cuddlytogas · 2 months ago
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MUSLIM COSETTE I’M SCREAMING
I LOVE YOUR FIC SOOOOOO MUCH
SAME ANON AS BEFORE YOUR FIC IS LITERALLY LIFECHANGING - LIKE I’VE BEEN SAYING THE USYD COHORT (SPECIFICALLY FOR THE COURSES I WANT) ARE SUPER PRETENTIOUS BUT WHAT DOES THAT MATTER IF I CAN BECOME A LES MIS REFERENCE
sdjfgahsdfjkghaldfkgnadfkha THANK YOU OMG??????? <33333333333
unfortunately, you know what this means, right? and i think you've known it in your heart all along. les amis are........ also kinda pretentious........... UnU
anyway, i had a great time at usyd, but that was for my specific courses and also a decade ago, so lmao that doesn't help. i know it's even more of a capitalist hellscape now, but tbh, what university isn't? 🙃
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jayaorgana · 7 months ago
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I have lofty reading goals this summer
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actiniumwrites · 3 months ago
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knots
synopsis: lyney has been head over heels in love with you since the two of you were only ten years old. the only problem? you're friends with lynette and not him. so he spends the next 8-9 years pining over you with seemingly unrequited feelings
characters: lyney x gn!reader
wc: 2.1k
warnings: angst to fluff, misunderstandings, happy ending, best friend's brother trope, an insane amount of obliviousness and pining, idiots to lovers pretty much, the ending is kinda rushed
disclaimer: i know character ages in genshin are a rather controversial topic of discourse within the community. i personally think of lyney and lynette to be around 18-19 years old and i do mention age in this fic as it follows a bit of a timeline. if this somehow bothers you, please just don't read or try to start an argument over it in my comments
notes: THIS IS SO CUTE IM SOBBING 🤧 i did throw in a lot of angst though i'm so sorry but i saw the opportunity and took it. the end is fluffy (and kind of rushed sorry) though‼️ the title is also inspired by lacy by olivia rodrigo as i think it's very fitting for this fic. thank you for the request! (this is my third time posting this cause the first time it didn't show up in the tags)
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Lyney was jealous as a kid. It was hard not for him to be when him and Lynette were first introduced to you and you had barely even acknowledged him. He was only ten at the time, but he was so excited to make new friends outside of the House of the Hearth that he was stunned when you had only really talked to Lynette. You had only ever offered him a small wave and a smile to go along with it before running off with Lynette.
It wasn’t fair in his eyes. He was the one more interested in you anyway, not her. She had merely tagged along because he forced her too. Now here she was stealing his potential friends.
You’d clicked instantly with her. Both of you were more on the quiet and shy side, contrasting Lyney’s sunny and outgoing personality. You both liked the same foods, the same clothing, the same everything. Lyney wanted to share those with you too, but it was hard when his tastes differed from yours and you didn’t seem to pay much interest in him anyway.
And growing up, he’d always been around. You’d hang out with all of them, don’t get it twisted. It wasn’t like you’d ever told him he couldn’t spend time with you guys. In fact, you often spent a lot of time together. You were sweet. You loved helping them with their magic tricks, even though they normally failed since you were all thirteen by the time they really began taking it seriously. You’d pretend to be shocked when they guessed your card, despite knowing exactly how the trick worked. You’d be on standby when they performed more dangerous tricks. Hell, you were even an assistant for them nearly eighty-percent of the time.
Lyney was grateful for it all, but he still couldn’t shake the ever growing crush on you he’d developed three years ago when you first met. He wanted you to be closer with him more than his sister. It was selfish, he was well aware of that, but he was the one with a crush. Not Lynette.
Lyney was the one to pick you up and put a bandaid on your knees when you fell at the playground. Lyney was the one to always share his snacks with you, even when you usually said no. Lyney was the one to always sit next to you when you were feeling a little down and let his knee rest quietly against yours, hoping you wouldn’t pull yours away. Lyney was the one who was in love with you by the time you all turned 18.
When the fateful performance happened and they were revealed to be Fatui to the general public, he was sure you’d leave them for good. You had obviously known they were Fatui, but you didn’t know of the extent to which they acted, the crimes they had committed. In your eyes, they were only in training, because that was all they had told you. As close as you were to them, they could never let you know the full details. It was against the rules.
Lyney was so sure you’d up and leave that it was the second time he had ever truly felt anxiety in his life — his sister being taken was the first, but here you were making him feel that horrible pounding in his chest all over again. He was so sure that the ache in his chest would have to make room for more than just jealousy, but grief among heartbreak. That you’d look at them in fear and never speak to them ever again. That he’d never get to profess his love to you.
You proved him wrong, and rather unexpectedly so. You’d shown up to every second of their trial and helped the traveler out as best you could to exonerate them. You’d stuck by their side through it all and made sure they were alright. He was so surprised you almost made him cry.
When they were freed from it all and the crisis was solved, you’d only hugged Lynette and Freminet. That was the part that stung the most. But at this age, Lyney was too nervous around you. How could he not be? You were so pretty and sweet and kind that he didn’t know what to do, especially when he was confused as to where he stood with you. You were all of those things and more with everyone. Everyone but him.
So he pulls away.
He doesn’t want to. God, he’s so in love with you he doesn’t want to ever spend a second away from you, but you never reciprocate any of it. So perhaps, he decides one day, it’d be best to just move on and focus on other things. Lynette could have you to herself and he’d find someone else, no matter how much he wanted you the most.
And you hate it, because well, you’re confused. Which sounds unfair, and in some ways it is, but Lyney was a special light in your life that you couldn’t get too close to. Not because you didn’t want to. No. Of course not. He didn’t realize that you were too scared to. You were so different that you shied away from him, despite feeling all the same toward him. He was like the sun and if you got too close to him, you were scared he’d burn you.
Lynette pushed you toward him regularly. You never seemed to escape her late night gossip sessions where she told you all about how her brother was practically drooling over how good you looked or how sweet you were. You found it endearing while she found it disgusting. Despite it all, though, you had confided in her about your crush on him as well, but how terrified you were to try to actually approach him. She almost slapped you right then and there.
Lynette thinks you’re both stupid. And she’s right. Because now you’re both stuck in a huge misunderstanding. Lyney thinks you hate him and you think he hates you. Could anyone really blame her for being so annoyed?
“You need to talk to him,” she finally breaks one day, about to pass out in her chair from her social energy running out just from hearing about the entire situation nonstop for the past week. You stare at her mortified as she gives you an unimpressed stare.
You nearly choke on the drink you were sipping on just a moment ago, catching a few passerby’s attention as you do, “Why do I have to be the one to say something?! He’s the one that started avoiding me!”
“Are you dense?”
“No?”
She stares at you for a long minute and sighs.
“You’re both idiots. He likes you. You like him. You were too shy to say anything and now he’s decided to move on,” she explains, unimpressed. Did you really not see it after all these years?
“Move on? What?” you place your hands on the table in front of you, panic swimming in your eyes. It all hits you so fast you feel your heart practically about to burst out of your chest.
“I have to go, sorry!” you jump out of your chair, yelling a string of apologies from behind you as you run from the cafe.
It takes you an hour to find him after your conversation with Lynette ends abruptly. Freminet was nice enough to let you know Lyney had gone down to the outskirts of the main city to work on some magic tools by the beach. It was just an excuse to get away. All three of you knew it, but Lyney wasn’t the type to say how he truly feels in fear of being a bad leader.
You wished he had said something sooner. Though perhaps you should’ve been the one to take notice long ago that his advances were more than just friendly.
You suddenly feel regret build up in your stomach at the way you treated him all these years. You were so afraid of your feelings you sabotaged yourself in the process and unknowingly hurt him too.
You find him sitting in the sand, legs crossed as he quietly fiddles with a few parts for some magic props.
“Mind if I sit?” you practically whisper from beside him. Lyney doesn’t even look at you. It’s cold and and unlike him and must be exactly how you looked all these years. He nods anyway.
You watch the waves crash in front of you. Over and over again as they grow closer with the deepening hours of the night. The stars reflect gently upon each and every one of them yet you can’t get yourself to focus on them.
You fidget with a small flower in your hands. It was tucked away gently in your pocket, the petals sticking out to prevent it from getting crushed. It’s a vibrant pink and even with its petals closed for the night, it still looks beautiful in your hand. It reminds you of all the times Lyney had dropped the very same ones at your doorstep or somehow tucked away on a piece of your clothing without you noticing. You hadn’t bothered to look into the meaning back then. You never knew rainbow roses were a declaration of love.
Lyney still sits quietly next to you, now messing with the hat he had taken off when you arrived. His lavender eyes avoid yours, but you don’t hesitate to drop the flower gently into his hands.
“I never knew the meaning of these,” you turn to him and say softly. Your eyes match your voice and he knows you’re telling the truth, even if he doesn’t want to believe it. When he doesn’t move to touch it, nor get rid of it, you speak again, “It’s uh…it’s for you. I picked it on the way here. I thought you’d maybe like it.”
He finally picks it up and turns toward you, a mixture of emotions pooling in his eyes. You see the anger, the fear, the pain, and the love all at once. You wish you had seen it all sooner.
“Why are you giving this to me?” Lyney asks quietly. It comes off a little colder than he’d like, you see it in the way he winces after. You only stare at him with a sad, but hopeful look in your eyes. You couldn’t take back the past, but perhaps you could change the future.
Quietly, you take it from him and tuck it above his ear. He’d done the same to you one time, only it was part of a show and you thought it was just for the act. Oh how oblivious you were back then. “You know what it means to give someone one of these. Lyney, I…I never meant to push you away all these years. I was just scared because I liked you, and Lynette was easier to get closer to than face my feelings for you. Even if we were just ten years old. It was immature and for that, I’m sorry.”
It’s quiet for a moment before his face brightens a bit, “Do you really mean it? You’ve really liked me all these years? Or are you just saying all this to make me feel better?”
You nod, confirming your words and he breaks out into laughter. A sound you’ve dearly missed. Sadness doesn’t suit Lyney.
“Can I…?” He says scooting closer to you, eyes glancing in between yours before falling to your lips. You nod, a small laugh escaping you as you lean in to meet him half way.
Lyney’s lips are soft against yours as he kisses you eagerly. You reciprocate the feeling, matching his pace until you both pull apart out of breath. You laugh nervously standing up and extending a hand, “Wanna go home?”
Lyney jumps up, his hand in yours and nods. He interlaces his fingers with yours tightly, not letting you go after all these missed out years.
When you return to the House of the Hearth, Lyney turns and places one last kiss to your lips. It’s short and sweet and lets you know that he’ll definitely be seeing you tomorrow. You turn and walk away after, wishing him a goodnight as you do. But before you can walk away completely and turns and shouts, “7 PM tomorrow at the Hotel Debourd! I’ll pick you up!”
Lynette appears behind him suddenly, rolling her eyes and waving to you before shutting the door on her twin, “You’re hopeless, brother.”
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thewintersoldierdisaster · 25 days ago
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a/n: hey there! i never actually planned on writing a sequel to ‘9 pm’ but a few anons asked about it and i liked the idea of giving them some happiness following that fic! the perfect title gave me the idea for the fic and here we are ☺️ i hope you guys enjoy!!
word count: 2.8k
tw: brief and minor mention of a miscarriage, pregnancy
direct sequel to 9 p.m. in vancouver
summary: andrei’s off on a road trip and you’re more exhausted than normal. once you realize why, you have to call andrei immediately
It’s barely ten at night and you’re falling asleep on the couch, Friends rerun playing at a low volume on the TV. Your blinks get longer, eyelids heavy, while Joey yells about the Coast Guard.
A yawn creaks at your jaw and you try to blink away some of the sudden exhaustion in your body. It doesn’t really work, another yawn catching you a few minutes later. You wrap your arms around one of the throw pillows, cheek smashed up against the pillow tucked under your head.
It’s been a long few days, work overwhelming you and Andrei up in the tri-state area for a mini road trip. The Canes had lost to the Flyers before beating the Devils. They’re currently up two goals on the Rangers, according to your NHL app updates, with just a few minutes left in the third.
The team will spend the night in the city before heading to Long Island for the second half of a back to back tomorrow.
It’s a grueling schedule so early in the season, four games in six days, and you know Andrei will be exhausted when he gets home on Monday morning. At least they’re off for two days before hitting the ice for a home game on Wednesday. You yawn again and decide vaguely that maybe you’ll go to the game, if you can keep your eyes open. It’s been a while since you went to the arena and you miss watching Andrei play live.
You can’t help but think briefly about the game in Vancouver last November, almost a year ago now, and your hand drifts to your stomach.
The baby would’ve been four months old, probably keeping you wide awake right now.
You don’t really think about the loss as much anymore, you can go long stretches of time without thinking about him - because you’d decided that it was a boy, even though it was too early to ever tell. Your due date had come around at the end of July and Andrei had spirited you out of the country, the both of you quiet and moody for a few days.
And then training camp had started and you’d gotten busy with work and then the season started and you didn’t dwell on the loss for a while.
But now it’s late and you’re tired and you haven’t seen Andrei in a few days and you should be cuddling a baby right now.
A few tears trickle down your temple and you swipe at them, emotion clogging your throat.
“God, get a grip,” you mutter to yourself, shaking your head slightly. It’s not even like you’re on your period to be so hormonal right now. Your brain takes a second to process the thought and when it does, your eyes widen and you kick your legs out, struggling with the blanket to try and sit up.
“Oh, oh my god,” you scramble for your phone, tossing blankets around until you hear the tell-tale thunk of the phone hitting the floor. You lunge for it, the TV remote going flying, but you barely pay attention to that as your fingers wrap around the loop on the back of your phone case and snatch it off the floor.
Your hands shake violently as you unlock your phone and thumb over to find your period tracker app. The app takes seconds to load, seconds where your heart beats wildly and your vision goes a little blurry. You mutter, “come on, faster, faster,” under your breath and suddenly the screen loads and there in the center of the screen, in bold font, is the notice that your period has been late for more than thirty days.
You’ve missed two periods.
Without even realizing it.
To be fair to yourself, after the miscarriage, everything was thrown off and you’ve only had seven or eight periods in the past year. So it’s not totally crazy that you didn’t realize you missed two cycles.
Your stomach lurches a little bit and you chew at your lower lip. You probably should take a test. But do you want to know without Andrei, again?
It didn’t work out so well last time.
You’re probably not even pregnant, you rationalize, it’s the stress of a new season starting and your body getting back to normal.
Never mind the fact that you’ve long been cleared to get pregnant again and your gynaecologist hadn’t said anything was wrong at your last appointment.
Your phone vibrates in your hand, nearly scaring the shit out of you. It’s just a notification from the NHL app - sometime in the last few minutes, while you’d been spiralling, the Rangers had tied the game and it was going to overtime.
Overtime anxiety is better than maybe-pregnant anxiety, so you tune into Bally, the sudden brightness of the glare off the ice making you blink. You’re half-heartedly paying attention, fingers tapping against your thigh while the players zip up and down the ice, trading scoring chances. Andrei’s on the ice for a shift and then he’s back on the bench. Pyotr makes a save and then another and then he doesn’t.
You frown at the TV, watching Andrei and the guys file off the ice, miserable for the team’s loss. You change the channel back to Nick at Nite, not interested in seeing the post-game analysis of the loss.
The audience laughter from the show echoes around the living room and you chew at your lower lip anxiously. Andrei won’t be back to his hotel room for hours, the post-game process already underway, but between media, a shower, and the travel. Well, it’ll be at least close to midnight before you can talk to him.
He’ll reassure you that you’re overthinking, that it’s nothing. But a quiet part of your brain is insistent that you’re pregnant and it just won’t shut up.
The smartest thing would be to take a test, find out once and for all if you’re even going to mention anything to Andrei. You’re pretty sure there’s no tests left after last time and if there are, they’re probably expired.
Your fingers tap at the screen of your phone almost by memory, the Google search showing that there’s a twenty-four hour CVS just a ten minute drive away.
The episode ends and another begins while you sit on that information, giving yourself a moment to imagine what you’ll do if the test is positive. He has to know immediately this time, you don’t think you’d be able to wait.
“Oh fuck it,” you mutter to yourself, pushing the blankets off your legs and getting up from the couch. Your vision goes fuzzy, briefly, the blood rushing from your head. You blink and everything shifts back into focus, your heart hammering a little.
Before you can overthink it, you turn off the TV and head for the front door, making a stop at the front hall closet to grab a jacket. Your fingers close around the sleeve of one of Andrei’s, the jacket dwarfing your frame as you slip your arms into the sleeves. You shove your feet into a ratty pair of Uggs and drop a faded Canes ball cap on your head.
You look insane, more like a college kid doing a walk of shame than a married woman, but Andrei’s scent embedded deep into the collar of his jacket is comforting you.
At CVS, you grab at the pregnancy test boxes like a woman possessed - Clear Blue, First Response, and the CVS generic brand all go into your basket, along with a bag of pumpkin shaped Reese’s Cups and a pack of Twizzlers. Something about the waxy, artificial strawberry ropes seems appealing right now.
Thank God for self-checkout, you don’t think you can face another person right now.
The pregnancy tests feel like they weigh a million pounds in the plastic bag and you gnaw anxiously on a Twizzler as you drive back home.
It’s well after midnight by the time you manage to drink enough water in order to pee on all the sticks and this round is more anxiety producing than when you’d done it over a year ago. Once you’re done, you set the timer on your phone and flip each stick over on the counter, so you can’t see the displays.
Instead of waiting in the bathroom, which is feeling small and stuffy despite how large it actually is, you pace around your bedroom for the few minutes it takes for your timer to count down. You wonder if you could call Andrei now, be on the phone with him when you look at the display, but if you’re not pregnant and he’s on the phone, he’ll be disappointed right before the next set of games. He’s been talking about it a little more lately, in the abstract, how nice it’ll be to have a baby one day. And you maybe haven’t been as enthusiastic as he’s been, so you don’t want to get his hopes up.
If you’re not pregnant, Andrei doesn’t need to know that you worried yourself into a tizzy over nothing.
But if you are? Well, Andrei will be the first call anyway.
The timer goes off on your phone and the sudden, shrill noise makes you jump. Your stomach lurches and you flatten your palm over it. Underneath the anxiety, there’s a little bubble of excitement growing, the thought of a baby providing a little spark of joy.
You wander back into the bathroom and close your eyes before flipping the tests over with shaking hands.
The plastic clatters against the countertop and you squint one eye open and then the other, vision focusing on the little displays.
“Oh!” You gasp, eyes immediately filling with tears, hands flying up to cover your mouth.
All three are positive, the little Clear Blue display declaring you ‘Pregnant’ in tiny letters.
Tears slip down your cheeks and you start giggling wildly, overwhelmed in the best possible way. Your hands press on your stomach, palms flat and fingers splayed.
“Hey there, baby,” you murmur, looking down. “Stay safe in there, okay? We want to meet you.”
The tears fall faster and you wipe at them with your shoulder, a damp splotch forming on the fabric of your sweatshirt. It’s so late, but you need to tell Andrei, and you move on autopilot, climbing onto your bed and finding your phone among the messy covers - the bed hasn’t been made in two days because Andrei is more of a stickler for that than you are and you like to get right back into the nest of blankets at the end of the day. It’s on your list of things to do before he’s back in a few days. Now, you pile yourself into a little cocoon of the blankets and comforters, warm and happy.
You text him first, just a quick ‘you awake?’ that you know he’s going to read as a request for phone sex.
True enough, your phone vibrates in your hand a few seconds later, Andrei’s name at the top of the screen. You grin and slide the bar to answer, “hey there.”
“Is late,” he replies, a faint laugh in his tone. “Thought you would be sleeping.”
“No,” you giggle, feeling a little unhinged. “Not asleep. Couldn’t sleep. Um, are you alone?”
Your husband laughs fully now, the sound echoing over the line. “Solnyshka, been a long day. I love you, but we have early morning,” he teases and the rumble of his voice makes you smile.
“No, not for that you perv,” you shoot back, twisting your fingers in a loose thread. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”
You know you’re sounding vague and strange, but to his credit, Andrei doesn’t call you out on it. Instead, he’s quiet for a second before your phone vibrates against your ear, signalling an incoming text. You pull the phone from your ear and tap over to your messages, laughing when you see the picture Andrei just sent.
The hotel room is nearly pitch black, but you can still make out the shape of Martin Nečas passed out in his bed with what looks like an eye mask covering his face. Andrei’s grinning face is cut off in the corner of the picture.
“Guess that’s a yes then,” you smile, bringing the phone back to your ear.
“Neci has earplugs in too,” Andrei informs you. “Says I snore, which is lie.”
It’s not, but you don’t feel like relitigating that particular point with him right now. So you move on.
“I know I should’ve waited, done something cute, but I’m bursting,” you let the words come out in a rush, feeling lightheaded with excitement. “I couldn’t, I had to tell you right away, Drei, baby, I’m pregnant.”
Andrei’s silent on the other end and a slightly manic laugh bubbles out of your mouth while you wait for him to say something.
“Pregnant?” He repeats, sounding like he’s just taken a blow to the stomach - winded and hoarse. “Like, with baby?”
“Yeah, mhm,” you hum, just letting the news soak in. Andrei’s breathing is audible in your ear, a soft ‘huh’ puffing out.
He starts to laugh and you can hear the grin in his voice when he says, “oh, solnyshka, fuck, I’m… ya chertovski schastliv.”
He slips into Russian and you’re not totally familiar with the words, but he repeats them in English, “I’m so fucking happy. Are you okay? How you feel?”
“I’m okay, I was feeling a little tired earlier,” you say. “That’s kind of why I took the test, just to see.”
Without asking, Andrei switches the call to a FaceTime and you pull the phone back, his grinning face taking up the entire screen. He looks lighter and happier than he has in months and the sight of him, of that smile that you love so much, makes you emotional.
“I wish I could kiss you,” he shakes his head, still smiling. “Hold you, something other than smile like idiot on phone.”
“I’m just happy to see your smile,” you say truthfully. A hug wouldn’t be unwelcome, but just seeing Andrei’s face has you calmer. “It’s late,” you continue, catching sight of the time in the top left corner of your phone - nearly 1:30 in the morning. “You should get some sleep.”
The adrenaline is starting to wear off now and you slump back against the pillows and headboard.
Andrei nods. “Call me when you get up,” he requests, phone bouncing slightly as he shifts on the bed. “We leave early, but call any time, okay?”
“Okay,” you promise, pressing your lips together to smother a yawn. “Hey, I love you.”
“Ya tebya lyublyu,” Andrei replies in Russian, warm and awed. “You and baby, both.”
You’re both quiet for a bit, comfortable and sleepy, reluctant to end the call. You just want to enjoy his long-distance presence and this little bubble, but eventually Martin lets out a snore on his side of the room, startling you since you forgot he was there. Andrei laughs faintly and reluctantly ends the call, after telling you he loves you again.
Now that Andrei knows, your whole body relaxes and you sink happily into the nest of blankets and pillows, curled up in a c-shape, one hand on your stomach.
There’s a million things to figure out in the coming days, weeks, and months, a million worries to ruminate on, but for now, you fall asleep with a smile on your face and pure happiness bubbling in your stomach.
The next morning, you snooze your alarm and allow yourself to wake up slowly and lazily. It’s an easy morning and you don’t plan on getting out of bed until you hear the doorbell ring.
With a grumble, you climb out of bed and shove your feet into a pair of slippers to pad downstairs, wondering who could be at the door this early.
It’s a delivery man, half-hidden behind a huge bouquet of flowers. You accept it, surprised at the delivery but not at the sender.
The oversized bouquet made up of baby roses, baby’s breath, and a few other types all in various shades of baby pink and baby blue can only be from your husband. Your face hurts from the size of your smile and you dig out the little card from between a pale pinks rose and a light blue hydrangea.
‘I love you, we will celebrate as soon as I am home. A hug and a kiss from New York for you, mama. -A’
It’s not Andrei’s handwriting, but you trace your fingers over the letters and feel tears well up. Any concerns or worries you might have about having a baby are pushed aside.
Andrei’s going to be the best dad and you’re so lucky to be doing this with him.
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maeby-cursed · 1 year ago
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KISS ME, TRY TO FIX IT…
𓂃 COULD YOU JUST TRY TO LISTEN ?
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a/n: starting a new series of songfics ! this one is very obviously inspired by sad, beautiful, tragic, so you can see where this might be going. enjoy the results of my brainrot ♡ (also, i’ve never written for gojo before, please have mercy)
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✧ synopsis: you’ve been waiting for satoru gojo for ten years, but there’s no trace of the man you fell in love with when you were sixteen years old. it’s time to let go, but he might not want to.
✧ pairings: satoru gojo x fem!reader
✧ wc: 2k
✧ rating: angst. so much of it, angst to drown in. might get suggestive at some points.
✧ cw: mentions of drinking, of the great jjk tragedy of 2006 and its aftermath, implied cheating, gojo may be ooc, toxic relationship ??
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An ice-cold wind blows through the window as you wait.
It’s not even December yet but it’s already snowing.
Soft snowflakes the size of stars, far away in their firmament, enter your living room. When they land on the sofa, they dissolve, leaving in their wake thousands of specks of water that look disturbingly like tears.
It doesn't matter. You don't think he's going to notice anyway.
It's been ten long years of waiting. Ten long years of fighting, of fixing what's broken and denying that it's ever been broken.
It's over. Let winter freeze everything in its path.
When Satoru walks in through the door, you hesitate for a moment. A moment of madness when you see his hair, as white as the snowfall that has invaded your home. Just a moment when you see him in his burgundy turtleneck sweater, his tight-fitting coat. One single moment when you recognize the cold in his pink cheeks.
But it's all over when you meet his crystalline eyes. The fault is theirs.
"Is the window broken again?" he asks, dropping his keys on the entryway’s table.
The window has been broken since September.
You nod and he grunts, running a hand over his face.
"I'll call someone tomorrow, although you could have said something," he says. This is your fault. Of course.
You keep your eyes fixed on the snow. From the living room you can see the sidewalk across the street, covered in a blanket of white that sparkles under the street lamps. It's so painfully beautiful it makes you nostalgic.
You and Satoru moved into this house three years ago, when he got his teaching position, and you can't quite get over the fact that it's time to say goodbye.
You've spent three years of solstices here. You've seen the sidewalks covered with dead leaves, with thousands of little flowers that broke the pavement in their wake. But it’s never snowed. 
It’s not fair, not one bit.
Satoru says no more. He goes to your room and undresses; he replaces his street clothes with a black outfit that seems very appropriate for the occasion. Since you’ve known him, he always takes off his glasses when he crosses the hall of your building, but for once, you wish he'd put them back on. 
When he returns, his hair is dripping over his forehead. You hadn't even noticed that he was taking a shower. 
But he hasn't noticed that your bedside table is empty, either; that your slippers are missing, that there's a seeping coldness in the hearth of your house, and it's not coming from the window.
"What's for dinner?" he asks, plopping down on the couch with his cell phone in his hand.
You get up.
9:26 p.m., November 8. This is where it ends.
"I don't know. I'm going out to dinner," you say.
He doesn’t even bother to look up.
"Hmm, where are you going? Are you bringing something back or should I order myself a pizza?"
It's painful to watch as nothing seems to touch him. He’s infinite — always infinite.
"I'm going to a work friend's house."
"The one with the lovely curly hair and those pretty hazel eyes?"
Christ.
"No. I'm moving in with Rhea. Dark-eyed, blonde, leggy."
"Hmm, how nice."
A moment passes where he just keeps staring at the screen, and you despair.
"Satoru."
"What's up, baby?"
"I'm moving."
At last – at last – he looks up. In his eyes you see nothing; two blue marbles that have sworn you two to an unjust fate.
"You're moving out? Why?"
Where to begin? Because you have been loving a man destined to save everything and everyone for a decade, because you have been trying to fill a void that is not your size for eight years, because the windows are broken and the bed is cold and Satoru arrives several nights smelling of anisette and the perfume of another, because you don't want to live looking at the Strongest, the possessor of the Six Eyes. Because you thought that in some hidden corner Satoru Gojo was still there, and he isn’t.
"Because it's killing me to live like this.” You settle for that as your explanation and try to keep your stare unwavering.
"Like this how?" he questions, suddenly irritated. "In a luxurious house?" He gestures around him with the cell phone in his hand. "Comfortably, with your dream job? Knowing you'll never have to worry about money?"
"No, Satoru. Like this, without you loving me."
That chills him to the bone.
"Of course I love you."
"Do you? Do you want me for anything other than to warm your bed and your cock? Do you want me here, as your partner? Do you need me for anything at all?"
You don’t gesticulate, you barely move from your spot in the middle of the room. Everything in this fucking place is white and uncannily clean; the sofas, the coffee table, the walls, even the snow; but you and Satoru. He’s in all black, you’re in all red. It’s almost dreamlike, and you struggle to stay grounded. 
The only thing you could remove from this house that would grab his attention would be you.
"Yesterday you weren't complaining about any of this, what the fuck is the matter with you today?"
And you can't stand it anymore. The winter current lifts your hair, soaks the back of your neck and disguises your tears.
"THE MATTER IS THAT I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR TEN YEARS. WAITING FOR YOU. WAITING FOR THE MAN I MET AT SIXTEEN TO COME BACK, SLEEPING WITH A MAN OF ABSENT GAZE WHO STAGGERS INTO MY BED WHEN HE'S TIRED OF BEING IN EVERYONE ELSE'S. I DON'T WANT TO BE YOUR DOG, SATORU. I DON'T WANT YOU TO COME HOME AND FEEL OBLIGATED TO GIVE ME A WALK, A PETTING."
The words come spilling out of you without remedy, every wound bursting open through the stitches. He just looks at you.
"You think I don't love you?"
It hurts to hear him say it, it fucking hurts. You were prepared for the yelling and the coldness, even for a quick vulnerable stare. But never for his trembling voice and soft frown.
You inhale deeply.
"I don't think your love is of any use to me any longer."
Satoru stands up at that.
He's tall, tall and beautiful like Michelangelo's David. All your life, you've been feeling like you had no right to touch him. His infinity assured you that was the case. 
He takes a step in your direction and whispers:
"Then what should I do now?"
Your eyes, fixed on the ground, rise to meet his. There's something in the void and you're not sure if it's just your reflection.
"What?" you mutter. 
"How do I fix it? What do you need that I can't give you? Do you want me to quit work, for us to leave, for me to come home and kiss your temple, to cook for you, to listen to you, to cherish you in bed?” A heartbeat. “I will."
There’s something about the desperation in his tone, you aren’t sure of what to say next.
Satoru knows how to lie, but you don't know how to tell the difference.
"I don't want anything, Satoru. I'm tired," you whisper back, eyes full of water. "I want it to end. I want you to let it end."
He shakes his head, frowning, and through the mist of your tears you recognize that he is crying too.
"There has to be something. Anything. Something I can do, I can do it all."
It's partly true. He's Satoru Gojo; all-powerful, all-knowing. Eternal and young and beautiful and tragic as a poem.
You are just another person. You cried when Suguru left, when Haibara died, when Kento gave up the Jujutsu world and when Ieri locked herself in her office. You clung to Satoru, who resembled an empty seashell more than a person. 
You remember those nights back in 2007. You remember blindfolding him so he wouldn't activate infinity by accident, by reflex, out of overstimulation. You remember cutting his hair when he couldn’t and looking for him in his old antics. You remember taking care of Megumi – always reluctant – and Tsumiki – who you felt was too mature for her age. You remember the burden of being eighteen and having lost a world.
And, above all else, you remember Satoru under the rain. Under the pressure of the world you had lost, the one that he was trying to put back together. There was a month where he seemed catatonic; no smiles, drinking anisette as if it were his one source of life. A thirty-day period followed by the rebirth of a person who looked like the one that stood before, but who seemed cold and alien to you.
"Don't you love me, my darling?" he seeks for you, reaching out a hand to brush against your cheek.
Of course you love him. You love him even like this, like you have loved each and every one of his versions.
"I adore you, Satoru. But I can't stay; you can't fix it."
"Of course I can," he reaches out to you, holding your face between his fingers, "Of course I can."
His lips connect with yours — one last attempt, you don't know by whom.
Snow fills the room and it's cold, but you drink from his mouth, from his everlasting warmth; everything in him lasts forever.
Between kisses, you show him everything you have been for years. Ten years of kisses, of hands looking for hands and flesh searching for flesh.
He moves backwards, keeping you between his hands and guiding you towards the hallway and from the hallway to your shared bed.
This is where it ends.
"Satoru..." you whisper.
"I'm here. I'm here, beautiful, my favorite girl. Talk to me."
A sob escapes you as he utters those words. My favorite girl. That’s what he used to call you. Talk to me, he used to plead, that year at sixteen, when everything was about to start.
Isn't it beautiful that it ends the exact same way?
"Satoru, I'm leaving," you press a farewell kiss to his jaw.
"No, you're not leaving," he murmurs, smiling against your mouth, searching for your lips.
You back away and look at him one more time. And you smile, because there's nothing left.
"I'm already gone. Just let go of me, please."
"But..." he starts, his smile hesitant, "But I'm going to fix it."
You take one of his hands between yours and kiss it as it presses against your cheek, before lowering it to your lap.
"Satoru..." You pronounce each syllable of his name carefully and he stifles a cry. "I'm not going to go any further. I've already made the move and Rhea's expecting me at her house in an hour. I love you, I’ll love you until I run out of kisses, but it does me no good to love you. It is of no use to me, this love. I wanted to tell you. I wanted you one last time. Wasn’t it my turn to be the selfish one for once?"
He watches you, and his mouth shuts close. You've never seen Satoru lose. 
No, that's not true. There was a time, one time, where you saw him lose everything.
His eyes fill up with you one second and empty the next.
This is his second time.
He lifts his chin with an arrogance that no longer means anything and lets go of your hands.
"Go then, if you want. I'm not going to do anything to stop you,” he drags the words with feign disinterest. “I can't do anything."
That's the last gift he can give you. An honesty unbecoming of him, a truth that will never belong to Satoru Gojo ever again. 
From god to human in three kisses and a goodbye.
"Thank you," you say to him. Then you get up, heading for the living room, where your coat and your escape door await you.
He stays in the bedroom – with himself as he always is – after you leave. 
And he hides you where he always hides the things he breaks, in the back of his eyes, where no one can reach to see anything.
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© 2023, MAEBY-CURSED — do not copy/repost/edit.
(reblogs are appreciated !!)
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littybeech · 5 months ago
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Ten things the Twilight animated series can do better than the original movies (if they care enough to, please add all your own points to this as I will, too.) :
1. Include ALL of the book scenes, without having to change them to make them easier to film (for obvious reasons, since it’ll be animated they shouldn’t have much issue there.)
2. Their daughter, Remoulade can actually look like the book described her (or better or worse) and not the CGI monstrosity we got twelve years ago.
3. Make all the characters fit their book looks to complete accuracy. Alice was 4’10 and the movies made her 5’5. They let Edward have brown hair when he’s a ginger. Jacob and the wolf pack had better be above 6’5! I want 23 year old Carlisle and 26 year old Esme playing parents to like three legal adults and two 17 year olds.
4. The parentification of Bella Swan, by both of her parents, mustn’t be ignored. Bella was making sure the bills were getting paid by the time she was 10 cause her mom was ‘too flighty and distracted’ to do things like that consistently, she also learned to cook and clean early on too because her mom’s cooking was inedible and she’d improperly mix cleaning solutions dangerously. She got a job at 14 and took care of the groceries and any other issue necessary on top of being in AP classes in school. By the time she moved in with Charlie, she was basically more of a parent than he was. He did the bare minimum to ensure her car’s safety by installing snow chains on her tires without telling her and she cried because she wasn’t used to being taken care of.
5. How she cries when she’s angry is peak girlhood and I hate that they got rid of that in the movies. She stomped her feet bro, like c’mon she was so angry and anxious and annoyed all the time and they only focused on her angst.
6. Integrate aspects of Midnight Sun too, maybe incorporate them both so we can get a more full story. Twilight on its own was a bit of a snooze fest compared to Midnight Sun. We’re gonna pretend that Edward hunting and eating Esme’s abusive ex-husband isn’t hot af?
7. Add in more character’s back stories. Alice’s abusive father and stepmother, Emmett’s gambling and womanizing as a human in Tennessee, etc.
8. Unfortunately we need to make it clear that Charlie’s not winning any father of the year awards here either. He congratulated Jacob after forcing a kiss on her and joked about Jacob pressing assault charges on her after she breaks her hand punching him away.
9. Maybe ask why the Cullens…’need’ so desperately to come back to Forks every couple of years? Like they’re multi-billionaires, they’re immortal and there are plenty of gloomy, cloudy places they could live in semi-permanently. Why Forks when they know the Quileutte tribe knows what they are and they know it makes them so uncomfortable? It just seems unnecessary.
10. More of Edward reading Mike Newton’s inner-monologue. I know it would depend on whose perspective we get but I think the idea is hilarious.
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yuriisclumsy · 7 months ago
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╰ Description: Snaps from my Google Doc "Thoughts and Ideas." It's a diary with some thoughts that come from my mind when they are being intrusive–AKA thoughts I have at 1 AM. Separate from other works, unless It's for a series. Putting this just to clarify misunderstandings.
What if there was an AU for [Name] being one of the top ranked mages in twisted wonderland?
╰Description: [Name] is one of the top mage in Twisted Wonderland, right after Malleus Draconia.
Part 1 (You are here) | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
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—April 8, 2024—
Thought… What if there was an AU for [Name] being one of the top ranked mages in twisted wonderland. Like, there is a venue at NRC with everyone invited. Even parents were allowed entry. So the parties PACKED. And then a murmur amongst the students gave rise to a NEW racked mage, saying it was a girl in her teens. Then, an announcement was made, that there was a new Top Rank list.
EVERYONE was shocked. I mean, Imagine that the last change for this list was over 10 years ago, the youngest and last on the list being 32 years old. And all of a sudden, there is a new member on the list? Firstly, it is very difficult even REACHING the top 100, let alone the top 10. Just who is this girl?
As they announced the new list, they went from bottom to top, starting from 10. Number 10, (is now the previous 9th place). This stunt people. It wouldn't be that surprising if number ten was the one being replaced. But for it to go one down…means that the girl was in a higher position. Number 9, (previous 8th place). Number 8, (previous 7th place). Number 7, (previous 6th place). Number 6, (previous 5th place). The more people listened, the more wide eyed they got. There was simply no way a young girl got on the top 5 in one go. That’s just impossible. Yet the announcer didn’t stop. Number 5, (previous 4th place). Number 4, (previous 3rd place). Number 3, (previous 2nd place). Number 2…. People were at the edges leaning forward. The first place belongs to The Prince of Thorn Valley, and had been so for the last centuries. Surely this girl couldn't have beat that…right?
The announcer continued, waiting for no one. [Name], [Name] Fairytale. That was the name outered by the announcer. Number 1, Malleus Draconia. To have a young girl be almost in par with THE Malleus Draconia, prince and heir to the throne of Thorn Valley. That was impressive…and terrifying.
Who is she? 
What is she?
A human like that couldn't possibly exist. I mean, she is standing right infront of them, but still. They needed to know where this girl came from, and how she managed to climb to the top of the ranks. Some want to know out of curiosity, others, out of anger and envy. But the worst of them all, was those who think they could use this girl in their schemes. Use her to their gain. Maybe even to get powers never available to them before.
I wonder…. Do they think you're that stupid? That you are just an innocent little girl? Smart enough to fight, but dumb enough to manipulate.
They’re all fools. You’ll just have to prove it to them. A demonstration will suffice, yes?
(Finished 4/11/2024, at 5:37pm)
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𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚜: @scarabiafriend, @sleep-ydragon, @d3sperate-enuf, @elaemae, @lucky-whispers, @kiwiimochi, @emmorphine, @azriel-sama, @amora-ledezma, @writerstrashbin, @marinahavik, @twstwondersforyou, @lunatheroyal, @ririsun, @dyedscarletletter, @kuureii, @otomega, @valacz29, @busy-dadzawa-fish, @sarah22447, @valacz29, @wondering-again, @lucid-stories. Re-blog or Comment if you want to get added into the Tag section for Twisted wonderland. Back to The Mind
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redflagshipwriter · 3 months ago
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Nest Swap 9
masterpost
Having a mission changed everything. 
Tim took full advantage of his new knowledge of the holy manuals. The first rule that he took to heart was that he was meant to be armed. Of course! It made sense.
Unfortunately, he was also not meant to take any weapon onto the field that he hadn’t trained with. Tim thought hard for a while whether or not a suburban house counted as ‘in the field’, but it seemed like he should pay lip service to Batman’s rule. So he got some sharp things that seemed interesting and spent some time throwing them at a target. They kind of looked like Batarangs, but… different. 
“I don’t think bats change shape in the next ten years or so,” Tim muttered. He gave another half hearted throw. The thing dinged off the wall below his target. “So this isn’t meant to be a bat shape. Did Batman rebrand to the Birdman and no one fixed his wiki page yet? Is this a parallel universe and not my actual future?”
It occurred to him that it might be a bird because of Robin. But come on, Robins didn’t use sharp things. Robin was a child. It was irresponsible for children to use blades. 
Tim sent another thingy into the wall. It hit with the pointy end first this time and sank an inch into the wall to the right of the target. He held his breath as it wiggled for a moment. Then it went still without falling.
“Yes!” He punched the air. Thank gosh! He was getting bored with that. It was good to be done with training. It was kind of dull.
Steps one and two were finished. He had a weapon and he had trained with it. Tim went back to his list. The next technical skill set was lock picking. That was super easy and fun! Tim enjoyed the clear diagrams and explanations. There wasn’t anything to practice with, but he thought that he had the concept down handily. He grabbed a set of lockpicks for his khaki pockets. 
He needed to do a little more to understand the patterns of the target, as well as their background. Tim considered asking Jason for any information, but he probably didn’t have any. Maybe he wasn’t very good at googling. So he just did it. The Sausage Guy was more commonly known as Benedict Orange, a name that Tim really liked and mentally stored away to use as an alias when he was a superhero. 
Anyway. Tim figured out how old the guy was, where he’d gone to school, and a bunch of other stuff like the record of his marriage ten years ago. 
“Huh,” Tim said, brows furrowed. “I didn’t find a divorce record. But he’s single now?” Mr. Orange had accounts on a lot of dating sites. He was using his engagement photo for the profile photo, with his wife cut out.
That was weird. He tried to find the wife, but there wasn’t anything more recent than 8 years ago, when she’d announced that she was quitting her job on social media. 
…Tim had kind of a bad feeling about that. 
He put a pin in it for now, but he had a small theory at the back of his mind that started with ‘I think this guy killed his wife.’
Maybe that was how the human sausage thing started. Maybe he’d killed her on impulse and then needed a way to get rid of the body. And then maybe he’d gotten a taste for it.
Tim shuddered. Okay, okay, he was for real done thinking about this! Big yucky.
Benny Orange was an office worker with a title that Tim didn’t really understand. It seemed vague to the point of uselessness, but then again, that was office work. The relevant thing was that he got home around 6 pm, and he left at 8 am.
It was 10 in the morning. Tim could get over there and toss Benny’s home before the end of the workweek if he hurried. The manual said that you should never spend more than an hour investigating an unsecured location. It also said that you should file a report or directly inform someone of where you’d be. 
That part made Tim pause for a moment before he remembered that he’d told Jason. Jason would probably check on him when he woke up, or whatever.
Tim found an equipment belt that he could wrap around his waist twice to buckle on. He put his sharp things in it. Then he untucked his shirt, because he had tucked it in out of habit and that would make it harder to access his weapons. He frowned as he did it. It just felt wrong.
He put on his shoes and got out the door. He didn’t have a lot of time to waste if he wanted to be able to take his time, so Tim hailed a taxi to cross most of the distance this time. He was grateful that Mrs. Henderson was gone and there was no chance of seeing her. Last time had been a little bit of a disaster. Needing civilian help to get into the building was not a winning move.
He had bat-approved lockpicks this time. He went to the front door and did his best. 
It turned out that maybe he should have practiced? Tim started to sweat out in the open. It felt like someone was staring at his back. He looked at the houses around. No one was at their windows or walking outside. He started jumping whenever the tall herbs in Mr. Orange's garden swayed in the breeze. He had a lot of plants.
His hands were shaking. The sweat made his shirt stick to his back. He was going to get caught and in so much trouble.
When the door finally opened, Tim offered up a thanks to Bast, because he assumed the cat goddess was more likely to be pro-breaking and entering than other gods. That logic was just based off of what he knew about Catwoman, honestly. 
The first glimpse into Benedict Orange's home was disappointingly normal. He had vinyl flooring (easy to clean!), leather furniture, and a big flat TV high up on the wall. He didn’t have enough knickknacks and there was no art. There was a wood and glass case that was full of identical, unlabeled bottles with something red in it. Hot sauce? Was he a hot sauce guy?
Tim mentally reclassified Mr. Orange further down the list of ‘people I could talk to at a cocktail party.’
The place had the same layout as Mrs. Henderson’s place, just in reverse. Tim beelined to the kitchen because.. Well.
He just did.
The counter space where Mrs. Henderson had a hot water kettle, a big stand mixer, and a toaster was mostly clear here. Mr. Orange only had one piece of cooking machinery. Tim didn’t know it. He squinted at it. It was a big shiny stainless steel thing. It had a metal tray, a wheel, and like… a nozzle. When he climbed on a chair to look down, he could see there was a little tunnel tube thing where you could put stuff inside the body of the machine.
Weird. Moving on!
He checked inside the fridge. He stared for a moment of aghast silence. There was a stack of takeout containers, a bunch of seasonings in the door, and a stack of tupperware with something red in them. 
Cautiously, Tim dug one out and opened it.
“That’s raw meat,” he said, voice high. He put the box back in and then hesitated. Maybe he should be like, taking it? Or taking a sample? To see what animal it came from?
“I’ll think about it.” Tim shut the fridge a little harder than he needed to and beat feet out of the kitchen. He started checking the other rooms. He found the master bedroom. His nose wrinkled. “I don’t think he’s restyled this since Brenda died,” Tim complained. He looked at the curtains with extreme judgment. They were so outdated it wasn’t even funny, but they also weren’t retro yet!
Oh. Wait. Belatedly, Tim remembered that it was ten years into his future. So, maybe they were retro now. Anyways, Brenda had liked the trend for chickens and roosters. There were chickens and roosters everywhere in the decor, including a cute print of what was obviously intended to be a husband and wife pair snuggling on a sofa.
His heart hurt a little. He looked at it a little too long. 
Tim took a deep breath. Then he went back to looking for evidence. There wasn’t much in the bedroom, so clearly Mr. Orange had a personal office elsewhere. There were two more rooms in the apartment.
Tim opened the next door. The room was mostly a guest bedroom, with the notable exception of a huge chest freezer and a weird long wooden bar across the room.
Tim shut the door.
The last room was the office. There was a desk, a file cabinet, and a lockbox full of women’s drivers licenses.
“Yeah, okay,” Tim said under his breath. “He’s a serial killer.” He took photos and sent them to Jason immediately with the subject line “Yeah he’s a killer!!!”
Then he got down to sorting through the papers to see if there was anything else. Jason was a Robin, Tim supposed, so he’d need the evidence to show the police. It would be helpful if he just went and sorted it out now. He found warranties for the TV, the new freezer, and he presumed that ‘Meat Grinder’ meant the thing in the kitchen.
“I appreciate that he’s so organized, actually,” Tim muttered. He was hunched over digging through the bottom drawer now.
A key went into a door. 
Tim froze stock still. He slowly, silently shut the drawer. He stared at the closed door to the living room. On the other side of it, Mr. Orange unlocked and opened the front door. Tim slowly looked up, saw 12:14 on the clock, and vaguely registered that sometimes people come home on their lunch breaks.
The front door shut. There was a quiet metal sound that Tim thought was probably the chain lock. The chain lock that was too high for him to move without a chair to stand on.
Okay. Uh. He looked around for a place to hide. The best option was under the desk. Tim crawled through the legs of the chair, heart beating furiously.
He weighed his options. Wait it out and hope Mr. Orange didn’t come in?
…Seemed risky. But there was no way he was going to run out past the guy to the front door. At least, the odds that he’d get grabbed were just not good, not when he didn’t know where Mr. Orange was. 
Alright. Tim knew reality. He might not be able to get out of this on his own. At the very least, he should let Jason know what was going on so that they could add his murder to the list of charges. And maybe Jason was close by to help? Wayne Manor was awfully far away, so probably not. But it didn’t hurt to try.
He got his phone back out and was silently very glad that he had it. Jason had responded to his message. Tim didn’t take the time to read it, instead typing up a blank email with the subject line “um might need help asap :( he here”. He sent it. Then he huddled down to wait.
Noises came from the kitchen- the suction as the fridge opened. The beep of the microwave. A man’s voice saying, “What the fuck? Did I leave this here?”
His blood turned ice cold.
‘What did I do?’ Tim desperately tried to remember what he’d touched in the kitchen. Had he really moved something around? He didn’t remember anything! His heart rate went up like crazy.
The door opened. Tim flinched. His whole body started shaking uncontrollably.
Oh. No. It wasn’t this door yet. It was the door to the next room, the spare bedroom. He heard the weird squelch of the chest freezer opening. Then the closet door squeaked open. Something heavy moved around. 
“Well, it wasn’t you,” said Mr. Orange. There was a mean satisfaction in his tone. The heavy thing moved again.
Tim’s brain went a bit blank.
Who was he talking to? Was there someone in the apartment? Hidden behind something heavy?
He opened up another email. Jason hadn’t responded, so there was no way to know if he’d seen. Tim hastily typed up, “I think there’s a living hostage in the house” and sent it as the door to the office opened.
He hugged his arms around his knees and squeezed his eyes shut. Oh gosh. Oh heck. Oh no, oh no. He bit his lower lip and broke skin.
‘No. I can’t be a baby about this.’ 
It was really hard with how stiff his fingers felt. But Tim put the phone in his pocket and wrestled the sharp bird weapon out. He held it clumsily. And he watched Mr. Orange’s feet move around the room. They walked around the room. He saw the curtains move as Mr. Orange pulled them to check no one was hiding there. Then he knew that Mr. Orange was coming to his hiding spot.
Tim swallowed. He waited until Mr. Orange’s feet were in sight. He stabbed his sharp thing down through the top of Mr. Orange’s sock.
Mr. Orange bellowed and fell back against his filing cabinet. 
Tim scrambled out and ran.
He went towards the front door on automatic and nearly got there before he looked up and saw that yes, the chain lock was on. He couldn’t reach it. 
“You little shit!” Mr. Orange bellowed. He lunged at Tim. Tim barely dodged. He jabbed at him again without looking and barreled towards the door to Mrs. Henderson’s apartment. It only had a doorknob lock. He unlatched it, praying that she had not changed her ideas about the open door policy. The door handle turned.
He threw himself into the room and slammed the door shut. He clicked the little button lock.
Mr. Orange hit the door, hard. It shook. He wasn’t saying anything anymore. There was something about that which struck Tim as absolutely terrifying. Didn’t people bellow and yell when they were mad? 
He looked towards Mrs. Henderson’s door. The door shook again as Mr. Orange hit it.
Wood splintered.
If he went out Mrs. Henderson’s front door he could sprint for it. What were the odds he could outrun a grown man? If he did, wouldn’t Mr. Orange just get in his car? Potential witnesses had made Mr. Orange back off before, but he was more invested now in silencing Tim. And there was no one around. Tim had checked. 
The door splintered again. He could see Mr. Orange’s shoulder. Then a socked foot.
‘I don’t think I stabbed his foot well enough,’ some distant part of Tim’s brain catalogued. ‘He’s still moving on it. If I live past this, I’m going to commit to the next stabbing with more enthusiasm.’
He bolted for the stand where Mrs. Henderson kept her mace. He was just out of sight from Mr. Orange’s hole in the door. His heart thudded so loud. His shaking had stopped. The mace didn’t  feel heavy. 
‘If I was taller, i’d aim for the face. I can’t pull that off. I’ll aim for center mass. He may block with an arm, but theoretically his arm will be hurt enough that I’ll be able to pull back and make another swing.’
There was a catastrophic smash from inside Mr. Orange’s apartment. 
Then a “What the fuck-” that got cut off a little early. Mr. Orange sounded mad and confused. 
A thud. Two smaller thuds. A clicking. Tim wanted so badly to know what was going on. 
A hand reached through the hole in the door and unlatched the lock. 
Tim swallowed. He readied a swing. 
The door opened.
Tim took a step forward and swung Mrs. Henderson’s antique mace with maximum strength directly into the armored center mass of a guy who was NOT Mr. Orange.
“Oh my gosh,” Tim said, horrified, at the instant he connected. The guy was looking forward. He looked down too late, just as the mace hit.
There was sort of a bounce. The mace bounced back off the tummy armor without digging in or drawing blood. Half of Tim was relieved, and half was terrified that his plan had failed. 
The guy doubled over and made a sound that was a lot like GURK. He clutched at his torso with one arm and pointed a gun at Tim with the other.
Tim put his hands up.
The guy looked at Tim. Presumably. It was hard to tell through his ugly red motorcycle helmet.
“I really should have known.” 
His mechanical voice was scary.
Bad guy! 
Tim took his chances and another swing before the guy could shoot him. He expected to hear a shot as he smashed his mace again. The guy yelped and jerked backwards to avoid getting hit. Then there was a thud.
Tim peered through the door cautiously. The guy had tripped over Mr. Orange. Mr. Orange was laying on the floor facedown, arms zip tied behind his back. 
“Oh, sorry,” Tim apologized. He took a couple steps over to put the mace back away. He gave Mr. Orange a wide berth.
“I never would have guessed that the Red Hood used kids like this,” Mr. Orange said meanly. He narrowed his eyes at Tim. “Small, even for bait.”
The Red Hood guy pointed his gun at Mr. Orange’s head. Tim shrieked.
The Red guy stopped. He seemed to look at Tim again. He had some really bad words. “Alright.” He got back up to his feet and put the gun away.
Right. He’d probably just been joking or something. Tim belatedly registered the control it must have taken to not accidentally shoot while being attacked and falling over. 
Oh. Wait. It was a huge coincidence that a hero came right now, unless-
‘Is this Jason?’ Tim felt his eyebrows go all the way up. He wanted to ask a million questions. His mouth was firmly glued shut, though. Partly it was infosec. But it was also embarrassment.
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babymetaldoll · 2 months ago
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Are you mine? - Chapter 1: I'm a puppet on a string
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A/N: Ok guys, here we go! Thank you all for your love and support, and most of all, for waiting for this last book.  Summary: We are starting on season 15 for a little sneak peak of our lovebirds getting ready for their last day at the BAU. Spencer and his cherie have been married for some time now, and things are going great, until they don't, as they usually do. Let's join for a big flashback and understand all that happened from season 9 to season 15 that lead them to their last day at the BAU. Word count: 7.680 words.  Warnings: Alcohol consumption, fluff, angst, confusion and babies.  
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Spencer's point of view
Thomas Merton once wrote, "Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone. We find it with another."
Life has never been this good, not like this. I know I haven't slept well in over seven years, due to the constant demands of parenthood, but I don't mind. In fact, I think I love it. I was not a good sleeper before becoming a dad if we are sincere. But waking up ten times every night to change diapers, check for monsters under the bed, or scoot over and allow my kids to sleep next to me, kicking my ribs for the entire night has never been a problem. Because they are my babies, and I would do anything for my kids.
I no longer have every night during the week to bury my head in hundreds of books. I haven't read more than a few every week since Raven was born, seven years ago. Now, my evenings are filled with baby rambles and kids' voices as we play games and read bedtime stories.
My kids. I never thought I could ever say those words. And now look at me, father of three healthy, bright, and beautiful kids. Not even in my wildest dreams I ever imagined being alive could be so fulfilling. Now I have an honest reason to be a better person every day. My babies. My wife. My family. They are my whole life.
I have everything I ever dreamt of: me and (Y/N) have been married for almost nine years. Nine years of waking up next to her, good morning kisses, and cuddles. I still find it hard to believe that she is my wife. The love of my life. The woman I would die for. Just ask me and I will give up everything for her safety and happiness. Yes, as cheesy as it sounds. And with our career choice, a decision that we've had to make more times than we imagined.
Our eldest daughter, Raven Marie, turned seven this year. She is bright and cheerful. She is just like her mother: a natural leader and the light of my day. Vincent is four years old, and he was born an artist. He loves painting and drawing, especially on the walls when no one is watching. We enjoy our trips to the museum together, even more if we get ice cream afterward. And baby Matilda is just three months old. I love holding her in my arms as she sleeps safe and sound. It makes the whole world stop. And the way her big brown eyes stare at me, I swear she can understand every word I say. The three of them make me feel loved in a way I never even imagined.
We live in a beautiful house just outside town, which is perfect for raising our family. It has a large backyard where our kids can play. It even has a tree, so I plan to build a treehouse next summer, probably with Mikey's and Frank's help.
This is everything I always dreamed of and never thought I could have. That is why (Y/N) and I decided we would never let anything jeopardize what we have accomplished. There is nothing more important to us than our babies.
That is why it's time to leave the BAU for good.
Today is our last day as Supervisory Special Agents with the FBI. And though I always thought if this day ever came, I would be devastated, I'm looking forward to this new stage in our lives. As long as we have each other, everything is going to be ok.
I roll in bed and stare at my darling wife asleep beside me. I take in all her features, nose, and closed eyes fluttering occasionally. There are a few gray hairs already showing, stressing her out. I find them sexy if you ask me. We are already 39 years old, I have a few gray hairs myself. My wife's skin looks so soft, so tempting. I wanna mark her mine again, leaving sweet bruises from her neck to her breasts, which are almost exposed underneath her pajamas. The hickies I did last week are barely visible anymore.
But before I get into action to wake (Y/N) with hot kisses all over her body, sweet blabbing sounds coming from the small crib next to our bed catch my attention. Our baby girl is already awake. It's still too early for Matilda to open her eyes, so I roll in bed and hold my baby daughter, rocking her in my arms as we walk around the room.
- "Good morning, Jelly Bean."- I whisper and kiss her forehead- "Thank you for almost letting us sleep through the night last night. Your mom and I have a decisive day today."- Tilly stares at me with her big chocolate eyes and smiles as her tiny finger holds mine tight.
- "Yes baby. Today is your parent's last day working at the BAU, after over fifteen years of service for your mom and seventeen for me."
The words should shock me, or maybe even cause angst or pain. But nothing could be farther from the truth. I'm excited to become a full-time professor at Georgetown, come home every night, and spend time with my kids. No more travels unless they are on vacation, no more chasing psychopaths. I'm ready to leave that life behind me and take care of my loved ones daily.
I walk around the house, enjoying how it's still silent. Holding Tilly close against my chest, I open Vincent's door and watch him sleeping on his little bed. I walk over and cover him with his blanket, knowing in about forty minutes he will be running downstairs, demanding breakfast. Today is hotcakes Friday, I could start the batter and get the coffee ready after I put an eye on the kids.
I head to Raven's room and find her awake. She is sitting on her bed, holding her teddy bear hidden behind Moby Dick.
- "Birdie, what are you doing awake? it's six in the morning"- I whisper as I walk over to her and she widens her eyes, clearly busted.
- "Sorry dadda. I just woke up. I swear."
- "What happens when we don't get enough REM sleep?"- I ask her as I sit by her side, and take her book from her tiny hands.
- "It interferes with memory formation, altering my learning process."
- "Very good. So if you know why you must have nine hours of sleep, why are you awake so early?"- my older daughter giggles and hides underneath her blanket for a moment. I wait for her to show me her face one more time as she whispers.
- "I wanted to know what happened to the giant whale."
- "But this is our bedtime story, Raven. We have to read it together every night."- I try to look serious, but frankly, I feel so proud. I love being able to share my passion for reading with my daughter. Raven fixes her pillow underneath her head and covers herself with her purple blanket.
- "But I'm no longer sleepy, dadda."
- "Just close your eyes for a bit, Birdie. Try to rest and I'll make breakfast. I'll call you when the food is ready, ok?"
- "Can we read two chapters tonight, dadda? Please?"- she looks at me with pleading eyes as I place the book back on her bedside table.
- "Only if you get some more sleep now, ok?"
- "Fine... good night dadda... or is it good morning already?"- I chuckle and kiss her forehead.
- "If you are going to sleep, we still say good night, birdy."
Sometimes I'm sure I'll wake up alone at my old apartment, all this would have been a dream. I never imagined I would love something or someone more than I loved my work. The FBI was my life for so long. But this, my babies, my wife sleeping safe and sound in our house, that means more than anything I could ever achieve at the bureau.
(Y/N)'s point of view
I wake up in bed and immediately feel the cold, empty space beside me, and I don't like it. I'm used to waking up with the warmth of Spencer's arms around me or any of my kids hovering over the covers or sleeping on me. But not today. Today, I am alone on this gigantic bed, and neither my children nor my husband are in sight.
The sweet sound of my kids' laughter somewhere in the house and the smell of hotcakes catches my attention in a second. I could get used to waking up like this. No text warning me that we have to catch a serial killer. No one is trying to hurt my family. No psycho plotting to ruin our lives. Just us in our house, living our sweet dreams.
The last couple of years have been rough, to call it somewhat. Everything we ever tried to avoid from working at the BAU hit us. For a moment it felt like everything that could go wrong, did. And when I say "everything", I mean it. But I don't wanna think of those dark times, I don't wanna start this last day with sorrow. I wanna start it with coffee, hotcakes, and sweet kisses from my babies.
- "Something smells extra good in here!"- I walk into the kitchen and find Spencer flipping hotcakes in a pan, as Raven and Vincent are sitting at the table, eating already and chatting nonstop. My husband smiles as I walk to him and kiss his lips sweetly.
- "How are you today Tilly?"- I whisper as I stare at her, she is asleep against Spencer's chest, in a baby wrap we got when Raven was born, and that my husband loves beyond life itself. Try to take it from him, it's impossible. He loves carrying our kids around in that thing. And when they are too old to fit in, he just carries them on his shoulders or arms all over.
- "One day they will be too big or too embarrassed to be seen like that with me"- he explained to someone, probably some of my aunts or cousins, who argued he was spoiling them rotten. - "And I wanna enjoy every chance I get before we reach that point in life."
Now, if you ask me, I don't think our kids will ever get tired of their dad. They love him too much.
- "Mama! dadda made chocolate chip hotcakes!"- Vinny is clearly running on sugar right now- "They are tasty!"
- "I'm sure they are! They smell delicious!"- I grab a cup and fill it with freshly made coffee- "Can I get you more coffee, hon?"
- "Yes, please ma cheriè."- I pour two cups and add sugar to my husband's as he prepares a dish with hotcakes and scrambled eggs for me and one for him as well.
- "Someone went an extra mile with this breakfast today. Thank you hon"- I kiss him again and take both dishes.
- "It's a special day. You deserve the best breakfast."
- "Well, I'm gonna cook you the best dinner then" - I wink at him and look at our kids- "Are you ready for school, Birdie?"
- "Yeah. I'm excited because in math we are starting to do multiplications! Finally!"- our daughter is honestly happy about math, which I know she didn't get from me.
- "Multiplications? Why were you looking forward to that?"- Spencer asks her, as I help Vinny cut his hotcakes.
- "Because Uncle Frank said we are good at multiplication in this family, so I wanna learn all about it."
I keep my poker face and nod at my oldest daughter, trying to pinpoint any kind of scenario where Frank might have said that to her. Spencer stares at me with wide-open eyes as he clears his throat and sips his coffee.
- "Yeah, math is really fun!"- that's all I can say- "Which is your favorite subject, Vinny?"
- "Art"- I am not shocked.
- "Are you planning on making a new drawing for my desk?"- Spencer asks our son, who takes a few seconds to reply and gives him an honest answer.
- "No, Aunty Lu asked me to do one for her fridge, because her baby can't draw anything yet."- I smile and nod.
- "We should work on that drawing this weekend then."- I say to my boy and kiss the top of his head. I love that my kids know Lu, Frank, and Mikey are also family.
Lu got married a few years ago and last month she had her first baby. I haven't seen her in a few weeks because things have been crazy for both of us, but we text daily. A lot has changed, but our friendship remains the same. Mikey got married as well, to a girl he met at work. They have been together for five years and have a baby girl. I have never seen him this happy before, and it fills my heart with joy to know he is living the life he always dreamed of.
Meanwhile, Frank is still single. Not shocking news, I know. He has a steady girlfriend though, and they are very happy. He and Tarah have been together since Spencer and I got married, and they have the cutest dogs and cats I've ever seen.
- "Ok kids, let's get ready for school."- I put the dishes in the sink and watch our kids run upstairs. Spencer smiles as he finishes his last sip of coffee and I walk to him to take Tilly in my arms.
- "I'm gonna get this little lady ready to spend the day with Nana Sofia so you can take a quick shower, ok?"
- "Thank you, ma cherie."
- "No, thank you for breakfast, Daddy."- I whisper and kiss his coffee-tasting lips as he stares at me, raising an eyebrow subtly. I am teasing him, and I know it. But I can't help it. I love it when he stares at me with those hungry eyes.
- "We have some extra time, in case you wanna join me in the shower."- Spencer whispers and stands in front of me, wrapping his arms around mine, and moving his hands up and down my back, underneath my pajamas.
- "Mom!!"- Raven yells from upstairs- "Vinny got back into his bed and said he won't go to school today!"
- "Hold that thought until tonight."- I sigh and peck his lips- "Take that shower while I get the kids ready."
- "Fine, but you owe me, Mrs. Reid."- I chuckle at his words and shake my head, walking out of the kitchen with our baby secure in my arms.
- "Dr. Reid, I'm keeping count, and as far as I remember, you owe me, big time."
Spencer's point of view
As I drive to our last day at work after dropping the kids at school and Tilly with (Y/N)'s mom, I start to do the math of how many times I've driven us to work in the last few years. Plus all the times I took the subway to get there, before we got married. I know during all those times I never imagined how the last time would feel like. I never even imagined this day would ever come until Raven was born. Ever since I knew she was coming, I seriously considered dropping the life I knew to do anything else. Something that didn't include putting my and my wife's life in danger daily.
After we got married, (Y/N) and I spent a few years trying to catch up with all the time we wasted not confessing our feelings. There wasn't much left to know about each other that we didn't deal with being friends, but being a couple was a completely different thing. Our job came with certain unconventional situations, to call it somewhat. Like the day I realized how badly I wanted to be a dad, after delivering a baby in front of an unsub.
It happened almost eight years ago, not long before we discovered we were going to become parents for the first time. I remember I was out for a drink with Rossi, who had taken very seriously his job to help me transition from a single man with no clue about dates, to a man married to the woman of his dreams.
That night he took me to one of his favorite bars, which apparently had seen better days. It was old, dirty, and mostly empty, except for a very old guy singing karaoke at the back of the room, and some regulars.
- "That's where I saw Carolyn for the first time."- Dave pointed at a table in a corner, where a guy seemed to have passed out. I widened my eyes and looked at him, not impressed.
- "No offense, Rossi, but this place is kind of a dump."- of course, he was offended.
- "Oh, back then it wasn't."- he argued and tried to sell me the place - "Back then, the biggest names would come here: Creedence, The Eagles, Chicago. It was a Marine bar. They played for us jarheads."
- "What was Carolyn doing here?"- I asked, trying to focus on the story and not on the number of bacteria in every glass in that bar.
- "Waiting for Ringo."- Rossie replied as I stared at him surprised. - "Beatlemania was no joke. I mean, it would make the women crazy. She'd write them a letter once a week, begging the band to come visit."
I smiled thinking that sounded like something (Y/N) might have done as well, though instead of writing letters, she would tweet her favorite band and spam them with messages begging for a show in town.
- "Did they ever come?"- I asked and Rossi nodded, with a smile.
- "Ringo did, after his divorce. But luckily, Carolyn met me first. But that's how we all became friends."- I was about to add something when the waitress arrived with our second round.
- "Devil honey for Dave and a light beer for the kid."- I smiled at her and whispered a shy thank you as she left the bottle in front of me. I was about to sip it when the sound of a text message coming from David's phone reminded me duty ruined most of our fun times.
- "Oh, on second thought, Helen... it's Garcia."- Rossi announced and looked at me.
- "So much for a night off."- I sighed and left the bottle back on the table, untouched.
- "You better bring us the bill."
- "Ok. That'll be 10 bucks."- the waitress replied quickly, and I moved to grab my wallet, but David stopped me.
- "No, you can charge us for the drinks we didn't have. Drinks are on me, kid."
- "Everything's marked down until it's all gone."- the waitress announced and showed us a banner announcing Rossi's favorite place was closing in a few days.
- "Oh, you can't close! This place is history!"- he argued immediately, shocked by the news.
- "Unfortunately, Dave, history doesn't pay the bills."- Helen, the waitress, replied and shook her head as Rossi sighed, defeated.
- "Marines used to be big business!"- he said and looked at me, I don't know if waiting for words of support or just trying to convince me.
- "Still are. That's why three new bars opened up across the street."- Helen explained and then asked- "What's that thing they say about competition?"
- "It breeds success?"- I told her, but she cut me off.
- "It sucks."
- "Well..."- Rossi stood up and I followed, grabbing my jacket- "Keep the change."
- "Thank you, Dave."- Helen smiled and looked at him for a few seconds, giving him a knowing look, and then walked away.
- "I hate to see this place go."- Rossi said to me as he stood there, staring around him at all the memories he had in that place. I tapped on his shoulder and walked out of the bar.
- "We could come back again after we solve this case."- I suggested, trying to cheer him up. - "Bring the rest of the team, enjoy one last drink here. I'm sure (Y/N) and García would love to hear all the stories this place has."
When we reached the BAU that night, (Y/N) was already there with Blake, García, and Hotch. I walked toward my wife and held her hand.
- "Ma cherié, did you get to enjoy your evening at home?"- I whispered and she sighed.
- "I prepared the perfect bathtub, got myself a glass of wine, and I had a brand new book to enjoy. And it all went to waste."- she pouted and I ran my thumb down her cheek a few times, caressing her soft skin.
- "I'm sorry, chipmunk."- the rest of the team joined us in the briefing room, which forced us to be professional and move from each other a little bit- "We could take a bath together after we solve this case."
- "That sounds so nice." - (Y/N) sighed and smiled at me. - "How was your night out with Rossi?"- she asked as we sat around the table in the briefing room.
- "We had fun, we have to go to the bar he took me"
- "Was it good?"
- "No, actually it was old and dirty, but it's his favorite and it's closing."- she chuckled as Rossi turned to me, from the other side of the table, looking absolutely offended.
- "It's a very respectable place! You are lucky you visited it!"
- "That's why I'm telling my wife we should go!"- I replied, doing my best not to laugh. I knew he was affected by the closing news.
- "And we will, you don't have to tell me twice."- (Y/N) said quickly- "If there is booze and Rossi approves, I'm dying to go."
That case was in Boston, a psychotic was on the loose and had already killed three men and stolen their wallets. Though nothing tied the victims together, our guy was on a mission, and it was more likely to strike again before we got there.
We were already in the jet, going through the briefs and trying to find anything that could lead us to find this guy quickly.
- "We need to determine where he's finding his victims."- Hotch said, and I locked eyes with my wife, who was sitting next to me.
- "Geographically speaking, none of the victims live near one another, but they were all killed downtown, which is where the unsub likes to operate."- I said as she nodded, but before (Y/N) could say something, Blake commented.
- "That fits with where Maxford works, but not with the other two victims."
- "His area of control, while relatively small, includes a number of residential and commercial buildings."- I started rambling out loud.
- "Can you do the math that might help us?"- my wife suggested.
- "Well, factoring in a 3-mile radius in a city with a population of 636, 479 over 48.28 miles, we're looking at approximately 39,549.23 people living in his comfort zone."- I blurted out and (Y/N) kept staring at me with a sweet smile, as the rest of the team looked at each other like I was a freak.
- "How many of them are male?"- Morgan asked me and I replied in a blink.
- "18.944,08."
- "Garcia, start with the victim's known associates."- Hotch commanded as I felt (Y/N)'s hand on mine, intertwining our fingers.
- "Your brain is so fucking hot"- my wife whispered and I chuckled, embarrassed- "I love hearing you do math on anything."
- "Never let her go, kid"- Rossi overheard her words and smiled at us. I guess so did JJ, 'cos she looked at us with a funny stare in her eyes before standing up and walking to the kitchen to get herself a cup of tea.
Our guy was Tanner Johnson, and he was in fact, on a mission. He wanted to gain his ex-wife's trust back again to prove to her that he could take care of her and her new baby after their 10-year-old Jeremy had died. He wanted to be a good father, and in a way to protect everybody who lived under his roof, he started killing people who he thought were a bad influence for them and even kept a scrapbook, filled with proof of his murders.
I remember being in a van with Morgan, on our way to Mrs. Johnson's house, where she was being kept against her will by our unsub. (Y/N) was with JJ and Blake in another van, as Rossi and Hotch stayed back at the station, watching the surveillance cameras Tanner kept, still streaming everything that was happening in his old family home.
We just made it in time before Mrs. Johnson had the baby, and I was glad for once I had memorized all of the delivery manuals I had come across when JJ was pregnant, just in case she went into labor on the field.
- "Hannah, how far apart are your contractions?"- I put my gun down as I stood in front of Mrs. Johnson and Tanner, who had a knife against her throat. Morgan kept pointing at him, but I knew he didn't have a clean shot.
- "They're constant!"- the poor woman in labor screamed in pain. I looked at Derek and shook my head. I knew I had to do something quickly.
- "The baby's coming now!"- I announced the obvious, knowing the entire team was listening, and hoped for the best.
- "Look, man, your baby is about to be born. Now, we want to help you, but you need to put that weapon down."- Morgan tried to dialogue with Tanner, but it was impossible. He wasn't going to cooperate.
- "No! This is my child! I'm not leaving it!"- the unsub shouted, so I slowly moved closer, put on a pair of gloves, and took a deep breath staring at Mrs. Johnson, trying to get her to mimic my breathing.
- "Hannah, I need you to breathe deeply. Breathe deeply."-
I kneeled in front of her and did my best to look as confident as possible, though deep down I was so freaked out I was hoping I wasn't going to keep any memories of that moment.
- "Hannah, I need you to start pushing..."- I whispered, but she refused.
- "I can't."
- "Yes, you can, baby, just like with Jeremy."- the unsub tried to help, but she didn't want anything from him.
- "This is not helping!"- Hanna mumbled under her breath, she was in so much pain that I knew I had to find a way to get him away from her as soon as possible.
- "Tanner, you need to let her go. The stress isn't good for the baby. If Hannah doesn't start pushing now we could lose the child."- I commanded him, but he kept the knife against her neck and refused to move.
- "I have to watch him. I have to keep him safe."- he argued and stared at me as if I was a threat to the baby's security.
- "Like you did with Ashley?"- Derek caught his attention, which left me focused on the baby.
- "That was an accident. I didn't mean to."- Tanner mumbled
- "I know you didn't. Accidents happen. What happened with Jeremy was an accident, right?"- Derek continued talking, and I knew he had hit a very sensitive string in the unsub. It could only help us or put the baby's safety in jeopardy.
- "If I'd have been there I could have helped him."- Tanner was taken by those words and his whole shift. That was the key to helping Hanna. So I took advantage of his concern.
- "Guys, something's wrong."- I tried my best to look convincing. - "The umbilical cord is wrapped around the baby's throat."- I didn't want to trouble Hanna, but I had to do something.
- "No!"- Tanner yelled right away, as well as his poor wife.
- "Well, Reid, do something."- Morgan got it right away, and kept his eyes glued on Tanner as I continued lying.
- "I need something to cut the cord with, quickly!"
My words came as urgent as it was needed, and Tanner didn't hesitate to give me the knife to cut the cord. In two seconds, Morgan grabbed him and started taking him out of the room, as the unsub yelled and tried to fight back. Just then, (Y/N) walked in with JJ and Blake, and she quickly kneeled next to me.
- "Don't worry, Hannah, your baby's doing fine, but you need to keep pushing. Ready?"
- "Medics are on their way."- my wife announced, but I shook my head and continued doing my work.
- "We can't risk moving her now. We'll have to deliver the baby here."
- "Oh, God!"- Hanna yelled and (Y/N) quickly held her hand after putting a pillow underneath her back.
- "It's gonna be ok, Hanna, trust him, he is a doctor."- I looked at my wife for a second and though I knew she meant it as words of reassurance for the victim, they worked for me as well.
- "Come on! squeeze her hand as hard as you can and push"- I said and watched her struggle to do it.
- "Oh, I can't. I can't."
- "Yes, you can! You're doing great!"- (Y/N) said and rubbed Hanna's hand on her- "You are amazing!"
- "Yes! you're doing great. I can see the head! Keep pushing! Keep pushing!"
It didn't take much for the baby to come out. I held him in my hands, (Y/N) helped me cut the umbilical cord, and we wrapped him in a blanket that was lying around on a couch. Medics arrived and took care of Hanna while my wife held the newborn with tears in her eyes.
- "You are amazing Spencer."- she whispered as the two of us kept our eyes on the baby- "I can't believe you just did that."
- "I wouldn't have done it without you, ma cherie."- I replied and kissed her temple.
- "You are not delivering our babies, by the way."- she said after a few seconds and chuckled- "I'm gonna need all the epidural they can give me."
And just like that, the thought was inside my brain like a disease that wouldn't stop spreading. It wasn't like I hadn't thought about having babies with (Y/N). I had imagined a future with her in many ways possible. And that was exactly the point: at that moment in our lives, it was possible. And the overwhelming amount of things that could go wrong was impossible to overlook. They were there each time I looked at her.
Ever since we got married, the possibility of having kids has been present in our lives. We weren't officially trying, but I knew it was something we were both thinking about. And for a moment, it was perfect. Until I remembered there was a chance our kids could inherit my mother's schizophrenia. I know that disease tends to run in families, and though studies show there is no single gene to be responsible, the possibility of having kids with that disease was real. And I knew I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I ever put (Y/N) through any painful situation.
So I tried not to bring the subject up after we came back home, and for a few days, it worked. Until, well, it didn't.
(Y/N)'s point of view
I knew there was something wrong with Spencer as soon as we hopped back into the jet from Boston. He delivered that baby and something triggered him. I didn't want to pressure him, so I acted like a good wife and let him process the events at his own pace. I assumed it had something to do with the whole experience of delivering that kid and the fact we had talked a few times about having our own little family, but probably that whole moment had been eye-opening for him.
What if he didn't want to have kids anymore? What if he wasn't as ready as I felt? I was ready to quit taking the pill. I wanted to start trying to get pregnant. I wanted a little Spencer to love and take care of. Teach them all the things I knew. Watch them grow... I was fully ready to be a mom, and somehow I was scared to bring it up to Spencer. I was afraid he didn't want to anymore.
And then, the team made sure to force us into the conversation the Friday night we were all out together. We were at Rossi's favorite marine bar, the one he had brought my husband earlier in the week. Penelope and I gathered a bunch of people from the FBI and invited them over to say farewell to a piece of Washington's history. We also told them Rossi was buying the drinks, which explains why it was packed.
- "So, let's toast"- I said and raised my glass. The entire team and my husband were there with me, to enjoy our free night- "To spend more evenings together with family."
- "And to Dr. Spencer Reid, who may be adding M. D. to an already impressive list of credentials."- Hotch added, looking at my husband, who blushed, embarrassed.
- "And to Spencer Johnson, may he prove to be the child prodigy like his namesake."- Derek added- "I'm shocked there is a kid named after you out there before you two even have your first baby."
I know I smiled because little Spencer was a very cute and healthy baby, and I was (and still am) proud my husband helped deliver him. But the guys didn't stop teasing us after that.
- "And when are we going to have baby geniuses running around the BAU?"- Garcia asked- "I am ready to start knitting and spoiling your kids!"
- "Yeah, I'm surprised you haven't knocked your wife up already!"- and Morgan was on board with the joke- "I mean, are you doing things properly?"
- "Stop!!"- I nearly covered my ears with my hands
- "Emily said she'd happily fly from London just to assist with the baby shower I'm throwing you."
- "Penelope, I am not even pregnant yet."- I tried to reason with her, but it was useless.
- "You just said so, yet. But you will. Please! you'd make the cutest little munchkins!"- Garcia stared at me pouting.
- "Come on, don't pressure them."- Hotch tried to be the voice of reason, but it was impossible.
- "I'm sure Henry would love having a little cousin"- JJ smiled at us and sipped her drink.
- "Come on! This night is not about us."- Spencer chuckled, clearly awkward with the conversation, and raised his glass of whisky- "To Dave Rossi!"- and luckily, everybody else followed.
- "I still can't believe you guys did this."- Dave was surprised the place was packed
- "We wanted to make sure you had one last proper goodbye."- I assured him and felt his arm around me.
- "Grazzie, carissima!"
- "And I may or may not have posted on the Quantico message boards that all the drinks are on you tonight."- Garcia confessed, making us all laugh, busted.
- "And they are, indeed. Thank you very much!"- Dave added and we all raised our glasses again. The guys continued talking, but Spencer's eyes captured my whole attention. He was staring at his hands, holding his glass. He seemed concerned about something he clearly was overthinking. So I let David's arm go and walked closer to my husband.
- "Are you ok?"- I whispered, resting my hand on top of his. He slightly jumped and looked at me, surprised.
- "Yeah, sorry. I zoned out a little. I'm exhausted."
- "Do you wanna go home?"
- "No, it's Rossi's night..."- Spencer smiled with his teeth, but not with his eyes.
- "The guys..."- but before I could continue talking, I felt JJ's hand grabbing me and my husband and crawling us to the stage.
- "Come on guys!! Karaoke time!"- she commanded, as she gave us a mic, and Rossi started singing Billy Joey's "Piano Man". I looked around me, chuckling, 'cos the whole scene was surreal. The entire FBI quarters was in that bar, drinking and singing along as my friends and I sang karaoke. And Hotch even made a video.
Spencer held my hand as he tried to read the lyrics of The Piano Man, and I stared at him remembering the day he proposed. That was one of the most romantic things he had ever done. And watching him sing karaoke in that bar brought me back a million memories. We had grown so much already, that I felt we were ready to take our relationship to the next level: parenting. But somehow, I was scared to ask my husband if he wanted to have a baby with me.
As the night progressed, and Penelope got drunker and drunker, she continued to ask us about kids. She was very excited and eager to become an aunt. Apparently, our baby geniuses were what her life was lacking. Rossi was pretty drunk too, he sang a lot of Sinatra and even dragged Hotch on stage with him for a duet. I had a few whiskeys myself trying to find the courage to face my husband, who had a few drinks as well but kept doing his best to mask the fact something was bothering him.
Until I couldn't stand it anymore.
- "Ok, come here."- I grabbed Spencer's hand and dragged him through the crowd. I heard Morgan teasing us but I paid little attention to what he said. I just looked for a quiet spot in that packed bar, which ended up being the alley outside and asked my husband.
- "What is hunting that pretty brain of yours?"- and he stared at me with wide-opened eyes, trying to come up with something to deny what was obvious to me.
- "How much did you drink, chipmunk? I'm ok."
- "No you are not, you haven't been ok since we came back from the last case. So come on, spit it. I don't wanna dance around this for days until we both do something stupid or say something hurtful. Just say it, what is eating you alive?"
Spencer stared at me and finished his drink- a light beer- his eyes were so sweet and yet filled with fear. What was so scary that he couldn't share with me?
- "I hate that you know me so well sometimes"- he whispered and looked down at his shoes
- "No you don't. You love it."- I teased him and smiled as I walked closer and rested my hands on his waist- "Come on honey bunny. You know you can tell me anything."
- "I know."
- "So? Are you gonna tell your wife what's wrong?"- I whispered and Spencer finally looked at me. His puppy eyes could melt the coldest heart, and make my knees shake.
- "Let me ask you this"- he whispered after a few seconds of a very deep silence- "When you married me, did you ever think that my family's illness history might affect our kids?"
I stared at him confused. Which was that illness' history he was talking about? As far as I knew, it was just his mother's schizophrenia. Was there something else he never told me about?
- "What?"- I simply asked and Spencer stared at me like the answer was obvious- "You mean Diana?"- he nodded and looked back at his feet again, embarrassed he brought it up.
- "I just... can't stop thinking I could never forgive myself if our kids inherit any of..."- he stopped talking and shook his head, unable to even finish that sentence.
- "Where is this coming from? Why are you thinking about these kinds of things?"
I held his hand and kissed it, his eyes were still glued to his feet, not moving. A few curls of hair fell down his forehead, giving him an angelic look.
- "I never even considered it, Spencer. Not even once. Every time I think about our kids, I dream of them running around, catching bugs, and eating cookies"- I tell him my truth. I never considered Diana's schizophrenia as something we could even think about when it came to our kids. Why should we? You can't predict any disease and fear was not going to stop me from having my own family.
Spencer held my left hand and kissed my ring finger, a sweet gesture he did quite often, especially when something was troubling him.
- "I would never forgive myself if any of them inherited a disease from me."- the way Spencer whispered those words, so slowly, so scared. It moved me.
- "Honey, you won't..."
- "I just don't want to ruin their life"- his eyes filled with tears and his voice broke. My husband was honestly concerned about something that we couldn't even control. And I knew that meant that idea was eating him alive.
I remember walking with him from the back alley of a bar to our car parked on the other side of the street. It was late and everyone at the party was already drunk, so I didn't bother saying goodbye or telling anyone we were leaving.
Spencer and I sat in the back seat of our car and I held both of his hands as he kept trying not to cry. His jaw was tightened and his eyes glassy. It made me feel so guilty. My husband had been chewing those torturous thoughts the entire week, and I had been blind enough to think he was merely second-guessing having kids with me.
- "Spencer, I need you to look at me."- I whispered and held a finger underneath his chin, forcing his eyes to focus on mine. He bit his lip as I did my best to remain calm.
- "This is important, so please give your entire attention and eidetic memory."- I tried to joke, but he didn't smile or even move his face as I spoke.
- "Ever since I realized I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, there hasn't been a day where I haven't thought of how amazing it would be having kids with you."- I said, and tears started falling from his eyes as I spoke. I had to pause and rearrange my thoughts, because watching him so affected made me think I was doing something wrong.
- "And you know that was way before we even started dating. Which means I've dreamed about having kids with you for a long time. And never, and I mean never, the thought of them inheriting any kind of trait from either of us has made me second guess or reconsider my dreams. I want a family with you, Spencer Walter Reid. I want to have your babies. I want to carry your children, a lot of them, as many as we can."
My husband cried and sobbed as I wrapped my arms around him and held him close to me. I didn't know what to do or what to say next. I just wanted to take all the pain away from him.
- "I just... I just want to make you happy."- he mumbled against my neck as I kept running my fingers through his hair and trying my best to be the support he needed at that minute.
- "You already make me happy, Spencer."- I kissed his cheek, not moving an inch away from him- "And I know our kids will make me even happier."
- "I just wish I knew they are going to be healthy."
- "They will be."- I assured him, not giving it much thought.
- "But how do you know?"
- "You are gonna be their dad. You will never let anything bad happen to them."- I affirmed, though it sounded more like an order to fate. - "And I'm gonna be their mom, I will always take care of our babies."
- "You are not scared?"- he asked softly and looked at me with teary eyes.
- "The only thing that scares me to death is the idea of you not wanting to have babies with me."- I confessed, and though he was the one crying, I felt embarrassed sharing my deepest fear.
- "I want so many babies with you. I've thought about it since we met."- my husband answered, and for a second, he smiled at me- "I was scared to bring it up, but... I'm so ready to be a dad."
- "Then please, let me make you a dad."- I was so eager to change his mood and lift his spirits, that I was almost ready to do it right there, in the back seat of our car. His lips found mine, and we sealed our pack, as his arms wrapped me tight and held me close to him.
We were finally ready to start our little family.  
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dfortrafalgar · 7 months ago
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I'm Losing You
Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem.
Warnings: Read chapter 1 for warnings
Taglist: @phsycochan | @mirillua | @augustanna | @chaixsherlock
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Chapter 9
[Prev] [Next]
ou had barely gotten out of bed in the days that followed your emergency room visit.
You could barely even look at your husband.
This was far beyond Law’s realm of expertise, and he was quickly growing more and more concerned about your wellbeing.  You were barely eating, choosing to spend your days in bed with your head buried in your pillows as if you were trying to disappear completely.  It was incredibly generous that your boss had allowed you such ample time off, but Law knew for a fact that this self-isolation was going to do nothing but exacerbate the cycle of depression that your miscarriage had brought upon you.
Law swallowed a lump in his throat.
Miscarriage.
The word seemed so grim even prior to meeting you.  Now it held an entirely new meaning.  Miscarriage was what led to his wife spending her days alone in their bed, trying desperately to fall into a deep slumber to escape the crushing reality.
Shachi and Penguin had practically moved in with the two of you, helping to cook, clean, and take care of Bepo while Law was at work.  Neither of them had spoken to you, and Penguin hadn’t even looked at you in the days since you came home, no longer pregnant.  It was as if everyone in the apartment was afraid a single breath would shatter you like a pane of glass, tiny, glimmering pieces of a stabbing despair that were impossible to clean up.
Even your boss had come by, two days after you were forced to leave the office to go to the ER.  She had stopped by your apartment with a small basket of goodies as a condolence gift, and while she acknowledged that a few bars of chocolate was probably the least effective medicine for what you had endured, she expressed the desire to make sure you knew that the entire office was rooting for you.
When Shachi placed the small basket on your bedside table, you didn’t even move.
Law was starting to get more and more concerned about the risk of bedsores your constant, curled-up position might expose you to.
Even worse than bedsores, however, was the fact that Law still had to work.  Heart and lung diseases didn’t simply disappear just because you had a miscarriage, and as much as Law’s own heart broke whenever he had to slip on his shoes to leave, he needed to continue his job.
He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t constantly thinking about you, however.
Law’s colleagues often joked that he operated like a robot when arriving at the prep theater.  The way he donned his surgeon’s scrubs and coat was the same way every single time: left arm into the coat, followed by his right, a 180 degree counterclockwise turn so his attending could securely tie the back, followed by his left hand glove, right hand glove, and then a second left glove, and a second right glove.  He had also developed the habit of placing his cell phone in the care of his circulating nurse, should any calls come from you at home.  It wasn’t quite allowed, and it definitely strayed from his own personal philosophy of a hyper-focused operating room environment, but he couldn’t help himself.  Despite this, Law’s second-nature ability to perfectly replicate operating theater etiquette did bring some level of calm to the entire surgery team, especially on days like today.
The cardiac team was about to undergo an estimated 6 hour coronary bypass surgery.
This was just the event Law needed to break out of his mold and return to life as it was about ten days ago.  For the first time since your emergency room visit, Law wasn’t thinking about you.
“Patient is a 45-year-old caucasian male with severe coronary artery disease.  He has experienced two heart attacks prior to this surgery.  We will be undertaking a triple bypass operation.  I understand this is a very daunting task for some of you, however you are expected to remain calm and do your work as you normally do.  Nothing about this particular surgery is any different than any other open heart surgery, just remember this.”  Law explained the procedure to his team in a very bold, emotionless voice.  
The operation began.
The lights in the room were dimmed slightly to allow for better focus from the overhead lamps onto the exposed portion of the patient’s abdomen.  Beside the table, a large machine that would be operating as a temporary heart for the patient was prepped.  The entire team was laser-focused on the patient, Law’s stern, strict aura seeming to radiate outward and affect the rest of his staff with a quiet, pensive attitude.  It wasn’t often to have idle chit-chat during operations considering the stakes at hand, however today seemed particularly tense.
Law led the procedure with a deft hand.  He expertly instructed his assistants with the suction and cauterization as he carefully opened the flesh of the man.  A saw was used to cut through the sternum and expose the pericardium.  Bleeding was carefully controlled and a fast-acting antibiotic paste was used throughout.  After approximately 20 minutes, the patient’s beating heart was fully exposed, the chest cavity held open by metal tools and a frame to fully support the operating window.  
The first cannula was placed into the aorta when Law’s phone began to buzz from the circulating nurse’s coat pocket.  She was standing away from the rest of the team and pulled the device out of her pocket to view the caller ID.  The focus wasn’t broken from the rest of the operating team.
“Silence it,” Law uttered, ingrained in the action of attaching the catheter to the air-tight bypass tube.
“It’s your wife, Doctor,” she awkwardly mumbled.  The phone continued to buzz.
A few awkward glances were tossed around the operating table.  Law simply kept his head down, beginning to search for the right atria to place the second cannula.
“Doctor?” she called again.
“My passcode is 0517.  Just text her and ask her what she needs.”
The anesthesiologist smiled, though it wasn’t visible below his mask.  “Isn’t that your wedding anniversary?”
The assistant holding the cauterizer cooed from across the table.  “Aww, that’s so cute!”
“I hope my husband is that sweet,” sighed the attending nurse.
Law grumbled.  “I’m inserting the venous cannula.  Attention to the patient.”
The room immediately snapped back to intense focus.  Behind them in the corner, the circulating nurse had unlocked Law’s phone and was navigating to his texts, being careful to avoid glancing at any pictures or messages he wouldn’t have wanted her to see.  She found your messages and began typing.
Your phone buzzed.
Baby~~<3
Hi, this is Doctor Trafalgar’s circulating nurse!  He’s currently in the middle of an operation but he told me to text you in response to your call.  Is there anything I can help you with or tell him?
You sighed, figuring that was the reason he hadn’t answered his phone.  Beside you, Shachi leaned over and gazed at the screen.
“Hey, can’t knock him for being focused!” he chided, nudging your shoulder.
Sitting with your legs crossed on the couch in your living room, you couldn’t fight the proud grin that formed on your face.  “That’s true… I’d much rather him ignore my call than lose focus on a patient.”
Penguin was in the kitchen, an apron wrapped around his torso as he pulled a tray of chocolate chip cookies out of your oven.  There were already four other trays cooling on the linoleum countertop.  “I think it’s cute that he gives his phone to his nurse in case you call.”
“He probably does that for any incoming call,” you scoffed.
“Nope, he definitely only started doing that for you,” Penguin called back.
Shachi had stood from the couch and not-so-stealthily approached the counter, reaching his hands out to snag a few cookies while they were still warm.  “It’s true, once I called him during an operation without realizing and he didn’t respond for eight hours.  When he finally did call back he was like, ‘Sorry, I got caught up with something.’  Like, dude, you’re a heart surgeon.  I think I could figure that out.”  He plopped back down next to you, passing you a cookie from his hand.
Holding the sweet treat in your teeth, you looked back down at your phone, tapping the text window to begin typing.
Law’s attending nurse felt another buzz in her pocket.
Wifey
Omg, im so sorry to interrupt!  Can you just tell him to call me back when he gets a chance?  Tell him its no rush, either, i dont want him to stress LOL
Wifey
Thank you for your hard work, i hope hes not pushing you guys too hard <3
The nurse smiled, replying to your message and placing the phone back in her pocket.
Six and a half hours and a very cramped right hand later and Law was finally sitting in the break room with a microwaved dinner of some orzo dish that Penguin had made a few days prior.  He ran a weary hand through his unruly black hair, slightly greasy from the sweat that had accumulated under his surgical cap.  Taking a small mouth full of his dinner and taking advantage of the late-night silence in the break room, he finally opened his phone and tapped on your name, ringing your number.  It was nearing 11:00PM, so he doubted you’d even still be awake, but it was worth a shot anyway.  If anything, it would probably be Shachi or Penguin that would pick up.
The dial tone rang twice before a faint click sound reverberated through the receiver.
[Hi, baby!]
Law’s heart rate doubled its pace at the sound of your voice.  Your voice that he had sparsely heard the last 10 days.  He suddenly wished more than anything that he could end his shift early and race home to see you.
He swallowed his spit.  “Hey, darling, you called me during a surgery, I’m sorry I missed you.”  He truly was sorry.  He felt absolutely terrible about leaving you waiting for six hours, despite his stern and pointed attitude throughout the procedure.  Duty does call, in the end.
[Never apologize, Law, I understand.]  He could hear your exhaustion through the speaker.  [How did it end up going?]
Law pushed his orzo around with his spoon.  “It was a great success, it’s been a little bit since my team and I have performed any sort of coronary bypass surgery, so I think everyone was pretty relieved when it was finally over.”
[That’s incredible…]  You sighed into your end of the line, your airy tone giving away the smile you surely wore across your lips.  [I’m really happy it went well.]
The black-haired man simply hummed.  “Was there something you were calling about earlier?”
[Yeah…] you affirmed, however your voice suddenly adopted a more far-away flavor.  [I wanted to know if you were free this coming Friday.  Dr. Robin gave me a call earlier today and said she wants to get me in for a diagnostic consultation.  I… I don’t really want to go alone anymore.]
Law’s heart sank at the way your words sounded so little.  “I’ll check my availability for you.”
[Thank you, baby…]
“Darling, are you going to be alright until I get home in the morning?”  Law slowly felt his appetite waning as his anxieties about your current state at home were dawning on him.  “I have all day off tomorrow to spend with you, and we can talk about anything for as long as you want.”
[I’ll be alright, I promise.]
“You really promise?” Law confirmed.  It wasn’t like you to be so brief with your words, but at the same time he knew these circumstances were well past the realm of reason.
A dry chuckle bounced through the receiver.  [I really promise.]
Law drew in a deep, heaving inhale through his nostrils.  “Baby, I love you.  I’ll see you in a few hours, alright?”
[I love you too, Law.]
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avoxrising · 10 months ago
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The Feral One • Epilogue
Finnick x Y/N
Series Masterlist Link
Prequel is coming in a few months! I haven’t made a Taglist yet and probably won’t start one till I’m closer to publishing. I’ll make a post tagging this series’ Taglist when I’m starting the next one.
Content Warnings - Mentions of fertility issues/miscarriage; death; the end of this series (don’t worry it’s a good ending imo)
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Dear Brielle,
A lot has happened in seventeen years. I’ve now lived half of my life without you, mom, and dad. I’ve been thinking about you a lot so my husband Finnick (yes that Finnick lol) said I should write you a letter of all the things I wanted to tell you but never could.
A little over ten years ago we killed President Snow. The districts rebelled and won. The war was brutal and there were times I nearly died, but Finnick pulled me through.
We got married a year later. We never really did the whole dating thing, our friendship just evolved into a beautiful romance overnight. He was there for me after you left and he has been here ever since.
The years since the war have not been easy. I’ve had bouts of seizures that leave me bedridden and ill for days. The doctors said my condition should be worse so I should be grateful. Countless medications and treatments have made slight improvements to my health but the pain will always be there.
Two years after our wedding we almost hit our breaking point. Finnick and I had been trying to start a family for over a year but nothing was working. It was the most frustrating experience of my life post-war and I do not wish those struggles on anyone.
Three years after our wedding, Mags passed of old age. Although we were sad, we were all glad she got to live out her last few years in a free Panem. Johanna decided to move in with Annie afterwards so she wouldn’t be alone. We are still neighbors to this day.
Four years after our wedding, I got pregnant, only to lose the baby a few months in due to a bad seizure. This was Finnick and I’s lowest point to date.
It’s now been a bit over 9 years since I married the love of my life and the father of my child. We were finally blessed with a baby boy, Neptune, 4 years ago today. He is everything I could have asked for in a child; rambunctious, kind, and adventurous. He looks just like his father but acts like his mother.
Two years ago, Neptune’s best friend arrived in District 4. Annie and Johanna adopted a little girl, Jodie, from District 7. Neptune and her do EVERYTHING together. Finnick keeps joking that we should build a tunnel between our two houses so the kids can hang out all the time.
All in all, it’s been a very painful 34 years of existence. Part of me is glad you didn’t have to witness what happened. The other part of me still hopes you’re out there, even though I know you aren’t. I hope that wherever you are, you’re at peace.
Love, your dear sister,
Y/N
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Taglist:
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thalialunacy · 6 months ago
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[for the @calaisreno May Prompt-athalon]
(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) 8: hobby (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28) (29) (30) (31)
The Baker Street stairwell smells like Angelo's, which is not strange in and of itself, but had definitely not been part of the plan for tonight. Or this week. Or possibly several years until Rosie is old enough to eat marinara without decorating everyone in a ten foot radius.
'There's no red sauce involved,' Sherlock calls as John crests the seventeenth step.
He stops in the doorway, dripping rain onto the wood floor, to stare a little. Sherlock, Rosie, and what looks like every bowl in their possession are spread out on the rug, sat on an ancient quilt John for sure thought he'd chucked out a few months ago. Some of the bowls have food in them. Some do not. The latter are arranged in front of Rosie, which, John realises, meant Sherlock had actually taken cleanup into consideration.
They've come a long way from harpoons & pig's blood, he thinks, a tired smile quirking up his lips.
'Floor picnic?' he ventures, hanging up his damp coat and moving towards them. He leans down, grins, and shakes his head like a dog. Rosie squeals as droplets hit her, delighted, and he straightens, pleased with himself.
Then his gaze moves to Sherlock, who is trying to look above it all but failing. 'Obviously,' the detective says, then he picks up one of the bowls. 'Mozzarella, Rosamund?'
That's a lot of syllables, but she tries, gets out something that sounds passably like 'rella' while stuffing the round piece into her mouth whole.
'Caprese, John?'
John gives a fleeting thought to changing out of his damp work clothes, but it's very much only fleeting. In concession, he toes off his alarmingly practical trainers (that make him feel about a hundred years old but don't leave his knees in pain at the end of a clinic day), then folds down onto the quilt with relief. 'Yes, please.'
He holds his hand out, expecting a fork, but Sherlock's eyes twinkle as he just drops the food into John's palm - cool white cheese, a dewy tomato slice, two beautiful leaves of basil. 'Sherlock, what--'
'Hence the quilt,' Sherlock says as he spoons a little balsamic reduction over the top. 'Now, eat.'
'And you?'
Sherlock rolls his eyes, but does as requested, and as the flavours burst across John's tongue he watches Sherlock's eyes close in enjoyment and thinks, Yes. This is what I want.
'Sherlock,' he starts after taking his last bite. 'What would you say to--'
'Yoo-hoo, Sherlock! Delivery!'
'Excellent!' Sherlock leaps up from the floor (something he can still do easily, damn him), leaving John to corral an exploring toddler. Yes, there is the quilt as a catch-all, but John isn't keen to throw away any food from Angelo's if he can at all help it. Nostalgia aside, it's the best in the city.
Sherlock bursts back into the sitting room with a rather large parcel in his arms. John looks from it to Rosie, then accepts his due. 'I'll just clean up, then, shall I?'
'Leave it,' Sherlock orders. 'There's plenty of room.'
John has his doubts, but scoops up Rosie anyway and meets Sherlock just inside the door, where he's set down the hefty box.
Sherlock has already got his keys in hand, and plunges the sharp end of one across the seam of packing tape with alacrity. 'Let's hope they got it right,' he's saying, mostly to himself, as he pulls open the flaps. 'Yes! Rosamund, look!' he exclaims as he lifts out the contents.
It's a rocking horse. It's simple enough, but when John looks more closely he can see the solid craftsmanship and intricate carvings.
'Sherlock, what--'
'It's a rocking horse, John,' Sherlock sniffs as he sets it on the ground. He indicates for John to put Rosie down, so he does. They watch her waddle the two steps, then brace herself on the toy. She squeaks when it rocks gently under her weight, and John once again wonders how such a tiny human can move him to such strong emotions simply by being alive.
'It's gorgeous, Sherlock. Where--?'
'It's a replica of the one I had as a child. It was lost in the--' He clears his throat. 'I remember it fondly, and my parents were more than happy to find the maker and acquire another.'
John blinks. 'You had your parents--'
'Find the maker, yes, it's not that difficult to understand. Though it's not an exact replica, of course, because it's now the man's granddaughter making them, and--'
'Sherlock,' he says to the man currently showing his daughter how to sit properly on the toy, placing her deliciously chubby hands on the horse's ears and covering them with his own. 'I don't understand.'
'Hardly a surprise,' Sherlock replies, carefully showing Rosie how the rocking movement of the horse works. 'Which part of this is confusing, the construction or the usage?'
'F-- Sod off, okay, you know that's not what I mean. You know what I'm asking is why the he--ck you haven't-- You know. You clearly want this family--' He has to swallow back his heart, which is trying to throw itself off a cliff. 'But you haven't kissed me back.'
Sherlock stills, for just a second, but long enough for Rosie to look up at him with an expression full of objections. And long enough for the bottom to drop out of John's stomach.
'As you're the one with a dearth of experience with men, I assumed it should be up to you to take the leap, as it were,' Sherlock finally replies, like it's the most logical thing in the world.
Which it might be, but-- 'Alright, yeah,' John argues, 'but I did take the leap, if you'll remember.'
Sherlock makes a dismissive noise. He seems determined to remain focused on Rosie. 'Once, in a stressful situation where emotions were riding high and you were grateful I'd kept your daughter from injury.'
John takes a deep breath. 'Right. So. In order for you to reciprocate, it'll have to be, what? A boring Tuesday afternoon when everything is fine?'
Sherlock considers. He actually considers. John feels emotion roiling up and is glad when it comes out as a bark of a laugh. 'You're impossible.'
'So I've been told,' Sherlock replies, and his voice is not completely free of bitterness. When he continues, his voice is thin, stubborn but wiry. 'And it's not that I don't reciprocate, John. It's that I do, and it's enough to render anything less than your full participation an unacceptable outcome.'
Oh, sod-- Fuck it, John thinks, and then he makes himself stop thinking. He folds down to re-join them on the floor, puts a steadying hand on his daughter's back just in case, then uses the other hand to pull Sherlock in until their faces are close enough to smell the risotto.
'Get over yourself,' he says, quiet and firm. 'This is happening.'
And then he closes the distance between them.
[❤️]
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magicfootballstuff · 1 year ago
Text
Strictly Unprofessional - part 8 (alexia putellas x reader)
Summary: You’ve just landed your dream job as a photographer at FC Barcelona Femení. The only problem? You hooked up with the captain five years ago and haven’t seen her since.
Part 8/9
Previous parts here.
———
You arrive early for your lunch with Alexia, hoping to settle your nerves and calm your racing heart before she arrives, but the plan backfires because she’s already here too.
“Hi,” you say awkwardly, unsure if you’re supposed to pretend that the last couple of days haven’t happened and greet her with a hug as you would have done before.
“Hi,” Alexia responds. 
No hug. Okay, that’s fine.
You take a seat opposite Alexia and immediately start perusing the lunch options, using the menu card almost as a physical barrier between you and Alexia.
It’s the exact opposite of your hangout at her apartment the other night. While that, with the privacy and intimacy of being in Alexia’s own home, allowed things to get too intense too fast, meeting in a public place like this makes it feel a little impersonal, like you’re about to discuss a business transaction and not the confusing mess of feelings you have for her.
“Thanks again for yesterday,” you say, anything to fill the uncomfortable silence. “My dad had the best time.”
“It was nothing,” Alexia shrugs it off. “It was nice to meet him. I’m glad he had fun.”
You fall into silence again. You barely slept last night, overthinking this conversation and all the possible directions it could go into, but now that you’re here in front of Alexia, all preparation about what you wanted to say to her flies out of the window. You’ve forgotten everything you wanted to say to her, your mind blank and your tongue heavy in your mouth.
You’re saved by the waiter, a welcome distraction that gives you a moment to compose yourself as he takes your food order.
“I’m sorry about the other night,” Alexia eventually says, when the waiter has left you both alone again. “About asking you if you wanted to kiss me. We’ve got history and I got carried away thinking there was still something between us.”
“You didn’t get carried away,” you tell her, thinking back to the other night and the obvious chemistry that fizzled in the air between you. “I feel it too. And you don’t need to apologise, I was the one who overstepped by suggesting I could photograph you in your home.”
“I enjoyed it,” Alexia admits. “Hanging out with you, eating dinner in front of the television, even the photoshoot. But spending time together outside of work brought up old feelings that I thought I’d done a pretty good job of squashing.”
“Here’s what I don’t understand,” you interject. “You didn’t recognise me, which is fine, we’ve talked about that. We both agreed that it was a one time thing and it’s in the past. But then your sister is telling me…”
“Don’t listen to anything that Alba says,” Alexia interrupts to warn you. “She likes to interfere.”
“She said you were hung up on me after Ibiza,” you explain to Alexia. “Her words, not mine.”
“I liked you,” Alexia admits. “A lot. I wasn’t looking for anything in Ibiza but you surprised me. If we’d met in Barcelona I like to think things could have been different.”
Alexia’s words take you by surprise. All this time, since you started your new job with the football club, you thought that Alexia was trying to put everything that happened in Ibiza behind you both. You thought that the feelings for Alexia that have been growing within you were completely one-sided - it was only two days ago in Alexia’s apartment that you even dared to imagine what might happen in the unlikely event that Alexia reciprocated.
“You mean you wanted more?” you ask, confused.
“I probably would’ve wanted to try,” Alexia answers with a nod.
“Then why didn’t you? We knew we were both going back to Barcelona. We’ve been living literally ten minutes from each other all these years.”
“You don’t remember, do you?” Alexia asks, her eyes filled with sadness.
“Remember what?”
“I did try. You’re the one who didn’t want more.”
———
five years ago
You wake up in a good mood.
Despite the combination of a little too much alcohol and not quite enough sleep, you feel relaxed. And as you drift further into consciousness, you realise that probably has something to do with the person next to you.
Alexia is sprawled on her stomach, the sheets pooled around her hips exposing the skin of her tattooed back. Her hair is splayed messily across the pillow, her mouth half open as she sleeps, and her arm is draped loosely across your bare stomach.
Oh. Yeah. That’s why you’re in a good mood.
Your phone is on the nightstand and you reach for it slowly, careful not to disturb Alexia. You have a few messages from your friends, some drunk ones from last night after you left with Alexia, and a couple this morning checking in. You send one back to let them know that you’re okay and that you’ll join them at the hotel later, then set your phone face down.
Alexia sleeps on.
As you lie there, you don’t really know what the rules are. You’ve been in a relationship for the last three years, you don’t remember what you’re supposed to do the morning after a meaningless hookup. Redressing and sneaking out while Alexia sleeps seems a little cold, but you really need to get back to your own hotel and staying here for pillow talk with a girl you’re probably never going to see again feels unnecessary.
In the end, you’re saved from making the decision by a sudden hammering on the hotel room door.
Alexia startles awake at the noise and you watch as she takes a few seconds to return to her surroundings. There’s a sleepy frown on her face as she pushes herself up onto one elbow and runs the fingers of her other hand through her tousled hair, then she smiles blearily as she sees you.
“Morning,” you murmur.
“Hi.”
The hammering on the door returns, louder than before, and is followed by a voice yelling, “Alexia!”
“Shit, that’s my sister,” Alexia says, pushing the sheets away and slipping out of bed.
You watch as she pulls on some underwear and tugs a t-shirt over her head, then answers the door.
“What?” Alexia demands.
Alba peers through the open door, past Alexia to where you’re still sprawled in the bed, the crumpled sheets hiding your nudity. A smirk on her face, Alba turns back to Alexia and says, “I came to ask if you want to come to breakfast but clearly you’re still busy.”
You sit up, the sheets still wrapped around you, and start to look for your clothes in the pile of things on the floor beside the bed. It’s time you left Alexia with her sister and returned to your own friends.
“You woke us up,” Alexia tells Alba. “Let me shower, then we’ll get breakfast.”
“See you downstairs then,” Alba replies. Her attention turns to you again, and she gives you a little wave as she smirks and says, “Nice to see you again.”
Alexia closes the door, then sits down on the end of the bed with a groan.
“Sorry about her,” she apologises. “How are you this morning? Do you want to join us for breakfast?”
“I shouldn’t,” you reply, getting out of bed and pulling your underwear up your legs, then hunting around for your bra.
“You’re more than welcome to join,” Alexia says. “Alba won’t mind.”
“I need to get back to my hotel. My friends are waiting for me.”
You locate the rest of your clothes and start to redress, your back to Alexia as you pull on last night’s clothes and try and make yourself look somewhat presentable for the walk back to your own hotel.
“Maybe we could hang out again?” Alexia suggests. “Or I could get your number?”
You feel your stomach sink. Alexia is nice, she’s attractive, you’ve had fun together, and she’s definitely helped to fill that void in your chest since your relationship ended. But your mind is still busy, your heart still broken, and you don’t think this can be anything more than a holiday fling.
“Look, Alexia…” you start, turning around to look at her.
You watch her face fall as she realises what you’re about to say.
“This has been fun,” you tell her. “I didn’t expect anything like this to happen, and I had the best time with you yesterday. But I also just broke up with someone. I don’t want to lead you on or let you believe this could be anything more than what it is.”
“I understand,” Alexia replies, her expression impossible to read.
You feel a little guilty, though you’re not sure why. You swore that you weren’t going to sleep with anyone while you were here, the breakup still fresh, but it doesn’t mean that last night wasn’t fun, or that you weren’t allowed to indulge. And there was never a promise of anything more than what it was, so you can’t be blamed for leading Alexia on. But you never considered the possibility that Alexia might want to see you again, which makes it a bit of a surprise.
“Sorry,” you feel compelled to apologise. “I’m just not looking for anything more than this right now.”
“I get it. You don’t have to explain.”
You collect the rest of your things together, then turn back to Alexia, still sitting on the edge of the bed. It feels cold to leave without a goodbye kiss after you explored every inch of each other’s bodies last night. But kissing her again would contradict the excuses you’ve just given her.
“I had fun,” you tell her, in lieu of anything else. “It was good to meet you. I really mean that.”
“Yeah, you too,” Alexia agrees, though her voice lacks the enthusiasm needed to make her words sound genuine.
You leave without another word, painfully aware that you’ve outstayed your welcome, and you make your way out of the hotel, past Alexia’s sister in the lobby without making eye contact, with a slightly bitter taste in your mouth as you make the decision to put everything that happened last night behind you.
———
present day
“Oh my god, I’m the asshole?” you ask, as memories of your morning after all come flooding back. 
“I’m not sure I’d use the word ‘asshole’ but yeah, you were the one who turned down anything more. Not that I blame you for that - you had your reasons and you were right, it didn’t need to be anything more than a vacation hookup.”
“So, what?” you ask Alexia, trying to fill in the rest of the blanks. “You asked me out, I said no, and you wiped me from your memory?”
“I moved on,” Alexia explains. “I dated other people. I got on with my life. I’ll admit it, I forgot about you. You were just an anecdote, somebody I met on holiday and had one amazing night with. I didn’t have anything to remember you by, just your first name and the way you made me feel. I never expected to see you again so when you showed up in my life again, it didn’t click that it was you until I started feeling that spark again and remembered when I felt like that before.”
You nod as you process Alexia’s words, and it all starts to make sense. You, rather naively perhaps, thought that there were only two options, that Alexia would have remembered you this entire time, or that she forgot about you the second you left her hotel room in Ibiza, but it’s more nuanced than that. You should have known that from your own experience - you told Alexia that you weren’t interested in anything after Ibiza, but it must have only been a matter of days after returning from your vacation that you googled footballers called Alexia and learned exactly who the girl you hooked up with really was.
“So what happens now?” you ask Alexia.
“What do you mean?” she frowns at you.
“Alba said…” you start.
“Don’t listen to anything my sister says,” Alexia cuts you off. 
“Okay then, Mapi said…”
“What’s Mapi got to do with this?” Alexia interrupts again.
“Mapi interrogated me and I ended up telling her about what happened between us,” you explain. You roll your eyes as you remember Mapi’s teasing yesterday, and continue, “She found it hilarious and called me an idiot but she also said I should be honest with you about how I feel.”
Alexia’s golden eyes soften slightly and she asks, “How do you feel?”
Your heart starts to race in your chest. This is it, the moment you’ve waited for. You could have confessed your feelings for Alexia at Camp Nou yesterday, or at her apartment the night before, or at any other point since Alexia came back into your life at the start of the current football season. But you always found an excuse not to say anything.
Now, Alexia looks at you across the table as she waits for you to answer her question. Whereas before, you’ve avoided telling her how you feel by choosing to say nothing, to avoid telling her now would mean having to tell an outright lie.
It’s time for the truth.
“I like you, Alexia,” you confess, your heart pounding and your hands trembling as you tell her how you really feel. “I like you a ridiculous amount. I thought I could be professional and not let our past get in the way of our jobs but the more time I spend with you, the more I realise that I’m falling for you. Sometimes I think about what could have been if things had been different and we hadn’t wasted the last five years not knowing each other. If there’s a chance of something happening between us, I don’t want to waste any more time.”
“The other night,” Alexia says. “You ran away. Again.”
“I was scared. The way I feel when I’m with you, I haven’t felt like that in a long time. And you have to understand, this is my dream job. I’ve spent years worrying that I’d never be able to make it as a full-time photographer. I didn’t want to risk messing that up by trying to date somebody I work with.”
“What, and now you do?” Alexia raises her eyebrows at you.
“I think you might be worth it,” you tell her. “And I know I’ll regret it if I don’t at least try.”
Alexia’s face twists into a frown, and she says, “I don’t think you know what you want. You ran away in Ibiza, you ran away the other night. How do I know you’re not going to run away again when it gets tough?”
“You don’t,” you say, this admission maybe taking even more bravery than telling Alexia that you like her. “I was overwhelmed by how much I wanted to kiss you and knew I needed a clear head to be certain it’s what I wanted. I should’ve asked you for time instead of just running away. I messed up, I’ll admit it. And I can’t promise you I’m not going to mess up again. But I want to try to be better, and the first step is admitting how I feel about you. I want to be with you. I want you to give me a chance to prove I’m serious about you.”
This is it. Everything is out on the table now, including your heart. It’s up to Alexia to decide what she wants to do with it.
“What changed?” Alexia asks. “Two days ago you didn’t want to take a risk and now you do?”
“I don’t know. I guess I decided you’re a risk worth taking. Plus, everybody I spoke to at the game yesterday seems to think we should be together. Mapi, your sister … you know, even my dad thinks you’d be the perfect daughter-in-law.”
Though the comment is based in truth, it’s supposed to be a joke that pulls a laugh from Alexia. Instead, she stares and arches an eyebrow.
“So you’ve changed your mind because I impressed your dad?”
You let out a groan and say, “You’re not making this easy for me, Alexia.”
“You’re not making this easy for yourself,” Alexia corrects you.
You take a deep breath, then confess, “I want to be with you because I like you. You’re the best part of my day and you’ll continue to be the best part of my day whether you declare your love for me or tell me to fuck off.”
“Are those the only two options?” Alexia asks, the corner of her mouth twitching slightly.
“Not if you can suggest a third.”
“Take me out,” Alexia challenges you. “Prove that you want to be with me. Show me that you’re not going to run away.”
“Like a date?”
“Yes, a date,” Alexia confirms with a nod. “But some rules - firstly I don’t sleep with people on the first date.”
You open your mouth to make a comment about what happened in Ibiza. But quickly shut it again when you remember you’re supposed to be on your best behaviour to prove to Alexia you’re serious about wanting to be with her.
“Number two, there’s a clean slate for both of us,” Alexia continues. “Neither of us is the same person we were five years ago.”
“Agreed.”
“And finally, you’re paying for everything. You owe me that much.”
“Doesn’t that kind of contradict number two?” you ask, raising your eyebrows.
“Shut up,” Alexia warns you, though a smile is just threatening to tug at the corners of her lips as she adds, “If you’re lucky enough to get a second date, I might pay for that.”
You grin, because while there’s still a long way to go and there’s no guarantee that things will work out with Alexia, the fact that she’s willing to give this a chance is more than you could have hoped for when you started working for Barcelona six months ago.
“Deal.”
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whiskey-tango-matcha · 7 months ago
Text
Then & Now (M, cold)
Hiii, hope you like A LOT of hurt followed by 2-3 sentences of comfort lmao. This is Greyson fic - Grey is sick on a day he and Reed are supposed to have a date, and he's sure Reed is going to be angry with him because Trauma(TM). It's told in a flashback sort of format which I really enjoyed because I love writing blurbs of colds at different times in life lol. I hope you guys like it, please let me know what ya think, good, bad, or otherwise :)
CW: Male snz, cold, pneumonia mention, coughing, contagion mention, lots and lots of whump lmao. A little over 4K words under the cut.
Then & Now
Now
“Morning, Chef.”
“Huh-! HhITSZHH-ue!”
Elijah turned towards Greyson, who was doubled over into his hoodie sleeve, and gave him a sympathetic grimace. “Cooks finally pulled you under, hmm?”
“Ugh, like way fuckin’ under,” Greyson muttered, rubbing his eye and sucking in through his nose. “I feel like ass.”
“Sorry, dude,” Elijah said, tossing his counterpart a box of tissues. “Sucks.”
Greyson caught the box and pulled out a few just in time. “HITSZHZH-uhh!” This one, he managed to catch in the handful of tissues. He wiped his nose and shrugged. “Yeah,” he said, tossing the used tissues. “Mbostly because I was supposed to have a date tonight.”
Elijah smirked at his friend, who was pushing past the GM into their shared office. The two of them sat in unison. “Do you guys still call them dates? You’ve been official for, like, six months.”
“It’s our six-month anniversary,” Greyson said, his voice flattened by congestion. “We were going to do EMP.”
“Awww, now I’m depressed,” Elijah said. “Also, why didn’t you tell me earlier you were going to Eleven Madison? I still know people there.”
“So does Reed,” Greyson said, massaging his temple. “That’s why we were goigg. Fuck, mby fuckin’ head is pounding. Do we have any -?”
Elijah placed the ibuprofen in front of the chef before he could ask, along with a bottle of cough syrup and a decongestant. “You know we have it all,” he said, pushing an old cup of water across the desk for Greyson to swallow his arsenal of pills. “And fair enough. Well that fuckin’ sucks, dude, I’m sorry. Hey, at least you can leave early, right? Matt’s closing?”
“Yeah,” Greyson said, unwrapping a cough drop and popping it in his mouth. “I’ll head out once the rush is over. I still have to text Reee – hh...hhNTSHH-ue! HGTSHH-uhh!” Greyson doubled over, sneezed into his arm, and groaned. “I’mb gonna kill the guys when they get in,” he said, mostly to himself.
“Don’t do that,” Elijah said, placing a hand on Greyson’s shoulder on his way out of the office. “Then you’ll have to stay all night.”
Greyson huffed out a laugh and pulled out his phone. He clicked on his conversation with Reed, sighing. He did not want to have this conversation.
Greyson
9:31AM
hey babe. gonna have to cancel tonight, the cooks infected me w their plague :( im rly sorry.
The chef set his phone on the desk, prepared to either be ghosted or gaslit – two of Collin’s favorite pastimes whenever Greyson had had to cancel their plans during their relationship – and was shocked when the phone buzzed with a text almost immediately. He was almost afraid to look at his boyfriend’s response.
Reed
9:32AM
Oh, baby don’t be sorry!! what time are you off? I’ll pick you up and take you home :) we can do a sick day little date night instead!
Greyson stared at the phone, stunned. He couldn’t help it; he read the message again, then out loud said, “What the fuck?”
Then – Ten Years Ago
“Chef?”
The Executive Chef looked up from his paperwork at Greyson and sighed. “What is it, Abbott?”
“I, um – hh! HTSHH-uh! HGXTSH-ue! Snf. Umb, I just wanted to see if it was okay if I… left a little early today?” Greyson asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His chef raised his eyebrows and put his clipboard down. Oh, no, Greyson thought.
“Leave...early? And leave your clean up and prep to whom, exactly? Me?” The Executive Chef huffed out a laugh. “That’s rich, Abbott. Why the fuck would you need to leave early?”
“I…” Greyson started, but his voice gave out on the single syllable. He attempted to clear his throat. “I just… I really feel like shit? I was hoping I could, like… sleep it off, I guess. I mbean, I wouldn’t want to get anyone else sigck.” Greyson felt a cough bubbling to the surface; he tried to quell it, to no avail. The younger man collapsed into a coughing fit that felt like it lasted a lifetime.
The Chef remained unmoved. “My guys,” he said, placing a hand on his chest as Greyson attempted to compose himself, “don’t get sick, Abbott. And if they do, I don’t fucking hear about it. Understand? Because I really don’t give a shit. If you’re here, you’re here. If you decide to leave early,” he shrugged, uncaring, “then you leave for good. And Abbott, if you try to get a job after walking out of my kitchen, I promise you I will make it impossible. I know you’ve only been here a couple months, but here’s what you need to learn: put your head down and do your fucking job, and you can work anywhere in the world after this. Be a whiny piece of shit who tries to walk out on his shift, and you’ll be working at McDonald’s for the rest of you life. Got it?”
Greyson, too shocked to rebut, just bobbed his head up and down.
“Let me hear you say it,” the Chef said. Greyson cleared his throat.
“Yes, Chef,” he said. The Chef nodded.
“Now get the fuck out of my office.”
Now
“Elijah. Look at this text.”
The GM looked up slowly from the iPad where he was going over reservations for the evening. “...Why?” he asked, taking the phone from Greyson’s hand.
“Just look. Tell mbe that’s ndot weird,” Greyson said, crossing his arms over his chest. Elijah looked down, confused, and read the text. He pinched his eyebrows together just a little, and read it again. “See? Isn’t that weird?”
“Greyson…” Elijah said, handing the phone back. “That’s not weird.”
“Seriously?” Greyson asked, reading the text yet again. “It’s bizarre. He’s ndot even a little mad? C’mon. That’s weird.”
“He’s being sweet,” Elijah explained, slowly, as though he were talking to a toddler. “Did you want him to be mad? Because that’s bizarre.”
“Ndo I don’t want him to be mad. I jus – HTSZHH-ue! HRRSHH!” Greyson wrenched to the side to sneeze, which sent him into a fit of hacking coughs. “I just figured he’d want to, like, yell at mbe or something. For canceling,” Greyson finished, his voice strained against another cough. Elijah didn’t respond, not at first, and instead pressed a hand onto the chef’s forehead.
“I think you’re sicker than we thought, because you’re acting fucking delusional,” he said as Greyson slapped his hand away. “Greyson, normal people don’t yell at each other for getting sick, or having to cancel a plan. That’s, like, really twisted.”
Greyson rolled his eyes. “It’s ndot twisted, Lij you fuckin’ drama queen,” he said, then held up a finger. “Onesec – hh! Hh...hnn.” Greyson sniffled, a let out a little irritated cough. “Lost it.”
“Go back to the kitchen,” Elijah said, pointing towards the swinging doors. “Sit down. Rest. Let your medicine kick in. I don’t want people seeing this -” he gestured to Greyson, as if to allude to his entire being – “when they walk past the restaurant. Alright? Text your boyfriend something nice. Not something unhinged.”
“Oh, fuck you,” Greyson muttered, turning toward the kitchen, his phone still open to the conversation with Reed. He turned towards Elijah again before pushing through the kitchen doors. “I still say that this is the unhinged thing.”
“Go to therapy, Greyson,” Elijah said, not looking up from the iPad. Greyson rolled his eyes, pushed into the kitchen, and regarded his phone once again.
Greyson
10:07AM
thanks, babe. it’s ok, I can take care of myself. it wont be a long day, ill just grab some nyquil omw home and sleep it off. ill reschedule our rezo too, don’t worry about that. im really sorry again for canceling. if I could taste the food id still go lol.
Figuring that sounded at least relatively normal, Greyson hit send. He sat down at his desk once again and placed his head in his hands. No way he’s not pissed, Greyson thought, and he really believed it. In all his years of dating, he’d never met anyone who would respond that way; they’d at least have a snippy remark about the last-minute nature of the cancellation.
Greyson’s phone pinged once again, and he couldn’t help but grab it right away to assess the damage.
Reed
10:08AM
honey, please don’t apologize, seriously. youre sick, it happens, its no biggie :) I already moved the reservation to next week but if we need to ill move it again. james at emp said to tell you feel better btw.
Greyson blinked, dumbstruck. He started typing without thinking.
Greyson
10:10AM
you REALLY arent mad? seriously?
Reed
10:10AM
im really not mad. who gets mad at someone for being sick…? is someone at work mad at you? am I supposed to be mad..? lol
Greyson
10:11AM
I mean its a last minute cancellation. id understand if u were mad.
Reed
10:11AM
welllll….im not. is that ok? haha
Reed
10:15AM
grey…? you believe me, right?
Reed
10:21AM
greyson..?
Then – Seven Years Ago
He was moving through molasses.
Greyson placed a sluggish hand to his own forehead – you can’t check yourself for a fever, dumbass – and blinked painfully. He’d made it to work, he’d made it through the day, and he’d made it back home, against all odds. Now, he was stuck on his couch, unable to even crawl to the bathroom for a thermometer.
It had all compounded on him, was his guess. The endless fourteen hour days for the better part of two years at his thankless sous chef job. The shitty Chicago-suburbs apartment with no heat, where he froze for the few hours a week he slept. The near-constant drinking. Sure, he was only twenty-five, but what was it they said about this industry? It ages you in dog years. Yeah, that was it.
“Hh-! Hh...ITSZHH-ue! HTSHHH-ue!” Greyson sneezed helplessly into the blanket he’d wrapped around himself, and groaned. This was not what he’d imagined when he moved here from Minnesota. He’d thought it would be glamorous, working as a sous chef at a high-end hotel in a big city. He thought he’d have friends, or a girlfriend, or something. Instead, he was trapped on his couch, benched by a sinus infection and seasonal depression that seemed to last the whole year round. Fuck this, Greyson thought. He couldn’t get off the couch, but he could reach his phone; Greyson pulled up Indeed and changed his search parameters.
Actively searching for work. Location: Any.
Now
“Um… Chef? What’s, uh… what’s going on?”
Greyson paused for a moment, a crate of spoiled food held on his shoulder. He turned towards Matt, keen to answer, but instead held the crate tighter and wrenched to the side. “HRTTSHH-uh!”
“Bless you,” Matt said, an automatic reaction. Greyson nodded, turned towards the dumpster, and dumped the food in before beginning the cycle anew: pick up crate. Turn to sneeze. Dump old food. Matt wasn’t sure if he should help his boss, or go inside for backup.
He chose the former, picking a crate filled to the brim with rotten tomatoes off the ground and hoisting it into the trash. “You gonna tell me what’s up?” he asked as the two of them continued gathering and tossing.
Greyson sighed, pulled a hand down his face, and shook his head. “I thingk Reed and I are over,” he said, voice soft and throaty. Matt’s eyebrows shot up.
“What? Seriously? What did you do?” Matt asked, prompting a stuffy laugh from his boss.
“I just don’t thingk it’s going to work,” Greyson said, shrugging. “I… I don’t want to, like, play gambes. I can’t do that again, ndot after Collin.”
“Chef,” Matt said as he gathered and tossed the last milk crate, “what are you talking about? Reed is, like, the most straight-shooting guy I’ve ever met. How is he playing games?”
Greyson, left without anything to occupy his hands, just shrugged and pulled out his phone. He handed it to Matt without explanation, and the sous quickly read through the text conversation Greyson and Reed had going. Matt furrowed his brow.
“I don’t get it,” he said, handing the phone back. “He wants to take care of you, what’s the problem with that?”
“He doesn’t want to take care of me, he wants to have the upper hand,” Greyson explained, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and sitting on the step just outside the back door. “Want one?”
“Sure,” Matt said, sitting beside his boss. “I mean, you shouldn’t be smoking if you’re -”
“HTSHH! Hh-! ITZSHH-ue!” Greyson turned into his elbow, taking a long moment to gather himself before handing Matt his cigarette.
“-sick,” Matt finished. The older man shrugged, and Matt plucked the lighter out of Greyson’s hand to light both of them up, not daring to push his boss any closer to the edge. For a moment, they smoked in silence, only Greyson’s sniffles and coughs interrupting the quiet.
“Boss,” Matt said, finally, “I think you need to talk to Reed.”
“I did,” Greyson said, stubbing out his cigarette. “You saw.”
“No, I mean actually talk to him,” Matt said. The two of them stood, looking at each other – a face-off without the malice. Matt continued. “Not ignore his texts and clean out the walk-in.”
Greyson scoffed. “Matt, just because you have sombe fairy-tale love story doesn’t mbean everyone else does, too. Okay? If it’s over between me and Reed, it’s fine. I’mb better off alone, anywaa – hh! Hh… Hhhii-!” Greyson stood with his elbow poised at his face, stuck in pre-sneeze agony for what seemed like an eternity. While he was incapacitated, Matt took his phone and typed out a message that his boss couldn’t see. Finally, Greyson lowered his arm and sucked in, fruitlessly, through his nose. “The fugck are you doigg?” he asked, snatching his phone back from his sous.
“If you’re not going to talk to Reed,” Matt shrugged, unapologetic, “I will.”
Greyson looked down at his phone, which buzzed twice in his hand. Reed’s face popped up on the screen. Call from: reed <3
Then – Three Years Ago
“HTSHH! Huh! ETZSHH-ue! HRTTSHH-ue!”
“Bless, bless, bless you. Allergies?” Collin asked, not looking up from his phone. Greyson sniffled in vain, and coughed painfully.
“Ndot exactly,” he croaked from the doorway to Collin’s living room. “Baby, do you thingk you could drive mbe to urdent care, actually?”
Collin looked up and slowly raised an eyebrow. “For what?” he asked, obviously annoyed. Greyson swallowed as best he could and placed a hand on his throat.
“I thingk… I mbight have strep. Or bronchitis, or sombething. I, uh… I’ve had a fever for like. A week.” Greyson had to stop to close his eyes and grab onto the door frame, a sordid attempt to keep from hitting the floor like a rotten sack of potatoes. Collin rolled his eyes.
“You’re such a drama queen. You seemed fine when you came over last night.”
“You were asleep whend I came over,” Greyson said, his eyes still closed. “Did you ndot notice that I haven’t been over in like five days?”
Collin shrugged. “I mean, yeah, but I figured you were busy with work. You’re always busy with work,” he said, the venom in his voice making clear that he wanted to fight.
Greyson, physically incapable of fighting at that moment, just slid slowly to the ground and nodded. “Yeah. You’re right,” he said. “Ndow I’m paying the price. Please, baby. Can you please just take me? I… I really don’t feel well.”
It was pathetic. He knew it, but he couldn’t stop himself; he was fairly sure he was moments from passing out. Collin turned and made himself comfier on the couch.
“I’ll call you an uber,” he said, pressing some buttons on his phone. “You barely make time for me, and now you’re asking me to be your chauffeur? Please, Greyson.” He showed his ailing boyfriend the phone. “He’ll be out front in five minutes. Better make your way down.”
“Okay,” Greyson said, pulling himself slowly to his feet. “Thangk you.”
Collin didn’t say a word as Greyson let himself out of the apartment. He made it downstairs, and into the uber, and into the waiting room at urgent care. He made it out by himself, too, with a laundry list of prognoses – strep, sinus infection, walking pneumonia – and a handful of prescriptions. When he texted Collin later to fill him in, his boyfriend didn’t text back.
Greyson fell asleep on his shower floor and awoke to freezing water pounding on him, and a courier pounding on his door. When he toweled off and answered it, chicken soup from the local bodega and a note that read feel better -c sat at his feet. Greyson breathed a sigh of relief; at least he had been forgiven.
Now
Reed had dated plenty of men is his thirty-five years of life, and had found that there were two general categories when it came to sick men: there was the Baby, and there was the Don’t Look at Me.
Greyson though, an enigma since the moment they met, seemed to fall into a third category, a category that was, to Reed, yet undiscovered: the You Hate Me.
Reed was good with the first two categories; the Don’t Look at Me, you left medicine outside their room and texted them funny memes. The Baby, you laid in bed with them and spoon-fed them soup. Easy. Understandable. Truthfully, this was one of his favorite things about men: they were easy to crack. He figured Greyson would likely fall into the Baby category, which was fine by him – there was nothing he’d like more than to look after an ailing Greyson, to be honest. This third category he seemed to embody, though, was not something Reed knew what to do with.
“He didn’t answer when I called him,” Reed said into the phone receiver. “I just want to know what’s going on, I mean, did I say something wrong?”
On the other end of the line, Elijah sighed. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. This is just… it’s just Greyson being Greyson.”
Reed wasn’t about to take this lying down. “Hey, are you guys super busy tonight? I mean, I don’t want to be that boyfriend, but, like, can I come get him? We really need to talk, and if what Matt said is true he probably shouldn’t be, like, working anyway, right?”
While Elijah paused, Reed pulled the phone away from his ear and once again re-read the text Matt had sent from Greyson’s phone: hey reed, it’s matt. grey is sick as hell, so DO NOT take any of the crazy weird shit he says seriously, k? his temperature needs to lower by like 5 degrees before you do this, but u guys need to actually talk. he’s being stupid.
“Please,” Reed heard Elijah’s tinny voice on the other end and put the phone back to his ear. “Please, come and collect him. I’m begging.”
Reed stood from the couch and grabbed his keys. “Give me twenty minutes. I’m on my way.”
Then – Two Years Ago
“Heyyy, baby, cand I buy you a dringk?”
The girl leaned back, her face marked by disgust. “No, thanks. Save your money and get yourself some NyQuil,” she said, disappearing into the crowd. Greyson huffed out a sigh and coughed into his hand – a long, crackling sound that made the other bar patrons inch their chairs away.
“She’s right, you know,” the bartender – Skip, Greyson had learned his name was a few weeks back when he had started coming in every night – said, filling Greyson’s shot glass yet again. “You need to go home.”
“And yet you pour mbe another drink,” Greyson said, knocking back the shot. “The duality of mban. NGTXSH! HTSHH! Huh-! HRRSHH-ue!” Greyson covered his mouth lazily with one hand, wiped it on his pants, hand held the glass up to indicate ‘another’.
“Bless you,” Skip said, not pouring the shot. “Greyson, seriously: go home. You sound fucking awful.”
“Are you cutting mbe off?” Greyson asked, his rheumy eyes meeting Skip’s over the bartop. “Because unless you are, I’mb staying.” He coughed again, into his elbow; the cough was quickly becoming a problem. He’d had a cold two weeks ago; the symptoms had been mild, but the cough had hung around. When he caught whatever-the-fuck this was two days ago, the cough had turned from an annoyance to a pressing issue; he should go home. He should go to the doctor, he should take a day off, he should, he should, he should.
But he wouldn’t. He would stay, and he would drink until he was kicked out, then he’d pass out on the train and not make it home to sleep. He’d go to work at seven AM and stay until midnight and do it all again.
“I’m not kicking you out,” Skip sighed. “I’m just saying… you should take care of yourself.”
Greyson blinked slowly. He could feel his lungs, heavy with fluid, gearing up to cough again; his head, pounding in spite or because of the alcohol; his heart crushed into a million, Collin-sized pieces. Take care of yourself. It felt impossible, when you’d never been shown how.
“This is mbe taking care of myself,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’ll have another.”
Now
Greyson rested his head on a case of lettuce in the corner of the walk-in. He knew he should be continuing his madness of cleaning, but he’d accidentally sat down on his fifth trip into the refrigerator, and now he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get up again.
Fucking Reed, Greyson thought as he allowed the cold salad box to sate the fever he had burning in his brain. Why can’t he just be up front with me? If you’re mad just say it, don’t fucking torture me.
Perhaps deep down, he knew he was being ridiculous; Matt and Elijah were most likely correct. The simplest answer – that Reed truly was just a good guy – was probably the right one. But he just couldn’t get out of his mind all the times he’d reached out, needed help and asked for it, and been shot down. He certainly couldn’t allow himself to believe that the person he was dating was truly good; he knew he’d never deserve that.
“Greyson?”
Speaking of Reed, that sounded a lot like him – was Greyson hearing things? Had he, in his fever-addled state, conjured a hallucination of his boyfriend to have a fight with? Bizarre, Grey, he thought to himself. That’s really fucking bizarre.
“Grey? Elijah said you were in here but I don’t – oh!”
Either this was a really crazy hallucination, or that really was Reed standing over him, in the walk-in. Greyson blinked hard, then blinked again, and suddenly Reed was on the ground next to him.
“Babe...it’s really cold in here. Do you think we can, um, leave?”
Greyson furrowed his eyebrows together. “Leave… and go where?” he asked, his voice cracking. “I have to… work. What are you doigg heeee...HRTSHH-ue! Huh -! HTSHH! NTSHH! IGXTSH!” Greyson attempted to stifle over and over, until Reed gently took his hand and pulled it away from his face.
“That has to hurt,” Reed said, his voice quiet and calm. “You can just… sneeze, you know. Like, regular.”
“Tryigg ndot to get you,” Greyson croaked, his eyes glazing over once again. “Youbettermov – HRRETSZCHH-ue! ITSZZHH-ue! Fuck – NGTSHHZ-ue!” Greyson sneezed into his lap, then coughed until his lungs felt sore. Reed didn’t move; he came closer and rubbed Greyson’s back.
“Bless you, baby,” Reed said, eventually.
“Thangks. Sorry,” Greyson murmured, pushing his hair out of his face and turning to look at Reed. “Why are you here?” he asked, levity out the window.
Reed let out a little laugh. “Umm, why do you think?” he asked. “You’ve been ignoring me since this morning. I got worried, since Matt said you were super sick – no lie detected, by the way, you sound truly awful –”
“Sorry,” Greyson said again, wiping under his nose. “I kndow, it’s gross.”
“Please, Grey,” Reed said, taking both sides of his boyfriend’s face in his hands and looking him in the eye. “Please. Stop apologizing. It’s okay to be sick. I don’t understand why you think I’m angry at you. I’m not.”
Greyson swallowed, painfully, and gave a little nod. “Okay,” he said, finally.
“Okay,” Reed repeated. “Anyway. I called Elijah. He said to come and collect you.”
At this, Greyson couldn’t help but cough out a laugh. “Collect mbe?” he asked. Reed smiled a little.
“Yeah,” he said. “His words, not mine.”
They both laughed, softly at first, then ramping up to near-hysteria. They only stopped when Greyson started coughing again and couldn’t seem to stop.
“Let’s go get you some water,” Reed said, helping his boyfriend to his shaky feet. Greyson allowed himself to be pulled out of the walk-in, and given a bottle of water that was sitting on his prep station. Greyson drank until the fit subsided, then regarded Reed once again.
“So… you really aren’t mbad?” he asked, rubbing his goosebumped arms up and down. Reed shook his head and shrugged off his windbreaker. He draped it over Greyson’s shoulders.
“I’m really not mad,” he insisted. Greyson nodded, seemingly satiated. Reed sighed through his nose and slipped his arms around the chef.
“Life’s done a number on you, huh?” he asked, quietly enough that it could’ve just been to himself. Greyson huffed out a sad little laugh.
“Like you wouldn’t believe, baby,” he murmured, pressing his hot head into Reed’s hair. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”
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lousypotatoes · 7 months ago
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And I'm Ready For Love
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Song Recommendation:
All Alone - Al Jolson
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10
Part 11
90 years ago...
The flower shop had mostly been today, only a few customers coming in.
All throughout the day, Y/N waited patiently for Alastor to show up. Alastor never showed up at a specific time, he just showed up a random time.
As the shop was ten minutes away from closing, Y/N was starting to feel sad. Since they met at her shop, he hadn't missed a single day.
"Maybe he's just busy," Y/N muttered to herself. "I'll see him tonight, so it's fine."
As she started to close up the shop, her heart began to pound rapidly, despite the date not being three hours away.
She started walking home as fast as she could, wanting to get home and get ready. She already had her outfit picked out and she had an idea of how she wanted to do her makeup and her hair, but she knew that she was going to make some changes.
Y/N got home and immediately went into her bedroom, after giving Honey a quick pet, of course.
She got rid of her work clothes and put on her dress, admiring the way the dress hugged tightly around her body and showing off her curves. She picked out this dress because it was red, and she knew that red was Alastor's favorite color.
Moving on to her makeup, she started applying her blush when she noticed her hands were trembling. Y/N didn't realize how nervous she was until now. Taking deep breaths, she attempted to calm herself down. When she did, she finished applying her blush and moved on to her mascara.
Looking at the clock on the wall, her eyes widened, seeing she only had forty-five minutes left to get ready.
'How did the time go by that fast?' Y/N thought, grabbing her curling iron.
As fast as she could, she curled her H/C hair, concentrating hard not to burn her fingers.
At last, Y/N finished getting ready, with five minutes left to spare. Going out in the living room, she put on her gloves and her heels and waited patiently in the living room.
As she waited, she got to thinking. It had been a while since Y/N had been on a real date. The only dates she had been on were with targets, who people had hired her to kill. And obviously, Y/N wasn't going to kill Alastor. She really hoped that it would go well.
A knock at the door and the sound of Honey barking interrupted her thoughts.
"Oh dear," she muttered, getting up from the couch, walking over to answer the door.
"Alastor!" she said, opening the door. "You've arrived right on time!"
"Well, it would of be impolite of me to show up late," Alastor said, handing Y/N a bouquet of Daisies. "These are for you, my dear."
A genuine smile placed itself on Y/N's lips. Alastor quite liked the sight of it.
"Oh, you remembered," she said in awe. "Thank you so much, Alastor."
"There's no need to thank me," Alastor waved off. "I knew you would like them."
"Oh, where are my manners," Y/N said, stepping aside. "Please, come in while I find a vase for these flowers."
"Thank you, dear,"
Alastor stepped inside, admiring the her house while Y/N looked for a vase.
Looking around, Alastor's eyes landed on Honey, who was staring at him, growling.
"Oh, who is this little creature?" Alastor asked.
"That's Honey," Y/N said, finally finding a vase. "She's friendly. Feel free to pet her if you want."
Alastor sat down on her couch, Honey immediately dropped the 'tough guy' act and crawled onto his lap.
"You're a charming little thing, aren't you?" Alastor cooed, scratching Honey behind the ears.
Y/N smiled at the interaction, as she put the flowers and some water in the vase. "I've had her since she was a pup," she explained. "She'll be turnin' eleven in a few weeks."
"Eleven years old?" Alastor said, surprised. "She doesn't have a single gray hair on her body."
"I get that response all the time," she giggled. "Ready to hit the road, Al?"
"If you are, then yes," Alastor said, removing Honey from his lap.
"Goodbye, my love," Y/N cooed, patting Honey on the head. "I'll be home later tonight.
Alastor grinned, seeing how much you she adored and loved her dog. While he was looking, his eyes began to wander, not in a sexual way, but in 'oh my goodness she looks so gorgeous,' way. The way the light of the room made the dress look even more beautiful.
"Beautiful," Alastor muttered.
"What was that?"
"I forgot to mention," Alastor cleared his throat. "You look positively radiant, my dear."
Y/N hoped that the darkness of the night sky would hide her blush. "Thank you, Alastor. You don't look that bad yourself."
"The means the world coming from you dear," he chuckled.
"Where exactly are you takin' me?" Y/N asked, curiously.
"Well, since I invited for a drink," he said. "It's only natural that I'm taking you to a bar."
Y/N blushed, feeling embarrassed for asking such a stupid question. "I apologize for askin' such a simple question," she laughed awkwardly.
"There's no need to apologize, dear," Alastor said, smiling. "I found it quite adorable, actually."
"You sure do have a way with words, don't you?" she rolled in her eyes in a playful way.
"That depends," he said. "Is it working?"
"Maybe,"
Alastor grinned at the two of them flirting.
"We should be arriving in a few minutes," Alastor said, looking at his watch. "I hope it hasn't been too much of a walk for you."
"I've walked around New Orleans more time than I can count," Y/N frowned, crossing her arms. "I reckon I'll be fine."
"I didn't mean any offense," Alastor said at once, seeing the frown on her face. "I just wasn't certain if you were used to walking or not, my apologies for any misunderstanding."
"It's fine, Al," she said. "At least you had the decency to apologize. Most men just think I'm a delicate little flower."
"Any sensible man would be daft to perceive you in that way, my dear," he said as the two of them approached the bar. "We're here by the way."
"Really?" Y/N gasped in fake surprise. "I didn't know that."
Alastor smirked. "Just making sure your eyes are in working condition, dear"
"I reckon my eyesight is better than yours," she laughed as they headed into the bar.
Looking around the place, Y/N saw that it just looked like a regular bar, just a little bit cleaner than the ones she as so used to. There were people drinking, dancing, and socializing with their friends or dates.
"You come here often?" Y/N asked as they walked over to the bar.
"As often as I can," Alastor said. "A very good friend of mine actually owns the place."
"What can I fetch for you, ma'am?" the bartender asked, wiping down the bar surface.
"Just a spot of whiskey would be nice, thank you kindly."
"And for you, sir?" the bartender asked Alastor.
"I'll have what she's having."
"Coming right up,"
"I didn't know you drank whiskey," he said as the bartender began pouring the drink.
"Ah, well," Y/N said as the bartender gave them their drinks. "I am full of mysteries."
"And I look forward to uncovering each one," he said as he sipped on his whiskey. Y/N almost choked on her drink.
Just as Alastor was about to pay, a voice distracted him.
"Alastor! I can't believe you didn't say hi to little ol' me!"
Looking over Alastor's shoulder, Y/N saw a short, blonde, and plump woman wearing a flapper dress walking towards them.
"Mimzy!" Alastor exclaimed. "I didn't know you'd be working this evening!"
"Yeah well, some bitch decided to quit, so now I'm stuck takin' over her shift," she said, eyes landing on Y/N. "Oooooh, is this Y/N?"
Alastor immediately felt his face flush, forgetting that he talked a lot of Y/N to Mimzy. He cleared his throat. "Yes indeed!" he said. "Y/N this here's Mimzy, the close friend I was just telling you about."
"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mimzy," Y/N said, offering her hand for Mimzy to shake.
"The pleasure's all mine, doll," Mimzy said, eagerly shaking Y/N's hand. "Any pal of Alastor's is a friend of mine!"
Y/N looked up at Alastor with a smug grin knowing that he talked about to her Mimzy. She was sure gonna tease him about it later.
"You didn't tell me she was so fetchin', Al," Mimzy said, nudging Alastor in the ribs. "Where have you been hidin', sweetie?"
"In my floral shop," Y/N laughed awkwardly, not really knowing what to say. Since Mimzy was one of Alastor's close friends, she wanted to make a good first impression on her but didn't know.
"Alastor's always praisin' you, ya know?" Mimzy said, making Y/N blush, glancing up at Alastor again, she saw he was also blushing "Talkin' 'bout your shop, your wit, your looks-"
"I think that's enough, Mimzy," Alastor said suddenly. "Now if you'll excuse us, Y/N and I would like to carry on with our evening."
"Sorry, I didn't realize I was talkin' too much," Mimzy waved off. "I've got some business to attend to anywho. The drinks are on the house for you two the rest of the night." she said, walking off.
"Sorry about her," Alastor grumbled. "She can be a tad overwhelming at times."
"No need for apologies," Y/N giggled. "I quite liked talking to her.
Alastor's frown turned into a grin. "Well, I'm glad! I was hoping you two would hit it off!"
"So," Y/N said, sipping on her whiskey. "Exactly how much do you talk about me, Al?"
Alastor choked on his drink. "You-You heard that?"
"It was kind of hard not to hear,"
"This is quite embarrassing," Alastor said, flustered, pulling on the collar of his shirt while Y/N giggled. "Care to dance?"
"Why of course,"
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There were fifteen minutes left until the bar closed. Almost everyone else had gone home, but not Y/N and Al. In those five hours they were there, they had rotated between drinking at the bar and dancing on the dance floor.
The two of them were currently sitting on a couch by the dance floor.
"How are you not drunk?" Y/N asked, taking a drag off her cigarette. "You've knocked back at least five shots of whiskey."
"I've got quite the alcohol tolerance," Alastor said, blowing out some smoke. "What about you, dear? You've downed just as much whiskey as I have."
"Same as you," Y/N said, putting out her cigarette. "But I reckon my tolerance might just be higher than yours."
"Is that a challenge?"
"Maybe,"
"Ah, perhaps another time, seeing as the bar is about to close," he said, also putting out his cigarette. "Care for one last dance?" he said, offering his hand for her to take.
"Why not?" Y/N said, taking his hand, letting him lead her to the dance floor.
As soon as they started dancing, the previous song ended and Singin' In The Rain started playing.
"What a stroke of luck!" Alastor said as the two of them swayed. "Your favorite tune is playing!"
"Looks like luck's on my side then," Isabell giggled, letting Alastor dip her. "Thanks for takin' me out tonight, Al. I'm havin' a real good time."
"I'm enjoying myself too, dear," he smiled. "If anything, I should be thanking you for accepting my invitation."
The two of them remained quiet for the rest of the song, enjoying each other's presence. After the song ended, Mimzy kicked them out of the bar since it was closing, and Alastor walked Y/N home.
"Y'know, you didn't have to walk me home," Y/N said as they walked out of the bar. "I ain't far from here."
"It's no trouble at all," Alastor waved off. "Besides, I don't live too far from you anyway."
"Are you sure?" Y/N asked, worried. "I wouldn't want you to have to walk by yourself all by yourself in the middle of the night."
"Your kind to be concerned, Y/N," he said in a soft voice. "But I assure you, I'll be just fine."
"Alright," she said. "Thank you for walkin' me home, by the way."
"It's no trouble at all, really," he laughed lightly. "Just dawned on me, that was the first time we've talked outside the flower shop."
"I didn't even think about that," Y/N chuckled. "Guess I got too caught up in tonight's excitement."
"If you're up for it," Alastor said, looking down at her, blushing. "Perhaps we could start meeting up outside the flower shop more?"
Y/N's face was on fire. She had hoped he would ask that but didn't actually prepare herself for when he asked that question. "I'd like that a lot," she said, looking up at him.
"Excellent!" he grinned as they reached Y/N's front porch. "My broadcast tomorrow is around 2. If you're free, would you like to grab some lunch with me?"
"Yeah, I'd love too," she said, a cheesy grin on her face. "My lunch break is around noon, we can go then if that works for you."
"Thats perfect! I'll meet you at the flower shop at noon." Alastor said, taking Y/N's hand in his. "Sleep well, my dear, and once again, thank you for agreeing to spend the evening with me."
He brought her knuckles to his lips and kissed them softly.
"Good night, Y/N,"
"Good night, Alastor"
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sorry that it took me a little bit to upload 😭
i'll try to get the next chapter uploaded tomorrow to make it up to ya'll i promise
stay safe and drinks lots of water <33
xoxo, Izzy
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ninjatrashpanda · 2 months ago
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Okay, guys, I had a brain fart about how BuckTommy can be parents without undermining Henren's storylines or throwing in a surrogacy plot, and I need to share it, okay?!
So, we start with Buck and Tommy grocery shopping together. They stand at the bread aisle and discuss whether they should take whole wheat or rye when Tommy notices a woman standing the next aisle over. He tries to hide away and when Buck asks why, Tommy tells him the he dated this lady like, ten years ago, his last relationship with a woman before he came out, and that he never told her that he's gay.
(You can probably tell where this is going now.)
Buck tells Tommy to go tell the woman the truth because he knows what it's like to get strung along by someone who doesn't actually want to be with you, and Tommy agrees.
He goes over to the woman, who recognizes him instantly, and starts panicking. She tells him she needs to go, but Tommy insists on telling her. So he comes out to her, and she has all of two seconds to react to it before this like, ten-year-old boy collides with her legs and begs for a bag of Doritos. And this boy looks a lot like Tommy. Brown hair, blue eyes, similar nose, maybe even a little cleft in his chin.
And Tommy goes 😐 > 😯 > 😲 > 😱 and exchanges a shocked af look with his ex and then the scene cuts.
And presto! We have a dramatic storyline the likes of which we haven't really had yet, Buck is in a unique position because obviously Tommy wants to meet his kid and be a father, so Buck is basically instant stepdad, and we don't have to deal with either a baby or Buck and Tommy's firefighter/pilot schedules much. Plus, it subverts expectations since all things considered, we'd expect Buck to be the one with a surprise kid.
Any thoughts? Am I cooking? Am I not? Do you think something along these lines could happen in a theoretical Season 9?
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