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#gif silly italians
unwinthehart · 3 months
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"Questo significa che ti fai troppe domande." Un Professore S02E07
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francy-sketches · 2 years
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POV cringe 30 year old tells you about his edgy warrior cats oc
Wanted to make a fake asoiaf anime gif thingy and picked the cringiest anime-y character I could think of enjoy :]
+ live Myrcella reaction
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cuthechicane · 9 months
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lando being allergic to ferrari: part 1/?
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boltun-tkn · 7 months
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✨odiva✨
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spoiledleaff · 1 year
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Working on the omega/terzo a bit before work and I feel like I’ve just had a galaxy brain moment—
Terzo calls Omega “il mio grosso cane” which means my big dog/ my overgrown dog and this is canon because Terzo acts like a fucking cat in heat on stage—
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girlandherfandom · 2 years
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He is just a silly little man. (X)
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lady-of-sorr0wz · 10 months
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This is the most guy ever
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reiderwriter · 8 months
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Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You🃏
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Chapter 1 of That's What You Get
Next Chapter
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader
Word count: 5.2k
Summary: After three weeks on a case in Vegas and a particularly draining phone call from your mother, you decide to take Reid up on his offer to show you the sights of Las Vegas. When you wake up the next morning, you realise one of those sights was a 24hour Wedding Parlor, and that you're now Mrs. Reid.
Warnings: Alcohol consumption, loss of memory, marriage (yeah that needs a warning), mommy issues, mentions of emotional abuse, implied sex scene, use of handcuffs in a sexual way, they theorize a possible creampie but I will neither confirm nor deny at this point, talk of contraception, no actual smut though, you guys are gonna have to wait for that. 18+ Minors DNI
A/N: The first chapter is here! Sorry for drawing you in with a silly little premise and then giving you mommy issues, I swear that after this chapter it's not bought up all that much. If you enjoy this chapter, you can sign up to the series taglist here, check out my masterlist and if you want leave a request! :D have fun reading!! ✨
Las Vegas, city of sin and entertainment capital of the world. Population approximately 600,000, home to the most famous casinos in the world, and unluckily for you, your latest unsub.
You’d been in Vegas for three weeks trying to hunt down this specific murderer, but now the case was all wrapped up and you could finally breathe, the weight of the stress you’d been carrying for almost a month now dissolving as you finally finished up the paperwork in the local precinct.
“Thank god that’s over. I cannot wait to be in bed with a good book and an empty head,” you groaned as you met the eyes of Penelope Garcia, your favorite tech analyst in the entire world and absolutely the only one you knew. She’d ended up having to join you on this case because some of the crime scenes just happened to be casinos that weren’t so happy sharing their data, but also didn’t want to be lumped with the warrant from the FBI. She’d been working between their offices and the precinct, and looked just as haggard as you felt.
“Oh, I feel you sister, this free travel experience thing is nice, but I would like to be back at my own perfect little desk hovel ASAP, thank you very much.” The two of you shared a small laugh, and then began collecting your stuff.
“Come on now, baby girl, you’re telling me that you don’t want to hit up the strip while we’re here? See the sights a little?”
“Sweet cheeks, I have been working from the most harrowing of surveillance units all week on that very strip. I have already seen the sights and they were not pretty, and definitely not worth using up my precious vacation time for.”
“Unfortunately Garcia, I don’t think you’ll be needing to use any of that vacation time to stay here,” Hotch announced as he walked in, and every member of your team snapped to attention to hear what he had to say. “I just got off the phone with Quantico, there’s a storm cloud moving in directly in our flight path and we haven’t been cleared for take off. They’re extending our stay by another day.”
“Shit,” you let out a silent curse, and noticed that your other team members didn’t seem all that happy about it either. JJ quickly excused herself from the room to call Will, Garcia let out a faux sob and fell back into her chair, and Rossi had the look of abject Italian disappointment on his face that he usually only got when you talked about your love of pineapple on pizza.
“How’s about that drink now, baby girl?” Derek Morgan teased, but it was half-hearted and you knew it. You were all desperate for bed, and you could only imagine the mistakes you would make if you went drinking now after the month you’d all just survived.
The only member of the team who didn’t seem put out quite yet was Reid, but you chalked that up to the fact that this place was his hometown.
“If you guys do change your mind, I know a bar downtown where you’re 34% less likely to be propositioned, robbed or over-charged.” He smiled over at you, and you couldn’t help but let out a giggle knowing the man was 100% serious.
“Dare I ask how you found that statistic, Reid?” Emily inquired from the other corner.
“One part actually reading the annual crime report, one part personal experience?” Reid replied, and you laughed again, unable to hold it back.
“Count me out, thank you,” you replied, and you could have sworn for a second you saw a flash of disappointment flash over his features, but you didn’t get the chance to question it, because a call was lighting up your phone screen.
You quickly excused yourself and moved to pick up the call from your mother.
“Mom, hey, what’s up?”
“What, I can’t check in on my daughter now for no reason?” you sighed and rubbed your temples, knowing exactly how this phone call was going to go, because it was how the last ten calls home had.
“Yes, mom, of course you can. How are you?”
“Terrible. Cindy’s daughter is getting married, and it’s all she’s talking about now. Can you believe it? The girl was absolutely wild when you were friends with her in high school and now she’s settling down with a lawyer of all people. Someone should warn that young man before he realises what he’s got himself into,” she scoffed on the other end of the line and you did your best to not get worked up. If you got angry it only made her more self-richeous.
“I know, Mom, Jessica sent me an invite, and I’m sure Trevor knows exactly what he’s getting into since they’ve been dating since high school.”
“Well, how was I supposed to know that? You never tell me anything.”
“I’m sorry, Mom, I’m in the middle of a case right now, can I call you back later?” You did your best to escape the conversation before it devolved into something you really didn’t want to talk about, like yourself, and more specifically your love life. But the gorgon had you frozen through the line and you weren’t about to make the mistake of hanging up on her.
“I’m sure your boss could spare you for five minutes, over-working you like he does. You haven’t had the time off to come and visit me since you got that fancy little job of yours, so you can do me this favor at least.”
“Sure, mom.” At times like this, you knew it was best to just let her talk and ride out the wave.
“And I’m sure you don’t even have time to date. Are you taking care of yourself, at least? Making sure you’re at least presentable, I hope? Its like I always say, you could meet your future husband in one of those precincts, you know. Get a big, strong man to take care of you.”
You had to resist the urge to throw your phone. You’d explained to your mother time and time again that you were perfectly content being the big, strong man for yourself, but there was absolutely no getting through to her. You received one of these phone calls everytime one of her friends or coworkers kids announced an engagement, got pregnant or bought a house, three things that she was desperate for you to do, as well. As soon as you saw the instagram post from Jessica you’d been counting down the days, almost thankful for your mothers lack of online presence.
“A crime scene isn’t exactly the most charming of meet cutes, Mom.”
“Well, then what about Virginia? There are some fine men working at the FBI surely. What about that one coworker of yours, what was his name?” Your heart-race increased for a moment, praying she wasn’t about to put a thought in your head that you wouldn’t be able to escape.
“Derek Morgan, was it? Now, that’s a fine young man.” This time you couldn’t stop the startled cry that came from your mouth. Sure, Morgan was an incredibly attractive man, but he’d joked around with you like a brother ever since you’d taken down your first unsub with the team. Your team was your family and your support system on the road, and they had your back on the case, so really, had your mother said anything, you’d have responded with incredulous guffawing. Hotch was like your dad, Rossi a fun Great-Uncle or something. You saw the sister’s you’d never had in JJ and Emily and of course Garcia was your best friend and you shared so many likes and dislikes that you regularly joked about being long-lost twins separated at birth. And Reid was Reid.
“Just give dating some thought, would you at least? The clock is ticking for you, you know.”
“Mom, I’m not even thirty yet. I’m in no rush.”
“That's what your Aunt Linda said, and look at her.” Your Aunt Linda was a perfectly content single woman in her late forties who had a high paying executive job, in NYC of all places, so yeah, you were in no rush at all.
“Listen, Mom, I’ve got to go, Hotch is calling me into the office to talk about some case files. I’ll speak to you later?”
“God, it’s like you don’t even want to talk to your mother for even five minutes. Go on, then, go do your big fancy job. Call me soon.”
“Yeah, Mom, I will.” And with that you finally hung up. Running a hand through your hair you paused for a breath for a second, closing your eyes and letting your hand just grip your hair for a second before releasing your breath for a second.
In the grand scheme of things, you knew that your mom wasn’t all that much to complain about. You and Emily had bonded over your respective mommy issues early in your time on the team, and you knew a lot of the other team members were either lacking some family member or the other, so you were just thankful that she was still around to annoy you, but god did she make it difficult sometimes.
Realising that any second, you’d have one profiler or the other come find you and ask you (with the best of intentions) what was wrong, you plastered a smile on your face and walked back into the office. You didn’t exactly want to relive that call anytime soon.
“Back so soon, Y/N? I thought that was your mom,” Morgan questioned you when you stepped back in.
“Yeah it was. One of my friends from highschool is getting married and you know how she loves to gossip.” You’d learnt early in the profession that you were in that the best way to hide something was to tell the truth about it for as long as you could, and then change the subject.
“Hey, Reid, you still up for a drink at that bar?” You looked hopefully at the man in the corner, and prayed noone would bring up your absolute change in attitude. “I was thinking a glass of wine or two after a successfully closed case couldn’t hurt, right?”
“Yeah, sure. You wanna head back to the hotel first and change, or do you want to go from here? Hotch said we’re free now until 2pm tomorrow.” You could see a questioning look from Morgan to your left, but you kept your vision focused on Reid, quietly thankful for the rest of the teams disinterest.
“Give me five to drop off my badge and gun in my room and freshen up a bit and we can be on our way. If this bar is bad though, Reid, you know I’m never letting you hear the end of it, right?”
“I ran the statistics, there’s only a 14% chance you’ll dislike it.”
“You know what’s scary is, I can’t even tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.”
–x–
Sarcasm or no, you had to admit, the bar he’d taken you to was pretty nice. It was a low-lit bar only a twenty minute taxi ride from your hotel and whilst it wasn’t exactly on the strip, it wasn’t so far out to be inconvenient. The best part about it was that it was lined with bookshelves, and each booth was blocked off by another, making it feel more like a library than a watering hole. You almost forgot you were in Vegas when you stepped in.
“Yeah, this is definitely a Spencer Reid place,” you said as you took the final swig of your wine, the glass you’d ordered on arrival having gone down easier than you’d expected.
“How so?” Spencer said as he returned to your table, carrying the replacement drinks he’d gone to order with him.
“Come on, Spencer. I’ve never seen the inside of your apartment but I’m sure it’s just this place with less furniture and more books.”
“Y/L/N, are you profiling me right now? Because that sounds pretty close to profiling?” Spencer teased and you rolled your eyes at him, grabbing your next drink from him and giving it a stir - the wine was good but at the price per glass you’d decided maybe cocktails were the thing for tonight.
“Besides, you did mention wanting to curl up with a book tonight, so I thought this bar was probably a good fit for you too.”
“Whose profiling who now, Doctor?” It was his turn to roll his eyes, and he took a sip of his drink. You knew he didn’t drink that often, but he seemed pretty open to the idea tonight, and you were absolutely glad for the company.
“Okay, I won’t profile if you don’t, but do you mind me asking you a question, Y/N?”
“Fire away,” you were playing with the stirrer in your cocktail, waiting for him to ask the question but he’d hesitated for a moment before speaking again, causing you to look up directly into his eyes.
“What’s going on with you and your mom? I don’t mean to pry and I didn’t overhear any of your call earlier or anything, but when you came in again you were all tense and you had that strained smile on your face. Then you suddenly changed your mind and decided we should get drinks so, I’m just guessing here, but you could probably do with talking about it, right?”
You let out a groan and let your head hang a bit. Yeah, you were starting to regret taking that role in the team of profilers. But at least Reid was sincere, and you knew his intentions were good. Of all the members of the team, you’d probably have described him as the safest. It was strange to think, considering all the comfort you found in your other friends, but there was just something so reassuring about Reid’s presence, the way most people overlooked him at first, how he could easily fall into his work and how you could see the cogs moving in his head as he made one genius leap to another that just made you think that everything was going to be okay if he was there.
So because it was him, you decided to talk.
“She’s just…She’s just a little much sometimes, you know?” He smiled back a knowing smile, but didn’t try to add anything and encouraged you to keep going.
“She’s been really persistent recently in bothering me about hitting some of lifes big milestones - marriage, kids, you know? And it always leaves me in a panic because though I’m pretty sure I want those things just yet, I don’t want the pressure of having them yet.” You swallowed the bile in your thoat and continued
“Everytime she says something, I feel bad that I don’t have them. And the way she talks about them its like they’re some kind of… of personal failure, that I’m not trying hard enough to catch a man or something, and I just wonder what if she’s right?” You start slow but you feel yourself gaining pace as you begin rambling, by the end you’re left wondering if Reid even caught any of that.
“I’m perfectly content living alone, but what if I’m secretly not, and I end up forty and alone and can’t even get a guy to look at me.”
“I can pretty confidently say that that’s not going to happen, Y/N.” Reid replied when you finally grabbed your drink ready to take another sip.
“How come?”
“You won’t have to put any effort into catching a man, Y/N.” Reid replied.
“You’re saying that because you’re my friend and you care about me Reid, of course you think that.”
“No, I’m saying that as an FBI Profiler that’s noticed the barman, the man on a date in the corner and the group of guys smoking outside the door eye you up since we’ve been here. And considering we’ve been doing paperwork all day, and the only change in your appearance since 8am this morning was the fresh coat of chapstick you put on while we were in the taxi, I’d think you hadn’t really put that much thought into what you look like right now.”
“You’re exaggerating,” and you really believe that, until you turn to look at the guy on the date and see him avert his gaze from you quickly, and you realise there might be something in what he’s saying.
“Okay, but that still doesn’t mean that I need or want to hear those things from my mother.”
“Y/N, take it from me, mother’s can be complicated.”
“God, I feel so stupid talking to you about something so trivial with my mom, I shouldn’t be doing that, we’re here to have fun.”
“Y/N, its okay. I can do the mommy issues talks, I’m perfectly qualified, but…” he trails off and grabs his drink for another sip and you find yourself hanging off his words begging for him to bring you more comfort and spoken caresses.
“But what, Reid?” you finally ask, as you realise he’s dragging this out on purpose to tease you a little.
“But how about a distraction instead? Have you ever been in a Las Vegas casino with a man that is banned from gambling in most of them?” He wiggled his eyebrows a little as he asked that and you giggled again, grateful for the reprieve from the serious talk.
“That doesn’t sound all that fun, Spencer.”
“Oh yeah, it’s not, but we could always use those vouchers we got as a token of appreciation earlier in the bars and drink some pretty fancy alcohol?”
“Spencer Reid, you are finally speaking my language.”
“I’m still speaking English Y/N, but if you wanted me to switch to russian or some other language, I could accommodate that depending on your linguistic preference.”
“It was a joke, Spence, now let’s get out of here.”
With that, he stood and dramatically offered you his hand like a gentleman, placing your hand in the crook of his elbow when you took it and guiding you swiftly out of the sweet bar. You were with Spencer, your safe friend, close work colleague and probably the least likely member of the BAU Team to get into trouble in a bar in Vegas. What’s the worst that could happen? You thought, as you took a final step out into the humid night air of Las Vegas.
–X–
The first thing you noticed in the morning was the pounding in your head, and it was pretty much the only thing you noticed for quite some time. When you managed to finally unglue your eyes, the second thing you noticed that this definitely wasn’t your room. The third thing you noticed was the gaping hole in your memories that explained how you possibly could’ve ended up wherever it was that you were. Or really any memories from the night before at all.
Letting out a quick groan you sit up in bed and take stock of your surroundings. Although the layout is different, you quickly recognise the interior matches the hotel you’ve been staying at, so you’re thankful that you’re at least somewhere relatively safe, and most likely in familiar company. The room looks to be neat on the whole, but there’s obvious signs of a drunken escapade strewn everwhere - two champagne flutes and a drained bottle, the contents of your purse spilt onto the chair in the corner, some random balloons in the corner you must have picked up somewhere in a drunken stupor, your clothes discarded in a trail to the bed.
That last one wakes you up a little bit more, and almost embarrassingly, you look down at yourself and see your lack of clothing, pulling the covers of the quilt closer to you as you feel yourself flush.
Fuck.
There’s a shifting in the bed next to you, and you look down in horror to see exactly which member of your team got you so plastered last night. You try to move to see who it is, but theres a tightness around your wrist and you’re pulled right back down into bed. You look down at your arm, and that’s when you realise you’re really screwed.
There, around your wrist and restraining you against the bed, is a set of handcuffs. FBI standard. The insinuation flames your face as you whip around to see which close friend and coworker you maybe - possibly - hooked up with last night, too embarrassed to look at your hand any more.
Luckily, your mystery man shifts again, and you catch sight of the nest of brown curls right before he turns over to see you, so when you finally meet the eye of Doctor Spencer Reid, you don’t scream in surprise.
“Y/N? What are you doi-” he cuts himself off as he lets his eyes trail down your body, quickly noticing your state of undress and pulling himself up into a seated position. He is similarly disrobed and it takes all of your strength to pull your gaze away from his bare chest to look literally anywhere else, your face practically flaming now.
“Spencer, would you mind helping me out over here?” you manage to squeak out quickly, as he does his best to avoid your eyes. “I seem to be a little stuck?”
That draws his attention back to you, and he finally notices the strange position of your arms and the handcuffs keeping you pinned to that spot in the bed.
“Shit, Y/N, I’m so sorry, fuck,” he quickly pulls on the pants he discarded by his side of the bed and scrambles over to you, tripping over once in his haste.
“Do you know where the key is?” you ask as he arrives at your side again, your free hand clutching the sheets over your breasts like your life depended on it.
“If that’s my pair they should be in the safe in the nightstand with my creds, give me a second to look.” After a second, he reaches the aforementioned safe box, pulling it open. He roots around inside it for a few seconds and then he spots something ad you watch the blood drain from his face.
“Spencer, what’s wrong?” you spit out quickly, tongue still heavy, and lips probably still swollen, from the night before, so you trip over the words a little. He pulls out the keys from the draw, and you let out a sigh of relief, but you’re still tense as he reaches back inside the draw and pulls out something else.
“Y/N, there wouldn’t happen to be a ring on that hand would there?” Spencer still isn’t looking at you, still staring intently at whatever else is in his hands. You try to angle your head to look, but between the restraints and the fact that Reid had turned his back to you couldn’t quite see what it was.
“What? No, I don’t wear a ring on this hand-” you cut yourself off abruptly as you look down and see it. There on the fourth finger of your left hand, the one that is still chained to the bed by your partners handcuffs, is a ring. There’s a ring on your ring finger. You just woke up in Las Vegas with no memory, in your coworkers room, naked, with a ring on your ring finger.
Your heart drops to your ass as you snap your head back around to Spencer, who finally works up the courage to look you in the eye.
“I think you should look at this” he stutters out and finally presents you with the other item he pulled out of the draw. Your jaw drops open and the pounding in your head turns into a continuous buzzing as you see yourself presented with a marriage liscence. Pinned to the corner with a paperclip is a polaroid picture, and you recognise yourself and your clothes from the night before, with the addition of a veil and bouquet, your arms slung around Reid’s neck as he pulls you in for what you can assume was a pretty passionate kiss.
“Y/N I think we got married last night.”
For a second you could’ve sworn your heart stopped. This was not happening, not to you, not right now. How stupidly drunk could you have gotten to have actually gone and married someone you weren’t even dating. And considering your current lack of clothing, it was dawning on you that you had probably done a little bit more than what was in that photo.
“Spencer unlock these handcuffs right now, so help me God,” you breathed deep and screwed your eyes shut, hoping that wihtout the distraction of the glaring lights you’d be able to remember some of what you’d done last night, but nothing came to you.
Reid, for what it was worth, got you unlocked quickly. You winced slightly as you pulled your arm away from the position it’d been in for however many hours.
“Sorry, I’m so sorry, I should have undone those last night, I don’t know why I didn’t, I’m usually pretty good at remembering stuff like that.” Reid rambled, running a hand through his hair and pacing slightly at your side of the bed. You pushed yourself up and watched him for a minute, just looking at this man who was now, probably, your husband.
Your husband.
You shook the thought from your head and cut his rambling off quickly.
“You put me in these?” you asked, just desperate for any clarification on any of the events of the last 24 hours, not fully grasping the implications of what you were asking until Reid was looking down at you with a flushed face and a mouth gaping like a fish, struggling to find the words to say.
“This is my hotel room. Those are my handcuffs… I kind of just assumed…” he trailed off the thought and you were right with him, the embarrassment heating your face just as much as it had his. You found it hard to meet his eyes the, and dropped yours to your lap.
“So you don’t remember, either?” You almost sighed in relief at that. If even a genius with an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory was in this state after a night of drinking, then you really couldn’t be blamed for getting so drunk you married your coworker and most likely had some pretty kinky sex with him, remembering absolutely nothing on top of that at all.
“Do you need me to grab you something to wear?” he asked as he looked down at you, letting his gaze trail probably a little bit too low for a little bit too long. You grew heated under his stare, as your body reacted, and you realised how easy it must have been to fall underneath him last night if this was how you were feeling from just one look.
But you pulled yourself out of those thoughts quickly, and it seemed that so did he, as he began grabbing clothes from the floor and handing them to you, turning away as you started getting yourself into a semi-decent state.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” you heard Reid mumble to himself as he made his way around the side of the bed, and in your concern for him, you called out.
“Anything specific those curses were for, Spence? Because I know this isn’t exactly the most ideal situation, but four Spencer Reid swears in a row is a cause for concern.” You tried to joke, hoping to relieve some of the anxiety of your predicament.
“I can’t find…” he started and then dragged a hand over his face, trying to wipe the exhaustion from his eyes. “Y/N, I think we didn’t use protection.” You could see him panicking now, and for a second you thought of joining him too, but you crossed the room and grabbed his arms.
“Spencer, look at me, it’s fine. If we did end up… doing that, I’m on birth control, and we probably have time to grab something extra just to make sure, right?” he looked down at you then and after a moments hesitation, he wrapped his arms around you.
“I’m so sorry about all of this, I’m so stupid for suggesting we go to that casino bar last night, I don’t know what I was thinking. You even said last night that this wasn’t what you wanted for yourself, right now, god I’m an idiot, you don’t deserve this.” He buried his face in your neck and held you tight, and you pulled yours up to his back, rubbing circles into his skin slowly.
“Spencer, listen to me. I can think of noone I would have rather had a shotgun Vegas marriage with, okay? This isn’t your fault, we were both drunk, and I’m sure a Reid who was thinking straight could give me some kind of statistic about inhibitions dropping with a certain amount of alcohol.”
“A study in the United Kingdom found that there was an increase of risky sexual behavior in young people who had participated in binge drinking, including unprotected sex with a new partner and the use of emergency contraceptives and I’m not sure why I’m still talking when that was probably rhetorical, right?” You smiled at his panic, finding him just as endearing as ever, even in this predicament.
“What I’m saying, Spencer, is that we’re going to be okay. This isn’t the first time someone has gotten married in Vegas on a whim. Hell, this isn’t even the first time it’s happened to someone on our team. In a sense, this was a very traditional wedding.”
He groaned into your neck again and you laughed up at him. Sure, you were panicked still, but just having him in your arms there sharing his honest feelings with you instead of bottling it up and leaving you to deal with it on your own in your head too was doing you a world of good, and you found the words you used to reassure him soothing you, too, in turn.
“Here’s what we’re going to do. One, find the nearest pharmacy. Two, find whatever Elvis-inspired love shack wrote that marriage license and figure out if it’s actually legally binding. Three, avoid all of our coworkers until 2pm. How does that sound?”
Reid pulled himself out of your neck then, and you were almost sad at the loss of that warmth near you.
“It sounds like I made the smartest choice of a wife I was ever going to make,” he smiled down at you.
“Oh you got jokes now, Doc? I see.”
“Thought I should let you know all my deep dark secrets now we’re married.” You shared a laugh, and standing there amongst the debris of the night before, despite all the mistakes, you knew you were safe, and that the two of you would always be safe together.
🏷️ @sailortongue @bethanyhaas01 @reidscaffeine @high-functioning-cosplayer @average-sunflower @multifandom-on-the-side @anniewhalelover @prentissesredtanktop @abbyshmaby @academiareid @hugyourlungs @w-windy @babybluecakes @SwaggySagieWagie@reidandhotchsgirl @lover-of-books-and-tea @star0055 @Zaapsite @daddy-dotcom @bluecandycake
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namelessdumbass · 1 month
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Meliora/Popestar Ghouls guide
I noticed some people still have trouble telling the Ghouls apart. Specifically Meliora era Ghouls. So i'll try to make things easier for all of you :)
WARNING: lots of text, my silly comments
Happy reading 😏
Learning which symbol/alchemic element (which was Martin Persner's/Omega's idea btw!) belongs to a certain Ghoul is essential:
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🜂- Fire, 🜄- Water, 🜁 - Air, 🜃 - Earth, 🜀 - Quintessence. The first Fire Ghoul was also called Alpha and the first Quintessence Ghoul - Omega. Why such names? Because Quintessence/Ether Ghoul had Ω sticker on his guitar and fans started calling him Omega and his counterpart - Alpha. These names just fit them perfectly. Meliora era was unique because neither of previous Papas, nor Cardinal/Papa 4 called Ghouls by their names/elements. Only Papa III did that.
There were few changes of lineups during Era 3 and some Ghouls were given different names by fans. Simply because naming their elements wasn't enough. Examples will be seen below.
Ways to tell them apart when they are on stage:
Their instruments and stickers.
They are placed in certain areas of the stage: Quintessence and Earth on Papa's right, Water in the middle, Air and Fire on Papa's left.
Different body types, eyes, rings, bracelets and tattoos.
The way they behave.
When they are off stage, on promo photos etc just take a look at their chests.
Even though every Ghoul has 5 elements embroidered on their suits, their respective element is highlighted.
HQ pictures are pretty helpful if y'all wanna find your favorite Ghoul.
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(from left to right: Air, Earth, Omega/Quintessence, Water and Alpha/Fire)
Also check this video of Papa III introducing Ghouls.
2015 lineup:
Air Ghoul #1. Simply Air. Joined Ghost in 2011. No tattoos, no rings. Usually quite calm on stage, favorite gesture is🤘 . Was the tallest Ghoul till 2017. Had cool keytar solo. Didn't move much.
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Pebble aka Earth Ghoul #2. Joined Ghost in June 2015. Smol (yes, smaller than Papa). Has intense stare. Literal beast when it comes to playing drums. Had a special way of throwing sticks to fans (literally footballed them into the crowd lol). Funny one.
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Quintessence Ghoul #1 aka Omega. Terzo's favorite Ghoul. His butt was smacked and grabbed by Papa countless times during Year Zero solo. Known for his stomping, graceful guitar playing style, has big silver rings on both hands and pretty eyes. Has the cutest laugh. Did lots of interviews when Special Ghoul wasn't around. Loves Abba. Has been in the band from 2010 till july 2016.
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Water Ghoul #4 aka Delta. Slightly shorter than Papa III. Joined in 2015. Sometimes kicks air (literal air, not his fellow Ghoul) on stage, also filled in for Alpha (when he injured his shoulder) and Omega for a few shows. Played rhythm guitar after Omega left. Has no rings, no visible tattoos, but has mad skills. Allegedly he's the one who tried to kick the dude who got on stage and kissed Terzo lol
His regular bass Omega's guitar
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Fire Ghoul #1 aka Alpha. Popular among fans. Hangs out with every Ghoul on stage, especially with Water and Pebble. Loves cameras, does✌ a lot, humps his guitar sometimes. Enjoys attention, a bit horny:) Also did a few interviews (mostly with Omega), has strong accent, also speaks Italian. Has rings and tattoos on both hands (had none during era 1 and 2!). Taller than Papa. Joined in 2010, left in november 2016.
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2016
Omega left in july, so Water took over rhythm guitar and the first Ghoulette of the Ghost, Mist, was introduced. This lineup toured till the end of the year and nobody returned for Popestar tour in 2017.
Quintessence Ghoul #2. Basically just Water, but with different guitar and highlighted QE symbol on his uniform.
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Mist Ghoulette aka Water#5. Tiny💜, unlike Copia's Ghoulettes she wore the same outfit and mask (that looked a bit too big for her) just like other Ghouls. Badass bass player, has a ring, a tattoo on her finger and painted nails. Veeeeery calm. Cute as hell. Alpha liked her a lot.
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Fire, Earth and Air Ghouls were same as in 2015:
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(from left to right on this picture: Mist, Quintessence #2 (aka Delta/Water Ghoul#4), Alpha/Fire, Earth/Pebble, Air)
2017
All of the previous Ghouls left and the new pack replaced them. If you see Ghouls who are +- same height as Papa, that's them!
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(Dewdrop/Water #7, Aether/Quintessence #3, Zephyr/Air #2, Ifrit/Fire #2, Ivy/Earth #3)
Ifrit aka Fire Ghoul #2. Chaotic, hyperactive, Papa's hype man. Same height as Terzo, sweet bean, has wiiiide chest dorito shaped No tattoos, no rings. Spins, dances, jumps a lot. Gets "shot" during Ghuleh/Zombie Queen. No 🜂 sticker on his guitar. Only toured till 2018.
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Aether aka Quintessence Ghoul #3. Beefy, jumps a lot, has rings and a bracelet. Always looks friendly. Plain black guitar with no QE symbol. Also pretty active, especially with his pal Ifrit. A bit taller than Papa III. Ran after Terzo when he got gragged off the stage by Papa Nihil's people. Joined in 2017, left in 2022.
P.S. since he's not Omega, his butt was safe during Year Zero solo 🙃
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Dewdrop aka Water Ghoul #6 aka Sodo. Smaller than Terzo. Has an aggressive guitar playing style. A bit horny (it got worse). No visible tattoos. Proudly played bass with someone's panties. Syncs with Ifrit and Aether during Ghuleh/Zombie Queen outro. Became Fire Ghoul #3 in 2018. He's still in the Ghost (as of february 2024).
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Zephyr aka chAir Ghoul #2. Sits on chair, a lot :) Charming, more active than previous Air ghoul. Loses it during Monstrance Clock, Per Aspera Ad Inferi and Cirice. Could be a great DJ. Almost the same height as Papa. Has a ring. His Mummy Dust keytar solo -[X]. Only toured till 2018.
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Ivy aka Earth Ghoul #3. Underrated, many don't know much about him. Was present only during European leg of the Popestar tour (from march till july). Has brown eyes, a tattoo and bracelets. Same height as Ifrit. Wasn't around much, but still did a great job. Was later replaced by Mountain.
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Mountain aka Earth Ghoul #4. Joined Ghost in july 2017. The tallest Ghoul. Hates shoes. Has a tattoo on the finger of his right hand, but you won't see shit on photos from this era because he wasn't photographed much and drummers usually get less attention than others in general:/ Quite calm comparing to Pebble. He's still in the band (as of february 2024).
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Honorable mentions:
Special Ghoul aka Phil. Has green eyes, speaks Swedish. Did lots of interviews, showed up to grab a few awards for Ghost, worships cats and loves Abba. Literally Papa in disguise (aka Fire Ghoul's uniform and mask). Has been in the shadows since 2017.
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Cowbell Ghoul. The myth, the legend. Played cowbell during "Ritual" and "If You Have Ghosts" a few times at the end of the Popestar tour in 2016. Tall, has a posture of a shrimp, always got shooed by Papa. Many want him back.
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Aaaand that's it. I hope it was helpful. Thanks for reading :)
🌈👻
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hades-in-bloom · 8 months
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Al Dente
Leon S. Kennedy x Reader
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summary: he might be of Italian descent, but he still can’t nail cooking pasta.
warnings & contents: assumed older Leon, but could be of any period; assumed age gap, but could be none; reader could be of any gender; fluff with attitude and smth that could be considered a prelude with grabbing and kisses; mentions of drinking; no pasta recipes, really, just stupid banter; a little bit of manhandling
a/n: am not Italian, so please let me know if I’ve committed any blasphemy. Also, this is one silly piece of writing because I’m de-stressing and can’t write anything serious, but am also obsessed with Leon tapping into his Italian descent. As always, proceed with caution and at your own risk; minors DNI! Masterlist
***
‘Oh, I swear…’ Leon mumbled, taking a look into the deep cylindrical pot that was cooking on the stove; the water boiling merrily. Kennedy sighed; he got distracted for a few minutes while taking a call from D.S.O.—which seemed enough for a batch of pasta to turn into goo.
Again.
Leon huffed out a bad word, lifted the pot from the heat, and dropped it straight into the sink without any attempt to retrieve its doughy contents. The man cracked open another beer bottle and took a sip, visibly consumed with heavy thoughts; the number of beers had perfectly correlated with the number of unsuccessfully cooked batches of pasta. Although Leon has never encouraged food waste, this time the big and scary D.S.O. agent refused to give up, steadily losing his sobriety with each try.
You watched him suffer for quite a while, half through the bottle of wine yourself—because grabbing popcorn would be too obvious and undoubtedly rude, although the show was getting more entertaining by the minute; Leon’s frustration was evident.
‘How’s it going?’ you hummed from behind his back. You did your best to hide your smirk.
Leon groaned. He knew you were having a laugh; who wouldn't in that situation, anyway.
‘I’d rather shoot a horde of zombies,’ Kennedy mumbled. He took another sip of his beer and hummed, assessing the situation. ‘Also, I'm running out of pasta.’
You were convinced he deserved the roast; however, his genuinely concerned facial expression made you chuckle.
‘Should we take a break?’ you tilted your head slightly, watching his reaction.
‘We?’ Leon raised his eyebrow, giving you a side-eye. ‘I am getting tortured. What exactly are you doing?’
You thought about it briefly; took a sip from your wine glass.
‘I guess I should be qualified as moral support?’ you assumed.
Leon scoffed, then couldn’t hold back a chuckle. He turned around, facing you; his eyes trained on your features then.
‘I bet you don’t know how to cook a proper al dente either.’
‘You bet?’ wine was your liquid courage, so you might have been too venturesome at that moment. Neither of you complained, though. The man of the hour was intrigued. ‘What if I were to cook you the nicest al dente pasta you’ve ever eaten, Kennedy?’
Scott snorted in a friendly manner and folded his arms over his chest.
‘Ever eaten is a bold claim, sweetheart,’ he teased, his smile growing wider. ‘My family were immigrants from Italy, you know that, right?’
You shrugged his comment off light-heartedly.
‘If I lose, I lose, right? And you could claim your prize,’ you smirked. Oh, you had no doubts he was interested.
His gaze bore into yours for a second; then his features relaxed, although you still could see his shoulders tense—you let it slip.
‘Alright, go forth and forward,’ he smirked; his stare spoke volumes. ‘I will start thinking of what you owe me in return when you screw it up.’
You quickly cleaned up the kitchen countertop, allowing clean water to boil one more in the cooking pot while you measured two portions of store-bought pasta.
Leon watched your actions over your shoulder before you felt his large palms on your hips.
‘Nicely done,’ he murmured from under your earlobe.
You knew he wouldn't be able to play fair; he wasn't big on losing, whether major or minor—and you cooking pasta al dente better than him, taking into account his heritage, was a below-the-belt insult to him. Thus, he didn't mind deploying desperate measures.
‘That’s cheating, Kennedy,’ you muttered, putting the batch of pasta into the pot.
‘I don't remember me touching you being against whatever rules,’ he hummed, placing his lips on your neck. Your heartbeat fastened. ‘Fairly, I don't remember us discussing any rules.’
‘You’ll regret it when I win,’ you claimed. Leon glanced into your pot once again. ‘A couple of minutes more…’ You hummed.
‘How do you know the perfect timing?’ he moaned into your ear. You smirked.
‘Who knows, maybe it would be awful…’ you teased, and he shook his head.
‘No, it won’t,’ Leon concluded quickly and, by lifting you up, grabbed you onto his shoulder. You squealed, losing the ground from under your feet, and clung onto his t-shirt from the back in an attempt to keep your balance.
‘Oh, you fiend!’ you watched him turn off the stove before dragging you into the bedroom. ‘That was our dinner!’
‘I think you're right—we should take a break; maybe, we could order pizza…’ he hummed. You groaned in response, helplessly hanging from his height, his hand holding you tight right under your asscheeks.
Leon let you slide from his shoulder onto the mattress in the bedroom, hovering over you in the next second. His lips barely touched yours when he smirked and watched you blush then.
‘…after I finish with the appetizer.’
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tteokdoroki · 2 years
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— DUMMY DADDY + tobio kageyama.
↳ warnings: fluff, parent!au, reader is a mother, i just wanted to write tobi as a daddy !!! pls he’s so cute i love him so so much. your baby boy says his first word and it’s not what either of you expect.
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“it’s going to be mama,” you tell kageyama matter of factly. “his first word is going to be mama.”
you don’t need to look at the setter to know that he’s glaring daggers into your back while you prepare a fruitsnack for your baby boy. “how do you know that?” the glares only continue when you turn, holding out a bowl of mushed apples and peach to your son as he gargles happy sounds towards his parents.
“mother’s intuition, tobio.”
your husband scoffs, snatching the bowl from you so you have both your hands to take a seat at the table— sitting on the other side of your baby’s high chair. “well,” he starts. “you’re wrong, s’gonna be papa. ain’t that right lil’ man.” the man coos, hand becoming an aeroplane and garnering the interest of his carbon copy as he spoons the crude baby food mix past tiny lips and into a slobbering mouth. he claps chubby hands down on his high chair, kicking socked feet out when tobio spoon feeds him again. “see? daddy’s his favourite.”
“whatever,” you huff, but you don’t fight the smile that tugs on your lips watching the two of them interact. if tobio is your sun; then your little thirteen month old is your husband’s stars moon and night sky. he’s been kageyama’s favourite person since he was just a twinkle in either of your eyes— since you held up three pregnancy tests over a shitty facetime call when your husband was abroad, playing for his Italian team.
they’ve been inseparable since his birth, as soon as your boy was able to leave the house tobio had his baby carrier court side during practices for the Olympic team. your baby would laugh loud and proud whenever his daddy made super high jumps and sets for uncle hinata, whenever he and uncle tsumu got into little squabbles on the court. your baby smiles just like tobio does when you take him to italy for his first birthday— they’re the spitting image of each other, you’d find that with a quick swipe through your camera roll.
two sets of sapphire blue eyes and mops of black fluffy hair— it’s almost unfair how identical they are, he’s just barely got the slope of your nose and your lopsided smile and somehow the beauty mark you have dotting your left cheek, but still. he’s yours, and tobio’s a product of your love that your husband had cried over when he came into the world silent and not screaming like you’d hoped. only for a minute though, you’d later discover through sleepless nights that your son had a set of pipes on him.
oh how little kageyama had grown, how he’d changed your life as well as his daddy’s… so to you, it didn’t matter what his first word was— not really. it was just another moment for you to treasure and admire your boys.
“tell mama that i’m your favourite,” tobio grins, tickling your chubby little baby till you’re sure his cheeks are sore and you hum in content, resting your own cheek on the seat of your palm.
“not gonna happen, tobi, he’s a mama’s boy,” you interject and reach up, twirling a black strand of baby hair between your fingers. “say mama f’me honey,” it’s your turn to coo, lifting yourself from your seat to press kisses all over the right side of your son’s face.
kageyama mimics you, taking over the left side so that no area of your son’s face goes untouched. “nuh uh, we’ll see about that—!” neither of you expect the baby hand to slap down into his bowl of mush causing it to fly up and everywhere— smacking the father of your child in the face and ruining your counter tops. your baby squeals in amusement, slapping his dirty hands everywhere at the sight of his messy parents.
“no baby, don’t do that,” you whine, already reaching for the paper towels to clean both of your boys up. “so silly, huh baby?”
big blue eyes look up at you with unadulterated innocence— as if he hasn’t just destroyed your kitchen and ruined kageyama’s favourite shirt but you can’t stay mad at him, letting your pro volleyball player husband wipe the mush from his hands and face.
“you’re lucky your mum loves you bud, not even i could get away with this.”
“d-du!” your baby squeals back, making both you and kageyama freeze in your place— slowly looking back to him as he sweetly stumbles over his first word. “du-! duuu!”
you whip out your phone faster than you can say your son’s name— smiling at him encouragingly while he looks between his unsuspecting parents. “go on baby!! say mama, ma-ma!”
“nuh uh, daddy…da-da!”
your son blinks slow and then says. “dum’ass!”
tobio kageyana has never been more in fear of his life than he had right now— your gaze burning a hole in his shoulder while your baby gets his hands dirty in the moosh on his baby chair. “it was nice knowing you, baby.” the setter says solemnly, pinching his son’s cheeks.
“dududu—dum’ass!!”
“tobio—“
“dum’ass!”
kageyama squishes your baby’s face together in desperation, as you put away your phone to finish cleaning up. “c’mon sweetheart, you wanna grow up with your dad in your life don’cha?” he pulls your baby into his lap, making him wave to you on behalf your husband who’s matching blue gem eyes are begging for your forgiveness. “‘m sorry mama!” tobio coos in a baby voice.
“du’mmy!”
“you’re really hitting the nail on daddy’s coffin baby,” you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the pair, ruffling two sets of beautiful black locks and pressing kisses to their faces— an extra long, sloppy lingering one under tobio’s ears. “but i’ll deal with that later, sweetheart. you really need to stop calling uncle hinata names when you take our baby to practice.” you scold him.
but you’re hardly serious, not when your boys look at you with mischievous and loving blue eyes.
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unwinthehart · 1 year
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vivarai2off: Amarello living their best life ✨
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beyondspaceandstars · 1 month
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valentine's day with matt
A/N: Happy Valentine's Day! This is a quick little headcanon/thoughts/scenario (?) I came up with. I’ve had a strong Daredevil fixation lately. But, anyway, this is just a silly little fun thing but I hope you enjoy it. I don’t know if it’s very good but it’s festive and sweet, I think :)
also apparently there is a limit to how many characters you can use in a bullet-point list so i apologize for the atrocious formatting, i can't figure out how to get around that dumbass rule with this text editor
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There is no doubt in my mind that Matt is an absolute romantic when he’s in a real, stable relationship
He doesn’t let himself into them but when he finds a person and dedicates himself fully, there’s no holding him back from worshipping his partner
Matt met you in the late spring, way past Valentine’s Day for that year, and frankly, he wasn’t sure if you’d want to stick around past the summertime
He got nervous when you two started getting serious and when he eventually let you in on his nighttime activities he was sure you would run for the hills
But you hadn’t
And the next thing you both knew… it was the season of love. Valentine’s Day. Your first Valentine’s Day together was just around the corner.
You truly didn’t expect much. Maybe a nice dinner and flowers—the expectation of flowers would even be pushing it. In your past relationships, Valentine’s Day hadn’t been anything. You’d try to get your partners to do thing, go out on dates with you, but no one ever seemed very interested in it all.
“It’s a holiday to sell things,” your last boyfriend had said to you when you’d asked him if he wanted to have a nice dinner at your favorite steakhouse. It was then that you had simply assumed men just didn’t do Valentine’s Day.
Matt, on the other hand, was stressing—seriously stressing—over February 14th.
The man would be practically making himself sick trying to plan out the day. But he was very good at hiding his stress. At least, from you. Foggy wasn’t spared from witnessing Matt’s panic.
"What about that new Italian place around the corner? Does it look nice?"
"Matt, do you think you’re maybe overthinking all of it?"
Matt would never admit if he was but…yes, he was.
You were unaware of it all and tried not to think too hard about the holiday. You had gotten Matt a small gift and were going to suggest having a night in with a nice dinner and a bottle or two of wine…
But then he caught you off guard.
You were out for lunch with him the day before Valentine’s Day. You two didn’t work too far from one another and so lunch dates (depending on your schedules, of course) had become a pretty regular part of your weekly routine.
It was about halfway through your lunchtime when, out of nowhere, completely unprompted, Matt said, "I made us reservations for tomorrow night at an Italian restaurant not too far from here."
Your jaw went slack and your heartbeat shot up. The concern that fell on Matt’s face told you he noticed.
"If… If that’s okay with you," he stammered, trying to walk back on his words. "If you don’t want to do anything for Valentine’s Day, I understand, I’m sure I can cancel—,"
"No!" Your outburst took both of you by surprise. You almost start laughing out of nervousness. "I mean, I’d love to. It sounds amazing, I was just…surprised. No guy I’ve been with has ever really wanted to do anything on Valentine’s Day."
Matt frowned. A deep, serious frown. "You’ve never gone out for Valentine’s Day?"
"Not really." You felt your cheeks go warm. "I’m very excited." Your heartbeat hadn’t settled since he mentioned dinner plans.
The next day, you were giddy. You had stayed over at Matt’s place and decided to wake up early to make him a nice breakfast. He was speechless. You two would exchange "Happy Valentine’s Day" before swapping sweet kisses and going your separate ways for the day.
You’d assume you wouldn’t hear from Matt again until dinner time but then a giant — giant — bouquet of roses was delivered to your office. You were stunned. As were your coworkers. And then the flowers made you hopelessly tear up.
It was already the best Valentine’s Day you’ve ever had and you still had dinner to look forward to.
After work, you returned to your apartment and freshened up.
You were quite nervous for some reason. It didn’t make sense. You’d been going out with Matt for almost a year. You two had been on numerous dates. Hell — you two slept together regularly. But this? Valentine’s Day dinner? This was what was making you all jittery?
It was a mix between never really knowing what to expect for Valentine’s Day and wanting everything to go perfectly.
Matt was patiently waiting for you outside the restaurant when you arrived. You saw a smirk creep its way onto his lips, no doubt sensing your presence.
"Hi, honey," you said as you approached and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "You made quite the ruckus at my office today with that garden of flowers you sent."
Matt chuckled. "Were they okay? I kind of had to trust the florist’s opinion and he could’ve scammed me for all I know."
You laughed. "They’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen."
"You clearly haven’t looked in the mirror lately."
"Matthew Murdock, you’re silly."
The restaurant he had chosen was stunning. Very fancy, very chic. A nice modern, clearly high-end, Italian restaurant. You gasped when you saw the array of artistic decor. It was just all so…romantic.
"Is it… Do you like it? Is this okay? I also had to trust Foggy for advice on this place—,"
"It’s wonderful, Matt. Everything is so wonderful."
He took your elbow and gave it a squeeze.
The hostess then escorted you two to your table, Matt continued holding onto your elbow and you had to keep yourself from laughing. No doubt he had already mapped out the place in his head.
Your table was in the back of the establishment, kind of hidden and private. You wondered if Matt had dropped some extra money to get something so intimate. You were tearing up at the thought.
"Are you okay?" Matt asked after you two took your seats.
"You make me feel so special."
Wordlessly, Matt found your hand and kissed the back of it. It was almost silly but it made your heart skip a beat. Seriously, you felt like a teenager on a first date.
You diverted your attention to the menu. You quickly realized Matt had the same one as you — a.k.a. a menu he couldn’t exactly read. It looked like Matt came to the same realization as you when he picked it up.
"Oh, should I see if they—,"
Matt shook his head. "Read it to me?" He leaned back in his seat, waiting, a little cocky or proud of himself.
You blushed. "Sure, I think I can manage that."
Dinner went by very nicely. You raved about the food and Matt looked relieved that you enjoyed it. You two even split a dessert. Matt "accidentally" got whipped cream on your cheek, which he just had to clean up himself. You teased him it was just a ploy to get close to you and he didn’t deny it.
Afterward, you two walked arm and arm back to his place. The night was peaceful and lovely and…perfect.
"I have a gift to give you later," you said, breaking the silence.
"Oh, yeah?"
"Mhm," you sighed. "Well, maybe I have a couple of gifts."
"Oh?" Matt smirked.
"I gotta thank my lovely boyfriend properly. This was the best Valentine’s Day," you admitted.
Matt stopped on the sidewalk. The streets were quiet and empty. His arm untangled from yours, his hands grinding your waist with ease. "It’s not over yet," Matt said in a hushed tone. "Besides, I might have a couple of gifts for you as well."
And then he kissed you deeply. The world around you felt like it had stopped.
"Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart."
"Happy Valentine’s Day, honey."
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agendabymooner · 6 months
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about names: an amazing boy with an amazing name || cl16 scenario (1)
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dad!charles leclerc x mom!ofc (hearth sister!ofc)
EXTENSION OF OF LONG LINES AND NAMES AND THE LECLERC DAYCARE
Summary: The Leclerc boys and their names go hand in hand. OR times when Charles and his wife Aimee had to explain that their children’s names are meaningful. 
Scenario summary: Charles and Aimee wondered what Hervé meant when he said that his name was silly and that he hated it. Thank goodness, Pascale Leclerc was the one that the boy cannot refuse as she comforts her grandson.
Content warning: Kids teasing kids, possible use of explicit language, fluff, dad!Charles content, the Leclerc family (Pascale and Leclerc brothers) content, briefly mentions Charles' dad, crappy French translations by Apple, sad kids being comforted, fluff, what is beta reading we write things at 2am and post it after lol
Note: One more before I dash out of my dorm for the day lmfaoo
masterlist
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Aimee Leclerc was no stranger to chatty kids and pick-up schedules, so it was no wonder why she immediately found herself in front of the elementary school that stood gloriously in the middle of Monte-Carlo as she waited for her two children to be dismissed from the class for the day. 
It was a routine of hers now that her work in McLaren had become remote. Five children took up all of her time and between them and her work— she would’ve immediately left the company if the team made her choose. She’d rather be in Monaco while Charles continued to pursue his career as a racing driver. 
Zak Brown was empathetic enough to understand that a set of children wouldn’t be able to have a stable routine should they continue to travel around the world just to be with their parents who worked overseas, offering Aimee a chance to work at home and adapt to a better routine as she took care of her children. 
She could wait patiently if anybody ever asked her. She had no problem, knowing that she was able to finish her work long before she could pick up her eldest children. 
But the energy that her children had shown merely told her enough: they might have been either excited to see her or they thought that she was rushing them. She caught a glimpse of her twins as they stepped out of the elementary school, their uniforms somehow tidy and less wrinkled despite their busy day. 
“Maman! Devinez quoi?” Guess what? Jules jumped excitedly as he wrapped his arms around Aimee tightly, still jumpy and giddy as he spoke in English, “We did our quiz in maths!” 
“Oh? Is that right, J?” Aimee asked with a smile, her fingers running through her son’s wavy hair. It was surprising how her children’s hair continued to lose its volume as years passed— it was becoming more like Charles’ hair.
They were mini Charleses, indeed.
“Yes, Maman! I also— uh…” It seemed like Jules ran out of English immediately as he said, “J'ai fait si bien! Je n'ai perdu qu'un point!” I did so good! I only lost one point!
Aimee was merely thankful that she could understand French and Italian, or rather, she was thankful her private teacher taught her how to speak those languages; otherwise, she wouldn’t be able to understand her multilingual-speaking children. 
She primarily spoke English and had grown up practicing a standard accent in her Received Pronunciation. She never adapted to her husband’s speaking style, but learned to understand it nevertheless. Their children were being raised in Monaco, after all, and most people spoke in French or Italian. She was only thankful that she was able to teach them to speak English to preserve that part of them. Most of their cousins are raised in England and this gave them the opportunity to converse in that language. 
Anyways.
Aimee beamed at her son and exclaimed, “A good job done, Jules!” Then she turned to look at her other son, who was unusually quiet for such a normal day. Hervé, as Aimee learned while nurturing her ever-growing children, was never quiet — he was one of the boys who would often cause ruckus inside the Leclerc home. If he’s silent like this then Aimee knew he was feeling something along the lines of upset. 
Hervé was never upset. He was so much like his grandfather— his namesake. So joyous. Why was he feeling so down? Aimee didn’t know.
“Hervé, my love,” Aimee called softly, but he couldn’t hear. Jules turned to look at his twin and noticed the boy disassociated, giving his brother’s shirt a tug as Hervé finally looked up. The Leclerc matriarch (2.0) smiled gently and asked, “Is it a long day for you?” 
“Oui, Maman,” he replied quietly, offering her a nod and nothing more. 
Aimee had led them to the Aston Martin family SUV as soon as he answered and drove off to head home. Jules was chatting Aimee’s ears off and it somehow defeaned her. It wasn’t because Jules was loud, no; Hervé wasn’t even talking, and his silence defeaned her.
“Herb,” she called as she looked at the rear view mirror, noticing how his jaw clenched before crossing his arms. “Hervé?”
“Stupid, silly name,” Jules hadn’t seen Hervé mutter those words beneath his breath but Aimee certainly had, leaving the mother confused. What the hell was happening?
“H,” Aimee called once more. Hervé’s angry eyes finally looked up to meet Aimee’s worried ones. Even if she wanted to remind him to calm down, she knew that it would lead to his outburst so she avoided it and asked, “Da’s home? Do you want to tell him about your maths quiz today? Maybe you and Jules can show him the art you made for Mademoiselle Blanc?” 
“Hmp,” the eldest Leclerc twin huffed, turning away from his mother and looking out the window. 
Jules’s eyes narrowed as he gave a brief glimpse at Aimee, turning towards his twin, “Are you okay, H?” 
“Oui,” Hervé muttered, acting as some sort of assurance, but this only made Jules look at his mother with worry. Aimee flashed a smile at her son before continuing to drive on the way home. It was another thing that the Leclerc boys had gotten from their father; they were bad liars. 
It only got worse when Aimee pulled up to their driveway, and the boys made their way inside. Jules dashed out of the car with his backpack to navigate his way around the house, trying to find their father before he gasped, “Da!” 
Aimee watched her other son carefully, trying to read Hervé’s behaviour as he walked past Aimee. She still wasn’t sure what was going on. 
“Oh! Hello, Jules!” Charles Leclerc, a Ferrari driver who had just returned from a doubleheader, grinned gracefully at the sight of his son. In his arm was one of his young twins, Anthoine — or Tony, for most people — while the other half of the pair, Alain, sat on the playmat with his book propped open. “Comment va l'école aujourd'hui?” How is school today?
“Very good, Da!” Jules grinned toothily, “Madame Hurst m'a donné une étoile pour mon quiz de mathématiques!” Mrs. Hurst gave me a star for my maths quiz! 
“Ah, really? Cela signifie que vous avez fait un excellent travail en étudiant avec maman alors,” it means you’ve done a good job at studying with Mummy, then. Charles glanced past Aimee’s legs, seeing the other pair of his twins as he greeted the quiet boy, “Bonjour, Hervé. Comment allez-vous?” Good afternoon, Hervé. How are you?
“D'accord, Da,” Fine. Hervé muttered, his irritation noticed easily by his father as Charles scowled lightly. Every adult in their family knew that it meant trouble if Charles gave this look. 
At first, the Ferrari driver tried to make a light of the situation, “Why the long face, Hervé? The more you do that, the more you’ll look like your Uncle Toto. Give Da a smile?”
“No,” but Hervé wasn’t having it as he snapped at his father firmly, the tip of his ears turning red as he stomped off.
“No?” 
“Don’t call me that!” Hervé snapped, his eyes turning dark as he got angry and upset.
“What? Hervé—“ Charles tried to reason out, but the 7-year-old was anything but reasonable at the moment. 
“I’m not Hervé! Don’t call me that! It’s a stupid name!” 
Charles could have sworn that he, too, was seeing red as he placed the toddler in his arms before marching off the playroom. He followed after his son and exclaimed, “Hervé Louis Sebastien René Mathieu Leclerc! Come back here!” 
“No! No more talking! Leave me alone, Da!”
Thud. The boy had just slammed the door on his father’s face, and Charles— Charles was fuming. 
He loves his boys dearly; he does. But it was moments like this that somehow made him different from the loving father that he is. He wasn’t even sure why he was so upset— was it because of the fact that his son just yelled that he didn’t want to talk, or did he just hear his son say that his father’s name was stupid? He wasn’t sure. 
He was just… upset and confused. 
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Charles wasn’t sure where he’d gone wrong with becoming a parent to his sons. He did everything he could despite being a busy driver— he took care of them whenever Aimee was out, he taught them how to be kind to other people and he taught them how to love. Hervé had never been this upset before and it bothered Charles and Aimee to no end. What was he genuinely upset about?
Then they both recalled what the boy said. Hervé wasn’t his name. He thought that the name was silly, from what Aimee had told Charles. Where did that even come from? 
“I— truthfully, I don’t even know where that came from, Charles,” Aimee admitted as she sat with him on the couch that night, sighing heavily while the driver rested his head against his hand. 
They tried asking the boy, from asking him to come down for dinner (with Aimee giving up and leaving a bowl of rice and chicken in front of his door) to Charles asking to come into his room (with Charles not receiving any form of response). But alas, Hervé had no response. He didn’t even respond when they tried to ask if he’d like to come over to his Uncle Lorenzo or Arthur’s place. 
No luck. 
“He didn’t mention anything at all,” she continued, keeping her voice down to avoid waking any of their children up. “He was muttering to himself, I’ve no bloody clue he was upset.” 
“I didn’t know either,” Charles murmured, grabbing a hold of her hand and kissing the knuckles of it. “He isn’t normally like this— he’d tell us if there’s something wrong.”
It was true. Hervé, much like the other Leclerc children, never got into a fight with a friend before. He was upfront about his feelings and would tell either his parents or playmate about being upset. There were some instances when he almost snapped but otherwise managed to control his emotions— he was so much like his brothers and mother in a sense. Aimee always approached them with the five-finger solution before they could even burst into tears or anger. 
So, for Hervé to keep quiet? 
Even Aimee couldn’t get an answer from him. What did he mean by his name was a stupid name? Charles asked himself this a couple of times. 
His name was Hervé— that was a typical French name, no? What made Hervé think that his name, his late grandfather’s name, was silly? Charles tried approaching his son about the matter every minute since the boys got home from school, but much to his dismay, the boy evaded him. 
But there was only one person that Hervé wouldn’t refuse to answer. Much like his late grandfather, Hervé never refused his Mamé. 
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So the next day, Pascale Leclerc — the grandmother of the Leclerc boys — took the liberty to have a day off with the upset boy. Jules felt incomplete without Hervé in the school but went nonetheless, and the five-year-old boy PJ went to kindergarten while Aimee, Charles and the youngest twins went out. Pascale stayed at home with Hervé and baked cookies with him. 
After putting the cookie dough into the preheated oven, Pascale served the boy some tea, to which Hervé gratefully drank as his grandmother sat across from him.
She sighed and placed a hand on his knee, “Est-il vrai que tu t'es fâché contre ton père, Hervé?” Is it true that you got angry with your dad, Hervé? She asked, her question leaving him frozen as he looked at Pascale guiltily. 
Hervé carefully sat his mug down on the table and nodded solemnly, not uttering a word. Pascale asked, “Has it been a rough day for you? That’s why you got angry?” 
Hervé shook his head as Pascale suggested, “Veux-tu dire à Mamé ce qui t'a mis en colère? Peut-être pouvons-nous trouver une solution ensemble?” Will you tell Mamé what has gotten you angry? Maybe we can find a solution together?
The longer the silence lasted, the more the tears flowed out of Hervé’s eyes as his lips pursed and trembled. The poor boy couldn’t help but stammer, “Mon nom est tellement silly et stupide, Mamé!” My name is so silly and stupid! He continued to cry out, “Kylian a dit que mon nom venait de «Herbe et fromage» et c'est très stupide! Je n'aime pas mon nom, Mamé!” Kylian said that my name came from ‘Herb and cheese’ and that it’s stupid! I don’t like my name, Mamé! 
Pascale’s eyes nearly teared up at the confession that Hervé made. He hated his name because someone made him feel like it wasn’t worth appreciating. Her poor grandson was subjected to this kind of behaviour, which felt so… disheartening. 
“Oh, Hervé,” Pascale immediately reached out to soothe the boy, shushing him quietly while he sobbed. His eyes shut as tears continued to flow down, soaking Pascale’s cardigan in the process. “Your name is not stupid or silly; did you know that?”
His crying lasted for several minutes, with Pascale patiently soothing him in the process. When his sobbing quietened, Pascale took this as an opportunity to tell him about his name.
She sighed shakily, not wanting to shed a tear or two as she explained, “Da, Uncle Lorenzo and Uncle Arthur had their own Da— you have seen him before in the pictures, oui?” She felt the boy nod through her chest as she hummed and continued, “That was your Papy. Do you know what his name was? His name was Hervé.” 
“Her—“ the boy hiccuped. “Hervé? Like me?”
“Oui, mon amour,” Pascale replied with a soft smile, “Hervé like you.”
“You are sooo much like your Papy Hervé, that is why Maman and Da named you after him,” Pascale continued, “you are as funny and happy as him. When he was still alive I used to call him Herb. I loved him so much, mon chou.
“And when he was gone, your Da and your uncles filled the rest of the space in my heart that you and your brothers soon took over,” Pascale smiled, “and I think that your name is beautiful like it is with my Herb’s.” 
“It is?” 
“Oui, my love,” Pascale replied, “your name is what keeps your Papy’s memories alive for your Da and your uncles. Do not let anyone think that it is a silly name because you are an amazing boy with an amazing name. Your Maman and Da love you so much, and your Da? He loved his Papa so much that he decided to name another person he loved after him. That’s you, mon cœur.” 
Ever since then, Hervé learned how to embrace his name and would often explain to everyone where his name came from, even in the grid and paddock. 
Nobody needed to ask where his name came from— after all, he is Hervé Leclerc. He was just as joyful and enthusiastic as his grandfather. 
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chicaboom-chic · 1 year
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More Than Business- Michael Corleone x Reader
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PROMPT: The reader is from a different crime family and she thinks he’s only marrying her for connections but he actually loves her.
Thank you @21witnokidz for the prompt.
WARNINGS: None, other than pretty shitty writing. (My cousin and I wrote this when we were drunk. Seriously guys this story is disjointed and weird. Sorry)
WORD COUNT: 3967 
There’s a moment where it hits you again; there it is that feeling of unease and formidable tension. It resurfaces in the silence, as you stare at Michael from across the room. You’re in his father’s office with him, he had whisked you away from the hectic party for a moment alone, a moment of brief intimacy. 
It was ironic the party was being thrown for the both of you but between the questions from the nosy aunts, cousins, and uncles, you and Michael had barely seen each other. And now even with your absence the party still raged on outside. Lively chatter and laughter could be heard from behind the office door, it was accompanied by the slow strum of a guitar and the sweet serenade of Italian songs.
Michael’s family and your family had congregated at the Corleone house. They had come toghether for a celebration of great measure, an engagement party; your engagement. Michael had proposed to you three months ago but had only announced your engagement two weeks ago. So naturally, a party had been thrown. Nearly everyone who knew your family and the Corleone family had turned up.
Don Corleone's house was littered with family, friends, politicians, and those alike, all of whose faces were twisted into smiles of great elation. In the parlor, the women sat, forming a small mother’s club where they caught up on gossip and talked about their children.
 Outside by the courtyard, the men congregated laughing as they took swigs of alcohol, downing drinks that they would definitely feel in the morning. And the kids were everywhere, they absolutely swarmed the place; you could only imagine what the rest of the Corleone house looked like.
It was a day of great joy… it was supposed to be. However, you couldn’t bring yourself to smile or even share the same level of excitement everybody had. It was your engagement party but you had never felt more restless and miserable.
Since the party had commenced a feeling of worry had been toiling in your stomach, which expanded the already deep chasm of doubt, that had managed to grow in size over the passing weeks.
What had started out as a silly afterthought, had now become a horrifying idea.
Is Michael using me?
In the last few months, a slew of thoughts had slipped their way into your subconscious, thoughts that made you question the intentions Michael had for asking for your hand in marriage.
Is Michael using me?
You shot a glance at Michael from your seat, retreating from your thoughts temporarily. He was by his father’s cabinet pouring himself a glass of whiskey. He noticed your prying gaze and met your eyes, he smiled at you warmly.
You smiled back, however, the smile didn’t reach your eyes. Instead, when you looked at Michael a pang of sadness hit you.
You fought the urge to frown as you thought back to the hushed business conversation Michael frequently had with your father after you had gotten engaged, you remembered the look of appraisal in his father, Vito’s, eyes when you were introduced to him as Michael’s fiancee. You remembered how surprised Tom looked when he registered your last name.
It had been right in front of you, all the signs were glaringly red.
Oh, God!
You tore your eyes away from Michael and looked down at your lap. In your lap sat your hands which you fiddled with uncontrollably.
How could I be so stupid? You thought bitterly. It all makes sense now.
Being the daughter of one of the wealthiest men in new york sometimes meant that men took interest in you for the wrong reasons. You also weren’t privy to your father’s business, which often attracted certain types of men.
You knew the ins and outs of your father’s business, the connections he had; connections that a family like Corleone’s would need.
Connections that Michael might need.
No, this can't be. 
You swallowed the lump that had been forming in your throat, biting down on your trembling lip to stop the whimper escaping from your lip.
It can’t be…
It was a sickening thought really, that perhaps Michal wanted you for what you could offer and not who you were. Maybe the love between the both of you was synthetic on his part; a mere ruse to obtain financial and business opportunities.
That in itself was bad enough, however, the sting of being used didn’t hurt as much as the sting of not being loved. In your mind, if Michael did love you and was using you, you could tolerate it to some level because at least he loved you. But whether he loved was a question that hung in the air, like a foul stench.
Did Michael love you?
Did he not?
It was painful to think about. You never considered that you would have to think about Michael this way. When you began dating Michael, the idea had never crossed your mind. 
Michael had just back from the war and had ended a relationship with a school teacher by the name of Kay, at the time you didn’t know he belonged to the Corleone family, he was very distant about his family.
After dating for a small amount of time you had found yourself utterly taken with him, practically obsessed. He was everything you longed for in a man. He was kind, gentle, and compassionate, he was also highly attractive which helped greatly. When he asked you to marry him you didn’t hesitate to say yes.
Now looking back on it maybe you shouldn’t have been so hasty.
If I had known I was to be a trading piece I would have-
“Y/n, what’s wrong? You’ve been really quiet.” Michael asked suddenly, breaking the silence that had been lingering between the two of you. His voice drew you from your thoughts and you looked up.
He was leering at you from his behind the desk, his face was a mixture of concern and curiosity. By now he had noticed the unease plastered on your face as well as the detachment you had from him. You had been silent for too long.
You looked at him, questioning whether it was wise to lie. Michael was rather receptive when it came to your emotions, he could notice the subtle changes in your mood. He would easily know if you were lying.
“Oh, it’s nothing, Michael.” You said as you shook your head. You opted to lie, knowing he wouldn’t press the matter further unless you gave him a reason to.
You straightened your shoulders and gave him your most convincing smile. “I’m just tired that’s all.” You chalked it down to fatigue, a plausible excuse, after all, today you had been very busy.
Michael nodded, and his eyes dropped from you momentarily. He placed his glass of scotch down on the desk and unloosened his tie. “Are you enjoying yourself this evening?” He asked. As he did so, he released an exasperated sigh.
Your eyes dropped from him, and you looked up to the ceiling. “Ummm, yes.”
No, Michael, I’m not. Are you marrying me for my family’s connections?
The thought fired past the many ones just like it in your head. But you merely ignored it. You sighed and looked away from the ceiling, looking back at Michael.
“How about you?” You said, trying to squash any feelings of doubt.
“Yes, though I didn’t get to talk with a lot of people as I was wrapped up in some things.” Michael walked away from the desk and sat on a chair at the other end of the room.
“However, I actually did manage to talk to your aunts though, rather they found me. We had some interesting conversations.” Michael laughed as he thought back to how your aunts had grilled him about whether big noses are a sign of good endowment in Italian culture.
“The women in your family are quite some characters!”
Michael’s voice filled the room as he continued to talk, he was more talkative than usual. He went on about the party. But his words were met with no replies, you weren’t really listening, you just nodded absent-mindedly at his comments. The bombardment of thoughts had already made it hard for you to hear.
Does he love me?
He says it all the time, but now I’m not sure.
But what else did I expect?
Of course, he’s marrying me for my father’s connections, do you think a girl like me would ever have a chance with a man like Michael if I didn’t have something to offer?
Your thoughts were spiteful and bitter, they pricked at you like a needle. They hurt you greatly but you couldn’t help but conjure them. You couldn’t help but believe they were true.
Your doubts continued as did  Michael’s chatter, however unbeknownst to you, he had stopped talking a while ago. He had noticed that you were engorged by silence, this was the second time you had become unresponsive.
“Have you eaten?” Michael asked. 
The question went over your head, you were too trapped in your thoughts.
“Y/n?” Michael’s voice suddenly peaked, having to have raised his voice for you to hear.
You jolted suddenly. “Pardon?” You met his gaze again.
“Did you eat? You said you were tired.” Michael was frowning now; it was a frown of concern.
You swallow hard. The room has suddenly become unbearably small as if it’s shrinking. You begin to feel unpleasantly warm.
I’m making a scene. Oh my god. He’s going to notice.
“I umm, I-. Look, Michael. I think I’m going to go home.” You avert your eyes from him after making your request.
You cringe the moment the request slips out of your mouth. It’s crazy, you know it is, it’s your engagement party, leaving would not only seem strange but raise more questions than you care to answer. But you just wanted to go home. 
The environment of the party was suffocating, it was suffocating to be around Michael.
“Leave?” Michael questions. You don’t have to look up to know there's a look of confusion on his face, his tone says it all.
“I know it’s a bit early, but I really want to go home.” You say truthfully. “If that's fine with you, that is.” You add in a small whisper.
“No, no it’s fine.” Michael's face softens. “If you feel tired you should go home.” He sounds understanding, and its comforts you slightly.
“I’ll think of an excuse for your absence, but first let me get someone to drive you home, I would do it myself but we both can’t go missing.”
“What are you going to do by yourself?” You ask curiously as you rise from your chair preparing to leave. You feel partially guilty that you’re leaving Michael here alone, but you know it’s for the best until these feelings subside. You wonder if time apart will clear your head.
“I still have some people to talk to.” Michael stands up from his chair, he stretches before fixing his tie. Then he walks over to you, offering you his hand to help you up.
You smiled at him warmly and took his hand, uprooting yourself up from the chair. When you stood up he planted a small kiss on your cheek. It made your smile widen. It was your first genuine smile of the night.
You then looked at Michael, properly this time, taking in the features of his face. There were lines under his eyes, and his hair was a little ruffled. He was tired, very tired, and yet the smile on his face remained when he was around you, a smile of complete adoration. 
Surely a man who was using you wouldn’t look at you that way? Could he?
With that thought, you felt guilty. Perhaps you were overreacting, after all these thoughts had come from nowhere, how could you judge Michael purely based on thoughts?
Maybe I am overreacting?
Michael cleared his throat. “Besides I still have things to talk to your father about that are business related.” 
Upon hearing that the warmness of Michael’s previous gesture faded away, and the smile dropped from your face. You let go of Michael’s hand immediately. The thoughts came crashing in again at the mention of business and your father.
“You speak to my father a lot these days.” You said with a hint of irritation. The past feelings of sadness were replaced with those of slight anger. 
Michael hadn’t seemed to notice the sudden change in your tone. “I have to.” He shrugged. “We have a lot of business to discuss.” He tried to reach for your hand to hold it again. But you kept them firmly to your side.
Your brows furrowed into a glare. “Business, business, hmm.” You snapped. “It’s all my father and you ever talk about!” The last sentence was particularly icy.
This time Michael caught onto the increase of snark in your voice. He looked at you carefully, he was quiet as he assessed the sudden coldness emitting from you before choosing to speak again.
“I suppose so? Your family and mine are working together now, so it only makes sense…” Michael was sure to tread carefully with his words.
“And you know, after we get married it will only continue,” He added. 
Your eyes widened immediately, and your mouth fell open.
Oh no.
Michael’s words were practically an omission. In your mind, this was the nail in the coffin. The wave of sadness that hit you was immeasurable. Your worst fears had been confirmed. Michael was only marrying for your connections, he didn’t love you, and he never had. 
You didn’t feel the tears streaming down your face until the second one reached your chin. “So you don’t love me?” Your voice cracked.
“What?” The question caught Michael off guard, and so did the tears. He blinked. “Y/n?” This is something he clearly hadn’t anticipated.
You drew a quivering breath, clearing the air that had been trapped in the back of your throat, once it was released everything slipped out.
“How could I be so stupid?” You sobbed.
“I knew that this marriage was beneficial to your family, you have so much to benefit from this, but I never thought you would-!” You were crying at an abnormally loud level. Tears were streaming down your face as you got choked up on your words.
All the while Michael was in a state of shock. He froze momentarily, this fluctuation in emotions had been so random.
“I know what my father does for a living, I’m not stupid, I know his connections are desirable to many people, including you.” Your voice lowered suddenly. The sudden rush of hysteria you had was wearing off, now you were just filled with dejection, complete and utter dejection.
“I know you don’t feel the same I do.” You sniffed quietly. “How could you?”
“After all, I'm just a business venture, a contract… And yet.” You shook your head, stifling a laugh. “I still love you, even if I know you don’t love me.”
It was ironic, funny, almost tragic. You knew Michael wasn’t marrying you out of love or sincerity but you could never stop loving him.
You laughed again. “What am I even saying?” You felt as if you had been rambling incoherently, spewing utter nonsense for what felt like forever, but once you had started you couldn’t stop.
“I’m so sorry.” You whispered. You slumped back into the chair, burying your face into your hands.
Michael had been silent for most of your tirade, dropped to his knees beside you. The realization had hit him. The silence, the melancholy, the distance you had been putting between the both of you, and the reason behind it were all so clear now.
She thinks that I'm marrying her for her connections. 
He shook his head and exhaled. “Y/n.” He put his hand on your thigh, caressing it slowly. “I’m disappointed to hear that.” He said sadly.
“I’m sorry.” You sniffed.
“No, no, no.” Michael pinched the bridge of his nose with his other hand. “I’m not disappointed in you.”
The disappointment Michael felt was not aimed at you but at himself. A deep shame wallowed in his chest after hearing your confession. He was ashamed that you felt that way, ashamed that he made you feel that way, and ashamed that he had failed to notice.
She thinks of herself as a business venture. Michael swallowed bitterly. His heart ran cold. His guts tangled into a knot. He felt sick. Michael’s mouth went dry as he analyzed you silently. A minute passed before he finally said something.
“Y/n will you please look at me.” He asked softly.
You shook your head, refusing to honor his request. You didn’t move an inch. You were too afraid to look up, deathly afraid to look at his face and whatever expression he had on. You wish he would just leave you to sob in the confines of his father’s office but you could still feel his presence by your chair and you knew he wasn’t going anywhere.
Michael sighed. He removed his hand from your thigh and placed it on your cheek. You shivered at his touch, but you still refused to look up.
“Do you really believe that I'm marrying you because of your father’s business connections?” Michael’s voice was at a whisper now.
“That’s why you’ve been so distant lately hmm?” He began to caress circles on your cheek. “You believe that I’m doing this strictly for business purposes.”
“And do you really believe that I don’t love you?” He said bitterly.
You cringed, slouching into your chair even more, you wished you could sink into the chaie and disappear. He sounded angry. You began to worry that this would lead to an argument, perhaps it hadn’t been the best to break down at this very moment.
But the next words from Michae’s mouth weren’t ones of anger in fact they sounded quite regretful.
“I’m sorry.” He said. “I’m really sorry.” There was great despair in his voice. 
“I’ve made you feel as if you are nothing more than a trading piece.” Michael exhaled. He couldn’t remember a specific time or day he had behaved in a manner that made you feel less than, but he clearly had, and it had made you so insecure that you felt as if he didn’t love you.
“Y/n,” He said firmly. He knew he had to rectify the situation, he couldn’t have you believing that he didn’t love you. “My family business is important, but so are you.”
“I care about you.”
“I really do.”
He cares about me? You sniffed. 
The level of sincerity was enough to lull you out of your state, but not enough to entirely draw you out. You weren’t fully convinced. He cared about you but did he love you? Did he love you as you loved him? Or was he lying merely to appease you? 
Michael was a gentleman but being a businessman also meant he knew how to lie, and lie very well. You only hoped the latter was true. It had to be for your sake.
“You care about me?” You said slowly. Your face rose from your hands, you let out one final sniff, and exhaled, hoping to gain a bit of courage. “But do you love me?” You questioned. You had to know for sure.
“When we get married could you bring yourself to love me? And don’t lie to me.”
You felt your chest tighten as you looked at Michael who was still kneeling on the floor beside you. Your eyes met his, Michael’s eyes locked deeply into yours and you felt small under his gaze but you dared not to look away. Your breath hitched. You had never experienced a heart attack but you were sure this is what it felt like as you awaited his answer.
Michael examined you properly now as you sat up, you were still slightly hunched over in the chair and your hair was down, now ruffled and messy, it covered the right side of your face. Your eyes were puffy and red. The dim lighting of the room cast a shadow across you, heightening the expression of anticipation on your face and the look of worry, as well as dread.
Then Michael finally spoke. “Y/n, I don’t have to bring myself to love you, because I already do, connections be damned.”
“I’ve loved you for so long, even before I asked  your father for your hand in marriage.” Michael took your hands from your lap and bought them up to his lips. He planted a small kiss on them.
You looked at Michael as your hands sat stalely in his. Michael held his breath as he watched you look into his eyes, he prayed that you would what you were looking for, what had always been there.
At that moment there was a mutual silence between the two of you. You searched Michael’s eyes for any hint of deceit or duplicity, you prowled for any signs that indicated he was lying, but you couldn’t find it. 
In his eyes lay nothing but awe and adoration for you. The look on his face was one of passion and honesty. This wasn’t the face of a man who was lying, this was the face of a man who loved you.
"You really do care for me?' You said quietly. The way the words rolled off your tongue sounded as if you were trying to speak a foreign language. You sounded as if you still couldn’t believe it.
"I do." Michael nodded. "And, once again, I’m sorry that I made you doubt my feelings for you.” He apologized again.
“You want to marry me?” You perked up a little, the warmth was returning to your chest, and your heart rate had begun to still. “You really want to marry me?” You asked again as you squeezed Michael’s hand.
Michael smiled. “Do you think I am the kind of man who would make a commitment to a woman for the rest of my life if I didn’t feel anything for her?” He brushed the hair out of your face and placed it behind your ear.
“Y/n, my feelings for you extend past any business venture,” Michael stated as he leaned and kissed your forehead.
You couldn’t help but crack a small.
Michael loved you.
Michael loved you!
“Can you say that again?” You requested gingerly.
Michael stopped kneeling on the floor and stood up. “Say what?” He questioned, looking down at you.
“That you love me? Please?”
The verbal declaration of Michael’s love for you had washed away all your doubts and lingering worries. Hearing him say three simple words left you feeling euphoric, it felt exhilarating. You wanted to hear him say it again.
“I love you.” Said, Michael. “I’ll say it a thousand more times if you wish.” He smiled.
You nodded. “Yes, do it again.”
“I love you,”
“I love you,”
“I love you.”
Each time he said it, a different wave of joy hit you. You wiped what was left of the tears from your eyes and stood up. You leaned into Michael, burying your face into his chest. Michael wrapped his arms around you and held you tightly.
You felt safe in his arms, you felt happy, you felt loved. The feeling lasted all through the night, even when the both of you returned to the party and people asked why your eyes were so red. You didn’t really care though, Michael loved you, that’s all that mattered.
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This story was an ungodly level of long and cringe.
Anyways hope you enjoyed it.
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Who do you think can do the best Miguel impression on campus?
I'm guessing Pavi his Miguel impression is probably HILARIOUS
Hobie as runner up because Hobie faking an American accent is always funny because he's makes everyone sound like they're from either Fargo, Texas, or an Italian New Yorker
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Pavi is so good at it if he does it on comms everyone will think it's Miguel and responds jojvpvujkn
Even better is Miguel being in his office doing actual real work that needs to be done only for his watch to go off in HIS OWN VOICE like 'Yes, there's a pizza and ice cream party in the cafeteria-'
And Miguel hops on the comms like 'Pavi! Cut it out, now!' only for Pavitr to answer dying of laughter
Meanwhile Lyla is like 'woooah he's good I almost thought that was you migs'
Even better if Pavi is SO good he can get past Miguel's voice authorizations on his computer (or rather Lyla knows it's not him but let's Pavi in anyway cause it's funny)
Sometimes he signs in and changes Miguel's screensaver to a silly random photo but it's always the same photo and it pisses Miguel off to no end
Like he'll change his screensaver to Nosferatu and tells Miguel it's like he's 'looking in a mirror' every time Miguel minimizes his browser and realize Pavi's done it again
I love Mentor Miguel and Lil Shit Pavi
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