, but you’ve never told me who you want me to be to you… I want you to think about that and then come and see me later.”

“Can I have a kiss? It helps me think better,” he whispers as he leans in.

She rolls her eyes, playfully, leaning in as well until their lips meet. It’s soft and sweet and she wishes there could be more, but for now she has to go.

Once she’s inside, she leans against the door of her apartment and listens to see when he goes back inside. Only what she hears is even better, “Derek, I’m going to have to ask you to leave so I can go ask her to be my girlfriend.”

He shoos the man from his apartment, avoiding all his questions and convincing him to finally leave by saying, “you’ve been telling me for months that I need to get over it, and now you’re going to stand here and stop me from telling her I love her, again?”

“Again?”

“Derek!”

“Fine.”

And then he’s knocking on her door, “who is it?” She teases.

“Y/N, open the door, please?” He begs without a single regret behind his tone.

She opens it slowly, “yes?”

He tilts his head with a look that screams; ‘come on?’

But she looks back at him as if to say; ‘what about it?'

“Are you really going to make me say it?”

“The first step in getting help is admitting you have a problem.”

He laughs at the absurdity, “you’re kidding?”

“Spencer, even though you’re a pain in my ass; would you like to be my boyfriend? I’m asking because the words make it real, and I would like you to really know how I feel, thanks for coming,” she extends her arm into the apartment, gesturing for him to walk in and he does so with a laugh.

“I would love to be your boyfriend,” he responds once the door is closed. “I’m sorry I made you feel like I didn’t want this to be real?”

She can tell he’s not sure why he’s apologizing, “I need confirmation. I can’t sleep in your bed almost every night for a month, and just have to guess if I’m allowed to call you my boyfriend when my mom calls and asks why I won't text her back at night.”

“Oh,” he looks upset. “I thought that by telling you that I love you that it would work, but I understand. I really would like to be your boyfriend and be yours for however long you’ll have me.”

Her heart melts in her chest, he's so nervous and shy because he truly means it. His heart is in her hands now, “how long are you available?”

“Forever.”

“I have more questions,” she whispers as she moves closer, pressing their bodies together as she holds his sides and he holds her shoulders.

“Okay.”

“What did you mean out there, and also sorry for listening, but I’d like to know…”

“It’s okay,” his words are soft. “I’m um, a virgin?”

“Oh?” Her eyes shoot wide open, “I was expecting like an ex who broke your heart?”

“Oh no, I’ve never… I don’t... no,” he shakes his head profusely. “I’m not in a rush either, I just wanted him to leave me alone. That’s not what I’m in here for.”

She smiles, “I am too…” she whispers, “I’m really glad you are too, actually.”

“You’ve thought about it?”

“Think, big brain, go back to right before I closed my door that first night…” she teases him before making a fake VHS tape rewind sound that always makes him laugh.

“You wanted to leave the group because you can’t sleep with members while you’re healing,” he smirks at his recollection, “I mean, other than the general attraction, have you thought about the possibility of that happening for us one day?”

She nods again, “one day, I’m cool just making out with you for now, actually. But yes. I would like for you to be my first because I trust you the most out of every single person I’ve ever met.”

He looks like his heart is exploding as his grip on her shoulders tightens, “I would like for you to be mine too, eventually.”

“Eventually,” she repeats with a small smile, leaning in for another small kiss.

“Derek left without his breakfast, and he didn't even get a chance to touch it yet…” Spencer whispers against her lips.

She laughs through her nose, kissing him once more before pulling away, “come on, boyfriend.”

—

She’s been in Quantico for 5 months, 3 of which she’s now spent with Spencer.

She’s laying beside him as they watch star trek and her mind is off in space. She can’t focus on anything other than the thought of her rent coming due and how she’s probably going to have to decide if she wants to leave after her 6-month lease is up.

“Spence,” she whispers, “do you know any other cheap apartment buildings in the area?”

“Why?”

She turns to face him, the yellows, reds and blues flash across the screen and illuminate him lightly, “I don’t have enough money to keep living here, and I don’t want to move back in with my parents.”

“Would you like to move in with me?” He asks carefully, “don’t feel pressured to say yes, it’s just I’m never really here and I don’t want you to leave.”

She smiles at the offer, “If I move in I have to tell the disability people, and then my disability money will change because you make so much and they still believe that men own women when they get together, like some what's yours is mine, shit.”

“Really?”

She nods, “yeah. They'll want to know how much you make every month when I get my statement and then they decide what I deserve because if you’re making money, clearly I’m taken care of, right?”

He can hear her sarcasm and he knows it's just to mask the hurt, and she can tell by the way his whole face changes.

“Wrong,” Spencer is oddly defensive. “That is so wrong, there are so many women in this country trapped with terrible men who abuse them. They never see a single dime of the money that comes in, and if they have children they are lucky to receive money for groceries. I’ve seen all of it first hand, it’s horrific, and yet they still think they can take care of disabled women who are in more need of money than anyone else?”

“I love you.”

“What?” He stops, breathing, blinking, everything. He just stares at her as he comprehends it.

She hasn’t said it back yet.

“I love you.” She repeats it and smiles, tears welling in her eyes as she appreciates how much he really does care; how much he really gets it.

“Lie, tell them you’re back with your parents. It’s not like they check-up and then just stay here. Move your things in and make this your place too, do whatever you want to it, it deserves to be lived in.”

“You’re really serious?” She’s not sure why she’s so surprised, he’s been saying he loves her every single day for the last 2 months and 3 weeks.

She’s loved him the whole time, but she’s afraid of that at the same time because once she loves him out loud, then she loves him for real and that’s scary. He has a scary job and he’s never home and if she loves him then she has to deal with that and the fact he might not come home one day.

He nods gently, “I know you need a lot of space for your art supplies so move whatever you need to to make room. I think you’re magnificent, and I don’t think that you should feel held back, I'll do anything to help you with your little craft store.”

A tear slips past her eye and towards the pillow, she blinks as she smiles, unable to speak as she just appreciates his kindness, “I think when whatever is out there made your soul, they were like 'this one; he’s special, we’re only making one of him and he’s going to go through some shit, but it’s because someone else is too and they need each other.'”

Spencer’s smile grows, large and toothy as he moves in closer to hold her. Noses pressed together, they’re hugging basically now, arms wrapped around each other and legs tangled as they enjoy the moment. It’s so nice, there’s nothing left to say.

They’re content with each other.

—

She moves what she needs into Spencer’s apartment the next week, he’s out of town and it’s easier this way with him out of the way.

It’s easier to miss him in here though, everything smells like him and feels like him, and his personality is on every single wall. She wants him to come home so badly, living without him for random bouts of time was the worst part of their relationship.

The rest of her things are in boxes in her apartment, waiting by the door for when Spencer comes back. He offered to put everything in his old Volvo Amazon and meet her parents for the weekend and her mother was through the roof over it.

She has called 4 times in the last week to ask about all Spencer’s favourite meals, what he likes for breakfast most mornings and if he had any allergies. She’s cleaned the “guest” room, which was really just where she slept before, and she was very clear that he was allowed to sleep with her as long as no funny business happened.

That was the funny part.

They still weren’t doing it and she was fine with that, so was he. Neither of them was ready, emotionally nor physically. They’ve both been through some terrible things that make it very hard for them to want to share yet.

She loves him more this way, while the sex would probably be amazing and she knew they were both getting off anyway and they weren’t secretive about it, at all. They just didn’t do it together yet… and she was starting to want to.

The most they’ve done is the occasional mutual masturbation session and that was just when they were too lazy to do it when they were alone, earlier in the day, and just needed to in order to finally sleep. It was always quick, quicker than when she would do it alone because he was just so cute like that.

She found herself getting off to thoughts of him more than anything else the longer and longer they shared more and got to know each other.

Because while, yes, they live together and they’re dating; they’re still really just best friends and roommates. They don’t see each other as often as they want to, they have separate friend groups, she has meetings on the other side of town now and they’ve never even been on a date.

For how fast they looked to be moving to anyone who knew them, they were going extremely slow behind the scenes. The reality is, they were following the rules of addiction recovery more than the rules of society.

She wasn’t really ready to take on the emotional commitment of having sex with someone when she wasn’t really over her trauma. It went far deeper than just her addiction, there was more Spencer had no idea about and she wanted to make sure he knew everything before he met her parents.

So like always, they got into bed as soon as he returned and they had a cuddle conversation. It was soothing to not only feel the other person close, but they both stimmed by running their hands over something soft. He knew something was up as soon as he walked in the door and she asked for a cuddle before even saying hello.

He didn’t, however, expect the long-winded backstory of her childhood to be the issue. He was silent the whole time she explained, he cried with her as his cheek rested on her forehead and her tears fell onto his shirt below her face.

Learning his past was just as hard.

She cant imagine how no one could love him, no one took him in and offered him shelter and love and warmth. He deserved kindness and family. He was worth the world and then some to her, and it hurt so deeply to think of no one showing that to him. He’s spent the last 25 years just searching aimlessly for a single iota of respect.

No wonder he fell in love with her so easily.

—

The first time is terribly awkward but incredibly euphoric… and they cry after. Not from sadness or regret; no, they’re so in love and so happy with their choices, it’s more of an overwhelming overflowing of emotions that was bound to erupt along with them.

“This has to be the most vulnerable time in the entire world if you really think about it,” Spencer justifies why he’s crying as he starts to get anxious about being too much. “I mean we’ve already seen each other naked and know each other outside… we might as well share what's going on inside too.”

She nods against his sweaty chest, “I used to be really upset that my doctors put me on Dilaudid. I still hate that all this happened to us, but I’m really glad we don’t have to be alone anymore.”

“Me too,” he whispers.

It gets easier the more they do it. It’s still always hilariously awkward, they were so stupidly in love it translated into every moment; like when they attempted shower sex and knocked the curtain down and got water everywhere. Or the time they attempted a quickie in the bar bathroom and his boss walked in, and they had to try not to laugh or move or do anything as they made the most awkward, silent, eye contact ever, in the corner of the stall.

Being horny and awkward was the worst combination but they made it work pretty well.

He was tender and loving and he listened to instructions well. He was a quick learner, he was happy with whatever she wanted and he always, always, tried to finish last. (He wasn’t that lucky) but he was a truly nice guy.

She loved him more and more as the seconds passed. He was just so wonderful, he had his up and downs but they always had great communication, and he understood her unpredictability from her disabilities. The best part was that he loved her regardless of how she was when she woke up in the morning, and she always went to bed with either a kiss or a text proving he loved her.

Before they knew it, a year had passed and she was laying in his bed while he got ready for work. She loved watching his selection process, his colour coordinated closet and handy-dandy tie organization rack. He was so cute, and he always looked so amazing.

“I don’t want you to go in today,” she whispers with a pout.

He takes his phone off the dresser and calls in then, “yeah, Hotch I’m really not doing well. I don’t know what we ate last night but I— yeah thank you.”

He puts everything back in the closet and crawls right back into bed, he snuggled back in close and she smiled at her job well done. He didn’t need to be at work as often as he was, he had a lot of personal and sick days stored and they were always telling him to use them. He deserved a break for that beautiful brain of his, an 8-hour turnaround between psychopaths wasn’t good for anyone, especially not the 2nd most prized possession of the FBI.

“What do you do during the day when I’m not here?” He asked, genuinely not knowing how she occupied her time outside of his presence.

“I sleep until 11,” she whispers as she snuggles in closer.

He’s warm and cuddly and perfect. Naps in the morning are possibly the best periods of sleep someone can ever experience. It’s so relaxing to reward the body with more time, and it’s even better when it includes the perfect snuggle companion.

Taglist:

@g0lden-cth @doctorspenceryeet @samuel-de-champagne-problems @reiding-recs @ssavanessa22 @spookyspence @shemarmooresfedora @spencers-dria@reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @jswessie187 @k-k0129 @calm-and-doctor

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid request #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #aint it fun

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bibuckbuckley · 3 years

Note

Eddie falling asleep with his head in Buck's lap or on his thigh as maybe Buck's looking down at him-? I don't know take it from pls. there

A/N: I know you completely forgotten about this prompt but I'm still sorry it's taken me so long lol.

That being said, thank you so much for the prompt anyways :)

ao3 version here

----

"Are you okay?" Buck asked as Eddie wiggled ever so slightly in his seat for what felt like the millionth time.

"I'm fine." Eddie answered also for the millionth time.

The blond rolled his eyes. This was getting out of hand.

"Eddie." He gave his best friend, who was stubbornly staring ahead and pretending to watch the cartoon that Christopher had enthusiastically picked, a pointed look before sofly kicking his ankle.

The other man jerked and swivelled his head to meet Buck's gaze. "Hey, what was that for?"

"Eds, you're hurting."

Eddie huffed a quick, "I'm fine."

Before he could protest Christopher chimed in from his current spot on the floor against the couch that he moved to earlier after being tired of bumping into his dad whenever they moved at the same time. "Daaaaad." He started to say before letting out an exasperated sigh that made him seem like an actual teenager and not just a pre-teen. "You're hurt."

Eddie opened his mouth to protest but then closed it before letting out a sigh of defeat. "My shoulder is just aching a little from sitting on the couch for too long. It's not that big of a deal."

Both Buck and Chris shared a long-suffering look, used to the older Diaz's stubbornness but still a little exasperated from having to deal with it more frequently the past few weeks. Although, they'd didn't complained because as long as Eddie was still alive that was all that mattered.

"Eds," Buck began to tell him in a soft voice, "do you need to lay down?"

It was Eddie's turn to roll his eyes. "I'm fine." He repeated with emphasis. "I've been in that damn bed enough these past few weeks to last a lifetime."

"Eddie." Buck told him sternly, knowing that if Eddie was showing discomfort and talking about his shoulder bothering him then it must've really been hurting him and he didn't want his best friend to exasperate the wound and hurt even more.

"Buck." Eddie mocked.

"Donkey!" Christopher exclaimed, breaking the tension.

The two men blinked at each other, looked at the ten year old who started to giggle, then looked back at each other before starting to laugh as well.

After a few moments of laughter, Buck let out a soft sigh. "Eddie, I'm serious. If you need to, I can help you to bed."

His best friend gave him a fond smile which wasn't until recently that Buck had realized the full effect it had on him. "I know. And thank you for caring, like you always do. But it's almost Chris' bedtime anyways and I want to spend as much time with you guys out here as possible."

Buck sighed, always ending up giving in to Eddie. It had taken his best friend getting shot for him to realize exactly why he had that effect on Buck. "I know you do." He said ever so softly. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be so overbearing. It's just..." He paused.

"We worry about you." Christopher finished for him, patting his father's leg as he gave him a serious look.

Eddie smiled down at his son. "I don't want you to worry, Mijo. That's my job."

"But dad, we do worry. It's what family does."

Eddie's smile brightened. "Well when you put it that way..." He then began to tickle his son, who's giggles echoed happily throughout the living room.

However, the older Diaz could only tickle for a second or so before wincing in pain, although he did a pretty good job of hiding it. But Buck could tell how much his best friend was hurting. He always could.

"Okay, that's it." Buck announced, moving closer to the end of the couch until his left side hit the arm. He then patted his thigh. "Come on."

Eddie's eyes widened ever so slightly, making Buck realize the innuendos that motion caused.

He then cleared his throat. "Lay your head on my lap."

Yeah that didn't sound quite better either.

Buck then quickly added. "So you can finish the movie with me and Chris and be at least somewhat more comfortable."

Eddie gave him that small yet fond smile once more, eyes slightly widened as he looked at him in what seemed to be in awe.

The blond shifted in his seat. "What?"

His best friend cleared his throat. "Nothing." His eyes then fell toward Buck's lap before travelling back to meet his gaze. "Are you sure?"

Buck rolled his eyes before patting his thigh again. "Of course. Come on, we're missing all the good parts."

Eddie's smile widened as he proceeded to lay down on the couch, his back against the cushions as his head tilted slightly to see the movie.

Trying to help him be as comfortable as possible, Buck went to delicately rest his arm around Eddie's side so his bad shoulder could have more support.

They surprisingly got settled in comfortable positions rather quickly as Christopher gave them a bright smile before turning his attention back on the tv and proceeding to rewind the little bit that they missed.

They watched the cartoon in a peaceful silence besides the laughter coming from all three of them at different points. It didn't take long for Buck to subconsciously begin to to rub small, soothing circles on Eddie's arm with one hand and softly run his fingers through Eddie's hair in the other.

His best friend hitched a breath at first at the touch, which made Buck about to stop his small movements. But before he could, Eddie sunk further in the blond's hold, and let out a moan of contentment.

"Hmmm. That's nice." He muttered, shifting his head ever so slightly so he could softly rub his nose against Buck's thigh, like a cat who was enjoying a head rub.

And wow, okay. This was new.

Though Buck could add it up to the list of small yet new and slightly alarming - but in a good way - things that Eddie had done since coming home from the hospital.

For a man who had gotten shot in broad daylight and almost… died, Eddie had surprisingly been... lighter in a way.

Even while he was struggling with dealing with having to only use one arm and needing other's help since Eddie always had a hard time asking for help. But at least with Buck he had been more open about it, more willing to tell the blond what he needed. Even though there were still plenty of times where Buck had to guess and not be told Eddie's needs, like just a few minutes prior.

But, whenever Eddie would ask Buck for help and the blond immediately said "Of course" or when Buck gave him exactly what he needed at the moment without being asked, no matter what Eddie would always give him that fond smile.

Buck had noticed it before that fateful day, but there was something about those fond looks that sorta...grew afterwards. A certain openness that always took his breath away.

And then of course there were those lingering touches that Eddie had given him countless of times as well.

Sure, Buck had been helping him with his PT exercises so of course they'd be touching a lot. But it wasn't just then. Like whenever Buck would hand Eddie something and their fingers would graze each other. Or whenever Eddie needed to walk pass Buck and his hand would press on his back for a moment. It was used to be where the touch would only last a milisecond but now it'd just linger there for a few secondw too long. In fact, whenever they'd accidentally touch - and that had been happening a lot in these past few weeks - Eddie would always just… linger there. And whenever he'd finally move away, he didn't look bashful or embarrassed or anything like that. No. He'd just give Buck this lingering, secretive smile that always made his stomach flutter, before going back to what he was doing and acting like he didn't just almost give Buck a heart attack with all of the palpitations that he caused.

However, Buck would just try to tell himself that he was just overreacting and that it was just because his feelings for his best friend had been present more than ever and hard to keep in since the incident. That Eddie had always acted like that because they were best friends and close and that was what they did. Nothing changed except Buck temporarily moving in to help out which made everything seem more intimate than it really was.

That was it. Nothing less. Nothing more.

Well...besides the fact that Eddie had apparently put Buck in his will as Christopher's guardian if something were to happen to him. A fact that Eddie had kept to himself for a year. Something that Buck may or may not still be reeling from during these past few weeks. Especially as he and the Diaz boys had fallen into this somewhat domestic bubble that Buck kept trying to convince himself that it was just temporary as Eddie recovered.

And it worked. For the most part.

However, it had been more and more difficult for Buck to convince himself of it when it came to moments like his current one.

With the way Eddie didn't second guess to lay on Buck's lap after getting the okay and proceeding to sink further into the touch. Eddie's little moans and noises of contentment as Buck continued his gentle movements.

And...did Eddie's lips just gently graze the skin on Buck's thigh where his shorts rode up?

That...that had to be a mistake right?

Because, sure, there had been moments here and there where it really felt like they were gonna kiss before one or both of them pulled away. But, again, this was all mostly likely in Buck's head.

Right?

Daring to look down at Eddie, he noticed how his eyes were now closed as his breathing had gotten more even. It seemed like Eddie had fallen asleep, looking more peaceful than Buck had seen him in a long time.

His heart was beating loudly in his chest, as his stomach tightened while every fiber in his being lightened up like they were on fire. Buck hitched a breath. He couldn't take it. His love for his best friend encompassed him.

Every night he had nightmares of that day. Of the absolutely devastating fear of losing Eddie. Buck had never been more terrified in his life. But it were moments like this current one where Buck thanked the universe with everything he had that Eddie was here. That he was alive and breathing. That even after getting shot and dealing with the traumatizing struggle of his recovery, Eddie still seemed lighter. More open and sure of himself in a certain vulnerability that Buck had never seen on him before. Like a certain puzzle piece had clicked. And even when there were days where Eddie had been frustrated and angry and just flat out stubborn with his recovery, that lightness had still somehow been there, keeping him grounded.

Eddie was alive. Eddie was getting better. And as he did, Buck was going to continue to be with him as much as possible.

And even though his recovery was going to take a long time between the physical therapy and his therapy for his PTSD, and it was still gonna be a long and hard road, there were still moments where Eddie was happy. Happier than Buck had seen him in a long time even.

Moments like these where it was just Eddie, Buck, and Christopher, being together.

And Buck? Buck could live in these moments forever. As long as he had Eddie and Christopher then he'd be okay.

At that thought he looked away from the sleeping man in his lap to check on Chris. The kid was now laying on the soft carpet, head on one of the couch pillows, now fast asleep just like his dad.

His two Diaz boys. Who had both gone through so much more than anyone should in a lifetime and now were both sleeping happily, with small smiles both on their faces.

Buck's heart clenched in his chest.

Now this? This was what pure happiness felt like.

He then looked back down at the soft expression on Eddie's face as his best friend slept soundly.

Buck couldn't take it anymore.

Sure this was a very bad idea, but his heart felt like it was going to rip out of his chest. His love for the best friend he'll ever have was just too much.

And so, in a moment of weakness, Buck leaned his head down and kissed Eddie's forehead, lingering there for a few seconds or so before whispering in a hushed tone, "I love you."

Eddie's head shifted ever so slightly which made Buck immediately rip his hand away.

His best friend's eyes slowly fluttered open before meeting his gaze.

And there it was. That fond look yet again. But this time it was brighter than Buck had ever seen it before.

Eddie smiled up at him, "I love you too."

And just like that Buck finally knew what that missing puzzle piece Eddie had seemed to find. Because he was now feeling it too as everything fell into place.

Not being able to contain himself anymore, Buck leaned down and placed a small yet emotional-filled kiss on Eddie's lips. His best friend returned the kiss with as much vigor.

After Buck lifted his head up ever so slightly, he placed his forehead against Eddie's as they smiled softly at each other.

Yeah, he could get used to this.

#buddie #buddie fanfiction #buckley diaz family #evan buckley #eddie diaz #kj's writing #my writing #kj's writing prompts #long post

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

Text

slow blink | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: He asked for the ring back and left you there. Had a wedding and invited all your friends, but not you, because you were his ex-fiancé. The only person who didn’t attend was Min Yoongi. Years passed. Time kept going, but you and Yoongi were stuck in time.

warnings: angst; language; non-idol!AU

–

"I hate this.”

You pushed the small carved wooden turtle across the coffee table with tiny jerks of your index finger, sighing.

"I hate that I keep thinking about him."

You placed your fingertip on the turtle's shell.

"I hate that it's been years and I'm still sitting here thinking about how he sat me down at that restaurant and told me to give back the engagement ring because he had met someone else."

You flipped the turtle over unceremoniously. Unlike a real turtle, this one did not complain.

You closed your eyes.

"I can still see him smiling at me."

"Breakups happen every day."

You didn't open your eyes. The voice was speaking to you, but your mind was imagining a different time, a different place, when life was different, but now the man you once loved was probably celebrating holidays with his wife and kids, holding her hand, not yours, not yours, but at one time he did.

He did.

Did.

"Did you come over to sulk?"

"I fixed your sink."

"Thanks."

You opened your eyes to see Min Yoongi sitting on his sofa, wearing a blue and white button-up shirt and white t-shirt under it. Blue jeans with paint stains and rips, probably not all done by a factory. You reached over and re-flipped the turtle so it was on its legs again.

"Where'd you get the turtle?"

Yoongi shrugged, black hair sliding over his brown, cat-like eyes. "Friend brought back a souvenir when he went somewhere. I don't really remember where." He had a calm, unassuming voice.

You exhaled and stood up from his coffee table. "Alright, I'll begone now."

You began to turn, but Yoongi spoke again.

"You know, he was my friend too," Yoongi said, almost dismissively. "I thought it was so stupid, the way he did it. He should have known it would scar you like this."

You didn't move, frozen in time. It was part of the reason you were still friends with Yoongi. Everyone said they wouldn't choose sides, but, ultimately, they did, attending his wedding that you weren't invited to, every one of them but Yoongi. Everyone had worn pretty dresses and nice suits, everyone but Yoongi, saying he needed to finish a production and couldn't make it. The deadline was too important for his career.

"I'm not scarred."

"You started harassing my wooden turtle after fixing my fucking sink. That's not normal behavior."

You wanted a drink. Wanted to drown everything out once more, but you told yourself no more, no more drunken nights alone crying over nothing, because it was nothing, it really was, it was just some guy who didn't deserve you because he thought you were expendable and nobody wants that, right?

Crying on the phone, calling up Yoongi at two in the morning, asking what was wrong with you, asking why you couldn't get better, asking why you couldn't let it go.

"There's nothing wrong with you," he had said calmly, clicking away at his computer as he spoke. "It's how life is. You think it should be easy, but that's not how human brains work."

"I want it to be over," you had mumbled. "Want myself to be over."

The clicking at his computer stopped. Silence.

"My sink is broken. Can you come over this weekend and fix it?"

"... Y-Yeah."

No matter how many times you told yourself no more, old habits die hard.

You weren't even a plumber. Yoongi just didn't want to fix his own sink. He kept thinking he could shove random things in his garbage disposal to make them disappear from existence.

"Yoongi."

"Hm?" he replied, standing up.

You turned to look at him. "Why was your disposal stuffed with lemons?"

Yoongi shrugged. "I thought it would smell better."

His sink wasn't even broken. If he had pressed the button longer, he would have ground them, even if they were whole lemons. You had automatically unscrewed the garbage disposal because that was usually his problem. He usually made a face, disgusted. What a damn prince. You kept scolding him that he should watch you carefully and learn to fix it himself.

You looked into his eyes. He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking back at you. Blinking slowly, covering his dark brown eyes for almost a full second, his lashes brushing his cheeks, framed by dark brows and dark circles from long nights, working on music, so many long nights of him listening to your drunken rambles, and sometimes you would be so drunk that you wouldn't remember, but you would see your phone history and the two-hour long call to Min Yoongi.

"I'm sorry."

He raised his brows and tilted his head. "Hm?"

"I won't call you late and drunk anymore."

He shrugged his shoulders. "It's fine. I'm usually awake anyway."

You laughed and nothing was funny. "I mean I won't bother you anymore. Your future girlfriend probably wouldn't like me calling all the time."

Yoongi didn't say anything for five seconds. A long pause.

"Have I had a girlfriend the entire time you've known me?" Yoongi asked plainly.

You blinked, slow, looking into those cat-like eyes once more. An almost blank face. No. Yoongi had never had a girlfriend the entire time you had known him. Working on music. Always shrugging when asked what his type was. Doesn't really matter, does it? If I find someone I click with, that's enough for me. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, opening it and turning it to you.

A picture where the ID card should be.

A picture you knew.

You, with your hands on your smiling lips, almost crying, staring down at what you knew was a ring and a man on one knee, sparkling eyes full of joy. It was cropped so it was only your face and your shoulders, the top of the white dress visible, a peter-pan collar with puff sleeves. You remembered that dress. You remembered thinking you would keep that dress forever.

You remembered donating it after he asked you to give the ring back.

Yoongi snapped his wallet closed.

"I'm not going to have a girlfriend until you no longer want to know me."

He placed his wallet back in his pocket.

"That... that photo is terrible." You were surprised to find your words small, weak.

Yoongi shrugged. "It was the happiest moment in your life, right? I like it."

You shifted your eyes, not quite looking at him. "I have tons of photos on social media of me smiling."

Out of your peripheral vison, Yoongi nodded, tucking his tongue in his cheek. "Mhm, tons of posed pictures of fake smiles and pretending you've moved on."

He wasn't wrong. You took a deep breath.

"What... What am I supposed to do?" you said quietly, voice nearly breaking.

"Stop thinking that you have to get over it."

Your eyes went up, up, to his. Slow blink, impassioned expression.

"Everyone thinks pain goes away," Yoongi muttered. "It doesn't. You just get used to it."

You tore yourself up with the what-ifs, the how-comes, the does--he-regret-anythings, thinking it would help to map out all the possibilities, thinking it would help if you pretended it didn't exist, thinking it would help if you wallowed in it, thinking it would help, and cursing it all, digging up your old wounds and cutting them deeper, instead of leaving it there and accepting that they existed and that they would be there forever, forever and ever, because he was your first love, the first one who smiled at you and made you smile hopelessly back, the first one that made you want to hold hands and do cheesy shit, and you kept thinking you wanted that back, instead of understanding that everything after would be different, would be something else.

Something like...

Dumping five shredded lemons into Min Yoongi's trash can and shaking your head at his foolishness.

And he had your picture in his wallet and said nothing until now, said nothing at all until you said you wanted yourself to be over and then he asked you to fix his sink and shoved it full of lemons and showed you your picture in his wallet, not saying anything else, not trying to change your mind, only telling you that he was waiting.

Waiting all this time.

Yoongi's hands were still in his pockets, his face expressionless, but he was watching you carefully, blinking slowly, not saying anything more.

Just waiting.

Waiting for you to say something.

You stepped up to him, closing the distance. Looking up at him, tilting your head, leaning in.

He placed his fingertips on your lips.

"Life isn't like the movies," Yoongi said quietly.

You backed up, but his fingers stayed on your lips. Cat-like eyes no longer expressionless, but sad.

Because he knew.

"In life, there is no happy ending."

Just because you knew about your picture in his wallet didn’t mean that you were suddenly cured. It didn’t mean that you were over your first love, it didn’t mean you were ready, and it did mean that if you kissed him right here, right now, you would hurt him. Hurt him because all your brain could think about was a memory from long ago when time was different and you were stuck in that time, trapped, rewinding from the moment that you sat down at that restaurant and handed over your previous engagement ring.

And you could have said so many things, but nothing was right. Nothing.

You pressed your lips to his fingertips, vision blurring.

Saying nothing, but a slow blink.

Yoongi slow-blinked back at you.

"You're in love with her because it's easier than falling in love with someone who will actually love you back."

Min Yoongi didn't say anything.

"This way you can have an excuse to feel like you're in love without the actual effort. Tell me I'm wrong."

Yoongi didn't say anything.

He just stood up and left.

"You're in love with the idea of him. The way he was then. The memory, not him now."

You didn't say anything.

"That's why you keep yourself from accepting anyone else. You've made a grandiose fantasy in your head. No one can measure up. Not even if he came back to you and proposed again. You're stuck in that time."

You couldn't say anything.

You just stood up and left.

“What would you like, miss?”

This was it. This was the exact table. The moment your life stopped. You looked up, but not at the waitress. You looked up at the seat that he occupied, the memory of a man who sat there long ago and asked you to give the engagement ring back because he was in love with someone else.

“Is it… Is it alright if I order a slice of your famous chocolate cake?”

“Just that?” The waitress sounded surprised.

You turned to face her. She wasn’t the waitress who served you that day. Of course, she wasn’t. The uniforms had changed too, black and white now instead of navy and white. You smiled at her, but you didn’t feel the smile in your soul. She blinked at you rapidly with her pen poised over her notepad.

“And a glass of champagne, please.”

She smiled back. “Oh? Celebrating something?”

You looked away, at the empty space in front of you. She looked too, as if there was someone there.

“Are you waiting for someone?”

“… No. It’s just me. I just wanted some champagne to go with my cake, if that’s possible.”

“Yes, of course.”

Soon enough the slice of cake was placed in front of you with the flute of bubbly champagne. There was a truffle on top of the cake with gold flakes. Even now, you remembered the taste of this cake. It had been delicious on that day. Maybe the best chocolate cake you had ever tasted, just the right balance of sweet and bitter.

It was during dessert when he told you.

How cruel it was, after an entire meal. Even though he clearly must have not been in love with you during that whole meal, you still thought he was. In fact, you still believed that he was. In your eyes, all the way until that point, you were the only one.

You lifted the dessert fork. Cut into the cake, a small bite.

You remembered that you had been so shocked that you didn’t even cry. You had gone numb, handing over the ring, not understanding, but your mouth was saying that you did. Watched him stand up and leave, telling you he would pay the bill and you could finish your cake. Leaving you there, alone.

You lifted the fork. Placed it in your mouth. The flavor, sweet and bitter.

It tasted more bitter than you remembered.

You had never come back to this restaurant all this time. It was like you were in the memory once more. Listening to him say I’m sorry and not comprehending what was happening. You didn’t even ask what you did wrong. Handing over the ring, and you didn’t even remember what the ring looked like anymore, not really, some shiny gem on some glided band. You stared at the empty space in front of you.

Your face felt warm. Your vision blurred. You blinked, slowly. You looked down and you saw round drops of condensation all over the chocolate truffle and cake slice, dotting the plate. No. Not condensation.

You touched your face.

The space in front of you, empty.

Pulled your hand back. Fingers smeared with streams of glistening droplets.

And then suddenly the sound of the resultant rushed back, previously muted by your reminiscing, and now it came crashing down and you could finally hear your own hiccupping and sniffling, shivers shaking your whole body, crowded by glasses clinking, plates shuffling, loud conversation, and jovial laughing.

You closed your eyes and buried your face in your hands.

And cried.

Finally cried for that girl all those years ago, sitting in this seat, frozen after his declaration, at some point getting up and wandering outside, not realizing that just like that meant you were alone now. Now you could go anywhere, anywhere but home, because home stood up and walked away from you, taking the ring and the symbol of your happily ever after.

There was so much noise that it drowned out your sobbing, hidden behind your hoodie sleeves. You didn’t know how long you cried, but it was a long time, so long that when you finally looked up, still hiccupping and shivering, your champagne wasn’t bubbling anymore. Your eyes and cheeks burned from the tears.

There was a small stack of napkins by your plate. That wasn’t there before.

You reached out and took one, wiping your face. It took maybe three napkins for you to fully blow out your nose and, even then, your head felt stuffy and clogged. You picked up your fork. Ate slowly, in small bites, sniffing the entire time. Took small sips of champagne in between. The space in front of you, empty.

You tilted your head.

You used to imagine him so clearly, sitting there. You used to remember exactly wheat he’d worn, but… what had he worn? You couldn’t remember. What had you worn? You used to know that too.

You speared the gold-flecked truffle with your fork.

Stared at the gold glimmering in the dim mood lighting of the restaurant. It was a yellow gold, shiny and luxe. Your chest felt tight. You turned it slowly on the fork. The gold glimmered, looking bright yellow in some parts. A little shredded because of the nature of edible gold leaf.

Reminding you of lemons for some reason.

In life, there is no happy ending.

You looked up, seeing that blank space.

“Why are you banging at my door at two in the morning holding a paper bag full of lemons?”

Your whole body felt hot from running. You stared at Min Yoongi, slowly blinking. He was still wearing jeans and a black sweatshirt, so he hadn’t been sleeping. Working on music? His voice was calm and unassuming, even if his actual words had some bite to them.

“Yoongi.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Hm?”

“You said in life there’s no happy ending.”

Those cat-like eyes watching you carefully.

“My happy ending stood up and walked away from me,” you said, chest constricting. “And I don’t think I’m ever going to get it back or if I even want it back, because I don’t know if it’s even real.”

Yoongi lowered his gaze. He took a deep breath. You lifted the paper bag of lemons. Held it out to him. They jostled, rustling the brown paper loudly. Yoongi jerked back a little, eyes widening.

“Take them. Because last time they got mangled by your disposal.”

Those dark brown orbs looked almost scared.

“Because they fell in there, right?”

His lips parted. You noticed they were over-bitten, dry and with small flecks of blood.

“Falling in there would take some effort, wouldn’t it?” Yoongi whispered, looking at you guiltily.

You moved your hand and suddenly the bag split, the bottom flopping open, dropping the bushel of lemons to create a plummeting waterfall of yellow fruit, hitting the floor of Yoongi’s apartment and the porch, rolling in every direction. It was almost comical, but neither of you seemed to notice or care about the lemons.

Because it was never about the lemons.

“I… am really bad at putting effort in anything that isn’t music,” Yoongi said softly.

“I… have a really good memory,” you said softly. “Too good, I think.”

One of the lemons rolled by your feet. A small bump.

You swallowed. You dropped the paper bag onto the ground.

Lifted your hand. Placed your fingertips on his lips. Those dark brown eyes had watched you all these years. Seen your frozen state occupying space, autopiloting through life. You closed your eyes. Digging for the memory of the happiest moment of your life. Once, it was a park, a man on one knee, and a ring glimmering before you.

But now, there was only aching blackness.

You opened your eyes.

Yoongi smiled behind your fingertips, small and sad. You couldn’t see the smile because it was hidden behind your hand, but you could feel it. He pressed his lips against the pads of your fingers.

He didn’t say anything.

Only gave you a slow blink.

masterpost

inspired by right where you left me by taylor swift the slow-blink is how cats communicate affection/love yes, the lemon scene at the end is inspired by RM’s bag of lemons splitting and falling anywhere in that one commercial, lmao

#yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you

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phoebenavarro · 3 years

Text

and on you stumble on (ch 1)

part 6 of my Jon trusting Tim s2 AU, we’ve reached the end of season 2! woo let’s go

the magnus archives, established JonTim, pre JonMarTim, 1642 words

read this part and the rest of the series on ao3 here

Jon sits, frozen, as his mind struggles to process everything. He told Tim what Melanie said about Sasha, the two Sashas, but he’d kept the rest of his little investigation to himself. It wasn’t fair to Tim, but Sasha is a delicate subject for him, and Jon wanted to be sure. And maybe, as long as he kept it to himself, it wouldn’t be real. Sasha wouldn’t have been replaced by a monster that looks nothing like her, the real her. But the time for that willful denial is over now; he knows the truth, much as he wishes he could change it. Sasha’s dead, and she has been since Prentiss.

Tim. He has to tell Tim. He deserves to know, and he deserves to help kill it.

Especially after the tapes. The tapes with the real Sasha’s voice on them. He presses play on the recorder with a shaking hand, and the voice he still can’t recognize as Sasha’s crackles through the speakers. He sits there and listens and hates himself for not figuring it out sooner. That thing hasn’t even been trying to be like Sasha, the real Sasha, and he still didn’t realize that his friend had been replaced by a monster.

He’s listening to the tape—her statement about her encounter with Michael—for a third time when the door to his office opens.

“Alright boss, you about ready to go?” Tim asks cheerfully, striding in, but he freezes when he sees the distressed look on Jon’s face. “Jon. What’s wrong?”

“I, um…” Jon says, at a loss for words.

“What happened? Did Michael come back?”

“What? No, no…” Jon sighs and rubs his eyes. He’s so tired. “No, it— it’s not that. I suppose it’s easier if I show you.” He gestures Tim over to his desk. “Do you remember what Melanie King said, about there being two Sashas?” Tim nods slowly.

“Yeah, what— did you figure out what’s going on?”

Jon sighs again. “Yes. Tim… I’m sorry.” He hands Tim the paper copies of the statements. Tim frowns, but he doesn’t say anything, he just starts reading. Jon tries not to stare at him while he reads, heartbroken for him and a little bit terrified for how he’s going to react. Jon’s own grief for Sasha hasn’t hit him yet, he’s too preoccupied with thinking about what they’re going to do now. He’s got a plan forming, but that will entirely depend on what Tim wants to do.

Tim sets the papers down and rubs his eyes. “Fuck,” he swears quietly. “That’s it, then. She’s dead,” his voice is disturbingly flat, and Jon aches to reach out to him, to comfort his boyfriend, but Jon’s never seen him like this.

“I’m sorry,” Jon says, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“When did it happen?” Tim asks.

“I uh… It seems like it was during the Prentiss attack, when she got separated from Elias and ran into Artifact Storage.” Tim breathes in sharply and swears again under his breath.

“She hated Artifact Storage,” Tim says quietly.

“I know.”

“Or are our memories of her even real? If this thing could replace her and change what she looked like in our minds, why couldn’t it completely change everything?”

“I… I don’t know,” Jon admits, “It’s certainly possible, but we can’t— we can’t start questioning every little memory. I think that’s what it wants, what it feeds on, and besides, it’s just not feasible.”

“Yeah,” Tim says quietly. Jon reaches for his hand, trying to find some way to comfort Tim, to make this news a little more bearable. Tim lets him.

“I think our memories are our own,” Jon continues, “I mean, we both remember her being different before the Prentiss attack. She… changed. We both noticed. We didn’t know why she changed, but we definitely noticed.”

Tim nods, but he doesn’t say anything, so Jon just launches into the next thing he needs to tell Tim about.

“I-I found the missing tapes,” Jon says, and he chuckles bitterly, “They were in Sasha’s desk. Not even well hidden, almost like it wanted us to find them. Finally figured out what those tapes had in common, they all had Sasha— the real Sasha’s voice on them.

Tim cocks his head. “How do you mean? I thought the monster changed pictures and recordings too.”

“Yes, but not polaroid photos, for some reason, and apparently not tape recordings.”

Tim’s breath hitches. “So, what’s on the tapes— that’s real?” Jon nods.

Tim swallows. “Can I— Can I listen to them?” he asks, and Jon’s chest feels tight.

“Y-yes, of course,” Jon says, and he starts rewinding the tape with Sasha’s statement. “I-I don’t think you want to listen to all of them, a-at least not right now, one of them is from the Prentiss attack, when it h-happened.”

“I need to know what happened, Jon,” Tim says, “I need to know how, if it was painful, if she…” Tim trails off. Jon thinks about Sasha’s scream, and he shudders.

“It was awful. I wish I hadn’t heard it. And- And I don’t think there’s much point to you listening to it if you’re just going to use it to punish yourself for not doing anything about it.” Tim glares at him, but Jon keeps his voice steady. “I know you, and I know you’re gonna blame yourself, but it wasn’t your fault.”

Tim mutters, “Yeah, right,” and he turns his head to stare at the floor.

The tape finishes rewinding, and Jon presses play without another word. They listen in silence as the Sasha on the tape tells her story, Tim gripping Jon’s hand so hard that it hurts. Jon can’t help but be hyper focused on every one of Tim’s reactions, every sharp intake of breath, every sigh, every small exhale of laughter. Jon remembers Sasha being funny, and it seems like she was. Jon notices a few tears on Tim’s face, and he pulls Tim close to put an arm around him.

When it ends, Tim wipes his eyes with his free hand.

“I still can’t believe she did something that reckless,” he says, “She was always going on about being the rational one.” Jon smiles. He moves to switch the tape out for the one where Sasha interrupted him to talk about the proper way to pronounce calliope, and he fast forwards to around the point where she walked in. Tim listens just as intently, like he’s trying to catalogue every little thing he can gleam about the real Sasha from these tapes. Then the Jon on the tape resumes reading his statement, and they let it play out in the quiet of the office.

Eventually, the tape ends, and Jon stops it. Jon looks to Tim expectantly, but Tim is staring at the wall with a far-away look in his eyes.

“What are we going to do about that- that thing pretending to be Sasha?” Tim asks, finally breaking the silence.

“Ah,” Jon says, “I’ve been thinking about that. It’s tied to the table, so it seems like destroying the table will kill it, or at least weaken it.”

Tim nods slowly. “Makes as much sense as anything else around here.” He runs a hand through his hair. “When?”

“Tonight? After everyone’s gone home, artifact storage will be empty.”

Absently, Tim presses a kiss to Jon’s hand. “I’m not letting this go, by the way. I want to listen to all of those tapes. But… Maybe you’re right. Maybe now isn’t the best time.”

“That’s reasonable, I suppose,” Jon replies.

Tim stares off into space again for a few minutes, clearly thinking, before he speaks again.

“Should we tell Martin? In case something happens?”

“No,” Jon says immediately, and he can’t ignore the panic that rises in his chest when he thinks about getting Martin involved in this, “No, he’ll insist on staying to help and I won’t put him in any more danger.”

Thankfully, Tim agrees. “Yeah,” he says, “He’ll be pissed when he finds out, though.”

Jon thinks back to the stern lecture Martin had given them on trust, on treating him like an adult, and when he thinks about how Martin is going to react when he finds out, he does feel guilty. Just this, he thinks, This is the last thing we’ll keep him in the dark about.

“We can deal with Martin being angry at us, if we live, but I can’t lose anyone else. It’s my job to protect you all, and I’ve already failed Sasha…”

“Hey, no—“

Jon cuts him off, “I know it wasn’t my fault, what happened to Sasha, wasn’t anyone’s fault, really, but I should have been able to protect her. And Tim, if I could, I’d send you home too, deal with this on my own.”

“Jon…”

“I know you won’t go, you’re too stubborn, and I won’t make you, because I know this is just as important to you. But I’d rather you be safe.”

“How do you think I feel?” Tim says, “That’s two of the most important people in my life, dead, and I did nothing to stop it.” Jon opens his mouth to protest, but Tim plows on, "I don’t want you to be number three, and it seems like, as Archivist, you’ve got a target painted on your back. I also know that you’re too damn stubborn not to put yourself in danger, and well, we’ve got a better chance of not dying if we do it together.”

“I certainly hope so,” Jon agrees, “Have I mentioned recently how much I love you?”

“Once or twice,” Tim replies, “I love you too. Now how exactly are we going to go about killing this thing?”

“Did you know, it is remarkably easy to buy an axe in central London?”

Tim smiles.

#the magnus archives #tma #tma fic #fic #jontim #tim stoker #jonathan sims #reblogs are encouraged #mine #my writing

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kumeko · 3 years

Photo

A/N: For the @lifeistrangezine Chaos Theory zine! I wanted to explore some of the branches Max went through.

…

“The trolley problem.” Ms. Hoida stood at the front of the classroom, writing out the words on the blackboard. Her chalk hit the board in hard taps, confident strokes that did not match her quiet demeanor. “It’s a common philosophical question, one that will be explored in the book you will read this semester.”

She turned around, smiling brightly at the class. “The question is this: a trolley is barrelling down the tracks. In the distance, you see five people standing in your path. There’s a fork in the road and you can save them by changing tracks. But in doing so, you’ll kill a lone worker who’s on this second track. You can’t warn them nor can you stop the trolley in time. What do you do?”

There was a long silence as no one answered. Ms. Hoida raised a brow, looking at them curiously. “Who lives and who dies?”

Max tried not to snort. What an easy question—the answer was obvious.

You’d pick the path with one person every single time.

-x-

Case Chloe:

Max crouched in the darkness, the jackhammer beating of her heart so loud she didn’t know how it didn’t give her away. The girls’ change room wasn’t that big, the white tiles echoing every sound. It was a miracle that Mr. Madsen hadn’t heard her yet.

Pressed against the cool metal lockers, she peered around the corner. Max could barely make out his back, the light of his flashlight swinging away as he inspected every nook and cranny for an intruder. This was exactly what she expected to happen when she joined Chloe for a midnight swim: trouble. Trouble that would mar her school record forever.

Something cold and soft touched her arm and Max covered her mouth to muffle her scream. It was just Chloe, it was only Chloe. She could still smell the chlorine from the pool as water dripped down her spiky blue hair. Max turned to look at her, her outline barely visible in the almost non-existent light. Mr. Madsen stepped forward, his footstep echoing on the tiles, and Max pulled Chloe along as she quietly tiptoed toward the exit.

If they could just sneak out—

“Who’s there?” Mr. Madsen growled, swinging around. His flashlight landed on them and Max felt like a deer in the headlights, waiting for the car to crash. “Chloe. Why am I not surprised?”

“Fuck,” Chloe muttered before snarling back, “Not like you know how to have any fun!”

Max swallowed, watching the two argue, their words growing more heated by the second. She could fix this. All she needed to do was concentrate and she could fix this. Closing her eyes, she focused on time, on the photo negatives of her past, going through them until she found one just before they chose the girls’ change room to hide in.

“Anyone there?” Mr. Madsen called out, his flashlight shining into the girls’ change room.

Max quietly made her way back to the pool, intercepting Chloe before she could hide. “Boys’ change room.”

“What?” Chloe stared at her, confused, before realization dawned. “Super Max to the rescue, huh?”

Super Max. It didn’t feel particularly heroic to use her powers like this, but she’d take what she could get.

-x-

Case Warren:

“How does it look?” Sitting on the desk, Warren tilted his head back, angling his face toward the light. His hands rested between his legs, keeping him balanced as he patiently waited for her inspection.

Max set down the first aid kit on a free desk. Luckily, the science room was empty for once, free of Brook or her teachers. Leaning forward, she tucked a lock behind her ear as she studied Warren’s face. Under the light, his skin looked paler than usual, the dark circle around his eye blacker. There was a cut on his bottom lip, dried blood crusted at the edges. “You look…” she paused, not sure what to say.

“Beat up?” Warren suggested playfully, grinning.

“Beat up,” she agreed, pulling back to open the first aid kit. “I can’t believe you did that.”

“Me neither.” He chuckled before wincing. Gingerly, he touched his lip and groaned. “Man, Nathan packs a punch for a rich guy.”

“He really hurt you,” Max warned, her eyes flickering to his black eye. She couldn’t stop staring at it.

“I just wasn’t ready.” Raising his fists, he punched the air in front of him. “Next time, I’ll be the one punching him.”

“Or you’ll be the one—” Getting beat. Getting shot. She’d almost forgotten about it, the bathroom shooting that chain-started her powers. Nathan was dangerous, far more dangerous than anyone realized.

“Or what?” Warren raised a brow, staring at her.

Max faltered, not sure what to say. “He’s just…dangerous.” Her fingers rifled through the band-aids idly. “Just…be careful, okay?”

“Yeah, you don’t have to worry about me.” Chest puffed out, Warren winked at her dorkily. “I’m kinda like a hero, you know?”

“Heroes don’t usually get beat up,” she pointed out. If she went back to the parking lot, if she and Chloe got there quicker or warned Warren, would he be okay? Sure, he was smiling now, but he was also in Nathan’s bad books.

And Nathan wasn’t the kind of person who settled for getting even.

“I’m sorry,” Max apologized. Before he could ask why, time was rewinding itself.

-x-

Case Kate:

This is wrong. The single thought replayed over and over in Max’s head as she stood in front of the dormitory, staring down at the steps. A single, framed picture of Kate sat on the middle rung, surrounded by rings of candles and bouquets of white lilies. In the dark, the lights flickered, casting multiple shadows over her picture. A white bear sat at the bottom of the staircase.

Kate likes rabbits. Max stared at the stuffed bear, fighting the urge to pick it up and chuck it over the field. But that wasn’t what was wrong, was it? Bear, rabbit, it didn’t change the fact that this was a memorial for Kate.

That Kate was dead.

As the thought struck her, she hunched over and covered her mouth. The acidic taste of bile lingered on her tongue, even though it had been hours since she’d last vomited. If Max turned to her left, if she tilted her head a centimeter, she could see the spot where Kate fell, hear the sickening crunch as she landed. Yellow caution tape still surrounded the spot, the cops not finished with their investigation.

This is wrong, she thought again, trying to force her legs to move. If she went up a floor, she’d find Kate’s room. Maybe she was playing with her rabbit or reading a book. A light would spill through the cracks of her closed door, her soft humming barely audible as Max walked past. On her whiteboard would be some stupid insult and Max would erase it and doodle something cheerful.

Somewhere, someone was crying, and Max wasn’t sure if it was her. It was automatic this time, her grip on her powers, the world slipping around her as she fought the flow of time.

This was one fate she couldn’t allow to pass.

-x-

Case Frank:

A gunshot echoed in Max’s ears as she stared at the ground, at the blood pooling around Frank’s body. It spread slowly, unevenly on the concrete. Red spots dotted her shoes.

Next to her, Chloe dropped her gun with a clatter, her hand covering her mouth. “He…he attacked. It was the only way to protect us.” Desperate, she turned to Max, tears in her eyes. “Right? That’s…there’s nothing we could have done.”

Max studied her. Behind them, the ocean waves calmly lapped on the beach and seagulls cried overhead. It was strange, she felt oddly peaceful as she nodded and looked back down at Frank. He stared blankly at the sky, his beloved dog next to him. “It’s okay, Chloe.” She had lived through this scene five times already and there were other, better outcomes. “It’ll be okay.”

Her ears were the only ones that would remember Frank’s death gurgle. Her eyes were the only ones that would remember this sight.

Next time, next time she’d say the right thing.

-x-

Case Max:

Max shivered, tightening her grip on Chloe’s wet, clammy hands. In the middle of the storm, in the midst of all this destruction, her warmth was grounding. Rain plastered Max’s hair to her face uncomfortably, but she didn’t push them away, too afraid to let go.

The wind howled around them as they stood at the top of the hill, at the edge of the cliff. The lighthouse lit the sea up every few seconds, but there was no safety in its beam. The storm was upon them and it would take more than a ray of light to rescue them.

“Max.” Chloe’s voice was soft for once. “You know what you have to do.”

She shook her head, keeping her eyes glued to their interlaced hands. “I can’t do anything about this. I’m not that super.”

“Max,” Chloe repeated, tugging her hands up and forcing her to look up. “Look at the town.”

She didn’t want to. Even after running through it, saving her classmates and friends, seeing the fire and damage, it was easy to pretend out here. It was quieter at the lighthouse, the storm drowning out every other sound, and maybe the town was fine. Maybe everything was fine and they just had to wait it out.

“Look, Max.” Impatience leaked into her voice, and Chloe tugged Max’s hands again urgently. “Look.”

Despite herself, she did. She turned her head, followed Chloe’s gaze to the ruins of their town. To the hurricane landing on the shoreline, ripping buildings off the earth. From here, she couldn’t hear the screams, but she could imagine them.

Oh, she could imagine them.

“They’re all going to die, aren’t they?” Max muttered, watching at the storm move closer and closer to the diner. To Joyce. To Frank. To Warren and Kate and—

“Yeah, but they don’t have to.” Chloe clutched her hands tightly, forcing her attention back to her.

Immediately, Max knew what she meant. “No.”

She tried to pull away but Chloe didn’t let her. Despite how slick her hands were from the rain, her grip remained tight. “Max!”

“I can’t, Chloe! That’d mean…” Her eyes welled, her sight growing even more blurry. “That…that day, in the bathroom…Nathan, he-he—” killed you, but Max couldn’t utter the last words, couldn’t make them real.

“I know! And I…I don’t want to die, Max!” Chloe shook her head, her voice cracking. “But I don’t want them to die too. I’m just me, you know? One person, against a whole town—it’s an easy choice, isn’t it?”

One person versus many.

The Trolley problem, Ms. Hoida had said, her chalk hitting the board confidently. Who would you save?

Chloe or the town.

Chloe or Kate, Warren, Joyce, her classmates, her neighbours, perfect strangers.

Max could hear wheels rolling down a track, feel the cool metal of a track shaft between her hands. Left or right, the many vs the one.

It was an easy choice.

It was supposed to be an easy choice.

“I…I…” Max stared up at Chloe helplessly.

Whatever path she took, only heartbreak lay at the end.

#life is strange #max caulfield #chloe price #warren graham #kate marsh #frank bowers #fanfic

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occult-castiel · 4 years

Text

Leave a message (after the beep!)

Suptober. Day 13: Rewind Dean has a few things to say to Cas. Word count: 2542 [Read on Ao3]

3 Weeks.

Dean's been stealing glances at his phone for over an hour. The dim light of the hall that creeps from under his door is the only reason he can see the thing, blurred out to a barely-there grey hunk of plastic.

The idea is fucking stupid. He doesn't care what Sam thinks. Sam wasn't even supposed to know. Let alone have fucking opinions.

But Dean slipped.

And it took more effort than he will ever admit to walk out of the kitchen without clocking his brother in the goddamn jaw.

Fuck Sam and fuck the phone.

He turns around, away from the stupidest temptation of his life, and demands sleep come.

It's only mildly successful.

2 Month, 1 Week.

Nothing bad can happen from a phone call. Doing it once can’t hurt you any more than you are now

Sam's a well-meaning kid. He really is. But sometimes he just needs to can it.

'Cause he had to go and say some shit like that, completely unprompted — they were talking about potential witch activity in Utah, not Dean's feelings, for Christ's sake — and now it's all Dean can think about now that the distractions of the day have bled into a dark room and cold bed.

And that gray hunk of plastic on his desk is laughing at him. He could reach it if he sat up. Stretched a bit.

But the idea is dumb. And Sam doesn't get it. He really fucking doesn’t.

Except Dean knows he's kind of full of crap.

He grits his teeth, shoves the covers to the side, and grabs his phone.

With each passing buzz, his heart stutters, breath cut into shorter and shorter spurts.

Stupidstupidstupid.

It- it isn't like he's gunna answer. Dean knows he not, but it just rings and rings and —

"This is my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail."

And it hurts.

He calls again every night for the next week. Of course, he never picks up. Sam doesn't ask.

4 Months.

Dean kicks the door after it slams shut. Throws his gun at his headboard, if it goes off and shoots him, oh fucking well. It's great. Just fantastic.

He pulls his phone out without thinking. Clicks Cas.

It rings, and for a moment his shoulders relax as the familiar greeting plays. Cause its Cas' voice. And fuck. Just… fuck.

Then it beeps, and he actually does the one thing he's wanted for months.

"None of your douchebag family will answer me. And I've tried friggin' everything, I swear to Christ."

He runs his hand over his face, glances up at the sour-yellow ceiling.

"How you ever stood them is beyond me dude."

And then, like a rational human being. He hangs up and pretends that whatever that was didn't happen.

Once the bitter taste of angels that don’t pick the fucking phone up from earlier that day fades, Dean stares at the darkened ceiling.

He left a voicemail. A fucking voicemail.

Pathetic.

4 Months, 3 Weeks.

So he hasn't called again since his, uh, slip up. And Sam keeps giving him these little looks. And he knows that Sam knows, and knows he isn't calling because he's a changed man or whatever.

Maybe Sam would drop it, whatever the hell he thinks Dean's mess is, if he could manage to eat.

Jody, Claire, Kaia, and Alex are all around the table with them. Jody's the charmer she always is, talking about how she's grateful for the help and oh, of course you guys are gunna stay for dinner! Ah-ah! No buts.

There was a hunt in town she tracked down with Claire, a huge vamps nest — we're talking dozens — and called them over for help. And is now feeding them. Because she's a saint and never deserved to be in the know in the first place.

Dean looks at the food. Pork lathered in dark brown graveyard with a mountain of buttery mashed potatoes. There's a pile of carrots on Sam's plate. Dean opted out.

Not that he's eating now. No, mostly just pushing it all around. He does eat in general.

But Claire isn't looking at him. Hasn't. She barely managed a glance up when he saved her — just a small nod and weary glance.

Sam, on the other hand, may as well be ogling.

Dean wishes he could read Sam's mind, find out where he's keeping it so Dean can wallow in misery without his brother being keen on some of the finer details, thank you very much.

He manages a few bites. Its excellent, mouth-watering, home-cooked goodness he's missed fiercely since he got a taste for it the few days Mrs. Butters was around.

But right now? Turns his stomach.

On the way back home, Sam clears his throat. Dean grips the wheel a little tighter.

"So —"

"I didn't ask for your opinion, Samantha."

In the corner of his eye, Sam's shoulder slump. His brother looks down and sighs out a sad little noise.

But the rest of the drive is quiet. And that's a win in Dean's book.

It's roughly midnight, and books are scattered across the library table. They're all open to different pages, but none of it matters. Not really.

Dean's combing through it all anyway. Has been since Heavens decided they have a no-call policy with anyone named Winchester.

The piles he has laid around him have grown increasingly larger as the weeks have drug on. Spiked exponentially when he decided not to call anymore.

"Hey Dean."

Dean snaps his head up mid-sentence. Sam stands in the threshold, holding a plate. In pajamas.

Dean just looks at him. "What?"

"Made you food." He lifts the plate up a fraction

"That looks like a cold cut, so made is a generous word."

Sam has the audacity to slump into himself, full-on wounded-puppy mode. So Dean rolls his eyes and waves him over.

The plate gets sat down with a distinct clank, and Sam pats his shoulder.

"You know I just… want what's best for you."

Dean tenses his shoulders, closes the book in front of him. He speaks through his teeth.

"Yeah, well I never had it in the first place. And now it is gone, and there's nothing I can do."

"You don't know that Dean."

He glues his eyes to the back of the book. Balls his fists.

"Don't I? That — That fucking thing just —"

"I know. But it's also gone. We don't know what happened."

Dean chooses then to look over, fix his brother with a proper glare so he'll go the hell away — but sees it.

Sitting innocuously on the plate, like it isn't an affront to everything Dean would rather not, is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Sam's talking but he can't hear it. His brains turned to mush, a radio-static circus of nothing.

The bottom of his chair screeches as it drags against the floor.

And Dean can’t see.

Sam grabs his arm, he shakes it off. He moves decisively, tries too, but his eyes prickle and he can’t see shit, and he isn’t about to cry right there in front of his brother, validate every stupid thought the guy has that’s probably one-hundred percent right.

His door clicks shut, and he pressed himself against it. Slides down until he hits the icy floor.

Dean's throat is a constricted cage, each breath in has to be muscled in, down, out. Each wobble as much as the last.

Sam doesn't know shit. He doesn’t know what he's talking about. He really doesn't.

Calling someone who can’t answer, won’t ever answer, is fucking stupid. It's not therapeutic.

When he rubs a hand over his face. It comes back wet, and his eyes sting.

"Fuck."

He fishes for his phone. Going to Cas' number is muscle memory at this point.

It rings. Cause Sam can't help but keep the thing charged.

"This is my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail."

The ball in his chest is impossibly tight. Why hasn't he called? Just to hear him again, the gruff tenor that's like gravel and silk and the only thing he ever wants to hear, ever. And now he only has nine words he'll ever hear him say again.

That's it. Two sentences.

You saved the whole world. He didn’t save shit.

And what the fuck is he supposed to do now? How is he supposed to do anything? He’s never been any good, not as good as he needs to be. Maybe if he would’ve been — or did somethin’ different, anything different —

Dean threads his fingers in his hair and balls his fist. Squeezes his eyes shut against the pool of tears that just leak out, and curls in on himself. His guts are twisted and tight, just like the rest of him. Every part of him shakes, the hand vice-gripping his hair should hurt, should be enough to pull him back to sanity, but the tears don’t stop.

And really what does it matter if he cries. Chucks gone, and The Empty, that — that thing got what was coming to it.

But Cas didn't come back.

He lulls his head against the door, untangles the hand from his hair like his fingers piston operated they ache so bad

God, Cas should’ve just left him in Hell.

Maybe he's Heaven, Billy had said with a shrug. Casual. Like she didn't understand. And Dean knows she does. She gets it more than any of them, saw just what this shit did the last time. Saw exactly how much he didn't want to be around.

Jack had to fuck off to put the universe in balance, so he’s MIA and no help. And Heaven doesn't seem to give a shit.

There must've been a beep somewhere, so Dean just goes with it. Presses the phone to his ear again and works his jaw open until it’s loose enough to allow something resembling words can happen.

"It's — it's bullshit." God Dean can't recognize his own voice, pulled thin and hoarse. "You — you know that right? Bullshit." He shakes his head. Tries to take a deep breath that comes out only slightly less ragged. "You always left. And I — I get that you had to sometimes. But no one wanted you here more than me."

He wipes his face off with the collar of his shirt. His skull screams in sharp pain, and his temples thud. And normally this would be too long of a pause, but normally you don't start a voicemail off trying not to sob, and normally they're made for people who can actually listen to them. So whatever.

"This is stupid. It's not — voicemails ain't your style." His breath leaves, and exhaustion sets deep into his bones. "You always just called back for the explanation. You'd leave 'em, though."

At least Dean assumes. Every call back he'd ever gotten from the guy he'd have to fill him in on whatever was happening anyway. Guess it makes sense in a way. If you have enough time to listen to a message, you've got enough time to call.

The space behind his robes aches when he says, "We both shoulda picked up more, I guess. And Sammy wants me to call now. Like it makes up for shit. It doesn't."

He swipes the little red phone to the left, and stares at the word Cas in his contacts page.

But the screen goes blank, and all he can see are his puffy red eyes reflected in the black screen, and that's motivation, so he gets ready for bed.

1 Year, 10 Months, 13 Days

He calls a few times after that. But tries not to leave voicemails for someone that's just gone, in every sense of the word.

It’s dumb. Still really dumb. And he has no defense for it. Eventually Sam hands him Cas' old phone and a charger. All of the missed voicemails untouched.

Dean could swear he remembers ever last one.

They're mostly simple crap, sometimes. Updates.

"Sam and Eileen are getting hitched. They're pretty fucking disgusting together. But sometimes they look at me, and I can just see it, man. See how they like, bubble themselves off." He laughs, but it's strained. "Guess it just be written on my face. Which is just friggin’ fantastic. Cause I'm happy for them. I've always wanted that for Sam. But I wanted it for us too. Fucked up that I can only say it now, huh."

"I don't like the way burgers taste anymore. And I, uh, have a bumper sticker now. It's a bee. I kept it together until Sam got misty-eyed." There's a pause for a touch too long, then, "That mixtapes been the only thing in Baby for a month."

"I kept the trenchcoat. Wore it earlier. Got cold out for the first time since —" he sighs. "You wore it better. Looks like shit on me. It pretty much lives in my closet. Can't get monster guts on it that way."

But sometimes it's just a confession, none of the other bullshit. Just the truth.

"Look. I'm not mad. So don't think that. Cause I'm not. Wish I was. It's — it's always been easier. But I was trying to get my head on straight. I would've for you. I just… Don't know how now."

"Can't tell if I like using your old angel blade or fucking hate it. Don't like much of anything anymore. You were better with it."

"Id pray to you, but this is all I got. And I wish I could hope you're up there. But then I'd hope there isn't any pay per view Earth or whatever. Cause this shit? Is pitiful." A sigh. "G'night, Cas."

And one night, a long time later, he's sitting with his back against his bed, nestled next to the end table he never used, he says the truth in a way he knows he should've years and years ago.

"Guess this is like prayin', ain't it? Sammy caught me a few months ago. He wasn't even surprised I'm still doing this. Told me it was, uh — It was okay. Even if I just… never did. And you know what? I don't think l can." He gives a small laugh. "Hell, I only leave messages when I'm feeling, I dunno, brave? Like some part of me thinks you could still hear it and tell me to get lost."

Logically, he knows Cas wouldn't have kicked him to the curb. Wanted him just as much.

"God I listen to it almost every night dude. Just hearing this stupid fucking line — It's like hitting rewind, for a few seconds."

The rest comes off easy, in its own way

"I miss you, Buddy. And I — I love you more than I know what to do with. I wish it would've been enough. But instead, it killed you."

He ends it, and calls back. Just to listen to the only thing he'll ever hear Cas say again. It’s not a replacement, never will be until he can see if Heaven really does have an angels left.

But the only faith he ever had is just an echo on the other end.

"This is my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail."

#ok trying this agian to see if it actually pops up in anything I tag it with #destiel #deancas #suptober20 #suptober2020 #suptober #heres to hoping i guess?

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wakaoujisenhime · 4 years

Note

hello again! I'm the same anon that requested the story with the reader giving herself up to save Eri. I really, REALLY like the way that you wrote it, and I'd certainly love to see a part 2! You have such a talent for writing angst! ❤

A/N: Hi there once more! I’m really happy to hear that you liked it, since I was a little unsure of how it turned out (had to edit it quite a few times, till I was happy with my insecure ass xDD)! So as for now I’ll be featuring Aizawa, Nighteye and Fatgum (since Kirishima and Tamaki wouldn’t make much sense due to them being unconscious during the time I decided to write this in). Additionally I tried a new approach on Nighteye’s story, so I hope you enjoy these ones as well and thank you once again for the encouraging words! ❤

Oh and before I forget: (H/N) is once again your hero name while (L/N) is your last name ^^

Tags: Aizawa x reader ✅ Nighteye x reader ✅ Fatgum x reader ✅ SFW ✅ a lot of angst (once again) ✅

Setting this time will be after Mirio was shot and when he took Eli with him to escape, but before the girls fell through the floor. Only during Fatgum’s scenario the setting will be different!

☞ 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟙

━━━━☆ ━━━━☆ ━━━━☆

Aizawa:

“Damn it all!“

Right now you were running all the way to what seemed to be the center of the battlefield where your boyfriend Aizawa was supposed to be fighting against Overhaul, the leader of the crime organization ‘Shie Hassaikai’.

Or at least that is what a very injured Mirio had told you just a few minutes ago. Nighteye had apparently given him the task to protect Eri and try to escape with her. Hoping to be of some help you tried using your quirk on him and successfully managed to rewind and heal the stab wounds around his torso.

You had a similar quirk to Eri’s and that was the exact reason as to why the pro heroes were against you joining the mission, so why were you here anyway? Well the answer was quite easy...you snuck in and tried fighting as sneaky as possible alongside the other heroes.

The reason why you decided to be a rebel despite all of the warnings you got from people close to you, was because of something Aizawa had told you just before he left for today’s mission.

‘There are things in life that only we can do, no matter how dangerous or unreasonable they are.’

That were his last words before he kissed your forehead and left for duty.

You knew that his words were meant to calm you down, but they actually did the exact opposite.

After he had left you thought about what you could do with your similar quirk and all you came up with was to sneak in, pretend you were a part of the mission and sacrifice yourself.

It was the worst possible plan, it was stupid and you knew all that but you were desperate. Desperate to finally free Aizawa from all the stress he had to endure for this mission. Sleepless nights, nightmares or even days on which he didn’t return home. You witnessed it all and it pained you seeing him like that...so you decided to put an end to his own and his colleagues’ suffering, by doing the only think you could do.

Sacrifice yourself...

“(Y/N)?! What are you doing here...?”

Nighteye’s question brought you back to the present.

You had finally arrived at the battlefield and watched the horror that unfolded in front of your very own eyes.

Nighteye was hurt, bleeding and lying on the floor.

Midoriya’s whole body was bruised and scratched while he fought against Overhaul.

And there, close to Midoriya was Aizawa who had his quirk activated but luckily enough, he wasn’t hurt as badly as the others.

Before you could call out to him, you saw someone slowly creep up behind your boyfriend, but luckily...you were quicker.

“Eraserhead, behind you!”

Chrono unfortunately beat both of you to it and managed to pin Aizawa down while pressing a knife to his neck.

“Don’t move or he’ll die.“

That warning was meant for you as well as for Midoriya, who had to fall back in order to ensure his teacher’s safety.

Meanwhile Overhaul just giggled darkly at your failed attempt to rescue the black haired man. With a small nod towards his underling, the villain began a monologue on how he’ll get Eri to come back to him and that was your call.

“Overhaul, wait!”

This was the first time Aizawa actually turned to you and one didn’t have to be an expert to notice how mad he was to see you here, but that was the last thing on your mind right now.

With confident steps you slowly made your way towards the masked villain who eyed you from head to toe.

“(H/N)! What do you think you’re doing?!”

Completely ignoring the blade which was slowly piercing his neck’s skin, Aizawa’s eyes were glued to you and no matter what kind of comment he threw at you, you kept on walking and pretending not to hear his pleas.

“Now now...you shouldn’t interrupt (L/N) here, can’t you see that we’re striking a deal right now?”

You weren’t surprised to hear your last name coming from the villain’s mouth. He as well had done his researches...considering your quirk how could he possibly not do them?

He had played with the thought of kidnapping you as well (just in case that Eri’s body would give out some day), but he would’ve never expected to hear that exact same thought coming from the person in question. There was only one problem. You actually demanded for your comrades’ safety and Eri’s freedom. It didn’t seem like that bad of a deal, since Eri was just a child which makes her less durable than a full grown adult like you, additionally her powers have yet to achieve their true potential while yours were basically your second nature.

Overhaul nodded after a short while, signalizing his agreement. Fighting over a small and mentally unstable child wasn’t worth the trouble nor the casualties, so he didn’t want to prolong this conversation any further. He also didn’t know when you might actually change your mind, so for him the clock was already ticking.

“Don’t leave me! P-Please (Y/N)...”

You were just one step away from sacrificing yourself, but Aizawa’s voice finally reached your ears and what he had just said broke your heart in thousand pieces.

What am I doing...?

Overhaul saw the determination you had a few seconds ago, vanish from your eyes so he immediately grabbed your hand and pulled you towards him, making it harder for you to escape his grasp.

Now matter how much you or your boyfriend struggled against your opponents neither you nor Aizawa could escape their grasp. Midoriya and Nighteye couldn’t intervene and risk both of your lives, so they had to stand by and watch helplessly as the both of you were being separated from one another.

The only thing the two of you were able to do was to extend your hands towards each other and call out the other’s name. Tears falling down your cheeks, your voices slowly losing their high volume and when you guys noticed that there was nothing else you could do to escape this situation you guys said your last words.

“I love you...”

“I’m sorry...”

Nighteye:

“Sasaki! Oh my god, are you alright?!”

Nighteye had just closed his eyes for what seemed to be a few seconds, but these seconds turned out to be several minutes during which Midoriya’s injuries had doubled, Aizawa as well as Eri who was alongside Mirio were gone and you had apparently arrived. He felt your arms wrapped around his sore body, but what he didn’t feel anymore was his injury...he figured that that was your doing so he looked up at you with a thankful and relieved expression.

“(Y/N)...y-you’re here”

Your boyfriend was happy to have you here next to him, but considering the situation you guys were in, it would’ve been better for you to completly stay out of this fight. So he sat up and held onto your hand, determined to get you out of here.

“(Y/N) you need to go and call for reinforcements. I’ll be helping Midoriya out while you-“

“No Sasaki. I may have healed your wound, but you still need to rest so stay and I’ll help Deku out...got that?“

Nighteye looked up at you and saw your eyes glistening with something else than determination, he trusted you but he had a feeling that you had an entirely different plan than the one you had just suggested.

You saw how hesitant your boyfriend was to answer and you felt like the more time he used to think about it, the quicker he might catch onto your plan and that mustn’t happen.

Sasaki was surprised to see you get on your knees in front of him and holding onto his hands,your actions began to scare him a little.

“Do you trust me?“

His eyes visibly widened after hearing your question, the fear he had earlier slowly began consuming him. Nighteye wanted to nod, but he feared what you might do next if he said ‘yes’. That’s when he came up with an idea.

What if I used my quirk on (Y/N)...?

Luckily you had never been against it before, so he wasn’t as afraid as he thought he’d be to read your future but desperate times call for desperate measures.

He began concentrating and calming down his nerves so that he could calmly look into your eyes and see what your plan looked like...but you were quicker.

You slowly raised your hand, softly moved his glasses away and covered his eyes causing him to flinch lightly.

“Please don’t...not yet. Just trust me Sasaki.”

Before he could answer you kissed his lips ever so gently and soon you felt him kissing you back. After a short while you got up slowly and smiled at your boyfriend as you turned your back to him and began walking towards Midoriya and Overhaul.

——

What did she just say...?

Sacrifice herself...for Eri’s sake....?

What do you think you’re doing?

Don’t leave me behind like this...you mustn’t..

No..don’t look at Midoriya like that...not with that smile of yours.

S-Stop don’t...don’t turn to me

Don’t give me that look...

Heh, you were always bad at hiding your true feelings.

If you feel bad then don’t leave.

Why did you even come up with such a dangerous plan anyway?

Do you have any idea what he’ll do to you?

Midoriya, let go of me! Don’t intervene!

I’m going to stop you or did you seriously think that I was going to let you off the hook, just like that...?

(Y/N) think this through, please! He’ll tire out your body on purpose and who knows whose life he might ruin next with the help of your quirk!

He might even decide to target me next..

D-Don’t cry, please...

I know you want to protect us, but your decision is way to hasty so-

Hey! Get your dirty hands off of her!

No..!

(Y/N)!!!

I woke up teary eyed and completely drenched in sweat.

That dream again...damn it.

How many times does this make already?

Since Overhaul took (Y/N) away from me there wasn’t even one night on which I haven’t dreamed about that one moment.

The mission was considered a success in the end, but not for me...

Since I had seen All Might’s Future back then, I was afraid to look into anyone else's....but now?

After I’ve lost my most precious person...this is something I am going to regret not doing for the rest of my life.

I mean...what else can I do?

Fatgum:

Your fist collided with a villain’s cheek.

How many does that make now?

To put it frankly, you just don’t know anymore...

These past few minutes you were running around beating up villains left and right, thanks to the order you had received to support any hero you came across and help them save Eri.

You knew that the girl should be your top priority at the moment, but you couldn’t deny the fact that the worry for your boyfriend Taishiro (also known as Fatgum) was way bigger than that for the girl.

“(Y/N)? Is that you?!”

Your boyfriend’s voice suddenly called out to you from one of the rooms, startling and making you stop in your tracks.

“Taishiro!“

Seeing him in his skinny form was something you weren’t used to since it only occurred when he used up too much of his power.

You looked around in order to catch a glimpse of his momentary situation. Him and Red Riot were fighting against two peculiar looking man whose appearance was clearly different than that of the other evil guys, they looked....stronger.

“Listen, you need to go and help with the fight against Overhaul!”

At your boyfriend’s sudden order your eyes went wide.

“W-What? You can’t be serious...I can’t leave the two of you alone! Look at yourself...you and Kirishima are badly hurt, so-”

“(Y/N)! This is not the time for worry, we’re on a mission right now. Concentrate on the important things!”

It surprised you to hear him sound that cold and it hurt your feelings a little, but you decided to suck it up. You had to admit that you were quite the worrywart when it came to your boyfriend and that was sometimes inappropriate...like right now.

With a small but hesitant nod you exited the room and once again began running at full speed, but now you at least had a clear goal in mind.

——

“Don’t worry Kirishima. You did an amazing job and deserve some rest.“

After fighting two members of the Eight Bullets and winning against them, Fatgum needed to take a breather and think about what to do from now on. So alongside his enemies, he went to the aid room and began taking care of his disciple while his thoughts wandered back to you.

He wondered if the things he said were perhaps to harsh and thinking about the possibility of having hurt you with his words, only made his heart drop.

If there had been another hero by his side right now, he wouldn’t have hesitated to run and look for you, but right now all he could do was wait...

——

After what felt like hours reinforcements had finally arrived and happily delivered the message of the mission’s success. Everyone was in good spirits and felt relieved and now, all Taishiro wanted to do was wrap his arms around you and kiss you all over.

So when he saw Sir Nighteye, Aizawa and Midoriya standing together while talking to an injured Mirio he just knew that you had to be somewhere close to them as well...so he began jogging in their direction, completely ignoring the pain throughout his body.

But he soon noticed that something wasn’t right...

When the trio saw him approaching, their facial expressions suddenly changed. Now they looked somewhat sad.

“Hey you guys! Have you seen (Y/N)? As far as I remember she should’ve been with you.”

“Well yes...she was”

Nighteye was the first to speak up. He took a quick glance at his surroundings and took a deep breath.

“In order to protect us and Eri, (Y/N)....went with Overhaul.”

After processing what the man with the glasses had said, Taishiro felt like he had been run over by a giant truck.

W-What did he just say...?

“W-Wait...you mean to tell me that you guys just stood by and let her sacrifice herself just like that?“

It was Aizawa’s turn to talk now so he stepped forward.

“There wasn’t anything we could do, we tried to talk her out of it, but she kept on insisting.“

“I don’t care if (Y/N) did! The two of you are pro heroes damn it, you could’ve sto-, no...you should’ve stopped her even if she resisted!“

They continued arguing back and forth, getting more heated with each passing minute. Mirio and Midoriya didn’t know if they should or even could do anything to stop them at this point, so they remained silent.

Suddenly Fatgum felt a gentle tug on his shorts which caused him to pause his argument and look down.

He found himself looking into a pair of big red eyes which belonged to none other than Eri, who was holding out a small pendant to him.

“The nice Miss that saved me, told me to give this to a big, cuddly looking and yellow dressed man...I think she might’ve meant you.“

A little reluctant he took it from her small hands and looked at it.

He gasped as he realized what kind of pendant that was.

“(Y/N)...“

Seeing the muscular man fall to his knees and gently caress the small object in his big hand was surprising and heartbreaking at the same time.

Between his silent sobs, he softly pet Eri’s head and thanked her several times.

The pendant he now held close to his heart was the first present he had given you. It had your and his name engraved on the outside and on the inside there was a small photo of the two of you cuddling.

When you received it, he made you promise him to always carry it with you...until the end of your days.

#bnha scenarios #mha scenarios #bnha x reader #mha x reader #aizawa x reader #nighteye x reader #fatgum x reader #bnha angst #mha angst #━𝙱𝙽𝙷𝙰 #━𝙼𝙷𝙰 #━𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙽'𝚂 𝙴𝙲𝙷𝙾

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alexandenigtscreations · 3 years

Link

Summary:

Directly after Michael's visit in Mag 47 (a new door), Jon prioritizes theorizing over taking care of the stab wound.

“Do you even know that they are lying to you?”

Lieing?

Who's lying?

What was he-it talking about? Why wouldn’t he-it just tell him what was going on!

Another sharp throb caused Jon to curl tighter about his middle.

Stabbed by Michael.

As far as Jon could tell, it was little more than a glorified scratch... an annoyance. He pressed the tissues tighter to the small gash.

Jon hadn’t spared a thought to the dark stain blossoming through his sweater vest, the sticky damp under his fingers or the growing weakness in his limbs. The whole encounter with Michael had left him drained. And Helen-

Good Lord Helen.

The conversation played on loop in his head, but instead of answers, Jon only had more questions. What had Michael meant by unballence the structure? It didn’t seem to be in reference to its own strange doors and corridors.

Doors...

Jon shivered, recalling another strange door that had lied about its destination and a childish book with A Guest for Mr. Spider splashed crossed its front. A boy whose name was lost to memory…. Why couldn't he remember? Why couldn’t he remember the brute of a boy who had saved his life all those years ago? Helen had been taken, just as the boy had been. Right in front of him and there was nothing he could do! Oh god! He was just a useless, deeply annoying man and there was-

He yanked himself back to the present. But he couldn’t seem to stop the shaking.

Michael seemed more than a little unbalanced themself-itself, he corrected. “I am not a who, archivist, I am a what”

Right.

It was plain that Michael viewed the archives as a place of importance. Even Prentiss had bore animosity against the institute. It had laughed when Jon had asked about a war, but if it wasn’t a war, then what was it? And if it was a war, then why wouldn’t Michael just say so? What was the point of Michael coming to talk to him in the first place?

“Don’t want to tarnish your ignorance too early.” the voice came swirling back. Jon prickled. If there was one thing he hated it was being left in the dark. Treating him as little more than a petulant and annoying child who asked too many questions. He had genuinely believed that those days were behind him. As it was, it left a sour taste in his mouth.

Tiredly, he pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to dispel the fog that had settled over his mind.

Helen Richardson-

She had been there not moments before, asking for answers, for help- Michael had taken her away so easily- treating it as though it was nothing. How had he not noticed the door?! Jon used to be so careful. Useless! He was useless and could no more help Helen than he could figure out Gertrude Robinson’s murderer!

Rewinding the tape and pressing play. “Do you even know they’re lying to you?”

Who, damn it, who was lying?

Despite himself, Jon was inclined to believe Michael. There was something off about the archives that went beyond malicious books and supernatural statements. The Jane Prentiss incident had made that abundantly clear. Pretending that the problem didn’t exist had nearly gotten him killed. Hadn’t Michael tipped Sasha off about how to fight the worms? Even digging one out of her with those swollen sharp hands?

Jon groaned. Sure that this tied to Gertrude in some fashion, but unable to see the connecting threads. He was so tired.

Where was Sasha with that replacement statement? Jon made to stand but the pain flared and bial raised in his throat. Right he thought, taking a moment to breathe. Waiting for the tremmors to subside and for the room to stop spinning, bad idea. Dimly, he wondered if he needed help, but quickly shook it off. He didn’t want to explain what happened. It might tip them off.

“Do you even know they’re lying to you?”

Who was lying?

The question rooted itself in his mind like a bad tune stuck in one’s head. Playing over and over.

So instead, Jon pulled the sticky notes to him, uncapping the fountain pen and started mapping out his limited information and queries. Laying them out on the reverse of his blotter. It felt-important-to keep this quiet.

Michael the What. Normally neutral? What did it know?

Gertrude Robinson, murdered. With a gun, no less. No supernatural forces, just a gun.

The tunnels. He shivered, the last exploration had been far more eventful than he would have liked. Arrows and strange wall moving figures aside, who else would have known about the tunnels, yet alone knew to hide a body there?

Gertrude Robinson’s tape collection. Right now, Constable Basira Hussain was his only hope to get access to the tapes.

War? He lacked a better term for now, but wondered what role the institute played in this conflict. He wondered what the conflict was even. Did it have anything to do with Gertrude Robinson’s death?

The deeper mystery of the institute files

Missing taped statements of 0051701 & 0160204

Jon jotted down the archival staff

Sasha. Though Jon was inclined to take Sasha off the list, he was the one who should have gotten the promotion, not him. Now he felt more like a buffer between her and whatever it was targeting the Head Archivist position.

Tim. Tim-having his name down hurt more than he would have thought. They’d gotten along in research- but now- things were different. Jon couldn't think of a reason to take him off.

And Martin, what did he really know of the man? Not much other than he wasn’t a ghost (lord, had he really been that stupid?) and that he seemed to be hiding something.

Elias? He had maintained that calling Gertrude’s disappearance a death was a formality. Mentioning something about a lot of blood. But what had made him so certain? Did he know anything about the War or… Jon noted the questions down, plastering them under the names as they came.

And, finally, a reminder to himself Trust can get you killed.

“Right-” he said, looking down at the hastily arranged post-it notes. It was hardly a satisfying list, with more questions and missing information than answers. But it was a start.

With a great deal of effort, he flipped over the blotter once more, hiding the notes. Feeling the fatigue weighing down his arms. Without knowing who the ‘they’ were that were lying to him, he didn’t want anyone to see that he was...suspicious.

He paused at the smear of gore on the edge of the blotter. The world spinning around the scarlet smudge. Jon would have to clean that up...but... latter. His eyes felt heavy, his body felt heavy. He sighed, tugging the files, laptop and recorder back over the edge of the blotter, nothing to see here.

Lord he was tired.

Perhaps he would rest his eyes...just a moment. He slumped over his desk, pressing in on his stomach, trying to alleviate the pain that had made its home there.

Dimly he was aware of Sasha entering his office. At least, he thought she did, but it could have been a dream.

She had teased him about sleeping on the job and laughed at the mess he’d made of his work space. “I hope you know I’m not going to straighten this up too.” she’d said lightly.

He hadn’t asked her to tidy the discredited section- and he certainly didn’t need her fiddling with his desk.

“You’ll ruin your neck sitting like that.” A hand at his back, warm, gentil and-wrong, as if stretched thin. For a second he thought Michael had returned. Why was he so cold? “Anyways, I’m going to borrow the tape recorder for the statement. Cheers.”

Rustling at his desk, footsteps and Sasha was gone.

Gone.

Something about it seemed to echo eerily in Jon’s mind. He cracked open an eye.

The tape recorder was gone!

Panic gripped him. The tape! Helen’s statement and Michael- What if Sasha didn’t use a new tape! He couldn’t let Helen be erased like the boy. He had to check! He had to-to-

The adrenaline that had pulled Jon to his feet, flead. This was a mistake. The room wouldn’t hold steady, tugging him this way and that. A static buzzing filled his ears and the blackness took him.

Martin gave Jon’s door a tentative knock “Jon?” he called. He’d learned to give Jon a warning before he walked in. He was really jumpy these days. “Jon, you there?” no answer, but the desk light was on so maybe he’d stepped out. “I’ve got your tea here.”

Still nothing. Martin shrugged, he’d leave it on his desk. Jon would find it, he always did. Since the man hadn’t made a showing for lunch, again, Martin made it a point of ensuring he got a bit of sweet tea in. For all Jon’s insisting that he was a grown man who knew how to look after himself, he certintally let a lot slide.

Martin didn’t mind that. Especially after the worms and Gertrude- he shuddered, recalling how he’d found her- her corpse- in the tunnels. No, Martin didn’t mind making sure Jon was looked after. Nowadays, he’d taken to holding everyone at arm's length. Something Martin had…. personal experience in. Jon had never been friendly, with their nicest conversation taking place in the refuge of document storage. It had been surprising to find under that stuffy exterior, Martin found something rather endearing. But the recent change had hurt to see all the same.

“Alright, I’m coming in.”

From somewhere behind him, Martin could hear Tim give a derisive snort. Things had been...tense.

At first glance, the office was as empty as he had expected it to be. He placed the tea on Jon’s desk and frowned. There on the floor, he caught sight on an arm.

Jon’s arm.

Concern fluttered to life in Martin’s chest. Had he fainted? He was certainly running himself a bit thin these days but-

“Jon!”

There was blood, thick and sticky, pooling on the floor. He was on his side in a strange position. Martin dove to his knees besides the man, shouting his name. He looked small there, his complexion pasty, a sheen of cold sweat on his furrowed brow.

Carefully, oh so carefully, Martin scooped Jon up into his arms.

“Jon! Christ, Jon! Please wake up!” he felt for a pulse, still there, and started patting his face. “Please wake up!” he was limp in Martin’s arms, cold. God, how much blood had he lost? Where was the wound even? He started calling for help. Hoping against hope that they would hear him, that they would come.

“Martin? What are you- Jesus.” Tim was looking down in horror. “What the hell?”

Martin shook his head. “No idea, he won’t wake up!”

“What’s going on?” asked Sasha, peering over Tim’s shoulder.

“Jon.” Tim put a strange emphasis on his name.

She shouldered her way in to have a proper look, frowning as she did so. “Strange, he was fine a couple hours ago when I went to borrow the tape recorder.”

“Just go and ring 999 or something!” demanded Martin in a shrill tone, feeling for the origin of the bleed. Oh god, oh, god oh god! he chanted inwardly this is bad! There! a hole on the front of his vest the size of his thumb. Could something like that truly lead to so much blood? He tugged Jon’s vest and shirt up out of the way revealing Jon’s stomach. Each bone of his ribs and the line of his hip stood out in relief against his brown skin. The red making spongy smears across the surface. The small gash was still bleeding. “And some paper towels!”

Wounds of this size weren’t supposed to bleed this much, were they? Or had something else been hit? Tim shoved some paper towels into his hands and Martin immediately pressed them over the injury.

There was a small moan, and Jon’s eyes, those piercing deep brown eyes, started to flutter open. Relief crashed into Martin.

“Jon?!”

He groaned, hand finding the wad of paper. The pressure-it was a bit... much.

“Jon, can you hear me?”

It took a moment for his eyes to focus, “Ma-Martin?”

“Quick on the uptake I see boss.”

Confusion flooded his system followed by fear. All of his assistance surrounding him when he’d just been- he swallowed. “Wha-why m’ I on the floor?” his voice came soft and jagged.

“We were hoping you could answer that.” Tim replied “And explain where you got that hole in your gut.”

It was then that Jon looked down at himself. His shirt hiked up to his chest and Martin forcing tissues down over his stomach. It hurt-why was that? He drew heavy legs up instinctively, as if curling into a ball.

“M-Matin- What are you doing?”

Martin blushed head to toe “Hopefully preventing you from bleeding out.”

“Oh, oh right-” he trailed off. It came back then, Michael and his too sharp hands and their little confrontation. The doors- Should have paid more attention. “Right-”

“So should I call 999? Or-” Sasha had her phone out, looking around at the group.

Martin and Tim said yes at the same time Jon said No. He said it so loud and forcefully that it sent his whole body trembling, and stomach souring.

“N-no need for that.” Jon panted. He was aware enough to start feeling embarrassed at the whole affair. A scene was not something he had wanted to cause. He hated all the attention, all the fuss, reminding him so much of that day and the bully who’d saved his life. His grandmother had been so angry. It all intensified the watched feeling. It would be better to deal with it alone. He-he could make it to an A&E.

“What do you mean, no need?” scoffed Tim “There’s enough red here to re-decorate your office!”

“An exaggeration-” Jon said stiffly.

“Hardly.” Tim snorted. “Still haven’t told us what happened.” Tim pressed, hand on hip. An impatience Jon recognized from research. Knowing he had to say something, anything or Tim would dig and dig and dig-

“A, a bread knife!” Jon blurted out the first thing that had come to mind, and instantly wanted to shove his foot in his mouth.

“A bread knife?”

Closing his eyes against the swirling world, Jon decided to double down “A bread knife. Turns out-” he swallowed “Lunch is more...hazardous than I was led to believe.” he gasped. He’d never be able to live this one down.

Lord, he hurt.

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hella1975 · 3 years

Note

*cracks knuckles* alright hella get ready for multiple DofE stories that span literal generations. Well, we’ll start with my brother’s ex-friend’s mum who did DofE back in the eighties in the lovely English countryside. FYI, shit gets real pretty fast. Right, so, halfway through their peaceful, death-defying hike through the wilderness, they take a wrong turn and end up - guess where - at a military camp. This six foot something forty year old in uniform comes sprinting towards them (1/?)

(2/?) starts to interrogate them as to why they’re there. Rewind a bit, let’s remember it’s the EIGHTIES in England, and they’re wearing RUCKSACKS. They’re literally the ingredients to a collective MI for this military camp. Anyway, at one point one of the ppl in their group remembers ‘oh, my dad’s actually pretty respected in the military, now might be a good time to mention him.’ I have NO idea why they didn’t mention this before, but they’re you go. Enjoy some of my own shenanigans next.

3/? okay so i did all three stages of DofE, not a flex, it’s just bc the most batshit things happened on my gold practice and expedition. So first of all, I did bronze with my friends. Big mistake. I never spoke to two of them again and I was permanently annoyed with another one. Partly because we were demonstrating how to do CPR and instead of just pretending to gently press down on my chest (bc I wasn’t acc not FUCKING BREATHING) they slammed their hands down and bruised me.

4/? The other reason was because they got us lost and didn’t even bother to apologise or admit that they were wrong but hey. Silver, oh my god. Let’s just say, I nearly hurt someone on silver. Hella they needed surgery! They had a surgery scheduled, and they needed that part to do DofE!! Anyways, it doesn’t matter, I’ll never see them again. Gold, gold was the big one.

5/? Why was gold the big one? Well, let’s just say I’m extremely passive aggressive on DofE and they gave me the role of time-keeping. Ahaha, big mistake on their part. Breaks? Never heard of her. I’ll just give the rundown, I did give them breaks. I’m not that much of a bitch. And we were friends. BUT. According to them, a five minute break would be interrupted 3 minutes in by me standing up and putting on my backpack, then tapping my foot for the remaining two until they got up.

6/? Anyway that was just to explain how we were all feeling about each other. So, we were on our second day. First day? Constant crying from one member. Did I feel bad? Yes. Did I want her to stop crying? Also yes. Right, second day? It’s raining. No surprise there, since we were in the Cairngorms. But our instructor told us that the river we were meant to cross was a) probably flooded and b) didn’t have a bridge crossing. We were fucking fuming

7/? The river is the important bit. We get there, right? It’s not flooded, despite Scotland’s best efforts because it’s literally July. Only problem is, the river literally goes up to our thighs. Anyway, no one wants to cross the river first due to being unable to swim etc. So I, I can swim you know, I did it competitively, I didn’t think I was going to drown worst case scenario. And I’m having a pretty bad day already, I think ‘how can it get any worse’ and i volunteer.

8/? We have to cross the river two by two for support. So I go with the instructor. I don’t know if you’ve ever done gorge walking or waded through a river before hella, but it was a bit like that. Except? I haven’t got any fucking shoes on. I had to tie my boots around my neck so that they wouldn’t be completely waterlogged and destroyed. So massive fuck off pointy rocks are digging into my feet at every step of the way. If I sound like I’m whining, I’m sorry, but I didn’t whine then so I do it now

9/? And to make matters worse, if I stop at any point, not only am I getting pushed in the back by the rapids, the instructor is yelling at me to ‘keep going’. Which, in hindsight was acc pretty good advice. Anyway, I don’t keep going, I’m tired and in pain. I take a moment to catch my breath, and that’s when it happens. A rapid comes and knocks me off my feet. I’m face down in the water. The instructor’s grabbed on to me by my neck. Not really, but if I was an animal it would be ‘scruff’ of neck.

10/? Anyway, she lets GO OF ME. What?? Now, I know I said before that I’m a good swimmer. Turns out, not when I have a rucksack that weighs a quarter of my body weight!! Shocked and upset. Anyway, I’m panicking but I float downstream into this ‘eddy’, which my friend explained is calm water. I climb onto the bank with the instructor’s help, absolutely spent. I’m not ashamed to say it, I hyperventilated a little. And I’ve lost the instructor’s walking pole. I watch it float down the river.

11/? The first thing she says ‘no one is crossing that river.’ I’m like thanks luv would have been helpful if you’d said that before. Anyway, we set off, leaving the rest of my group behind to fend for themselves. Eventually we arrive at our campsite for the evening. It’s a bothy. It is THE nicest bothy in Scotland. I’m not just saying that, it’s got reviews. It has toilets and everything. Their outdoors, but still. It also has dogs. Not permanently, but two hikers had brought their dogs with them.

12/? One of the other groups are also at the bothy. I walk in, they stare at me with both horror and fear in their eyes. I don't blame them: I literally look like a cryptid that's been woken up after ten thousand years. Anyway, they were literally so sweet, they made me hot chocolate in someone else's mug (they legit didn't have to do that it was so nice of them to lend me it) and one of them gives me their jumper that is literally so warm I fall asleep in it.

13/? So I'm sitting there, shivering, with a mug of hot chocolate in my hands. I'm talking one of the others, who had managed to throw their back out during their hike. THey're going home. I am literally so jealous at this point, i can't explain it. I tell the instructor I would also like to go home and this is when one of the instructors from another school pipes up 'you just fell in a river, why are you giving up?' I was SO angry. I literally finished DofE out of SPITE because of that instructor.

14/? I'd NEVER met them before. TO be honest though, I probably would have woken up the next day and been like, right let's get going then to complete it. But this? This CEMENTED it. I was finishing DofE if it KILLED me. And at this point, it was looking pretty likely. You may be wondering where my group was in all of this. They got lost. For SIX hours. I was so worried about them, let me tell you. Because not only had they lost their timekeeper, I had the stove.

15/? Okay I swear this is the last one. They get to the bothy at like 11 pm. I'm on the sleeping bag, stroking one of the instructor's dogs. It's a collie, it's literally the best part of my day. I love it. I hear my name being shouted, so I go and open the door and there they are. My odd, angry little group. Two of them hug me. And I know that sounds odd, but I'm bringing up those two bc one of them - we had been really close years ago, but we'd grown apart, so her hugging me made me so happy.

16/16 Okay THIs is the last one. The next day, we're walking to get to our next campsite. The instructor shortened our route so we walked for an hour, then set up camp and that was it. What they don't mention, to me, is that we have to cross ANOTHER RIVER to the to the campsite. I don't have PTSD, but I sort of understood it when I was balanced precariously on a fallen tree climbing over the white rapids. And that was my dofe experience. I have more, but it would be another 20 asks :)

—————

JESUS FUCKINGG CHRIST DKDJJFKFKFKKD I put all these together and put it in my drafts for later but I always forget about my drafts so just ignore the delay in response. This was a fucking rollercoaster. Perfect encapsulation of the chaos, comradely and just genuine ridiculousness of DofE. Can’t say I ever wound up in a river though

#river PTSD is something that can be so personal #I miss DofE 🥺#ask

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staylovehearts · 4 years

Text

Love on second chance

Han Jisung x Reader

Word Count ~5.1k

Summary: Maybe it was naive to believe that after your confession everything would be like a romance movie, maybe you should have been prepared for rejection

Tags: friends to lovers?, some angst, fluffy ending tho, Felix is in this for some reason

"I'm so sorry, I don't feel the same way."

If this was a movie that would be the record scratch freeze-frame moment. You may be wondering how I got here? Maybe there would be some kind of rewind, a montage, or some time loop of everything that has lead up to the moment where you confess your feelings to Han Jisung. The boy you've been crushing on for maybe half a year now. And it seemed to be going so well. You finally managed to get closer to him, befriend him, spend time with him. Confessing was the next logical step. Or so you thought. Sadly, life isn't a movie, so you'll have to deal with him rejecting you in real-time, no comedic-relief interruption.

"I see", you mumble. What else is there even to say? No one really goes into a confession preparing for what would happen if you're turned down. At least you didn't. You tend to write scripts in your mind, planning out dialogues and dreaming up scenarios. And the script for this scene looked completely different when you were imagining it. It started with you giving Jisung that dramatic speech, detailing all the things you like about him and ending it with a passionate confession of love that would leave him speechless for a moment before he'd just kiss you, one hand on your back the other in your hair, pulling you as close as he physically can. Sunset over the river that you passed on your little walk in the background. You already failed at the sunset. Wrong timing. Also, it's kind of cloudy, might even rain soon. But those were setbacks you were willing to accept. A whole alteration of your perfect script, however, is nothing you came prepared for. Maybe you shouldn't have been so naive.

"I'm really sorry", Jisung repeats. He looks extremely uncomfortable. Apparently, he has no idea how to handle this situation either. Maybe confessing out here was stupid. You'll still have to walk back to the next station at least. You can already feel the uncomfortable silence pressing down on you.

"It's not your fault", you finally manage to say. It really isn't. If anyone here is to blame it's probably you. But that's just how it is when you gamble. The more you bet the more you can lose. And you're not as much of an Ace of Hearts as you thought you were. "You feel what you feel and I feel what I feel and I guess there is nothing to be done about that."

"Maybe you're right, but I still feel bad about it. I hope we can still be friends though." There it is, that dreaded sentence. Part of you wants to say yes right away. The clingy naive part that refuses to give up. If he's asking to remain friends that must mean he still wants you, right? That he still likes you. That he still wants to be close to you. But the new, more cynical part of your mind that is beginning to form knows that he wants you as a friend only. Nothing more than that. Maybe he's even hoping that you can just go back to how things were, pretend this confession never happened. So he won't have to feel bad about turning you down anymore. Maybe he's hoping that this will be one of those in ten years we'll probably laugh about it scenarios. But you don't want it to be.

"I'm sorry I'll just... need some time to get over you. And I don't think I can do that when I still see you all the time. I need some distance. Sorry."

"I get it... I guess. I'm really, really sorry."

If he says sorry just one more time you might actually start feeling bad for him. Which is so twisted actually. Because aren't you the one who's heart just got broken? You shouldn't emphasise with him for breaking it. Sure, he didn't mean to, but with every apology, every moment of him looking sad about it you're starting to feel worse about your confession. Because see, now you made him sad, is that what you wanted? It wasn't obviously. But it's what you get. It's all your fault.

"I think I should go now", you say. You can already feel your bottom lip trembling, the tears welling up in your eyes. You don't want to cry in front of Jisung, not now. Not when things are like this. Because it'll only make him feel worse. And he'll try so hard to comfort you and it will only make the whole thing more uncomfortable. Sure, you lost but maybe you can at least keep a little bit of dignity.

"Sure, maybe I'll see you around?", Jisung mumbles awkwardly. You shrug your shoulders.

"Wouldn't count on it", you answer, voice already cracking. Then you turn on your heel and walk as fast as you can without running.

It's been roughly two weeks since Jisung turned you down. Two weeks that you spent mostly just sitting at home either dramatically crying to sad music or stuffing yourself with ice cream or whatever other snacks you had lying around while watching every cheesy romance drama you could find online. And sure, maybe you're acting a little dumb and cliche or whatever. But it hurts and all of this actually does make it feel better. And yet you also realise that you just can't live as a shut-in, wallowing in self-pity forever. All your friends realise it too. Though most of them are patient with trying to invite you out and cheer you up they are starting to become pushier. It's just a matter of time until someone actually breaks in and forces you out of your room. And it's very likely that Felix will be the one to do it.

At least that is what it seems like judging by how insistent he is to invite you to his little house party this weekend. Or rather the small get together as he has called it in his initial pitch.

"Oh come on, it's really not a big deal, just some friends. We're only going to play some games, maybe watch a movie, no excessive drinking or anything. It'll be fun."

You can pretty much hear Felix's pout even though his voice does sound a little muffled through your phone. You switch it from one hand to another before you press it against your ear again, simultaneously rolling over in your bed a little. You knock over an empty ice cream container in the process, a dirty spoon falling out of it and clattering onto the floor. Yuck, you really should clean up around here again.

"Ugh, fine, but I won't stay long", you grumble. You don't need to be able to see Felix to imagine that winning grin on his face.

"Great, bring some snacks if you can!", he says happily. And normally he would hang up with that, but the sentence is followed by a pregnant silence. So tense that it feels like one of those you could hear a needle drop kind of scenarios. You wait with bated breath until Felix finally continues to speak. "There is one thing though... Jisung will be there as well. Probably. I guess he kinda told me what happened so if you're uncomfortable seeing him I totally get it."

You take a deep breath in, trying to calm yourself. You've expected this. Of course, you have. Felix and Jisung are basically inseparable. In fact, you only ended up getting to know Felix after you befriended Jisung. And while you have gotten quite close to him where he is long past just being your crush's best friend there is no denying that at the very beginning getting closer to Felix was just a sideproduct of getting closer to Jisung.

"Is this what this is actually about? Because if you're planning to invite both of us over so we can talk things out I'm not interested." Okay, maybe that did sound a little too snappy. Maybe it's only natural for Felix wanting to play the mediator, after all, he is basically stuck in between. He probably doesn't want to sacrifice his newer friendship to you just because his best friend just broke your heart. And if you're being honest you don't want to lose Felix as a friend either. Even if that means that maybe you will have to occasionally see Jisung.

"No, no, that's not what this is about at all. I swear. I get that you don't want to see him right now. But I kinda miss hanging out with you and not inviting you would have felt wrong. But if you really don't want to we could just meet up at another time? Like just us, or at least just us and some people that aren't Jisung."

Another deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. Let go of all the negative emotions and try to be the bigger person. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't make you feel like you have to pick between your friends. I'll come, but if things get awkward please don't be mad if I leave early."

"I totally get that, but I'm so happy that you're coming. I promise you won't regret it", Felix's bubbly voice is almost enough to convince you that this is actually something that could be good for you. Almost. You can hear some sounds through your phone, probably someone else walking up to Felix. For a moment you can hear hushed voices talking, but you can only really make out Felix's part of the conversation – mostly just small humms and yes or of course not – the other person is completely inaudible. You clear your throat just loud enough to remind Felix that he is still on the phone with you.

"Ah sorry", he mutters. "Gotta go now, see you soon though. I'll text you the details later." Before you can even say goodbye he has already hung up again. You put your phone back down next to your pillow and take a moment to look around the room. You catch your reflection looking back at you from the mirror on your closet door. Maybe your room isn't the only thing in need of some cleaning.

It's a wonder what an hour in the bathroom and wearing some of your favourite clothes can do to boost your confidence. Well, maybe you are a little overdressed for this little get-together, but it's all self-care, right? And maybe there is just a tiny dash of revenge in it as well. Because what better way to prove to the guy who turned you down that you are doing just fine than waltzing around his best friends' party looking stunning and unbothered? Okay, it's probably more of that than anything else. But if you can prove to Jisung that you are completely over him, thank you very much, maybe you can fool yourself into believing it as well.

So you ring the doorbell, hair done, a bit of makeup on, slightly overdressed and smelling of that fruity-scented shower gel that always makes you feel good. It's almost half an hour before the time that Felix told you to be here. Which is deliberate as well. He does look a little surprised when he opens the door for you though.

"Oh, hey, you're here early", he mumbles, taking a confused step to the side to let you in. You, instead, go in for a quick hug first and then hand him the few packages of snacks you picked up from a grocery store on your way here.

"Yeah, sorry about that, but I had nothing else to do and I figured I could maybe help you set up things?", you suggest while making your way inside. Felix's parents must be out for the night, which you already assumed, but now you can clearly tell from the lack of silence. EDM music is coming from the good speakers in the living room, something Felix's parents would never tolerate if they were here.

"Well, now that you're here already...", Felix mumbles.

You two spend the next twenty minutes putting all the snacks and some drinks on the table in the living room. You clear any random items off the couch to make sure there will be as much room as possible while Felix gets a couple extra cushions to put on the floor just in case. After that, he begins setting up his console while you browse through the DVD collection. Sure, you could also just watch something on Netflix, but there is just something fun about DVDs. Probably because you can only have a few of them, so you have to pick and chose and collect only your favourite movies so you can watch them over and over again. A person's DVD collection probably says a lot about them. Well, if they still have one. Judging by some of the movies in this collection most of it probably belongs to Felix's parents. But there are a couple in there that are so definitely his.

Maybe ten minutes after the time Felix told you to be here the first people arrive. Because being exactly on time is lame, apparently. And then, as it often is with such events, people suddenly seem to all come at once. For five minutes or so the doorbell is ringing at least twice a minute until everyone is gathered in the living room. Every time a new person arrived and Felix went to open the door you kind of trailed behind him. First of all, because you are curious to see who else is coming. And second because you kind of don't want to be left alone. Because these people are Felix's friends. And while most of them are probably also Jisung's friends one way or another and you might have seen them on some occasion once you don't really know any of them. And the only other person that you really know well is not someone you want to spend time with right now. Which is why you're going to try your best to cling to Felix for most of the night. Actually, that's the main reason why you decided to show up early. If you had shown up around time or later you would have risked someone else being there first. And that person might have already got Felix roped into a super interesting conversation that you wouldn't be able to invade. So you had to make sure to be the first. Because maybe that would make tailing him for the entire night a little less awkward. And so far that has worked quite well. Maybe because Felix has also sensed that you don't want to be left alone, but even when new people start to arrive he still makes sure you are included in every conversation.

Jisung is the last to show up and just as you have with the other guest you follow Felix to the door, not knowing but already sort of expecting what's to come. Still, when you see Jisung there and your eyes meet you hide behind Felix instinctively. For a second the three of you all just stand there, no one really knowing what to do. There is an awkward tension hanging in the air as the two friends stand there, Felix trying to act completely unaware of the situation and Jisung looking everywhere but at you. And since you are standing right behind Felix, he is also pretty much looking at everything except his best friend.

"Come on, don't just stand there", Felix finally says, his voice overly cheerful. Jisung smiles a smile that is so clearly forced that it hurts just to look at it.

"Yeah sorry for holding up traffic, it's good to see you", he mumbles. For just a moment he looks directly at you and slightly nods his head. A blink and you miss it gesture. But it's enough to make you feel like something just shattered inside you. And there you thought you were starting to get over him. It's weird because you figured that you'd grow to despise Jisung for turning you down like this. That you would become bitter and no longer want to be near him. But despite everything he's still Jisung. He's still the boy you fell in love with. The one who'd always make you smile and who'd pout at you cutely whenever you poked fun at him. The boy who used to share his cake with you and who always looked like an adorable little hamster chewing on his share of the food. Despite everything, he's still Jisung. And you're still in love with him.

Still, things seem to go well for a while. Even though you and Jisung are in a room now and you basically suffer every time you as much as cross eyes with him, you're able to forget that he is there most of the time. It's easy with a group of other people shouting and laughing almost non-stop. And also there is Felix who you cling to as if your life depends on it. Well, at least you manage to do that for most of the time. But of course, you knew that this plan was bound to fail sooner or later. And when Felix winds up in an intense argument with two of his friends whose names you don't even know you're left to yourself. Which means that it's time to hide for a while.

You walk over to the kitchen after announcing to whoever was close enough to hear you speak that you are going to get yourself something to drink. Not that anyone particularly cared. You’re leaned against the pretty marble counter in the middle of the room, back to the door, a glass of cold tap water in one hand when you suddenly hear someone else entering.

"So, are you and Felix dating now?" You recognise the person behind you right away. That voice is just way too familiar. But you still turn around slowly, hoping that somehow it will be someone else standing there. But it's Jisung. Of course, it's Jisung. He's standing in the doorway leading into the kitchen. The only door leading into the kitchen. And thus also the only way out of it. And you are standing next to the fridge, only the kitchen counter between you and the boy who broke your heart. And is now inquiring about your relationship status out of the blue. As if that's any of his concern now. Still, you're basically backed into a corner with Jisung blocking the only exit. Fight or flight and well, the escape route is blocked so...

"Huh, where is this coming from? Why do you even care?" You basically throw the words at Jisung with more rage than you even realised you had. Or maybe it's sadness. Frustration. It's the first time you've actually spoken to him since the confession and he has nothing better to do than making assumptions about you dating someone else. Jisung actually recoils a little, but he's still in the way.

"You know, you're clinging to his side the whole time and all that. I'm not judging, I'd be happy for you if... you know", he raises his hands while talking as if to calm a wild animal. Or a panicked pet that managed to escape from its cage somehow. And the worst thing is that he actually seems to mean it. He doesn't even see how his words might be hurtful to you. He doesn't even think that there might be something wrong with it. Your first notion about how he intends to handle this situation was right apparently. He thinks this meant nothing. And that it will all be forgive forget and we'll laugh about it in a few weeks.

"You broke my damn heart not even three weeks ago and now you think I'm trying to hit it off with your best friend? What the hell, Jisung? Do you really take me for that kind of person? Do you think after everything I said to you I could just move on and find someone else in just a few weeks? Do you think that this is how I treat other people? That this is how I treat my own emotions? Because I'm really serious about what I feel and I don't just tell people that I like them if I don't actually mean it. But if that's what you honestly think of me then I'm starting to wonder why I ever even liked you in the first place!"

You push past a completely stunned Jisung before he can manage to bounce back from the verbal punch you just dealt. Good. You probably wouldn't be able to deal with any more of this. You stumble into Felix on your way through the hallway and he gives you a slightly confused slightly concerned look seeing how you are clearly worked up and probably close to tears.

"Hey, what's going on?", he asks, grabbing you by the wrist gently, but with just enough force to make you stop in your tracks.

"I'm going to leave. I'm sorry", you mumble. You avoid looking directly at him, worrying that the compassion in his eyes would be enough to break you completely. And you don't really want to start crying here. It's not you're party so sadly you can't cry if you want to.

"Did something happen? I swear if he said anything stupid to you I will kick his ass."

"It's fine I just can't deal with this right now. I'm sorry for spoiling your night."

Felix sighs. "You're not spoiling anything. I get it, it's fine. Take care on your way home. Text me if you want to talk."

He pulls you into a quick hug before letting go off you entirely, allowing you to go and grab your shoes before sneaking out the door.

You haven't even made it around the lock when you hear the loud sounds of fast footsteps catching up to you. Your first instinct is to walk faster, just slightly, not running just speedwalking. All possessions clutched tightly, tight grip on your keys. Then you hear the voice calling out to you and maybe running isn't that bad of an idea after all.

"Hey, stop, I just want to talk to you!" Jisung sounds out of breath already. He must have run all the way just to catch up. As if he hasn't already said enough. You stop and turn around to yell back at him.

"If the others told you to go after me and apologise you can save your breath. I don't want to hear about it."

Jisung slows down a bit, trying to catch his breath, but he doesn't stop walking towards you.

"It's not that at all", he shouts. Almost automatically you start glancing around yourself for any random passerby listening in on the conversation before you turn back to Jisung. By then he has come close enough to speak in a normal volume. No more shouting needed. And you still didn't run away. "Please, I just want to talk", he says.

You look around yourself again before you let out a sigh. "Fine, then let's go somewhere and talk. The last thing I want to do right now is causing a scene."

Jisung sets down his tray on the table between you. He's got himself some fries and a strawberry milkshake. Because he insisted that you had to at least get something if you were going to lother around and block a table. He also offered to get you something, even said he'd pay for it. But you've turned him down. You just want to get this over with as quickly as possible.

"So, what did you want to talk about?", you ask impatiently, after Jisung has fumbled around with the lid of his milkshake for a while because he forgot to get himself a straw. He looks up at you with an almost bashful expression.

"It's just... I'm really sorry. About earlier. I shouldn't have said that. That was stupid of me." He seems to mean it. Even though you're not sure whether he has actually realised his mistake or if he just feels bad for offending you. But in either way, his apology is genuine. And yet, you can't really get yourself to forgive him that easily.

"Is that it?", you ask. Seeing Jisung's hurt expression you want to take it back immediately. But you won't get anywhere if you just back down every time someone gets uncomfortable. It's just the way feelings work. Someone will get hurt. And it has never been about trying to avoid that hurt, it's about learning to deal with it. Learning to cope and to talk it out and to make it go away again. Maybe it's time for that now.

"I just, and I know this must sound super silly to you, I got so jealous seeing you with Felix earlier. And it was stupid of me to accuse you like this. But for a moment I was afraid that you actually moved on that fast. Because I didn't want you to. And I know that's selfish, but I wanted you to still be into me."

You let out an annoyed huff to let Jisung know that this is in fact very much selfish and not really helping his case right now, but he doesn't let it discourage him from speaking.

"Because I like you too. And I didn't realise how much until I didn't have you around me anymore. And when I saw you with someone else I just kinda lost it completely. I can't bear to lose you."

Instead of replying you reach out a hand and snatch one of Jisung's fries.

"Hey!", he complains as you dip the fry you just stole from him into his milkshake, making sure to scrape up as much of it as the tiny piece of burnt potato can hold.

"Shush, let me have this", you say, popping the loaded fry into your mouth. You catch Jisung's gaze and suddenly both of you are smiling. And then you're laughing. And it's as if a weight has been lifted off your chest. You haven't felt this free in weeks. But of course, the moment doesn't last and the two of you quickly fall back into an awkward silence. Yet you're also not done talking. And there are some things you need to say now or you will maybe never be able to say them at all.

"You know, I'm still really hurt and as much as I'd like to just say that I still like you as well and pretend like everything is alright now, I just can't."

"I get that. And as I've said before, I'm really sorry. I was stupid back then and I didn't realise how much you meant to me until you weren't around anymore. It's like I took you for granted. And I shouldn't have. I swear, if I could turn back time I would. If I could go back to the day you confessed to me I would tell you that I feel the same about you."

"You can't though. We can't replay that scene, it's over." And the script you wrote for it in your mind is torn to shreds and thrown away.

"How about a new scene then?", Jisung suggests. You raise one eyebrow at him, trying to give him a questioning look but he just grins at you. "Let's start again right here." He stretches his arms out as if to point to the place around him. At this time of night, the fast-food shop isn't really full, but it isn't empty either. It's filled with a weird mixture of businessmen who just want to get a single black coffee-to-go and groups of young people that are between slightly tipsy and straight-up high lining up to order insane amounts of fries and cheap burgers with too much sauce. The place is kinda dirty, there are still crumbs on your table from who knows what time of day, a mustard stain on the chair next to yours. The air smells greasy and some annoying pop song is playing from a speaker that must be rather close to you and still you can't locate it precisely.

"Jisung, I don't think-" But he doesn't let you finish. Instead, he reaches out and grabs your hand.

"Listen, I really like you. Because you're cute and funny and beautiful. And you have such a good way with words, you made me the most beautiful confession I have ever heard and I was so flattered to hear all of that from something as wonderful as yourself. And having you as my friend is one of the best things that has ever happened to me. Because you add so much to my life, I feel like I could never get bored with you. And I like that you're weird, I like that you dip your fries into ice cream and milkshakes and how you sometimes just stare into thin air as if you're somewhere completely different. And sometimes you're really quiet as if you're stuck in your head, but I still like you then. Because you're dreamy and sort of weird and just such an amazing person to be around. And I'm sorry that I took you for granted. Could you find it in your heart to forgive me? I'm not asking you to just date me right away after I hurt you like this. All I'm asking is that we can try again. And if you ever want to make that confession again I promise I'll respond properly."

It's weird. This is nothing like you imagined it. The setting is far from romantic, the mood far from perfect. No one would write a script like that. But that has always been the thing that makes Jisung so attractive to you. He breaks the script. He doesn't need one. He just says whatever he thinks. Whatever he feels. He's so genuine. So easy to make you forget about all your overthinking. Put the script aside and just watch how things will play out.

"I accept your apology", you mumble. With your thumb, you draw a tiny circle onto the back of Jisung's hand and he gently squeezes yours back. "I'm ready to try again."

#stray kids #stray kids fluff #stray kids scenario #stray kids x reader #han jisung #han #jisung #han x reader #jisung x reader #han fluff #han scenarios #scenario #fluff #angst #friends to lovers

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galahadwilder · 4 years

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We Break Things Down Just to Build Them Back Up Again

Chapter 5: Proud

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AO3

As soon as he says it, Adrien knows he’s crossed a line. It's pretty obvious that she never intended for him to know; for as long as they’ve been friends—and she is one of his closest friends, oddness of their relationship notwithstanding—she’s never given any hint that she might have feelings for him. It was a secret, a secret spilled in anger and frustration, a secret that was never supposed to be shared.

They could have pretended it never happened, and everything would’ve gone back to normal. She could’ve pretended she never said it and he could’ve pretended he never heard it and they could keep being friends, keep being—

By bringing it into the open, he’s changed things. They can’t go back. He’s pushed what they have from stable ground into the river, unable to see if there’s a waterfall coming, or sharp rocks, or... He doesn’t want to lose her. He wishes there was a way to rewind time, to undo just thirty seconds, to never have brought this up at all and to keep things the way they were.

Marinette screams.

He doesn’t even think before he’s holding her, brushing at her hair, whispering apologies. He worries that he’s done the wrong thing again, that she’s going to push him away, but instead her head drops sideways into his chest, the side of her skull pressing against his sternum.

”Are you okay?” he whispers, not quite trusting his voice.

She nods, keeping her hands over her eyes.

The back door to the bakery bursts open, and the massive bulk of Marinette’s father charges out, all fists and concern, making Adrien flinch at the memory of vines and huge man-wolf. “Pumpkin?” he cries, his eyes zeroing in on her huddled in Adrien’s arms like a killer robot analyzing murder targets.

Adrien’s joints all lock at once, and he’s unable to prevent a whimper from escaping his teeth.

Immediately, Marinette just... melts. Her legs slip out from her elbows, her feet smacking against the cobblestone patio as her palm caresses Adrien’s cheek, her fingertips scratching at his sideburn in a way that leaves him undone. Her eyes lock on his, blue fire blazing within, and he feels his heart calm the way he does when he sees the same look in his Lady’s eyes. She’s got this.

”I’m okay, Papa!” she calls back without looking away from Adrien. “Just... made an idiot of myself in front of Adrien again?”

Adrien marvels at how Tom’s posture instantly relaxes, how he goes from “fight” to “jolly” in less than the time it takes Marinette to finish her sentence. “Oh!” her father says. “That’s—I’m glad.” He glances back at the bakery. “Sorry, I ran out on some customers...” He chuckles sheepishly. “We’re kind of having a rush today.”

Adrien’s jaw drops. He... he ran out on customers because he heard Marinette scream? And he’s not angry because it was a false alarm? There’s no punishment? No lecture? No...

No wonder Marinette could tell he’s afraid of his father, if this is what her relationship is like with hers.

Marinette twists her head, her pigtail batting Adrien in the face (which quite frankly offends his inner cat. You smack Kitty? You smack Kitty in the face? Jail! Jail for Princess!). “A rush?” she says. “Do you and Maman need help in the bakery?”

”I think we’re okay, Pumpkin,” M. Dupain says with a fond smile.

”Please?” she says, squirming a bit in Adrien’s arms. “I need something to do with my hands.”

He halts just before the door. “Well, if you insist,” he says, before heading back inside.

”Made an idiot of yourself in front of me... again?” Adrien says, gently helping Marinette to her feet. “Is that—does that happen a lot?”

Marinette bites her lip as she turns toward the bakery. “...Pretty much every day,” she mumbles, pulling him along after her by his wrist.

He stumbles after her, unsure what to make of what she’s just said—but suddenly the way she acts around him is thrown into a very new light.

”Come on,” she says with a smile. “Want to learn how to bake?”

His arms quickly get tired and sore from folding the heavy dough, and Marinette steps in to take over. She points him towards a pan of sweet dough that’s already spent the morning degassing, tells him that they’ve got an order of Chats Noir—“like Swiss Mice, but cat-shaped and covered in chocolate”—shows him how to make the basic shape, and leaves him to it.

Aside from her very gentle instructions, Marinette is quiet while they make the dough. Adrien doesn’t mind. It’s so different from the instruction he’s used to getting from his father, or the photographer, or his fencing coach that he just lets himself go, riding the calm of her voice like an inner tube on an ocean tide. It reminds him a bit of working with Ladybug, following that familiar voice as she takes him through an unfamiliar task, not with force or frustration but kindness and faith. Of course, Marinette isn’t Ladybug and the babbling crowd isn’t an Akuma bearing down on them; with no adrenaline screaming through his skull, he lets the indistinct voices and the repetition of the shaping of cat ears drown out his thoughts.

It’s a bit cramped behind the shelves with four people, but Adrien finds his claustrophobia isn’t so bad when he’s distracted by the smell of yeast and sugar and honey and cinnamon.

Then the first batch of cat rolls is in the oven and the crowd has died down a bit, and Marinette finally answers his question. “Yes,” she says, not taking her eyes off the thick dough she’s pounding out against the table with her palms. She's quiet enough that none of the customers can hear her—this conversation is just for him. “I do have a crush on you.”

Do, not did, he notices. Also, she won’t look at him—she addressed her sentence to the unmade bread, not to him, though if that’s what it takes for her to not stutter he’s not going to complain.

”It’s pretty debilitating,” she says, still staring at the paste beneath her palms. “And I’ve done some... pretty stupid things because of it.”

”I’m... sure they weren’t that bad,” he says as he moves to the mixing bowl and begins whisking the egg whites for the Cat’s Tongues.

”I’ve caused Akuma because of it,” she says, then her hands stop and she sighs. “Please don’t ask which ones.”

Adrien swallows. “I’m sorry,” he says. For someone with as big a heart as Marinette has, to have to deal with the guilt of causing an Akuma... He doesn’t know what else to say other than that.

She shakes her head. “My fault,” she murmurs. “My—my responsibility.” The wet slapping of the dough grows sharper.

Marinette's parents glance back at her, concerned, ready to jump in—as if this is a discussion they’ve had a hundred times—but Adrien gets there first, poking Marinette in the side. “Hey,” he says. “You’re allowed to make mistakes. Akuma are only one person’s fault, and...” He smiles. “That’s not you.” Then he raises an eyebrow. “Unless you’re secretly Hawkmoth.”

She laughs. “No, no I am not,” she says, her cheeks pinking. She looks at him and sighs. “See, this is why I have so much trouble getting over you,” she mumbles. “How am I supposed to move on when you keep being so sweet?”

Adrien’s stomach bottoms out. Sweet. People have liked him for his looks, or his fame, or his celebrity, but... sweet? Nobody’s ever called him that before except Ladybug, and... she doesn’t feel that way about him. (Kagami’s talked about his “soft heart,” but she always seems to have a little disdain in her voice when she says it. Though he’s fairly certain that disdain comes from her mother, not from her.)

Adrien opens his mouth to apologize, to tell her that he’s flattered but there’s someone else, and then... then her father brushes past, jogging the mixing bowl in Adrien's hands, and he remembers vines and wolfman and what happened the last time he turned her down, and he hesitates.

I need to, his brain says. It’s not fair to her.

He’ll hurt me again, his nerves reply.

Do we really want to say no anyway? his heart adds, quietly, unheard by the rest of him. It’s Marinette.

But in that crucial moment of indecision, Marinette continues. “The thing is,” she continues, “I don’t think it’s fair to either of us to get into a relationship while you're still learning about boundaries.” She turns, taking a bench scraper and tearing the dough apart, using the scraper to round it into uncooked rolls. “It's not that I don't still have feelings for you.” She sighs, hangs her head. “I just—I think being your friend is more important. For both of us.”

Adrien's not sure whether to be crushed or elated. On the one hand, she's just given him the perfect out—the perfect reason to say no, to turn her down. On the other... on the other. There's another hand. Why is there another hand? Why is he so disappointed?

He opens his mouth to say something—he's not sure what—but he's saved from finding out what his brain was going to spew next when M. Dupain suddenly turns around. “I think the cats are about ready, don’t you?” he says with forced mirth.

”Uh, I don’t...?” Adrien begins, at the same time as Marinette interjects “Papa, it’s only been—!” but her father bustles in between them and throws open the oven.

The cats are definitely not ready. Baked bread doesn't bubble like that.

"Oh, my," Tom says. He glances at Adrien. "Are you sure you haven't done this before?"

Adrien blinks, then shrugs. "No?"

Tom turns, waves his wife over. "Sabine, dumpling," he says. "Come take a look at Adrien's handiwork."

The cash register rings as she punches in the numbers for a customer. "In a minute, dear," she says.

Adrien bites his lip. "Did I do okay?"

Tom beams at him. "Adrien, son, you did beautifully," he says, reaching up to ruffle his hair, which sends a jolt of warm through Adrien's face. "Especially for your first time." He swings the oven closed and returns to stocking the shelves. "Proud of you!"

Proud of you.

The mixing bowl is halfway to the ground before he even realizes it's slipped out of his hands.

Proud of you.

He can't hear any of the rest of the shop—the pressure in his ears is squeezing in on his eardrums like q-tips.

Proud of you.

Marinette is turning to look at him, and he realizes his peripheral vision is just gone, like a buzzing at the edges of his vision.

Proud of you.

The bowl crashes into the ground, everyone in the shop jumps, and Adrien's crying. He's—he needs to stop, he's crying in front of people, he can't be, he, he—he can't breathe, he can't—

Marinette's mother's head barely comes up to his sternum; she is somehow, impossibly, even shorter than her daughter. He's trying not to melt into her arms.

"How long has it been since someone told you they were proud of you?" she murmurs, stroking his back.

He tries to speak, but only sobs instead. He can't remember.

He can't remember the last time someone told him they were proud of him.

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