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twilight-orchid · 3 years

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How The Demon Brothers React After Fighting With Their SO

tw: some angst with resolution at the end, mentions of past arguments, insecurity.

Lucifer:

This man is petty as hell.

He doesn’t do the silent treatment, but he acts like you aren’t dating.

If you need to work on something together, you’re a co-worker.

At RAD you’re a classmate.

Around the house you’re just a housemate.

His poker face is immaculate and it will not crack when you’re around.

If someone didn’t know what was happening, they’d probably think you two barely knew each other.

However, you won’t notice, but as soon as you look the other way his eyes are on you.

He’s used to arguing with his brothers and is no stranger to explosive fights that end with he and the other person not being on speaking terms.

But you’re different.

He tries to go on with business as usual, but he can’t think about anything other than how much he misses you.

Yet, he lets it continue because he just can’t put his pride aside and apologize.

If you decide to sleep in your old room it’ll both hurt his feelings and royally piss him off.

He thinks you’re being childish and will be pretty rude about it, but that’s because internally his blood just ran cold.

It adds a degree of seriousness to the argument that he’s uncomfortable with.

Yes he’s mad, but he can’t lose you.

If you still sleep in his bed, he makes sure to scoot over to the very edge so he doesn’t cuddle you in his sleep.

In fact, the first night after the argument he’d probably put a pillow between you just to really punctuate the fact that he’s still upset.

I’d say it could go 4 days to a week tops without you making up.

After a point though, he just can’t function until the issue is resolved. He can’t sleep, he’s falling behind on his work, and he’s just generally not doing well.

You get called to his office one night and find him at his desk surrounded by piles of paper, disheveled and exhausted.

“MC, come sit down. I’d like to talk this through. Please.”

Mammon:

He’s so dramatic.

You dare defy him? The Great Mammon can’t believe this tiny fragile human would have the audacity.

The theatrics are just a front though.

His ‘The Great Mammon’ act is a mask for his insecurity, one he hasn’t had to use with you in awhile.

Even as the words leave his mouth he regrets them.

He’s going to be very uncomfortable with everything until the argument is resolved, but most of all himself.

He’s learned not to take his brothers too seriously when they toss insults his way, but words have a way of morphing to belief over time.

Internally he is going to be super hard on himself.

Regardless of if the fight was his fault or not, he’s going to kick himself constantly for making yet another mistake.

He’s over the argument pretty fast. The anger quickly melts into anxiety.

Are you going to leave him? Do you hate him? Did he hurt your feelings?

That being said, he doesn’t know if you’re still mad and he doesn’t know how to ask.

As a defense mechanism, he defaults to how he treated you when you first arrived in the devildom.

Calls you human, disregards you, stuff like that.

If you decide to sleep in another room, before midnight expect him to be knocking on the door.

“Oi, MC. You awake? I just - I can’t - *sigh* Can we talk about this?”

If you sleep in his bed, he makes a point of sleeping with his back to you.

Less because he’s actually mad and more because he doesn’t want his image of you as he drifts to sleep to be a look of anger.

Though as soon as he passes out he’ll roll over and tuck you into his arms on instinct.

I’d say any after effects of an argument with Mammon would be resolved in a day, maybe two tops.

Leviathan:

Arguing activates his trolling the forums mode.

Goes back to calling you a normie and contradicts everything you say.

He’s less mad about the argument and more using the bitterness to cope with how upset he is.

He feels like a break up is less of an if and more of a when.

Why would someone as amazing as you settle for weird otaku like him?

Honestly doesn’t understand why you’re with him in the first place, so when there’s a serious argument he assumes its over.

Tbh don’t know how you and Levi would sleep together being that I doubt two could fit in a tub, but any deviation to your routine sends him into a panic.

It’s his reality check that the situation is serious and he needs to fix it NOW.

He’d have trouble apologizing in person. He can’t think of what to say, he stumbles over his words, and he feels like he’s on the verge of a panic attack.

Instead, expect a long ass text message.

He says how sorry he is, how much he misses and loves you, and legit begs you to forgive him.

If you sleep with him like normal, he’ll probably try to make up after laying there for awhile. His mind is going a million miles an hour and there’s no way he can sleep.

Still really has trouble verbalizing how he feels, so give the poor boy a break and take over the conversation.

He hasn’t had a serious relationship before and he doesn’t know what he should do to make it better.

So the after effects will last however long it takes him to read several mangas, watch some anime, and play a few games to see how the characters get over arguments in the story.

Satan:

Satan makes sure not to fight with you over minor issues.

He’s worked tirelessly to tame his wrath and he refuses to feed into it over a minor issue.

Thus, if you fight with Satan it’s a major argument and it’s explosive.

The aftermath isn’t much better.

He doesn’t want to risk blowing up again, so he’s frighteningly calm.

He’s an absolute master of the silent treatment.

He won’t say a word to you until he’s certain he’s calmed down enough.

For the first few days he’ll straight up leave a room if you enter.

For a good while the only way you can expect to communicate with him is through his body language and the expression in his eyes.

Satan’s biggest fear is losing control and lashing out at you.

He couldn’t live with himself if he hurt you and he can’t stand the thought of you being afraid of him.

He’s a whirlwind of emotions, so he isolates himself until he can figure out how to deal with it.

Not just from you, but from everyone else too.

Satan will not share a bed with you for at least the first night.

If he got worked up enough to actually fight, it’s gonna take him time to simmer down.

And he’d rather not risk doing or saying something he regrets in the meantime.

Once he’s ready, he’ll approach you when he’s completely calmed down and has thoroughly analyzed the situation.

He’s considered both of your sides, tried to pinpoint what caused the disagreement to turn into a fight, and made a plan of action to prevent it from happening again.

“MC? I’ve been thinking quite a bit about what happened. Would you please talk it through with me?”

He won’t apologize for the argument if he feels like he was right, but he will apologize for letting the disagreement escalate into a fight.

Satan could go weeks without making up if necessary, but he tries to resolve it within a couple of days.

Asmodeus:

Wants to give you the silent treatment, but is physically incapable.

He can’t stand to have you ignore him.

He’s the type to go back to normal then suddenly remembers you guys had a fight.

“Wait, no! I’m not talking to you! I’m mad at you!”

His biggest downfall is that he’s so stubborn.

If he thinks he was right, he will die on that hill.

There are arguments with his brothers that happened a thousand years ago and he could still tell you exactly why he was right.

But with you, he realizes that doesn’t matter too him nearly as much as it usually does.

If it means going back to normal, he’ll forget who’s right or wrong.

If you sleep in another room, he’s beyond offended.

“What?! Well fine! I don’t want you in my bed anyway!”

Laying in bed alone is a different story though.

He can’t sleep. All he can think about is you. Your face when you sleep next to him, your smell, the feeling of his arms around you.

He 100% cries.

Finally goes and knocks on your door with wet, glossy eyes.

“MC? Can we talk about this? I can’t get my beauty sleep and my tears are wiping off all of my skin care lotion!”

Will throw himself into your arms before you can answer.

If you sleep next to him still, he rolls over and watches you sleep.

It puts him at peace and he decides seeing your sweet, resting face every morning is worth more to him than the argument.

He’ll initiate the conversation the next morning.

I think Asmo could make it a few days if it was a really serious argument, but he will not function well until you make up.

Beelzebub:

Wants to make up immediately.

He doesn’t like to argue, even less so with you.

Whether he was right or wrong, he blames himself. He’ll take all the blame in the world if it makes you happy.

He’ll go make you your favorite food and bring it to you.

If he thinks you don’t want to talk to him, he’ll leave it outside your door and text you to let you know it’s there.

He’s honestly devastated if you decide to sleep in another room.

You guys migrate to your old room when you want privacy from Belphie, but you almost never sleep separately.

Seeing you grab your pillows and march out of the room nearly stops his heart.

He goes completely numb and silent as he just stares at the space you had just occupied.

Like Levi, he thinks this means the relationship is over and he genuinely does not know what to do with himself.

He can’t even bring himself to eat, he just wants to lie there, lost and trying to grapple with his emotions.

He’s another one who will absolutely cry, but unlike Asmo he will make sure no one knows it.

If you still sleep in his bed, he’s very nervous about it.

He doesn’t know if it’s okay to touch you, what he can or can’t say, stuff like that.

He just lays there stiff as a board not even able to close his eyes.

Honestly the fight would probably have to be resolved before bed. His anxiety just can’t take it.

I don’t think he’d initiate the apology. Not because he doesn’t want to make up but because his confidence is rock bottom in these situations.

He catastophizes and honestly thinks you hate him.

If you don’t initiate the apology soon, Belphie will. He can feel what his twin won’t say, and he knows Beel won’t approach you about it for fear of making it worse.

Belphie will lock you two in a room if that’s what it takes for you to make up.

Belphegor:

The embodiment of if looks could kill.

He won’t talk to you, won’t look at you, basically pretends you aren’t there.

If he must interact with you he’ll roll his eyes and sigh the whole time.

Tries to sleep through any interaction so he doesn’t have to deal with it.

He feels almost betrayed by the fight.

He thought the relationship was stronger than to have such a huge divide, so he’s really insecure about it.

After the first day, the anger has melted away to guilt.

He ‘s not guilty that you fought, but he is guilty about how he treated you after.

Guilt and self-blame have become unwelcome friends at this point. Guilt over Lilith, over his plans to destroy the human world, everything.

But more than anything else, the guilt for the fact that he attacked you weighs on him every day.

He moved past it quickly after, essentially pretending he hadn’t killed you, but that’s because he just couldn’t confront what he’d done.

He feels like the luckiest demon alive that you forgave him, let alone opened you heart enough to love him, and now it’s all in tatters.

Another thing to regret.

If you decide to sleep separately, it’ll hit him like a bag of bricks.

“You - what? Where are you going?”

It’ll take him a second to process what you were doing, but then he’ll roll over and let you leave.

“Fine. Don’t let the door hit you.”

No one will see him for awhile.

Belphie sleeps all the time anyway, but he just can’t make himself get out of bed.

If you don’t approach him to apologize, Beel will tell you that he’s been nauseous and randomly emotional which must mean his twin is coping very badly.

Will beg you to go make Belphie happy again.

If you sleep in his bed still, the argument will be resolved by morning.

He can’t keep himself from embracing you in his sleep, and it’s hard to say you’re mad at someone when you wake up in their loving arms.

It’s hard to pinpoint how long it could last with Belphie. If you don’t apologize first, he won’t let himself be conscious long enough to approach you.

This is both my first hc post as well as my first obey me post so I’m sorry if le boys are ooc. I just got this idea and couldn’t stop thinking about it so here we are. Especially Belphie, he was hard to me for some reason. Let me know if you guys agree or disagree and if you want to send a request or ask, my box is open!

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dreamkidddream · 4 years

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Hi I love love LOVE your blog would you maybe do all the obey me brothers x reader yandere wise?

Hi anon! Thank you for the love I really appreciate it!! I know I sound like a broken record, but I was so nervous to start this blog and I’m so happy that people are enjoying my writings. So this request was kinda vague (and it’s my first yandere request!), so I’m assuming you mean general headcannons being in a relationship with the brothers (separately) being yandere. If I’m wrong, just send in the request again with some more details and I’ll be happy to redo it. Reader is gender neutral and I hope you enjoy!

Sidenote: Beel’s and Belphie’s part is a little bit short. Sorry!

TW: Unhealthy relationships, toxic behavior, yandere behavior but not too graphic is mentioned

Spoilers for Lesson 9-11 (mentioned in Satan’s) and Lesson 16 (mentioned in Mammon’s, Beel’s and Belphie’s)

Yandere HC’s with The Bros

So let me begin by saying this: I think that all demons are very territorial and even more so possessive. The brothers no doubt all love you, but you couldn’t help but realize that their way of love was starting to get just a tad bit worrying. I mean, you knew that they were demons and that they wouldn’t dream of hurting you (again), but it was starting to feel...intense. After all, they were just starting to express openly how they feel. You tried to give them the benefit of the doubt, but it was scary. They were determined that you were going to know just how much they love you...

And you were going to accept it, whether you wanted to or not.

Lucifer

Very controlling

You thought he was strict before, please, you haven’t seen anything yet

It went from telling you when to eat to downright constantly being in his presence. You were pretty much living in his room at this point, with the exception of leaving for school where he was your only escort

He was the embodiment of Pride, he took in pride in everything that he does, which included you. He was the reflection of perfection, and he were going to make sure that you and your relationship with him would reflect that too

He couldn’t help it. He was the oldest and the brother in charge, and that control transferred into your relationship. There was no room for backtalk or disobedience with him, it was his word, and his word was final

But, it was coming from a good place (in his eyes). He only wanted the best for you, because you deserved the best. And you’re a human, one of the weakest beings to ever exist that demons wouldn’t hesitate to rip limb from limb for fun. And he already lost you once due to his negligence. If he was there, if he knew what you were up to, if he knew your every move, then it wouldn’t have taken place. If he takes control, you would be safe. Sure, you would complain about wanting your “freedom” back (relax MC, he didn’t lock you up yet), but this was the best course of action.

Being the Avatar of Pride and the oldest (and most powerful) of all the brothers, Lucifer was intimidating. He knew the power and the weight that his name holds in the Devildom, he wasn’t Diavolo’s right hand man for nothing. So with that being said, he didn’t have to worry about any lesser demon even thinking about trying to take you away.

He didn’t see anyone as competition. Psh, do you see who he is? If anything, he sees these “competitors” as nuisances. Annoyances that didn’t know how to go away when they noticed that they weren’t welcomed. They weren’t going to take you away, they won’t even get the chance to be physically close to you, but...

He didn’t have a problem in making an example out of one or two people, as a matter of fact he relished it in. Have them on display for the whole Devildom to see. After looking at their disfigured and nearly destroyed bodies, the message is made clear: to make sure that it’s known that you are off limits completely

He loves you MC, and you may not understand that when he hovers over you, demanding that you never leave his sight, when he makes it to where none of your friends talk to you anymore (when they see you both walking, they immediately turn the other way like they haven’t seen you at all), and even when your time with the other brothers is limited to the point where you see him and only him, but he truly does love you

Lucifer loves you. He let his walls down and even swallowed his pride when he admitted this to you, and he doesn’t want to regret it. Which is why he had to be the dominant force in this relationship. He wasn’t going to lose you again, he refused to. No one was going to take you away from him, lest they incur the wrath of the firstborn

Mammon

This demon was already clingy, so just amp it up to an 1000

Mammon already gets picked on by demons, witches, and even his own family. So when you started to defend and comfort him, he was smitten. You, a mere human, making the Great Mammon feel butterflies in his stomach? Had you told Mammon this 100s of years ago that he would fall in love with a human, he would have laughed in your face and blew you off. But here he was, head over heels in love with you

He was already following you, since he was deemed your protector, and he took that title very seriously.

“Oi MC, stay close with me, that creep’s walking too close.” “Human, ‘ya need to let me walk with you every class, what if some no-good demon’s plannin’ something and I’m not there?!” “MC, stay away from that scumbag, I don’t like him being near you...”

Your safety wasn’t a game, it wasn’t a risk he would be taking like he’s playing a game of poker. No. He loves you, and he hasn’t felt this kind of warmth since his days in the Celestial Realm. If it means that he would never leave your side (and trust me, he’s not complaining), then he was happy about it. Ecstatic even. You were a pure soul and you made him smile everyday, he wasn’t willing to lose you by a longshot

He escalated from being a puppy to a growling rabid demon, baring his fangs at anyone he deemed a threat (which was starting to be an alarming rate of people, even people that you both personally knew). Mammon would always have some sort of grip on you, ready to pull you away under the guise that he was defending you. It got to a point where it just seemed like he was always on edge, just picking fights for no reason, and it got to the point where you confronted him about it. These people were your friends! They weren’t random demons trying to eat you alive, they weren’t trying to torture you for entertainment, and you are your own person! You’re not just some possession, and you’re not a child! You can take care of yourself-

He didn’t like that at all

You didn’t understand it, you’re a weakling compared to everyone here, and you wouldn’t make it by yourself (was Belphie not enough proof of that statement?!). You needed Mammon, and he was going to be there protecting you, whether you wanted it or not. He failed once, and got a second chance, and he wasn’t going to waste it. And if you didn’t want his protection, that’s okay. You’ll grow to live and love him soon enough

Many people forget that while Mammon does act childish and does rather stupid things at times, he is the second born. The second most powerful brother right after Lucifer himself. He won’t (or at least tries not to) do these acts in front of you, no. He knows how vulnerable you can be, you’re not used to seeing vicious acts like these in front of you, but he is. Your classmate that wanted to do a study date for a big test? He’s trying to curse you so he can hurt you Canceled last minute and unenrolled from the class next day. Beel’s teammate that asked you for your number? He obviously wants to get some inside info to harm you Bones broken beyond repair to the point where he couldn’t play Fangol anymore and left in despair (you were only trying to plan a surprise for Beel since he’s been working so hard). The demon that accidentally bumped into you on the street? He tried to attack you and Mammon stepped in before it got worse You personally saw what he was capable of before you begged him to stop.

All in all, he’s the Avatar of Greed, it’s in his nature to be selfish. Before, he hated himself for how low his sin would make him feel, but damn did it feel good to indulge in it with it came to you

Leviathan

Out of all the bros to go yandere, he would be one of the worst to encounter. Good luck MC, cause you’re gonna need it dealing with his yandere side

Being that his sin is jealousy, it’s just a disaster waiting to happen. Why were you ALWAYS talking to his brothers and not him?! It’s not fair, it’s not fair!-

On top of that, he can be very manipulative, and he knows it. Whenever he talks down on himself, saying that he can understand why you would want to talk to other people instead of him. After all, he’s just a icky otaku who’s a worthless excuse for the third strongest brother-

Whenever he has this spouts, he knows that you’ll drop everything and come reassure him. You can always reschedule, he needs you now

With Levi, he knows what he’s doing is wrong, but he can’t help it, and he doesn’t care to. It took him so long to find real affection, and even then he still had his suspicions. You don’t really care for him if you keep trying to leave him, you don’t! Clearly, your love was just an act. If you really did love him, then wouldn’t you spend all of your time with him and no one else?

He knew that you couldn’t physically be with him forever, you weren’t immortal after all. But that didn’t mean that you couldn’t spend your remaining time with him. You could switch to online classes like him, constant anime and TSL marathons, and you could even watch him stream live! That sounded like heaven (ironically) to him and it would make him beyond happy, so why aren’t you agreeing with him? You would do this if Mammon asked or even if your hex classmate begged you too, so why not do it for him?? Was he not enough for you?! He knew that someone would try to steal you, and there will be hell to pay

Another thing, Levi was smart. Granted, not as book smart as Satan, but he was smart and sly. Always being stuck in his room, it gave him the chance to be stealthy since no one ever expects him to leave (unless it was for a rare appearance at RAD for student council meetings or something he was actually excited for and wouldn’t shut up about it). This gives him time for what needs to be done: collecting some “personal souvenirs” for himself and getting rid of some scum

Levi is like Mammon, many people forget that not only is he the third strongest, but he is the Grand Admiral of Hell’s Navy. They just don’t see him in this position of power because of his image as the shut-in otaku who fanboys over Ruri-Chan. But when he breaks out of that mentality, people should worry...

He doesn’t like to be super messy, his route is silent but quick. Doesn’t mean that it would be painless though, just quick and without much of a mess. Being an reptile/aquatic demon does have its perks, especially when it comes to using his venom

Levi, while he struggles with openly expressing his feelings, won’t have that much of an issue showing you how he feels. He may not be able to say it with words confidently, but he can definitely show you how he truly feels by never letting you go

Satan

Another one to where if he went yandere, he would be the worst to deal with

Satan, while he had a better handle on his emotions, still struggled from time to time. He is the Avatar of Wrath, and yes, you all didn’t feel like you had to walk on eggshells when conversing with him, it didn’t mean that you could just say or do anything

He still reacted in his angry ways, but it wasn’t nearly as ruthless as how it was before. For example, if you spilled something on him by accident, he’ll be just a little irritated, but after looking at your guilty expression, it would slowly drift away. He knows that you aren’t idiotic like some of his brothers , and it was you, he couldn’t stay mad at you no matter how much he tried. It would eat at him, anger turning into sadness, then clarity and understanding. And you were to thank for that

After the whole body swap fiasco, he gotten better with understanding emotions other than the usual fury that flowed through his body. And the ones that you would make him feel got him addicted, to say the least

Like Levi, he starts to understand that what he is doing can’t be right, but he doesn’t understand why. Satan, one of (if not) the smartest of the brothers, could not figure out what you were making him feel, until it finally hit him when you said the three words he desperately didn’t know that he needed to hear:

“Thank you so much, Satan! Seriously, I love you.”

This feeling became much clearer now. This...was how true love felt? Like the ones that he read so much about? This was like a dream come true then. He, a demon that born from literal wrath, was receiving genuine love. Someone loved him, and he refused to let that go.

He would occupy your time and space more, always offering to help you study for some tests or completing assignments, and even inviting you to come read with him. This was fine, it wasn’t an issue.

What was the issue was how territorial he was getting of you. Whenever someone else wanted to hang out or just be in your presence, Satan would lose his cool. It would start out slowly building with him making snarky comments out loud, saying that they were boring you and wasting your time when you could be with him. Then it would lead to him lingering around, sticking close to your side by either grasping your hand or, if he was feeling extra possessive, an arm wrapped tightly around your waist with him giving a threatening look at the offender. If none of these things were working however (Diavolo forbid if the person was ignoring him or even acting smug), he was ready to explode.

He didn’t want to scare you anymore than he already had. Satan knew that in the past that he used his reputation as the Avatar of Wrath to strike fear into people, including you when you first arrived here. But he was a new demon! He couldn’t make his anger or wrath go away, but he could control it and find new ways to release it instead of the usual rampages. And he wanted to prove to you that he wasn’t just the rage-filled demon, but a man that was more than capable of loving you

But he couldn’t, he wouldn’t, let this person get off scot-free. You noticed how tense he was getting, and before you could even blink he already had them dangling by their neck. You could make out some of the things he was saying, “How dare you think you can take MC away from me?! I won’t hesitate to end your pathetic existence if you so much as glance at them-”. He could feel you tugging at him, pleading at him to please calm down and that you could both just leave-

Well, why didn’t you say so earlier MC? All of this could have been avoided if you were just with him this entire time instead of this filth. As long as you kept giving him this euphoric feeling and have him feeling like he’s on Cloud 9, then everything will be fine. A non-rampaging Satan is a happy Satan, and a happy Satan is good for you and everyone around. Just stay in his presence, just give him love, and everything will be peaceful.

Satan is not a merciful demon, and when he acts on his wrath it gets very gruesome. If you want people to keep their body parts attached and not scattered across the Devildom (and not find their bloody heart at your door since they wanted you to have it so much), then don’t stray away from him. When Satan is with you, he feels content with everything, and he doesn’t want that to change. He wants you to be happy with him like he is with you, and he won’t let anyone get in the way of that

You were the beauty to his beast, and he was going to get his happy ever after, even if he had to tear through and rip apart every single person in the way, one by one

Asmodeus

Getting the Avatar of Lust to fall in love with you is a feat that was rarely (if not ever) obtained. It was both a blessing and a curse

A blessing to where you got the treasured fifth born to show you just how much he appreciates you for you, and only wanted your eyes set on him. A curse to where he only wanted your attention, and was furious if your eyes wandered off him for a millisecond.

You knew how Asmo was, he lived for the attention, the spotlight on him and only him, with people announcing their undying love and affection just for him. But there was a glaring problem with this

Asmo wanted you announcing your undying love and affection just for him. He loved his fans, but he didn’t love them like he loved you, and that was a problem for him. You made him fall in love with you, so it’s only fair that you deal with it, right? It’s only fair to love him as much as he did you right? Really, you were the one that was suppose to be madly in love with him, not the other way around

It doesn’t matter what you answered, loving him was the only choice that you had. Your head should be filled with thoughts of Asmo, your attention only set on him, your pretty lips only speaking praises and “I love you” just for him, you should dedicated to Asmo and only Asmo

What did you do to make him fall so hard for you? He’s no stranger to having flings and the feeling of love in general. In the past, he’s convinced himself that he was in love with certain people, but it would never last, the “love” that he felt fleeting. So for you to make him feel this emotion, to feel this true love for so long and it not leave him yet frightened him so much. He wanted you to need him, to feel like he’s your very reason to breath, to live.

And he hated it when other people took your attention away

Asmo definitely wasn’t the one to be messy (he still has to look his best and some pieces of trash was not about to change that), so he lets his charm do the job, literally. Who could deny his request when he tells them that they should just leave MC alone forever, and that maybe they should go pay Cerberus a visit if they’re so desperate for some attention.

All in all, Asmo is borderline delusional that loving him is by giving him your attention, always and forever. He loves you, and the bare minimum that you’ve been giving him (in his eyes) isn’t enough anymore. He deserves your love and affection at all times, even if it means that he would be the only person in your life, then that was even better. Your love was only fitted for perfection, and he was perfection, no one else

Beelzebub

Okay, so Beel is already the nicest brother out of the bunch, so I think he would be the least concerning yandere to worry about

He’s already soft when it comes to you and his family, and he’s protective of you

He’s very, very protective of you

Beel, although he’s among the youngest, is one of the strongest physically. He’s muscular and the tallest out of the family. He doesn’t even need to open his mouth to threaten anyone, he can just stand there and stare menacingly in the background, and whoever was there would run for the hills

He’s always around you, which isn’t a bad thing. All he does is eat (which he offered to share and even feed to you), make small talk, and walk with you to wherever you needed to go. Besides, to you Beel is a big cuddly teddy bear (just with really sharp teeth). He wouldn’t hurt anyone without reason. As long as no one was trying to take you away or hurt you, then everything was fine.

He is willing to share you, but only with Belphie. He’s used to sharing with his twin, and he loved the both of you too much to be completely selfish with you. Plus, he knew that Belphie loved you too. This was the perfect reality for him: having you, his twin, and food. It makes him and Belphie happy, and they’ll make you happy along with keeping you safe

Now, if someone did have the courage to try anything with you, Beel would have no problems eliminating the issue. He’s a nice guy, but he won’t tolerate anything if it deals with his family. He’ll be conscious enough to where he won’t handle it in front of you, if anything he won’t even leave a trace. He’s the Avatar of Gluttony after all, he always has an appetite.

Beel is a very understanding, but also very wary, guy. After the Fall and losing his baby sister Lilith and having Belphie taken too, he’s terrified that something can and is bound to happen to you again. He will be ready this time, he won’t take anything else as an answer. You’ll still have your freedom, and you can still hang around some of your friends (at least for now), but just know that Beel will always be around. He’ll be like your second shadow, and always on the go. He loves you, and he refuses to lose anyone else that he loves.

Belphegor

This man was already yandere, let’s be real

After the whole situation happened and he was given a second chance to build a real relationship with you, he wasn’t going to screw it up. Believe it or not, despite his laziness, he was going to try his hardest to create a genuine bond with you. Actions speak louder than words after all, and he wanted to show you how much he’s changed. He was indebted to you, you gave him the chance to be with Beel again, and to get out of that cursed attic (even though he did kill you afterwards and was playing you like a fool)

Very possessive and very selfish. If he had to share, it would only be with his twin obviously. No one else was going to have you, and he would make sure that was a fact. After all, all he needed was you and Beel, no one else

Also like Levi, very manipulative. He doesn’t want to be that way, but if it keeps you by his side and no one else’s then oh well, he’ll get over it. If it has to be done, it has to be done

You don’t need to go to that party with Asmo, it’s time for your nightly cuddle sessions. Don’t go with that idiot Mammon, he wants his cuddles now. Why are you going with Diavolo and Lucifer? Are you forgetting what they did to him, what his dear older brother did to him to save face? See what you did, you made him sad, maybe if you take a nap with him and forget about everyone else he’ll start to feel a little bit better...

He’s lazy, but don’t take his laziness for weakness. If someone is really starting to become a bother, he’ll happily eradicate the threat. He’ll leave the body behind too, he wouldn’t feel like cleaning up. Plus, he would be proud of his work. Many people think that just because his sin is Sloth is that he’s a puny demon, but they also forget that he’s one of the most powerful demons to even grace Hell. And like Satan, he’s not very merciful. He won’t be as savage and bloodthirsty like him, but he’ll make sure that the problem goes in an agonizing way.

MC, just know that Belphie loves you for you, and not because of the Lilith revelation. His words may not come across like he does, but what he doesn’t say with his words, he makes up for in action. I mean, you don’t have to worry about other demons being a pain because he’ll make sure that they’ll go away, and plus you can just stay in their room! Studies show that sleeping next to someone you love is super healthy and helps you sleep better in general, and who else is better for the job than him?

He’s going to prove to you that he really loves you, he’s not going to make any more mistakes, and he’s not going to have any more regrets when it comes to you, he’s going to make sure of that. No one is going to get in the way of the ideal dream: just you, him, and Beel. Not random demons, not the other exchange students, not even Diavolo. No one was getting in the way, no one.

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sweetsouya · 3 years

Text

SUGOAKU

A/N: I have been having major issues with my reblogs of my work not appearing in tags (i had 74 notes on the og). So I am seeing if a compete, fresh post of it, will work … fingers crossed.

Likes are nice but reblogs is what keeps artist alive …

Parings: Souya x Reader

Words (currently): 2786

Other notes: The reader’s gender, ethnicity etc isn’t stated, its 100% you, no matter who you are! HOWEVER, this work depicts adult, 28 year old Souya and Nahoya, where they’re running their ramen shop, therefore, I will be making the reader and adult too, and around their age.

CHAPTER 1 - KIMCHI

[Reader] recently returned to Japan, after having been living abroad for a number of years. [Reader] found themselves living back in their old neighborhood of Meguro. It felt good being back in familiar surroundings, like many areas of Tokyo, things were constantly changing. There was a mixture of new establishments, along with old favourites. One of the new establishments was recommended to her by a neighbor, a ramen shop called, Sugoaku.

It had not long ago and was finding success fairly quickly, which in [reader]’s humble opinion was a good thing. Starting a business in the food industry was difficult in any location. But in Meguro, with competing with long-standing businesses that have tested time, and popular chain restaurants. There was still a risk of the business failing. However, those behind Sugoaku appeared to know what they were doing, confident in their skills and business know-how.

Business appeared to be doing well for Sugoaku, there were always at least a small handful of patrons in the restaurant at any given time, and (in [reader]’s opinion) their product was worth visiting multiple times a week. The menu never changed too much, typical of ramen establishments, which suited [reader]’s taste anyway. Instead, they always ordered the same type of ramen: a Tonkotsu ramen with normal noodle hardness. Depending on the day, often by recommendation, additions would be added: extra nori, a soft-boiled egg, extra Negi, and even extra cha-shu. The combinations were almost limitless.

With a rapidly growing business, it was only natural that the establishment would be at full capacity, with people lining up outside for a seat, during lunch and dinner rush hours. It wasn’t [reader]’s ideal situation. They had made that mistake once before and were sorely disappointed. Therefore, they attempted to visit Sugoaku after the rush, when the business was quieting down and the atmosphere was more at ease. Such was the case as one particular evening when [reader] went to Sugoaku for possibly the fourth time that week. It was a Sunday evening, and they had (thankfully) just missed the dinner time rush.

IRASSHAIMASE~

The chorus of welcomes greeted [reader] as they entered the restaurant and gestured to the server for a seat for one person. With the rush now over, it meant that the counter was close to being fully vacant, except for the odd random man or two minding their own business as they ate. Reaching their seat, [reader] scanned the kitchen briefly, inspecting who was currently present in front of them.

“Ahhhh~!” A light-hearted voice reached their ears, “you can’t seem to get enough of us!” [Reader]’s eyes stopped in the form of a pink-haired young man behind the counter, his smile growing a little wider as he watched them. The very same smile that they thought was incredibly infectious, as a smile of their own stretched across their lips. “Indeed,” they replied, their eyes flicking around the kitchen for the pink-haired man’s accomplice. “I’m just doing my bit to support a growing business, that is all.”

The pink-haired man was about to retort before a blue-haired man intervened, “it’s very considerate of you, thank you.” He had been on the restaurant floor, assisting their server to tidy up and had come up beside [reader]. Who had not heard his approach, and was slightly startled at his sudden appearance, which was not left undetected by him. “I’m sorry,” he murmured under his breath, [reader] strained to hear it but knew it was directed at them. They threw a smile in his direction, wordlessly telling him it was fine, “you’re welcome.”

The pink and blue-haired men were the owners of Sugoaku, twin brothers of stark contrasts. The pink-haired twin was Nahoya, playful, carefree, and had an ever-present smile gracing his lips. It always seemed that nothing ever bothered him, and it was often hard to take him seriously. He also often spoke his mind a little too much and says “I’ll fucking kill you” in such a nonchalant manner, that it never sat well with the self-entitled (alcohol-driven) late-night customers. He was rather cocky with [reader]’s patronage to their business. [Reader] wasn’t so sure what to make of it at first, but soon learned that he was just teasing and was appreciative of [reader]’s loyalty.

His blue-haired twin, Souya, was completely different compared to his brother. He always looked intensely irritated, looking like he was ready to jump over the counter to beat the next customer, who Nahoya just told to die. However, despite his face and gruff voice, he was the kinder of the two. He was always polite, spoke carefully, and was the one who calmed things down whenever things got heated between his brother and a customer. He was the one [reader] felt more at ease with, it was always easy to fall into a comfortable conversation with him. Like his brother he was appreciative of [reader]’s loyalty, he was the one who personally made sure your order was taken correctly; heaven forbid a part-timer messes up your order.

Souya hummed lightly in response, passing a few empty dishes to his brother, and with his hands now free, reached for a notepad and pen in his back pocket. “What will it be today?” He asked, amusement clear in his voice. A small smile crept along with your features upon catching the tone in his voice, “hmmm…” [reader]’s eyes flickered across their menu as they tried to make a final decision. After a brief moment, they looked up at the blue-haired man and set the menu down, “I’ll have the chef’s choice.”

Souya looked lost for a brief moment but wrote down their request nevertheless. As he did so, Nahoya let out a chuckle, “and which chef’s choice would that be~?” he called out, mischief fully lacing his voice. [Reader] looked over at the elder twin, “not yours,” they responded without missing a beat. There was no way in hell that they were going to let Nahoya choose whatever he wanted in your ramen; chances are he’ll make it spicier than his signature dish.

“Lame~” Nahoya simply shrugged his shoulders and continued what he was doing. Next to [reader], Souya let out a soft hum, “so, my choice then …” he was thinking of what to put together for them. “Is that all? Or would you like your usual sides?” [Reader] nodded in response, deciding that some gyoza and small fried rice on the side would be a good idea. “Noted.” Jotting down the final request to your order, Souya nodded his head and moved to join his brother behind the counter, in the kitchen.

As [reader] waited for their order, they mindlessly scrolled through their phone before setting it down and looked around the shop, before their gaze finally came to rest upon the twin brothers working in front of them. It was always a curiosity watching them work, [reader] was sure that it was all down to the fact they were twins. They worked in unison, both mindful of each other’s space, and did not always need words to communicate with each other. They were certain that they would never get bored watching the two men work together.

“What’s with that face~?” Nahoya’s voice sang out, startling [reader] into attention. “Uh…what?” [Reader] was so engrossed in watching the two men work, that they had become unaware of themselves and their surroundings. A blush dusted their cheeks as they looked between the two, Nahoya was chuckling to himself, and Souya, although poker-faced, held an amused look in his eyes. “Ah, nothing,” [reader] busied themselves at their seat, by taking a sip of their glass of water, which just earned them more chuckles from Nahoya, “… It’s just been a long day.”

“Bro, stop it,” Souya muttered, taking note of [reader]’s embarrassment as he finished off placing the last few garnishes on top of the fried rice he had just finished cooking. He knew that his brother’s laughing was not helping the situation, and he wanted [reader] to enjoy their visits to their shop, not dread it because of his brother’s constant teasing. A playful hum came from the elder twin, indicating nothing but trouble and Souya let out a deep sigh as he placed the bowl of fried rice in front of [reader], “your Gyoza and Ramen are coming…”

“[Reader] was just admiring my good looks as always, Angry~!” If it was entirely possible, Nahoya’s Cheshire Cat-like grin just grew wider, and in turn, if it was entirely possible, [reader]’s blush deepened. “That’s why they keep coming back.” He wasn’t wrong, both brothers were good-looking but to be called out like that was typical of Nahoya trying to get a rise out of them. “Nahoya…” [Reader] groaned in further embarrassment, pressing their face into their palm, missing the threatening look Souya cast over his brother. Letting out a sigh, they turned their focus to the fried rice that Souya made, beginning to eat it while it was still hot.

Meanwhile, Souya closed in on his older brother, nudging his shoulder as he did. “Tch, bro, hurry up with [reader]’s gyoza and noodles. Remember, normal firmness.” He pressed, hoping it would get his brother to work and off [reader]’s back. He had cooked off [reader]’s fried rice, which should’ve allowed Nahoya enough time to prepare the noodles and pan fry the gyoza, so he could start assembling [reader]’s order of “chef’s choice.” But his brother’s taunting of [reader] held up the progress line a bit, which annoyed Souya; it ruined the flow and synchronisation of how the brothers worked.

“Hurry up,” Souya muttered again, leaving his brother’s side and taking a visual sweep of the restaurant, nodding to a leaving patron who was at the cashier being seen by their part-timer. The business was slowing down for the evening, nothing too unusual, the slower pace allowed the brothers to relax and enjoy their work a little more. However, it did bother Souya when his brother slacked off a little too much or became a little too playful with their patrons. He picked up the water pitcher, glancing over at [reader] ’s snow empty cup, and refilled it. “Just ignore my brother,” he grumbled to them, hoping that they weren’t too embarrassed by Nahoya’s teasing. “Don’t be afraid to show him some attitude either. Otherwise, he’ll just walk all over you.” [Reader] glanced up to the blue-haired man, giving him a small smile of thanks for the refill, and let out a small laugh. “It’s quite alright,” they replied, picking up their glass of water and taking a sip. “I’m not that bothered by his antics.” Souya hummed in reply, his eyes flickering over his shoulder to his elder, “but still, don’t hold back if it gets too much.”

[Reader] gave Souya a reassuring smile, they enjoyed their time at Sugoaku especially when they were able to talk with the twins, especially Souya. There had been several times, they had considered giving them their LINE username, in an attempt to see them outside of the business setting; however, [reader] was unsure if it was unprofessional to do so. So for now, [reader] had to settle with their visits to the restaurant. “So, Sou-,” [reader] was about to attempt to strike up a conversation with Souya before the part-timer interrupted. “Boss, new order,” they announced, passing Souya the newly written receipt. “Thanks,” Souya waved off the part-timer, as his eyes flickered over to [reader], who nodded in silent understanding. A constant and expected occurrence, the interruption from new orders. It just encouraged [reader] to take their time eating at the restaurant, the longer they stayed there, the more time they stayed with the twins.

“New order,” Souya announced to his brother and the two seamlessly got to work. Nahoya had finished the [readers] noodles and was plating up the fresh gyoza, while Souya began cooking the noodles and setting up the tray of various plates and bowls for the new order. “M’dear~” Nahoya grinned at [reader], placing the gyoza in front of them, alongside a small plate of kimchi. [Reader] looked at the kimchi for a moment in confusion, they were sure that they didn’t normally order the side dish. So why was Nahoya placing it in front of them? “My treat,” he told them, “since Souya is going to make your bowl, this is my little contribution.” [Reader] let out a small laugh, those two brothers were truly a package, you can’t have one without the other. Even though they weren’t overly keen on the spicy fermented cabbage, as it was a little too spicy for their tastes. [Reader] began to pick at it, gingerly putting small amounts into their mouth.

“You don’t need to eat it,” Souya had spotted them pick at the side dish, as he was putting together a bowl of ramen, which [reader] assumed to be their order. The blue-haired man knew that they were being polite, and wished that his brother picked a different side dish to give them; a few pieces of karaage would’ve been sufficient. [Reader] looked over at Souya and gave him a sheepish smile, “Big bro likes to make his kimchi and makes it too spicy, despite how many times I tell him.” He continued, as he worked on the bowl adding on the finishing touches. “Maybe, if he notices you not eating it, he’ll get the damn hint.”

On the other side of the kitchen, Nahoya heard everything. “Oh ho~ What’s this lil bro? Recruiting [reader] to go against my kimchi~?” He sang out, his usual light and playful voice now having a threatening edge to it. “Just because you can’t handle a little spice, doesn’t mean they can’t either. Right, [reader]~?” [reader]’s eyes flicked between the two brothers, with the elder now getting a rise out of the younger’s comments. Their eyes settled on Souya, who was now placing the bowl of fresh ramen in front of them. His eyes were apologetic and clearly over it at the same time, the subject of Nahoya’s spicy kimchi must be one that had never been resolved. “Well …” [reader] began, their eyes flickering between the brothers and back down at the kimchi. “It is good kimchi …” in unison Souya looked deflated and Nahoya straightened in triumph, “but it is a little too spicy.” The moods instantly switched when [reader] finished off their verdict. Nahoya losing his trademark grin, with Souya looking over his shoulder with a clear ‘told you so’ look on his face.

“Well that sucks!” Nahoya bounced back, his grin plastered back on his face. “That just means one thing~ [Reader] you can be my official kimchi taster,” he declared, placing the next order on the counter for the part-timer to deliver to a customer. “Oi, table 15 is ready!” It was in that instant the near confrontation over the kimchi was forgotten, Nahoya had quickly moved on and began rinsing dishes to put into the dishwasher at the back of the kitchen. “That went better than I thought it would,” Souya commented, watching his brother’s back for a brief moment before drawing his attention back to [reader]. “I have given you a modified version of my specialty.”

[Reader] looked at the bowl of ramen in front of them. It was indeed Souya’s signature dish, which was called “Angry” and was a black Tonkotsu ramen. The broth gets its colour from a mixture of black sesame seed and black garlic oil, and despite appearances, the balance between the flavours was to perfection. Neither flavour overpowered the other or the other components of the dish. It was a quick favourite of [reader]’s, as it combined two of their favourite ingredients on the planet; not that they would admit that to Souya. His signature dish was, of course, a stark contrast to his brother’s which was a white Tonkotsu ramen, which was deceivingly spicy. Having known the twins for a while now, it was always amusing to [reader] how well their representative signature dishes reflected the personalities of each twin.

“So,” Souya began listing out the toppings he added to [reader]’s bowl. “We have the usuals there: menma, negi, cha-shu, and nori. I know you like corn and egg in your ramen, so I added those to your bowl.” The fact that he remembered [reader]’s favourite toppings, made them a little warm and fuzzy on the inside. Souya must make hundreds, if not thousands of bowls a day or week even, and he still made the effort to remember their usual order and favourite toppings. “Thank you, it looks great,” they replied softly, smiling at him.

“Itadakimasu~”

#tokyo revengers #kawata souya #souya kawata #angry kawata #nahoya kawata #kawata nahoya #manga #spoilers #anime #long post

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mrsalwayswrite · 4 years

Text

It’s Always Been You (Eugene Roe x f!Reader)

I have mixed feelings about this piece. But who doesn’t love Soft Roe?

Warnings: couple swear words but PURE FLUFFY FLUFF

Words: 2700

Tag List: @happyveday @saritanotserena @sydney-m @evelynshelby

I stood in front of the mirror, unable to believe the person looking back was actually me. I brushed my hands down the front of the gown, enjoying its smooth, silky texture. Such a contrast to the stiff, dirty ODs I had become accustomed to. Light makeup on my face, something I had not indulged in for years. I looked… dare I say… beautiful. Even as I witnessed myself dress up in the mirror, I doubted my own reflection. It felt like I was someone else. Today, though, that was what I wanted.

It was a Sunday and everyone was still celebrating being in Zell Am See. We had thought Germany was beautiful but it had nothing on Austria.

In his pilfering, Captain Speirs had found an abandoned, wealthy home that he thought I might enjoy. He purposefully pulled me aside and told me to investigate the master bedroom before anyone else got to it. At my questioning look, he just gave a wink and said he would stand guard until I was done. Without another word, he lit a cigarette and rummaged through his newest acquisitions.

Intrigued and still confused, since everyone knew I did not care much about finding treasures, I wandered into the home and up the grand stairwell until I finally reached the master bedroom. My jaw dropped when I saw what he was referring to and purposefully left for me. I owed him a huge bottle of liquor after this. Whoever the wife was that lived here had expensive taste. There were racks of beautiful gowns and dresses, ranging from whimsical day dresses to breath-taking evening gowns. I spent about an hour just touching all the beautiful gowns, in awe that clothing like this was even real. Even the heels and few pieces of jewelry left behind boggled my mind in their quality. It was a fairytale. It had to be.

So, I had decided while all the men were continuing to get drunk, blow things up and joy ride…. I was going to embrace my femininity. Something I had not enjoyed since Albourne, so long ago.

Now here I stood, having spent entirely too long getting ready for some kind of elegant ball. The gown I commandeered was an emerald green color, making me feel like I was wearing a gemstone, with wide straps but left my arms bare and dipped low in the back. The red lipstick I found made my lips pop in the bright light of the bathroom. My favorite thing was the small gold chain necklace I discovered half hiding under a dresser, as if dropped and forgotten by whoever was leaving quickly. I wondered if in another life this could have been me regularly, attending socialite functions and dressing up like a princess. Instead I was used to dirt and blood marring my skin, ill-fitting ODs and a helmet that constantly slipped over my eyes.

For this moment, just for tonight… I could pretend otherwise. Pretend I was someone important, someone elegant.

When I finally stepped out of the wealthy house, Speirs took one look at the gown draped over my arm and the pair of black heels dangling from my hand, and suggested I use the officer's house to get ready in.

Taking a deep breath, I took one last look at myself in the mirror. If only my family could see me now, I thought. I slipped on the heels and walked out of the bathroom, the gown trailing lightly behind me.

Tonight was about me. Doing something special for me. To remind myself I was more than just a soldier, more than the scars I now bore from our time in combat. That I had not completely lost myself to war and its carnage. Beauty could still be found in the little things...the stolen moments. Like a stunning gown and red lipstick.

I could hear the officers downstairs, talking about something, followed by a sharp bark of laughter from Nixon. Before I disappeared into the upstairs bathroom, I had told them I was going to watch the sunset by the lake and if I came back after dark to not worry about me.

Being extra careful in the gown, I descended the stairs. One foot at a time. One nervous breath at a time. Beyond aware of how different I looked.

As I stepped into view of those lounging around, most playing poker at a table in the middle of the room, silence struck. I could feel their eyes land heavily on me.

"Holy shit." Nixon said, mouth dropped open.

I stepped down the last two steps, brushing down my gown to smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles. I tried to tease, their amazed looks making me uncomfortable. "I swear, it's like you guys have forgotten I am in fact a woman."

"Uh huh. Can't forget that right now." Nixon took a sip of his drink in hand.

Harry asked, a smirk on his face as tapped his cards against the table. "Where you going dressed like that?"

"Going to watch the sunset." I reminded them.

"Dressed like that?!" Nixon sputtered then narrowed his eyes at me. "Looks like you're planning on meeting someone."

"Does a woman have to dress up only for a man?" Before anyone could answer, I pointed a finger at the officers. "The correct answer is no. I can dress up for myself. I'll be back in a while."

"Y/n?"

I looked at Winters, surprised to see him sitting in an armchair near the fireplace reading while the other officers were playing cards. "Sir?"

"You look beautiful."

"Thank you, sir." I smiled at Winters, receiving a soft one in return.

"You got a weapon on you?" Speirs asked around a cigarette between his lips.

"Maybe."

He froze, then slowly pulled the cigarette out and started to rise from his seat.

"Christ! Yes! I've got my knife! Anything else, dad, or can I go now?"

"Be smart, don't stay out too late or talk to any boys." He deadpanned, shuffling the cards in his hand. The gleam in his eyes let me know he was just teasing, but would also have no qualms stabbing anyone who bothered me.

Amidst the others chuckling, I groaned. "I'm leaving now."

Quickly, I walked out before anyone could try and convince me to stay or worse- go change.

Thankfully, even in the fading daylight, the air was still somewhat warm where I did not need a shawl. I could hear some faint cheers from the enlisted men but I slipped behind the rows of houses and headed down the lakeside path. I walked towards my favorite spot overlooking the lake. Colors danced upon the water, making it appear as if on fire. A few ambitious stars peeked out from above in the sky painted by angels. Never before would I have imagined finding myself somewhere so absolutely gorgeous. If heaven was real, I hoped it looked like Austria.

Standing there, I found myself humming and gently swaying to a Billie Holiday song. My arms wrapped around myself loosely, I tried to soak in everything. I wanted to remember this moment forever, to create new memories to replace the bad ones. The nightmares.

"Blue moon you saw me standing alone

Without a dream in my heart

Without a love of my own…"

"Y/n?"

I turned to look over my shoulder, not expecting anyone else around. The voice was a dead giveaway but I was shocked our Cajun medic was down this way. "Hey, Gene."

He stood several paces from me; his medic satchel, that he never went anywhere without, hanging off his side. He stared at me for a long moment, eyes dancing over me in a way that made me self-conscious of how much skin showed. Suddenly, he blinked rapidly as if waking from a dream. "What…" he cleared his throat, "what are you doin' here?"

"Watching the sunset." I glanced over my shoulder at the lake then looked back at him.

"Mmm...dressed like you should be in the pictures?"

I laughed, even as I felt my face warming. I ran my hands over the gown, still in awe that I was wearing something so expensive. For the most part of the past 4 years, I had been caked in grime and sweat; even though my skin was clean now, I felt too dirty to wear something so fine.

"I've never worn anything like this. I just...wanted to do something...for myself."

"Mmm… well, I'll leave you be. Goodnight." With a single nod, he hesitated then turned around, beginning to walk up the path back to the houses.

"You know…" I said loudly, watching his feet still as he turned back around to look at me. "It would be a shame to be dressed up and not able to dance."

He ducked his head slightly, a bashful smile on his face. I could see the uncertainty on his face. The desire to dance, to hold me close but also the concern for crossing that unspoken line separating us. For two years we had been tiptoeing around our growing feelings. Both aware but never acknowledging. It was in the secret looks, the subtle soft touches, the constant desire to seek one another out amongst a crowd, the solace our presence created when together. The knowledge hung there between us, with one slip we would both fall headlong over that cliff. So we kept back, together as friends but separate as lovers, even if we could read the desire in one another's eyes. It was safer this way.

Until now.

Without a word, he slowly approached me, as if waiting for me to change my mind, to tell him no, to maintain our status quo. My lips only turned up in a smile as he drew closer, encouraging him, telling him I wanted this. He dropped his satchel carefully on the ground. Our eyes locked, both aware of how this moment could change everything we had built. Carefully, he reached forward and clasped my hand, pulling me into his body. My lips parted on a quiet gasp, feeling his warm breath span across my face, his hand holding mine… and for once, neither one of us was covered in the blood of a fellow paratrooper. I lifted my hand to his shoulder, the muscles tensing underneath my palm. When he made no further movement, I grabbed his other hand and placed it on my waist. For a moment I thought he would reject this, to walk away as he seemed to stay frozen. Then with the softest whisper of my name, as if that was the key to unlock this moment, he pulled me even closer and took the lead.

In the stolen evening gown I found and Gene in his ODs, we danced. Like there was no war to haunt us. No rules against fraternizing. No fear of the future that lay before us. It was just him and I, in this moment of beauty and joy and life. We danced. He led me in a simple box step. Our pounding heartbeats, the fluttering of my gown and the soothing sound of the lake lapping on its shore, the only soundtrack we needed.

"You are beautiful."

My face heated up at the compliment. "It's the dress and lipstick."

"Non, mon chérie." He drawled in that perfect accent and tipped my face back to meet his soft gaze. "It's you. It's always been you."

I stared into his soulful eyes, a new burning in them. Where once it had only been a candle trying desperately to beat back the darkness; now a bonfire replaced it. Something darkness knew it could never defeat. This man who held me so tenderly, like I was some kind of priceless gem, who had seen the brutality and horrors of war but still kept going, still trying his hardest to save his men even when others would have given up. He was beautiful, both inside and out.

"You need to stop lookin' at me like." He whispered; eyes glued to mine.

It was when he spoke, I realized we were no longer dancing. When had we stopped? Our bodies were still pressed together, our fingers now entwined but our feet rooted to the path. The air between us felt anything but still. An ardent intensity hovered between us, binding us to the moment, preventing us from escaping it. The sounds around us disappeared. All I could see, all I could feel and sense and taste… was him.

"Why?" I asked, my voice breathy.

"I might be tempted to mess up your lipstick."

A nervous giggle escaped me. Instead of dispelling the profound moment, it only seemed to enhance it. With deliberate slowness, I moved my hand on his shoulder to the back of his neck. "I wouldn't mind."

His hand moved to cup my cheek, holding me still as he leaned in. His lips ghosted over mine, the sweetest of sensations. It sent sparks shooting through me. After he leaned back just out of lips reach. Our eyes met once again, our breathing quickening even from the faint touch. As if our bodies were synced, I rose up at the same time he leaned forward. This time when our lips met, it was with a kiss long overdue. Our lips molded to one another, basking in the taste of the other. Both my hands slipped to the nape of his neck. His hand on my cheek drifted to the back of my head, keeping me from moving away. His other hand slid to my lower back, drawing me closer… and closer.

The kiss deepened, pulling long dormant feelings from both of us, now finally exposed without reprimand. In the midst, his hand snaked up my side to brush a thumb over the underside of my breast. At the sensation, I gasped in the kiss, surprised by his forwardness. Surprised by the pure wanton need it shot through me. As my lips parted in the gasp, his tongue thrust into my mouth like he owned it. As if he needed more of my taste. Needed more of me. As if a simple kiss would never be enough. Not to him. He quickly drew my own tongue in a dance that soon left my knees weak and wobbling. I found myself clinging to him, not just in desire, but also to keep me upright, else I melted into a puddle of sheer bliss.

All too soon, we were forced apart by our lungs screaming for air. He pressed his forehead to mind, his hand still skimming my side from my hip to the underside of my breast and back down.

"It’s you. It’s always been you." He whispered as if finally able to confide his deepest secret. The words spilling forth like water out of cracks in a dam, held back for too long. "Since I first talked to you in Toccoa about tryin' to sneak a laxative into Sobel's coffee. And in Bastogne… you were always there for me. Checkin' on me. Makin' sure I knew I wasn't alone. But we're in a goddamn war and I couldn't say nothin'. Seein' you standin' out here, lookin' like an angel, I just...I had to…"

I pressed a finger to those kiss-swollen lips of his, silencing the onslaught of secrets. "Gene, I'm going to need you to stop talking and kiss me again."

He smirked, nuzzling my neck for a second. When he spoke, I could feel his hot breath and lips against my skin. "Yes, ma'am."

This time there was no hesitation, no wavering in dilemma. Our lips touched and it felt like it was meant to be. No great fireworks in the night sky, no great orchestra announcing our love. It felt more like two puzzles pieces finally fitting together. Like the sun peeking through on a cloudy day. It was perfect.

When we broke apart again, I felt delirious with joy and the look on his face said something similar. I laid my head on his chest, his arms wrapping around my waist. Bodies pressed against one another, molded together like clay. Without a word, we began swaying. The soundtrack of our shared heartbeats and the lake's waves drowning out anything else.

Nothing in the world had changed. We were still paratroopers occupying Austria. Men were still dying. The war was still going strong in the Pacific. Evil endured.

But in this moment, in our own little world.

Everything changed.

#band of brothers #Band of Brothers fandom #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers imagine #eugene roe #eugene roe x reader #ronald speirs #ron speirs #lewis nixon #richard winters #harry welsh #reader insert #mzwrites

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katytheinspiredworkaholic · 3 years

Text

Correspondence, Chapter 04

Pairing: HotchReid

Summary: An AU where Reid never joined the FBI, but got roped into consulting for the LA field office while working and teaching at Caltech. Hotch gets his email referred from a fellow agent, and they start to work on cases together -- until they start talking on a regular basis. Regular becomes frequent, frequent becomes constant. They know nothing about each other, but they don't really mind.

Rating: Mature/Explicit (eventually)

Chapter CW/notes: Action-y in that there is offscreen violence and peril, injuries, talk of surgery and symptoms/effects of medical grade narcotics (morphine), more on that big ol’ age difference. Side notes: Agent Anderson of the L.A. field office has no relation to Agent Anderson of Quantico, VA, because Agent Anderson of the BAU is a national treasure. (I’m considering going back and renaming the OC, but as of right now this is the last we hear of him for a while). And I know no one really pays attention to them, but the time stamps on the texts match the time zone of the scene setting. Set in season 6, self beta’d.

Word Count: 8893

Masterpost Link

Ao3 Link

Chapter 04

Late September 2010

Spencer Reid wakes up to the early grey morning two weeks later, a perpetual haze shrouding his room long before his alarm was supposed to rouse him. He reaches blindly, blearing eyed and checks his phone for what feels like the hundredth time, only to find no messages waiting for him. A terrible, horrid feeling has been clawing at his chest and throat the longer it gets -- the more time that passes -- and he still hasn’t heard from Hotch.

They’ve been messaging each other near constantly for months now, and it only seemed to get more intense after that fateful talk at the beginning of September. Where Hotch finally revealed he’d thought Spencer was much older than him, and not the other way around. Spencer had set him straight, as much as he could, and even that had been nerve-wracking to say the least. The two men were crossing into a territory neither really wanted to put a label on, and Spencer was both afraid of it and excited by it. Of what it could mean, and how long it could last, but he’d thought he’d had time to figure out a solution to his inadvertent secrecy.

Then, Hotch began working a case in Delaware two days ago.

It seemed like a textbook unsub; maybe a little aggressive with anti-establishment overtones, but nothing they couldn’t handle. Nothing the BAU hasn’t seen before. They’d been closing in on the suspect, no location yet but some prospects that needed checking out, and the last Spencer had heard from Hotch…

It had been lunchtime for him, and midafternoon for the older man. The exchange hadn’t been anything of consequence, just their usual, easy correspondence. Hotch was going to check out that lead they’d spoken of, Spencer had a budget meeting as soon as he was done eating in the middle of his office hours, and they had a plan to play chess online that night. Hotch is still terrible at it, but he keeps coming back no matter how thoroughly Spencer wipes the floor with him. Now, sometimes they just forget about the game entirely after the first few minutes. It makes him smile each and every time, soft and fond and lighting a warmth inside him Spencer has… never felt before.

Then Hotch hadn’t messaged him the rest of the night.

Hadn’t shown up online to play chess.

Hadn’t texted him goodnight, or even sent him an update on the case.

Nothing in their conversations warranted such ostracization, and although Spencer has been ‘ghosted’ before (as his doctoral students would say) he knows Hotch would never do that. Not after everything, the history they’ve built the past months -- leaving nothing but the dread to sink in and spread like a stain.

All night, he imagines the worst.

By morning, he all but expects it.

[]9/22, 18:59[] Are you alright? Did something happen with the case?

[]9/22, 19:10[] If you were that scared of losing at chess, I can also beat you at online poker instead.

[]9/22, 19:30[] I’d suggest scrabble but that’s honestly not fair to you.

[]9/22, 21:55[] Hotch?

[]9/22, 22:30[] I’m assuming that lead panned out, and you caught your unsub and are neck deep in interrogation.

[]9/22, 22:36[] I don’t want to imagine anything else, so that’s what I will picture.

[]9/23, 00:06[] Hotch please answer me.

[]9/23, 05:32[] Please be okay.

Spencer arrives at Caltech looking a little more of a mess than usual. More than most are used to seeing him, at least, and it causes a few second glances from students he passes and other faculty -- but he really can’t find it in himself to care, this morning. His unruly curls, getting longer again, falling into his face and over his ears, are frizzy in their unkemptness. Bags under his eyes, normal, but he’s settled for glasses instead of his contacts. He has a spare pair in his desk, he’ll have to change them before class. His glasses somehow always make him look even younger. A mystery that boggles the mind, because once he had grown into his face a few years ago (around 26 or 27, close enough he had worried he would forever be cursed with a ‘baby face’) Spencer had thought he would finally be getting away from that.

And yet, square jaw and ‘grandpa’ glasses and thin frame towering just over six feet did nothing in the slightest to aid him. Certainly not stopping a man outside the campus coffee shop from shouting “Watch where you’re going, kid!” as he near barrels over him on the sidewalk. Not his sweater vest or half suits, attire straight out of a 1940’s noir film (he’d even sported a vintage inspired undercut with his waves combed over for a while there, too. Way too much upkeep, as nice as it looked). Nothing makes him any more grown up in the eyes of the unsuspecting world, than he’d been without his five doctorates and board of director’s seat. No matter what he tried, it seems.

This has been a subliminal thing for years, something Spencer always said didn’t bother him in the slightest. And for a long time he didn’t care one way or the other, he just kept getting more degrees. All his life Spencer has been ‘too young’, always been ‘kid’ or ‘sport’ or ‘tiger’, even when running quantum physics equations in his head. And it didn’t matter. Not with his credentials and accomplishments and everything he now has to his name.

Until Hotch.

Now, Spencer cares.

Notices, even through his haze of worry and sleeplessness, how on the street it’s “Watch it, kid!” and fifteen yards later it’s “Good morning, Dr. Reid” as he steps into the Physics building where everyone knows him on sight. Knows him, and what he’s capable of.

What if when Hotch met him all he saw was… another kid?

If they ever met.

“Whoa, rough night Dr. Reid?”

“Yes, you could say that,” he mumbles out as he signs in and scans his ID card, taking the stack of mail that the desk attendant hands him. But stops before he gets too far from the desk, backtracking. “Hey, have you watched the news this morning? Did anything show up about New England or Delaware?”

“Not that I saw, Dr. Reid,” she says in confusion, looking up from where she had been texting on her phone. “Just a whole lot of coverage on the shitshow at capital hill, as usual. Oh, and more depressing reports about the earthquake clean-up in New Zealand.”

Of course, why would there be a news story about a killer in Delaware here in California. He’d have to look up everything online himself.

“Thanks anyway, Carla.”

“No problem, Dr. Reid.”

Spencer spends way too long online that morning, searching for anything about the case Hotch and his team are working. He usually prefers paper copies of news media, at first barely knowing where to begin, but he falls into a wormhole of news outlets and local Delaware station websites, reading the thousands of webpages faster than he can scroll and click through them. But he can’t find anything pointing to a disturbance related to the case. There's nothing about a raid, or a shooting, or even an arrest -- which could all just be a part of the ongoing media blackout -- but it also does nothing to stop him from panicking. Spencer gives up after an hour, and diverts to other resources. Ones with a direct line to Hotch.

With a drafted email pulled up to Ms. Penelope Garcia, the BAU's personal tech analyst, he ponders how to... even word this without it sounding too personal. Too much like he and Hotch have more than just a working relationship.

Because they do. They have... something.

Something that gives him fluttering sensations in his stomach, makes him check his phone constantly, and react to even the slightest chime similar to his text tone. Makes him smile when he sees Hotch's name on his notifications, in his email inbox, makes him message the man in the middle of the day at the most random thoughts. Just because he wants to make him laugh.

[]8/21, 15:36[] You're going to get me in trouble.

[]8/21, 15:38[] You didn’t laugh in front of your team, did you? The scandal.

[]8/21, 15:42[] I'm at a crime scene. There's a dead body in front of me.

[]8/21, 15:43[] Then why are you checking your phone?

[]8/21, 15:45[] You know why.

But that’s not something that is shared with the rest of the team, he’s sure. So he should be careful how he words his email, lest Ms. Garcia realize that Spencer isn’t asking purely as a colleague.

Surely they know he has friends, though?

Chewing his lip, Spencer types out a brief email asking if Agent Hotchner is feeling well since he missed an appointment the night before and hasn’t been returning his calls. It’s a phrase he’s used often, so it comes naturally to Spencer as he types it out, and he realizes… he hasn’t called. He’s sent a dozen text messages, but not a phone call. Never a phone call. That was against the rules, the unspoken ones that always kept this friendship easy and free-flowing and evolving into something more.

But this feels like the closest to an emergency they’ve ever encountered before.

He looks to his phone beside him on his desk, and tries to fight back the dueling forms of panic clawing at his chest. Listed in bullet points behind his eyes. Panic that Hotch might not answer, panic what that means for the man he’s been… becoming more and more inclined to than any other person he’s met in so long. Panic if he does answer, breaking that barrier of written words to spoken, and the opportunity to hear Hotch’s voice. But he would also hear Spencer’s, and then there would be no hiding just how… how young he really is. He still didn’t have a plan for that, wracking his overworked brain day and night for a way to incorporate the information into a conversation that wouldn’t stop everything in its tracks.

But his phone is in his hand before he can stop himself, Hotch’s contact pulled up and his thumb hovering over the phone number with baited breath.

Was he really going to do this?

He presses the touch screen and can hear the line connecting, the dial tone ring even before he gets the phone up to his ear and waits. It rings, and rings, and rings a fourth time -- before clicking over to voicemail. And Spencer’s hyper-fast thought processes fail him as he realizes far too late that he’s going to hear Hotch’s voice for the first time, anyway. Frozen in a panic, unsure if he wants to or if that had been something he wanted them to do together that the seconds slip by like water through his fingers and suddenly it’s too late.

“You’ve reached the voicemail box of -- (703)-567-8790 -- this caller is not available. Please leave a message after the tone--”

It’s an automated, female voice that rattles off the numbers and generic call back message, and Spencer hangs up before it can begin recording him. Exhaling a shaky breath, relief a flash flood on his nerves that nothing had been ruined between him and Hotch thanks to an ill-timed phone call.

He keeps the momentum going without much thought, and adjusts his email to Ms. Garcia before sending it.

It feels so understated, and yet over dramatic the more he thinks about it. The more he reads it.

Please let me know of his well-being.

God, no wonder Hotch thought he was in his 60’s.

But Spencer has to keep the façade up, for now, not give away anything he doesn’t want to just because the emotional part of his brain is running rampant over the rational one. There are… many explanations as to why Hotch isn’t answering him. His gut feeling aside, he doesn’t need to be panicking like this. The world is still turning, he still has work to do, so Spencer tries to gather himself into some semblance of order and preps to talk to his doctoral students within the hour.

His morning routine progresses as usual, as if nothing at all is wrong with the world. Dr. Reid has his mandatory round up with his doctoral candidates going over thesis and dissertation parameters, class lecture schedules, updates, the works. Like morning announcements, but he requires them all to be there and to listen, and they all show up. Everyone knows of Spencer’s eidetic memory. He will certainly not forget a single date or schedule change, and he expects his students to not forget as well.

But this morning Spencer is fully distracted, his mind elsewhere, somewhere in the state of Delaware with an agent who may or may not be in danger. Because Spencer cannot shake the feeling that something is wrong. It almost seems more like a fact than a feeling. The juxtaposition of his daily routine and this unfounded worry throws him entirely off kilter, and all of his students seem to know right away.

Then, his distraction reaches its peak when his email pings, right in the middle of his department announcements. A response from Ms. Garcia of Quantico, VA flashing across his laptop screen. Spencer’s eyes skim the preview sentence in the pop-up box, and his voice trails off as his mind… whirls.

Dr. Reid, I’m sorry to tell you I don’t know when Hotch will be available again. There was an incident, and he’s still in surg-

Surgery.

That vice-like grip of worry that has taken hold of him since last night tightens further, to the point Spencer can’t breathe. Hotch is in surgery, Hotch is hurt, and if he hasn’t been answering his phone since last night -- or even late yesterday afternoon -- it was not a minor thing.

Hotch is hurt.

She doesn’t know when he will be--

If he will be --

“Dr. Reid? Are you okay?”

“I--” he’s still looking at the email pop-up box, and is clicking on it before he can stop himself. Immediately disconnecting his laptop from the projector as his email loads there. It takes him a fraction of a second to read the email. “I’m sorry, an emergency just came up. Kimmy, finish reading off the schedule for me?” He doesn’t even wait until she answers him, just picks up his laptop and retreats to his office as fast as his long legs will carry him.

--surgery and we’re still waiting on word. I know you 2 talk on the reg so I’ll keep you posted.

Fret not, genius professor, our fearless leader has been through much worse than this.

She’s using informal speech patterns, which she has never done before. It bleeds her nervousness, and worries Spencer even more. Teetering on the edge of panic. Ms. Garcia also revealed she knows he and Hotch talk, but surprisingly that doesn’t have the effect he thought it would on his already rattled nerves. Instead, any and all reservations fall away as he types out a response much in the same way he and Hotch had started their friendship all those months ago.

Please, is there anything you are allowed to tell me about the case or his condition? We --

Spencer pauses, bites his lip as he considers crossing this boundary into the uncomfortable unknown, and then thinks about Hotch on a hospital operating table three thousand miles away.

“Screw it,” he mutters and continues to type.

--We’ve become good friends and I’m very worried.

The reply is almost immediate.

That makes 2 of us, boy wonder, but I’m already hacked into the hospital records database and Prentiss is in the waiting room for any immediate actions.

I’m sending you the case files and the incident report from last night. Maybe you can see some shiz we can’t b/c the bossman is tough but he’s been in surgery a long time.

Of course, whatever he can do to help. Spencer’s heavy heart-beat triples in his chest as pulls up the files and immediately prints them out so he can read through them faster. Utilizing anything and everything he can do to aid the BAU team, and whatever Hotch has gotten himself into. But then, his mind sticks on something from the email. Boy Wonder. It stalls his hands mid-movement.

Ms. Garcia knows how young he is.

She must have done a background check on him, that would make sense since he’s been consulting so much lately. But why would Garcia know his age, and not Hotch? Wouldn’t she send the files to him directly? Had Hotch really known, all along?

Or did she do it on her own, and not tell him? Assuming her boss already knew everything about him. It’s too many questions and possibilities and they are interfering with what’s most important right now. Best to get it out of the way, no time to be indirect about it.

Ms. Garcia, did you update my dossier with the bureau after you ran my background check?

If you’re referring to why Hotch seems to think you’re rocking the senior discount at restaurants and not still getting carded for beer, then no I didn’t update it. I’m very anti-gov files having every detail of our lives in them, that’s what I’m for, and I figured there was a reason he didn’t know. Your secret is safe with me, sugar bean.

Spencer hadn’t meant for it to be a secret at all, it just happened that way.

The real reason is Agent Anderson of the LA field office is a dick, with a bully streak he never outgrew after high school, and didn’t bother filling out a full file on him the first time Spencer consulted for the FBI. Then, he couldn’t be bothered to update it when his consultations became more than a one time thing.

But that was all in the past now, and Spencer can’t even be upset about it. Because now he has Hotch.

Thank you, Ms. Garcia. I’ll let you know my findings soon.

He skims the file quickly, pulling information out at lightning speed. It appears a very straight-forward case. As straight-forward as a murderous sociopath can be, anyway. Very anti-establishment, like he and Hotch had discussed the previous day, aiming for specified targets that devolved to anyone in a uniform. Anyone who appears too official, or labels as official.

It’s easy to see, now, why the unsub attacked Hotch instead of running from him. He practically served himself up on a silver platter. But there’s something about the kills that’s bothering Spencer. The knife wounds, bludgeoning, even the gunshots during the first murders when the unsub still hesitated -- it’s all overkill. Rage. Every single target has died from massive internal bleeding, M.E. reports all label the knife wounds and beatings as the cause. But the amount of blood left over, measured during autopsy, doesn’t add up. They bled too much. No wounds indicating intentional bleeding occurred, and the tox screens are all clean.

Except, every victim’s hospital records show elevated potassium rates. Spencer’s hands, skimming down each and every page quick as they can, stop on a dime as his gaze zero in on the information.

“Oh, God,” Spencer whispers, quiet and horrified. “--Hotch.”

There’s no time for email.

He picks up his phone, goes to an older email that has full contact details in the footer, and dials Ms. Garcia’s direct line in Quantico.

“Speak, and behold greatness.”

“Ms. Garcia, it’s Dr. Reid,” Spencer says, and his tone and quickened speech patterns gives way to his panic.

“Dr-- Dr. Reid?”

“Yes, quick there’s no time. Do you have Hotch’s hospital records in front of you still?”

“Yes,” Garcia says, her voice a musical thing even in it’s breathless reaction to his heightened state of haste. “Updated every two minutes.”

“Is his potassium elevated?”

Some quick typing of keys that move faster than even he could ever hope to type. “...Yes.”

God. “Okay, okay I need you to call the hospital right now,” Spencer says in a spiel that all sounds like one word. “Whatever you have to do, he needs Sodium Polystyrene Sulfonate as soon as possible, to counteract the chemical imbalance or he’s going to go into kidney failure and bleed out.”

There’s more typing going on and Ms. Garcia’s breathing has gone a little labored.

“Alright, alright I’m getting patched through. What else can you tell me?”

“I think he’s been dosed with something called an XG Compound, either Eastman or Zhao I have to look up the specific components and chemist. But they are a series of banned, experimental military-grade drugs that suffer effects of thinning the blood, that’s why they can’t stop the bleeding around his stab wounds and old scar tissue.” Hotch’s old wounds from Foyet would only exacerbate the condition, once it reached the kidney failure stage, but up until then the intrusions of hardened tissue is the only reason his abdominal cavity hasn’t been flooded with blood and drowned out his other organs.

“Okay, okay I’m through, I’m keeping you on the line. Stand by-- ” then she clicks over and he’s left with a pulsating silence. Nothing remaining but continuing his work, and hoping he’d called in time. Hoping that Hotch will be alright.

Spencer is digging through his floor to ceiling bookshelves for the biology book on airborne pathogens given to him by a visiting Professor two years ago and he is hating himself for never cracking it in that moment. It’s nearly the last book he gets a hand on, because of course it is, and he makes it a third of the way through the book before Garcia is back on the line. The phone on the floor beside him and just barely within reach.

“You literal genius, I could kiss you,” Garcia tells him in what can only be overstated relief, and Spencer snatches up his phone with a very undignified scramble. “They’ve had to do two transfusions on him and are prepping a third, but you were right he’s been dosed with that XG compound.”

“He’s going to be okay?” Spencer asks, still cross-legged on his office floor surrounded by books and holding his phone to his ear like a lifeline.

“Yes, yes my dear he’s going to be alright. They think. He’s not out of the woods yet and the surgery is still going on, but he -- he would have died within the next hour if you hadn’t found out what was wrong.”

Spencer’s heart is in his throat, her words doing the exact opposite of reassuring him. Hotch had been that close to dying, to being forever out of reach, because Spencer had been too scared to pick up the phone.

“I should have called sooner,” he says, so quiet even someone in the room wouldn’t have heard him correctly. “I knew something was wrong.”

“Oh no, sugar don’t think like that. You just saved his life,” she pauses, like she wants to say something else, but diverts to an adjacent topic. “How did you know?”

“Autopsy reports. There wasn’t enough blood left in the bodies, they bled out too quickly. Then I saw the elevated Potassium,” he murmurs it all, rattled off without really thinking about it.

“And you just… knew all of that, without looking anything up?”

“That’s basically what I do. The only reason anyone calls me,” Spencer laughs but it holds no humor. “I know too much, make connections, and drink too much coffee.”

“You drink and know things, oh God I hope you get that reference because you’re getting a coffee mug.”

Spencer laughs a little, despite the situation, and feels… lighter, somehow, even with the worry still plaguing him. Caught up in his chest like a bad cold.

“I’m reading this textbook on airborne pathogens, I have a hunch, and I’ll send you anything I find that can help with the case,” Spencer continues, his voice not so heavy for a moment. “Just… tell me when he’s out of surgery? Keep me posted?”

“Of course, honey, you’ll be my first message,” Ms. Garcia assures him, but then she pauses again -- and he almost hangs up because it feels too anticipatory. “You should tell him, B.T.Dubs.”

Spencer hesitates more than is probably necessary.

“... I don’t know what good that will do,” he admits, quiet and unsure. “I’m not -- I’m not ready for this to be over.”

“You’re not that young, honey. Does he know you like him?”

“Mmhmm,” Spencer makes a nervous, affirmative sound. “And… he likes me, or who he thinks I am.”

“Don’t write him off just yet, Doc, let him speak for himself when he wakes up,” Ms. Garcia all but scolds him, in as gentle a way as possible and Spencer appreciates that, at least.

“--I’ll think about it.”

Not long after Spencer finds what he’s looking for: military grade poisons that were banned for causing adverse effects, listed and categorized by chemist and agency. It is the Eastman compound, originated during the first invasion of Afghanistan. Their unsub has prolonged exposure, Spencer is sure, and that will narrow down the suspect pool immensely.

After he sends the information to Ms. Garcia, Spencer looks to his phone once more, where there is a block of text all from him himself in his correspondence with Hotch. Begging him to be alright, to answer him, and now that he knows that the man has a fighting chance -- or as much of one as he will be able to have, with where advanced medicine resides in the current conjecture of time -- there really isn’t much he can do now. But hope. And wait. And pray.

Except Spencer doesn’t believe in prayer, or God, or anything that might hear him. The only thing he really believes in is science, and facts, and none of that is very helpful to him right now. Except maybe the coincidental balance of the universe, in a theoretical physics sense, and unexplained phenomenon that have an equal and spatial balance to it. Anything with the descriptor ‘unexplained’ always draws him in like a moth to flame, and he knows he can typically find a semblance of comfort in the way his brain constantly connects dots and far off specks of information that not everyone can see at first glance. Constellations in the sky. But only when he has someone to tell it to, that even pretends to listen for a moment, and for a long while now… Hotch has been that someone. Hotch always listens to him.

Before he knows it, he’s typing into the text box once more --

[]9/23, 11:10[] You’re in surgery still, but Ms. Garcia has confirmed the treatments are working and they are able to actually repair the damage instead of treading water like they have been the past ten hours. I’ve had her personally in contact with the doctors and surgical staff, and all they’ve been able to tell us is to let them work and just pray for you.

[]9/23, 11:13[] Which is such an odd thing; men of science telling people to pray like the outcome of a surgery isn’t in their hands, but some theoretical astronomical entity. I know it’s probably just a ‘bedside-manner’ tactic, but it doesn’t help me in the slightest so it just irks me instead.

[]9/23, 11:15[] I don’t believe in prayer -- a shock, I’m sure -- but I do believe in the phenomenon of universal affirmation. It’s an interesting trend in history and spans cultures where if someone has something awaiting them, to live for, even if they are unaware of it… they will fight harder to cling to life.

[]9/23, 11:18[] But I also know you will fight tooth and nail for Jack, and for your team that you treat like family, and maybe even me. I’d like to hope I’m included in that, and no amount of books or IQ points can make me think of something to contribute to help you keep fighting.

[]9/23, 11:19[] Just please keep fighting. Come back. And if I come up with something to entice you… I’ll let you know.

It eases a lot of the tension in his chest, talking to Hotch like this -- even if he’s just talking at him, in a place where he might never know what Spencer has had to say. But he can hope. Hope that Hotch will wake up and have thirty missed messages and see they are all from Spencer and it will make him smile.

Spencer would give anything to see him smile, and he allows himself to hope that one day... he might get to.

He might as well, while he’s sitting there hopelessly hoping for things beyond his control.

Come back to me.

Spencer almost types it out, can see it in the text window though he hasn’t pressed a single letter, and closes his phone before he can. Pressing it to his mouth and closing his eyes and just…

Hoping.

The hours roll over into the afternoon, and there’s still no word.

Spencer has spent the majority of the day messaging Ms. Garcia, who has had no information beyond trivial updates here and there and Spencer has read more about surgical procedures and practices than he has in his entire life. Even raided the biology department’s library, surrounding himself with the comfort of books and files and filled his head with the soothing monotony of medical terms and safety protocols.

But once noon has come and gone he finds himself staring into the bookshelves across from where he sits on the floor, among stacks of textbooks, with an epiphany trying to make itself known to him. Despite his every attempt to ignore it.

His phone is back in his hand, there’s an email correspondence from Ms. Garcia that only briefly says Still nothing. And that makes up Spencer’s mind.

[]9/23, 12:49[] I’ve thought of something.

What he types next makes it hard to breathe, his heart lodged in his throat, and it all comes flowing out of him much like before. His fingers keep moving, his emotional part of his brain steam-rolls over the rational one, and then he’s done and he’s tacked on six extra messages and Spencer has to put his phone away before he rereads it beyond what is deemed healthy or sane.

Because he’s done what he could, and all he can do is believe that will be enough to… subliminally keep Hotch fighting. The day is only half over, and Spencer feels like he hasn’t slept in a week.

It would be hours before he got the message that would send relief through his spine like a shot of Novocain. Just three words from Ms. Garcia, sent in haste in a text instead of an email.

{}9/23, 14:58{} He’s in recovery.

Hotch wakes up just barely the first time, the room spinning and hit with that familiar smell of anesthesia he can always taste as it fills his senses, before he slips back under.

The second time is to a small pencil light being flashed in his eyes, staccato movements meant to test his pupil reactions, and an older woman in nurse’s scrubs saying his name and calling to him. He hums an affirmative, even though he isn’t fully returned to a working state of mind. Instinct, more than clarity.

“Welcome back, Agent Hotchner.”

“About damn time,” he hears Prentiss say from somewhere across the room. Probably leaning the wall, if that faux drone is anything to go by. The nurse gives her a look but his agent isn’t even fazed by it, as far as Hotch can see. It takes him a moment for his eyes to adjust that far. But he knows the look well enough he doesn’t actually have to see it.

“Where is everyone? Is anyone else hurt?” Hotch can feel the words form on his tongue, droned out in a haze, his mind slowly coming back to him.

“Good to see you, too, boss,” Prentiss says in mild exacerbation, coming up to the side of his bed but not taking a seat. She must have been waiting a long time, her whole stance jittery just like after long flights on cases. “Everyone is fine, you’re the only one that got into a knife fight with an unsub who’s into biological warfare.” Hotch blinks at her, trying to make her words make sense without asking it of her. He remembers going to a warehouse to follow a lead, but not much else after that. It’s coming back too slowly to keep up with her. Prentiss just sighs, and repeats herself. “Everyone is fine.”

She regales him with a play by play, his own memories appearing like raindrops on a windshield to accompany her commentary. Slowly beginning to form a picture of what had happened. He’d been stabbed before, more than he cares to think about, and he’s been dosed with military-grade drugs before as well -- but never both at the same time. No wonder he feels like he’s been hit by a truck.

“You’re lucky to be alive, honestly,” she points out, hip resting against the plastic side panels of his hospital bed.

“Yeah, I’m gathering that.”

“And your phone has been blowing up like crazy.”

Hotch is finally able to sit up enough and see straight without his vision swimming, to find that his agent does indeed have his cell phone in her hands.

“What?”

“Yeah, eight missed calls and three voicemails, and--” she squints at the screen before looking at him in astonished confusion, “eighty-seven missed text messages, from a whole bunch of people. I’m not reading through all of them. I didn’t know you were that popular.”

“I’m the Unit Chief, popularity has nothing to do with it,” Hotch deadpans, more himself. Wanting to reach for his phone but his arms are still dealing with pins and needles sensations, sluggish to lift and his fingers uncooperative. “Who called me eight times?”

“Let’s see,” she unlocks his phone -- somehow, god damn it Prentiss -- and scrolls through his notifications. “Two calls from Jessica, one from me, three from Strauss (Jesus), one from Dr. Reid, and one from Garcia. It doesn’t say who the voicemails are from.”

Hotch suddenly feels much more alert, his heart rate monitor picking up but he does his best not to draw attention to it, instead looking up at Prentiss as carefully guarded as he ever is.

“Dr. Reid called?” he tries to keep his voice even, and unaffected, but the aftereffects of the drugs in his system leave a little more hitch in his voice than he would have liked.

“Yeah, he’s been talking to Garcia,” Prentiss says without much comment, still scrolling through his phone and making Hotch a little more than nervous. “Busted the case wide open, and saved your life while he was at it. We never would have known you were dosed with something if he hadn’t figured it out. Think you owe that old man a fruit basket.”

“Can I have my phone back?”

“Don’t think you’re supposed to have it,” she says without looking up, still scrolling through his notifications. “Lots of junk e-mail…”

“One of those voicemails is probably Jack, I should call and let them know I’m alright,” Hotch tries to reason with her.

“He and Jess are already on their way up, they’ll land in an hour,” Prentiss tells him, but looks over her shoulder for that nurse as she makes to hand Hotch his phone anyway. Still hesitant despite her predilections to breaking every rule she can get away with.

“I still want it back,” Hotch insists, regretting saying it as soon as he does.

It catches Prentiss’ attention a little too sharply. “...why?” But at Hotch’s steady stare and solid silence, unwavering like he hadn’t just been in surgery for hours on end, she finally relents and hands it over, still giving him a suspicious look.

“It’s important,” he finally admits, when she doesn’t stop staring for a good couple of minutes. Those perfectly shaped eyebrows raise near to her hairline, the profiler in her connecting more dots than should be humanly possible.

A small smile teases her lips, though not fully forming there. “Now I wish I’d read them.”

Hotch just gives her a reprimanding look of his own, but it’s short lived.

“Thank you, for staying.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Prentiss assures him, her smile going softer. “I’ll leave you to your mystery woman.” A beat, another raised eyebrow. “Person.” A knowing look, but then she exits and Hotch is able to look at his phone at his own discretion.

Hotch goes through the text messages with a brief glance; there’s so many of them. Other agents and agencies, his team in a group chat Garcia had started, Jessica left fifteen before someone got a hold of her, and Jack’s school sending reminders about soccer and parent teacher conferences.

But 39 are from Spencer, and his heart constricts in his chest at the worry he must have caused the man. Aches next to the scars on his chest and the blood that doesn’t belong to him in his veins. And somewhere in the recesses of his mind, it’s coupled with a torturous feeling of longing. Even subtle jealousy, because even half drugged out of his mind Hotch hadn’t missed the precise word choices Prentiss used. Garcia has been talking to Spencer -- talking.

Garcia got to hear him.

She talked to Spencer, when he still hadn’t, because of some unspoken rule Hotch isn’t even sure when they decided upon. He still knew so little about the man, and Spencer’s voice could tell him so much with just a few words. He could fill volumes with what he would learn from just a single message --

Without much further thought, Hotch pulls up his voice mail. Listens to the automated voices and the three messages there. None are from Spencer, although his heart had beat a little harder in anticipation -- enough his heart monitor beeped audibly next to him. Embarrassing as that was, like a lovestruck teenager. He’d glared at it and centered his breathing until his heart rate slowed back down, not wanting to alert the nurses station. Two of the voicemails are from Jessica’s phone, one of her worried out of her mind, and the other of Jack telling him they are coming to see him and he hopes he feels better soon. Just listening to his son speak more strongly than his aunt had or anyone else should in his situation, telling his daddy he loves him while the sounds of a commercial airline filter through the background, makes Hotch want to smile and sob all at once.

The last voicemail is from Garcia, telling him a similar story to what Prentiss had earlier, but with a bit more detail on her end. How ‘Dr. Reid’ called her out of the blue, because there had been no time for his usual emails, and gave them the information that saved his life. He’d been working the case diligently, ever since, and was checking up on him a lot. More than a lot. ‘Let him know you’re okay, when you wake up and get this. The poor guy is worried sick, and my updates only give him so much comfort.’

Spencer had actually called Garcia, when he hasn’t physically spoken to anyone in Quantico the entire time he’s consulted for them, just to save a few precious seconds to relay what he’d found. He’d even broken their rule, probably before hand, and called Hotch -- just to make sure he was okay. Hadn’t stopped working to help, the moment he found out he wasn’t.

It’s a strange thought, that if not for Spencer -- Hotch would be dead. That Jack would be flying up here for a very different reason.

Hotch switches over to the text messages with a lump in his throat. Not at all prepared, emotionally, but needing to know.

The 39 messages start from the night before, when they were supposed to have had their usual online chess date. They range from playful banter, teasing edged in worry, and escalate to panic as the night wears on. Anxious worry bleeding through the single sentences, building and building until that lump in his throat feels like it might block off all air soon.

Please be okay.

God, that alone starts to set a tone -- and reveals something Hotch hadn’t expected to find. Those three words give way to his speech pathology training, and all indicate that Spencer is… very likely younger than he’d originally thought. Some of Hotch’s assumptions might be close, even the teasing ones he’d only said because he’d been sure they were wrong. The other man is obviously beyond worried about him, as well. Petrified, despite knowing the risks of his job. They had become so close the past few months, were most definitely past the flirting stage and into something so tentative and wonderful Hotch can barely believe it some days. But they had never talked about this, about the possibility that Hotch might walk into a situation one day and not walk back out of it.

Spencer’s messages soon give way to him just… talking at Hotch. Relaying what was happening, philosophical rants meant to ease his own mind and Hotch finds himself smiling softly at the man’s constant stream of thought, lectures at genius levels that he still feels so compelled to share with Hotch. Because they are that close. They really, truly, are -- and it brightens the fluttering feeling in his chest all the more. How Spencer is trying, subliminally, to draw Hotch back to the light. Three thousand miles away.

Please come back.

Hotch hears it loud and clear, the come back to me. Even unwritten. And it makes his heart skip a beat, aching as it does.

Then…

[]9/23, 15:49[] I’ve thought of something.

[]9/23, 15:52[] I’m 29.

Hotch doesn’t understand, at first. But then it hits him.

Years.

29 years.

Spencer is 29 years old. Proven, further, by the following messages sent after that.

[]9/23, 15:56[] I’m a certified child prodigy, on a registry and everything. I graduated high school at just twelve years old, and had my first Ph.D. by 15. Youngest in CalTech history.

29.

Jesus Christ, no wonder he hadn’t wanted to tell Hotch his age. 29 is… far younger than he expected.

When Spencer was born, Hotch was getting his driver’s license. 16 years difference in age…

He keeps reading, despite the numb aftermath of a bomb going off inside his head, trying to process it and also hear the younger man out.

Younger. Spencer is 16 years younger than Hotch, and he finds himself scrubbing at his face to try and wake himself up further as he reads what Spencer sent.

[]9/23, 15:57[] I turn 30 at the end of October, and I was trying to wait until then to tell you.

[]9/23, 16:00[] I’ve noticed a prominent dynamic shift in perception, between listing my age as in my 20’s and ‘almost 30’. It’s a numerical allusion our brains can’t help. You hear 29, you think 21. It happens with decades, too, once someone is outside the familial range of 10 years. +/- either side.

[]9/23, 16:02[] An age gap doesn’t sound as bad when I’m 30. That’s why I wanted to wait, just a little while longer, but if that universal affirmation phenomenon actually works for us -- I don’t mind dealing with the consequences.

[]9/23, 16:03[] Just please come back.

[]9/23, 16:07[] Please be okay.

[]9/23, 16:10[] I miss you.

His heart is about to be ripped to shreds.

Hotch feels terrible, because Spencer is right. 29 sounds so young, and it keeps repeating in his head over and over. But 29 isn’t the same as 21, he isn’t some college student still stumbling around trying to figure out his life. He has five Ph.D.’s, runs three departments at one of the best universities in the country, is consulted by the FBI and Homeland Security and very obviously has a reputation he upholds to the highest regard. Hotch had guessed Spencer was 32 not so long ago, what was the big difference between that and his actual age? From what little Spencer just shared of his life story, he’s never gotten to be a kid, so who was Hotch to consider him one? What gave him the right to be floored by this, did it actually change what he thought of Spencer? How he felt about him only moments prior to reading that?

I miss you. Come back. Please be okay.

I’m 29.

It could be the recent flirtation with death, the anesthesia or the morphine, even the gratitude that Hotch will get to see his son again and not leave him without both his parents -- there’s so many reasons for him to take pause as he considers the messages in front of him.

But it feels a lot like the months of talking, and the countless late nights spent together, that pile up and up in his chest. A rising pressure that reminds Hotch that he and Spencer have something, and it’s not a normal, regular situation for either of them. Something that precedent, and everything Hotch has ever been told to hold to standard, doesn’t seem to fit. He and Spencer don’t seem to fit, when looked at afar or even on paper -- but they do. They really do. It was never supposed to be something that could be this easy, or normal in any capacity.

But what about their lives ever was?

[]9/23, 18:26[] I’m so sorry I worried you.

[]9/23, 18:26[] I miss you, too.

[]9/23, 18:27[] If I stop answering you, the nurse took my phone away. I hate hospitals.

[]9/23, 18:29[] Hotch, you scared me to death.

[]9/23, 18:30[] I know, I’m sorry.

[]9/23, 18:31[] From what I heard, you saved my life.

[]9/23, 18:33[] I don’t even know how to begin thanking you for that.

[]9/23, 18:36[] Just get better.

[]9/23, 18:38[] Which means resting, don’t glare at your nurses too much. They’re there to help you.

There’s a long stretch of a pause in their correspondence, which picks up so smooth and easy it’s as if they had never stopped. Like the last few days hadn’t happened at all. But they had, they were both looking at the messages to prove that. He does take pause, maybe more than he should, and Hotch knows miles away Spencer is just as nervous. Staring at his phone.

Hotch isn’t wrong. Spencer let out such an exclamation of relief at Hotch’s name on his notifications he about sobbed with it. He never cries, hasn’t in years -- but his eyes sting with relief and worry and… an emotion he doesn’t want to name.

[]9/23, 18:44[] What day is your birthday?

[]9/23, 18:45[] October 28th.

[]9/23, 18:45[] Same week as mine. November 2nd.

Hotch pauses, again, considers his next response… and 3,000 miles away Spencer can barely blink as he stares at his phone with mounting dread.

[]9/23, 18:49[] I understand why you didn’t want to tell me. It’s alright.

[]9/23, 18:51[] Am I correct in assuming you’ve never been in a relationship with this much of an age gap?

It takes Hotch a moment to even gather the courage to type that out and send it. Knows it sounds almost too formal, for them, but Hotch also knows that he and Spencer are balanced on the edge of a knife, here, and… no matter what the outcome, everything is about to change between them.

Spencer licks his lips in nervousness, reading the line over and over although he has no need to. It feels like a tipping point, and he’s still… terrified this will be his last conversation with Hotch outside of case work. Ever.

[]9/23, 18:55[] Never.

[]9/23, 18:57[] I haven’t had many relationships at all. My peer groups have always been older than me, and people my own age never understood me enough to be interested. So it’s just something I was used to, going without.

[]9/23, 18:59[] This has been… the closest thing to what I’ve been told is normal that I’ve ever experienced. I’ve never had the chance to have something like this with someone, or connect in this way. I gave up, for a long while there.

[]9/23, 19:01[] I’ve been in a similar situation before, on an intellectual spectrum.

[]9/23, 19:03[] I’ve never--

Hotch pauses, again, putting his thoughts in order. Weighing it all, before taking that final leap. Spencer waiting with baited breath, all the more.

But Hotch doesn’t regret what he sends. Not one bit.

[]9/23, 19:03[] I’ve never dated anyone younger than me like this, before, so we’ll both be on a learning curve.

[]9/23, 19:03[] But we will figure it out. Together.

Spencer’s breath catches, and he can’t seem to release it again. He can’t believe what he’s reading. What Hotch has sent him.

He said ‘dated’.

He thought they were dating. Spencer isn’t quite sure he can trust his own eyes, despite the words being there in stark black and white on his phone screen.

[]9/23, 19:06[] Dating?

Hotch smiles, because he just knows -- from that single word text -- that Spencer has sent it not in admonishment or anything negative of the sort. But in hope. Confident that he recognizes the nuance in Spencer's voice even without ever having heard it, Hotch just knows, and it makes warmth blossom anew in his chest. Sends his heart rate monitor skittering across the machine all over again.

[]9/23, 19:08[] Hate to be the one to tell you, but all of those late nights where we talked for hours instead of playing chess? Those were dates.

Spencer has his hand over his mouth, still in disbelief that he hadn’t… fucked this up beyond repair. That his age hadn’t been the deal breaker he’d feared so vehemently for months now. That everything is still as it was, age difference and life-threatening situation, aside.

They were dating. All this time.

[]9/23, 19:10[] I should have worn nicer clothes.

Hotch laughs at his phone at the same time Spencer laughs at his own, having reread what he’d sent.

3,000 miles away, and their quiet laughter coincides perfectly.

[]9/23, 19:11[] Our next one I’m sure I’ll be in a hospital gown, so I think you’re in the clear.

[]9/23, 19:12[] Sounds like you’re making plans, already.

[]9/23, 19:12[] You still need rest.

[]9/23, 19:14[] Well, I have to thank you somehow. And, I saw something about poker instead of chess? I’m actually not bad at poker.

[]9/23, 19:15[] … you remember I’m from Vegas, right?

[]9/23, 19:16[] We’ll play for fake money.

[]9/23, 19:18[] No such thing.

[]9/23, 19:19[] I do play for favors, though.

[]9/23, 19:19[] Oh?

Hotch feels a wild, youthful thing unfurl in his chest as he types away. Mischievous, almost, in a way he only gets when he and Spencer are hours deep into conversations in the middle of the night. But it’s broad daylight, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too wide. Getting lost in the thrill of it all. In the officiality of it, now, and another curtain unveiled between them.

[]9/23, 19:20[] Did you have something in mind?

Spencer has to be blushing seven shades of red, right about now, and he hides his face from his phone for a moment before he realizes how ridiculous that is -- Hotch can’t see him. He can stop messaging the man any time he wants to.

Except he doesn’t want to.

[]9/23, 19:24[] I’ll get back to you.

Hotch can’t help it as he grins at his phone. A wry, suggestive thing, but he manages to school it before a passing nurse can see him -- how his eyes are alight with possibility. With elation, just from talking to the younger man that had seemed to capture a part of him he thought wasn’t available to anyone any more, and types out one last -- slightly more flirtatious subtext to put a cap on their conversation. To indicate he’s awaiting more, always wanting a little more of Dr. Spencer Reid.

He can blame it on the morphine, later.

[]9/23, 19:25[] Looking forward to it.

(tbc...)

Tagged List: @spencehotchner @ssa-sarahsunshine @gothamapologist @reidology @marsjareau @dragon-snaps-fandom @emmyraebird @just-an-emo-rat @aaron-hotchner187 @dk18077 @more-heid-pls @fakin-it-til-i-make-it @merpancake

#I legit added like 1500 words while editing this afternoon so I'm hella worried it's convoluted but HERE IT IS #Getting this show on the ROAD #cross your fingers and pray I have this damn tumblr formatting thing figured out #hope you enjoy everyone I love ALL OF YOU #super duper long chapter #Correspondence #HotchReid #Heid #Updates on Saturdays hit me up if you want in on the tag list #katyswriting

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aperrywilliams · 4 years

Text

The Request - Part I (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

(Not my gif!)

Masterlist

Part I / Part II

———————

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.

Summary: Reader is the Spencer’s best friend and although she has some doubts she'll ask him to do something big for her.

Word Count: 3238.

Warnings: Curses. Maybe the main subject could be awkward for some people. Angst mixed with other things.

A/N: I had this idea but I don´t know if could be enough for a part 2. Impressions, comments and any reaction are welcomed. Thanks for reading!

——————–

A new Monday. As always, I arrived to work 20 minutes before the usual check-in time. That gave me enough time to make my coffee and (Y/N)’s who should be arriving soon.

But time passed and there were no signs of (Y/N). That was odd. Maybe she faced a huge traffic jam. I was about to call her when I saw the elevator doors open, showing the (Y/N)’s figure. I breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of her. She was okay. At least I thought so.

When she passed through the glass doors I noticed her expression and concern returned to my me. Watery eyes, she walked with difficulty and dropped shoulders, as if she had a great weight on her body. Without a word she slumped into the chair next to her desk. Which was strategically next to mine.

She stared at the folders on her desk for several minutes almost without blinking. She hadn't even taken off her jacket and still had the purse on her lap. (Y/N) was clearly not okay.

“(Y/N)… are you ok?”. I asked. I couldn’t help but showed my concern about her. Hearing my voice, she realized that she was not alone and hastened to say something, trying to hide what was happening to her with a fake smile.

“Hey… Spencer. I’m sorry. I didn’t greet you…”. But I knew. Her voice was almost inaudible and it sounded cracked to me.

“It’s ok. You don´t need to. But… are you ok?." I asked again. She let out a heavy sigh.

“No. I’m not” she confessed. I got up from my chair and approaches to her.

“What’s wrong? You can tell me…” I said with the hope she could trust me enough and tell me what happened.

“I don´t want to. It´s so embarrassing and hurting. I don’t know how even I managed to get my ass here”. (Y/N) shook her head avoiding my gaze that was fixed on her.

“Please, maybe I can help”. She looked at me with her puffy eyes and a soft smile. For me were the most beautiful eyes on Earth even if they had been crying a river.

“Not here. Can we get a coffee in the cafeteria of first floor?. I don't want anyone on the team to see me like this”. She looked everywhere making sure that no one was looking at us.

“Of course. Come on”. I grabbed my blazer and phone and joined to (Y/N) towards the elevator.

With our coffees, we go out of the building to an interior patio. We sit down on a bench. (Y/N) took a sip of her coffee and started talking.

"Spencer, I broke up with Darren last night." Her expression was a combination of sadness, anger and defeat. It broke my heart to see her like this.

"(Y/N)... I didn’t know. I’m so sorry. But why? What happened?”.

"This is the part that I'm ashamed of ...". Her hands was trembling and I could see how new tears formed in her eyes and were rushing out. I just took her free hand and squeeze it gently to try to comfort her. She looked up at the ceiling trying to hold back the tears and then kept talking.

“The son of a bitch was cheating on me! And the worst part... is that I only knew it because yesterday morning his other ‘girlfriend’ appeared at the door of 'our' apartment saying she was pregnant with his child.” At this point (Y/N) started to cry wildly.

Oh God . This was worse than I thought. It was like a bad movie. Very bad movie.

"What?" I tried to hide my face of shock, but it was difficult. It really was like a bad joke. Although I'm not going to lie, it always seemed to me that Darren was an asshole and didn't deserve to be with (Y/N), but it wasn't my decision and if he made her happy, that was enough for me. Also they were together for a long time almost as long as the time I had been working with (Y/N).

"I know. How I didn’t realize before?. Spencer, I was so silly. I’m a profiler and my boyfriend has been cheating on me systematically for so long! And the bastard got another woman pregnant!”. The sobs had subsided. Now anger and resentment dominated her voice. I didn’t expect less from (Y/N). If I could have smacked him myself at that moment I would have done it gladly.

"I'm so sorry (Y/N). You don't deserve to be going through this." I opened my arms and wrapped her in an embrace. I hoped that would help in part. At least so she knew she wasn't alone in this.

"I don't know Spencer. I’m so confused. I really thought things were fine…”. (Y/N)' sobs returned, but now they were muffled in my chest. I wish I could have done more.

(Y/N) returned to the BAU feeling a little better after a few weeks of leave that Hotch granted her without asking too much questions. During this time away from work I made sure to visit or call her every day to check on how she was feeling. When I visited her, we talked a lot, drank coffee, watched movies or went out for walk. I think I did a good job as a best friend, making her focus, at least in those moments, on something other than her breakup.

I must admit my selfish being felt some happiness knowing that (Y/N) was no longer with Darren. Although the remorseful side of me felt bad about it. They were conflicting feelings to me. I didn’t like to see (Y/N) hurt for her breakup, but I could not bear to see her with someone who didn’t love her as the great woman she is.

The day she returned to work the first thing she did was hug me tight and thank me for being there for her. Though honestly I couldn’t imagine myself doing something other than what I did.

Months passed, but (Y/N) was never the same. I don't blame her. Surely she thought was going to marry Darren. Before what happened, (Y/N) always was showing her happy spirit to everyone. And it was contagious. She constantly was in a good mood, even making Hotch laugh. Now she looked silent, withdrawn. During the flights it was more frequent to see her in the furthest jet' seat reading or deep in thought instead of playing poker with the rest of the team.

On one of those flights, I sat next to her. When (Y/N) saw me, closed the book she was reading and looked at me with a smile. At least I had open access to (Y/N)'s smiles, and that soothed me, although I knew there was an internal struggle in her head beyond all the things she had entrusted to me before. I didn't know what it was, but it sure kept her uneasy.

"You missed poker," I said smiling.

"I didn't feel like losing today," she replied, resting her head on my shoulder.

“Me neither, and JJ ended up winning. I'm disappointed in myself”. I tried to joke.

"Yes, that speaks very badly of you Dr. Spencer 'Vegas' Reid." She let out a genuine laugh that filled my heart. For a second I felt the old (Y/N) reappear. But as soon as she let out that laugh, that was how quickly it disappeared, giving way to a deep sigh.

"What is it? Where does that sigh come from?" I dared to ask her. After a brief second, she replied.

"I'm tired. This case was hard,” she said. I took her hand and started stroking it with my thumb.

"Yes I know. But I think there is something else that bothers you besides the case itself.” She raised her head to look at me and smiled again.

"I have to rehearse my poker faces with you, apparently," she said with a frown .

"Or you could just tell me what's going on" I replied stroking her hand without releasing it.

"True. I could...”

"You should. We are friends, aren't we?”. That reason works 99% of the time with her. She nodded. After a few minutes in silence, she broke it.

"There's something I haven't told you about this whole situation with Darren... and that's what has kept me thinking for a while..." She paused her story for a few seconds. Possibly she was thinking how to find the right words. "For a time with Darren we were trying to have children..."

I couldn't say I was completely surprised. (Y/N) was in a relationship with her boyfriend for almost 4 years. It was reasonable to think they were ready to start a family at some point. I didn't like the image my mind was picturing, but it was something to be expected.

“And well, at some point we realized maybe there was a problem. But we didn't want to delve into that and time passed. After what happened, I kept thinking… if he did it with another woman, maybe I was the one with the problem…”. (Y/N) paused a little to examine my face.

"Are you blaming yourself for not getting pregnant ?" I asked her.

"Yes. I did. But as good Dr. Reid always says, 'Look for the evidence first.' And that's what I did next . A while ago I went to the doctor and had many tests. And... yes, the big conclusion is I’m the problem... it is very likely that I can never have children by my own, Spencer." I could see how (Y/N) bit her lower lip to avoid showing the wave of feelings that were surely stuck in her chest at that time.

"(Y/N)... how can you be so sure of that ...? Maybe if you talk to another doctor...". She put one finger from her free hand to my lips to stop me from speaking.

"Spencer, it's okay. You don't have to say or do anything. I'm telling you so that you know I trust you and that I'll be fine. I just have to get used to the idea…”. It was obvious she had been thinking about this subject for a long time, because she managed to contain herself and be strong. I raised her hand taken with mine and brought it to my lips to stamp a warm kiss.

"You know you can count on me for anything, right?. Whatever, what you need. If you want a second opinion, I can help you find one. Or if you just want to talk about this…”. I said outlining a smile and looking directly into her eyes so she knew my words were true. I didn't know what else to offer that could help her. Sure she felt overwhelmed. (Y/N) nodded and a "thank you" came from her lips before resting her head on my shoulder again.

It was hard not to think all the times in the past few years when I might have noticed signs of (Y/N)'s intentions. Some things made sense to me. Sometimes we joked about a faraway future. Most of the time she hinted a wish of having a big family, a house, and a dog. I wanted it too, and I always told her I was sure she would get it before me.

Weeks passed and in our conversations with (Y/N) the subject didn’t return. A couple of times I tried to ask her how she felt about it, but she just shrugged, told me she was accepting it, and then changed the subject. So I chose to drop it and trust when she was ready to speak, she would.

One morning arriving at the BAU after a case and before going to our respective places to sleep, (Y/N) approached me and asked me to go at her apartment for dinner at night. I stared at her with intriguing eyes. Seeing my face, she hastened to explain.

“I wish we could talk, but now we both need to sleep. Today at 8:00 works for you?”. I nodded accepting the invitation. Maybe she was ready to talk.

When she opened the door greeted me with a smile, but I could immediately perceive some nervousness in her. I couldn't tell the reason. I also didn't want to ask, yet. We sat down to eat and with (Y/N) only talked about trivial things: the last case, about the book she was reading, that she talked to her mother that afternoon, that the car was faulty and she had to send it to repair. I kept noticing the anxiety and the times I glanced at her, she tried to avoid prolonged eye contact with me.

We were drinking the post dinner coffee and I couldn't stand the insecurity anymore. I had to ask what was going on.

"I don't think you asked me to dinner just to talk about these things ..." She shook her head and settled into the chair to try to calm her nerves, which were already evident by now.

"It’s true. There is something 'less trivial' I want to talk to you about,” she confessed before taking another sip of her coffee.

"Well. I'm all ears. You can tell me. You know you can tell me anything and trust me, right?"

"I know. And I really appreciate it. I couldn't be discussing this with anyone else." She paused for a few moments, rested her hands on the table, intertwining her fingers . "Okay. Do you remember I told you about I was trying to get pregnant when I was with Darren, about my suspicions, and my visits to the doctor?”

“Yes, I remember. You never wanted to talk about that again."

"Yes. I was trying to get used to the idea. But, I don't know, I didn't want to quit yet. Although I don’t like to keep false hopes. The thing is, I listened to you and asked for a second opinion. I got new tests and the results are similar to the first time... only they opened up a little hope for me.” (Y/N)’s eyes lit up as she said it.

"That is good news, isn't it? What did they tell you?" I was quick to ask.

"I have a chance if I try artificial insemination. Now we both know what the odds mean… they are not certainties…”

“I know… it's still good news, isn't it? Are you going to try?”

"Yes. I want to do it” she said with determination.

"And what is coming now?" It wasn’t an easy question. (Y/N) was not in a relationship right now.

"Now I have to get a sperm donor. It could be an anonymous donor since I currently have no partner…”

"I understand and yeah, and anonymous donor is an option if you don't want to wait for a partner… ”

"Yes. I would have liked that. But by now it's not possible… and I don't want to wait to know if it will work or not…”

"I get it. So… you want to try it now.”

"Yes. But... my first choice is not an anonymous donor,” she said suddenly. I looked at her curiously. Could it be she already has a new boyfriend and is what she wants to tell me?

"No?, what is your first option?"

"You". She said fixing her eyes on me.

I felt like I was short of breath and had trouble swallowing. Was what I was hearing true? Above all the scenarios I had pictured in my mind in those last minutes, this was the least plausible to me.

"Me?"

"Yes. I know it is unexpected and it may seem strange to you, but believe me I thought a lot about it. And I want do this with someone who understands my situation and who I can trust. I don't know... an anonymous donor complicates me and I know that would be the most reasonable thing... but... I can’t. Doctor told me the odds could improve if the potential donor could accept taking some studies and eventually follow a treatment. Spencer, I’m so sorry, I'm pushing you to a difficult situation…”

My feelings conflicted at the time . She wanted me to be her donor. But would that change things between us?. She was asking me for a favor as a friend. What if it work out? Eventually (Y/N) would have a child of mine... where was I in this equation? I held my head in both hands. It was too much to process.

"Yes... I mean, I understand what you are saying. It makes sense, but if everything works out… we'll have a child…”

Doesn't she see the consequences of that?

“If it work out, you have no any obligation Spencer. I only…"

"Yeah, you only need my sperm. I get it…". I got up from my chair and started pacing around the room. My head was running 1000 revolutions per second.

"I don't want this to sound like I'm using you. Sorry. You don't have to accept. Just forget what I said, ok?”

"Why me? Is it just because we are friends?" Surely that last question was not entirely expected, because her face winced.

“Spencer, is everything. Because we are friends, because I couldn’t trust another person as I do with you, because you understand my situation. Because... because you are a wonderful person..."

"You know my genes might not be that wonderful..." I said with a bitter smile.

"Spencer... that's not what I mean, you know that...".

"Would you let me be a part of their life...?".

"Only if you want…". Her watery eyes told me it was true. That there was no bad intention on her part.

"This will make our friendship change, you know that, right?"

"Yes. I know. But it doesn't have to be a bad thing… besides… they are probabilities, right? ”. I nodded. I slowly approached her, taking her chin and lifting her face to me. When she finally looked at me, I started to dry her tears with my thumbs.

“Do you remember I told you that you could count on me for anything? I meant it. Even if you only want my sperm now,” I said smiling at her. That made her laugh a little. She got up from the chair and hugged me tight.

"Thanks... thank you so much!" (Y/N) said as she buried her face in my chest. Her tears were now of joy.

I could only close my eyes and hold her tight against my body. I knew this could be a huge mistake, but (Y/N) deserved a chance and if she believed that I could help her, I was not going to refuse despite all my apprehensions. Although it could mean a future torture just thinking we could have something so intimate in common and still be just friends. Even there were chances it would not work, for me the line between us had crossed.

Would it be possible to go further in the future? Could (Y/N) ever see me with different eyes? With the eyes with which I looked at her every day? Could I allow me to feed that little hope? I expected the future might one day be on my side. I allowed myself to have that wish. Time would tell whether or not I was right accepting her request.

——————–

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds #spencer reid angst #dr. spencer reid

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heauxplesslydevoted · 4 years

Text

Miami Nights (Ethan x MC)

Warning: 18+, NSFW.

Summary: While in Miami to celebrate their upcoming wedding, Ethan and Naomi sneak away from the festivities to have their own celebration.

A/N: Like all of my NSFW fics, this was 100% self indulgent and written with only me in mind.

Tags: @fanmantrashcan @ao719 @x-kyne-x @colourmeshy @writinghereandthere @paulfwesley @ramseyandrys @perriewinklenerdie @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @hatescapsicum @lapisreviewsstuff @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramsey @the-soot-sprite @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @miyakokurono @trappedinfandoms @my-heart-beats-for-ya @adrian-motherfucking-raines @riverrune @edith-eggs1 @thatysn @bellcat2010 @theeccentricbibliophile @cecilecontrera @junehiratas @choices-love-affair @openheart12 @kaavyaethanramsey @caseyvalentineramsey @desmaranj @mal-volaris @whatchique @nazario-sayeed @aestheticartsx @ruinedbypixels @mvalentine @nooruleman @rookie-ramsey

As always, let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged. And if your tags do not work, I’m sorry, and blame Tumblr. ~v~ In a perfect world, Ethan Ramsey would be at home, on his couch, a good book in one hand and a tumbler of scotch in the other. The last place he necessarily wants to be is in the crowded bar of a Miami hotel, sandwiched between a 21 year old girl and her friends, and some guy crying into his pint of beer.

The things Ethan does for love.

Coming to Miami was Naomi’s idea. She wanted a fun weekend away for their bachelor and bachelorette parties, and Miami was the only place she even considered going. What better way to celebrate their upcoming nuptials than to go to the city, specifically the hotel that started it all?

He hasn’t seen her all day, her friends kidnapping her as soon as their plane touched down. He misses her. They’ve been attached at the hip ever since they began dating, even more so after she moved into his condo, and being without her feels strange, even if it’s only for a night. And while he’s grown fond of Naomi’s merry band of misfits, spending the entire night with Bryce, Elijah, and Rafael requires more patience than he has.

He’s spent the entire day with them, and his capacity to be around other people has reached its limit. So while the guys were making plans of going to a strip club, Ethan left altogether, quietly slipping out of their room.

Ethan feels a tap on his shoulder. “Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

He’d recognize that voice anywhere, the slight drawl of Naomi’s accent when she has to pronounce certain words. Once he’s turned around, all thoughts of what he could possibly say are gone.

After two years together, Naomi’s beauty shouldn’t stun him anymore, but she still manages to render him speechless.

“Wow,” is the word his brain finally settles on.

Forever the drama queen, Naomi twirls around so her fiancé can get a full look at the sparkly dress she’s wearing. “I take it you like the dress?”

“You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Her eyes sweep over Ethan, taking him in. He’s not doing anything in particular, but his presence is still commanding and magnetic. “You look pretty handsome yourself. Now, do you care to tell me why you’re missing your bachelor party?”

“I didn’t want to go to a strip club,” Ethan says simply. “And Lahela kept referring to us in third person, calling us ‘The Boys’ all night. It was becoming tiresome, so I left.”

“You can’t leave your own bachelor party.”

“Says the woman who ditched her bachelorette party,” Ethan shoots back.

Naomi rolls her eyes. “I only left my bachelorette party because you texted me to meet you down here.”

“I was simply over the night,” he says with a shrug. “We did a bit of gambling, we went to a cigar lounge, we got dinner. That’s more than enough entertainment for me. The other guys will be fine for the rest of the night if I’m not there.”

“Well if you’re checking out for the night, so am I.”

“No, you can still enjoy the festivities with your friends.”

Naomi shrugs. “Kyra and Sienna went too hard on the tequila shots at the club, and they’re currently passed out. Aurora, Jackie, and I were just in their room talking.”

“About anything in particular?”

“Mostly hospital gossip, nothing major.” Naomi takes a step forward and wraps her arms around Ethan’s neck. “Take me to our room, we can order room service and have our own celebration.”

One of Ethan’s eyebrows raises at the command. His hand travels to his fiancée’s hip, squeezing roughly. “Oh yeah? What kind of celebration?”

“I don’t know,” Naomi says, playing coy. “But I’m sure you can come up with something, doctor.”

~v~

They manage to get to their floor in record time, after Ethan requests that a bottle of wine get sent up to their room, which is a miracle because they spend entirely too much time stumbling through the halls, stealing kisses and touching each other.

Because they got separated early in the day, Naomi didn’t get a chance to see the room she and Ethan would be staying in for the weekend. As soon as he slides the key card through the door and pushes it open, Naomi just knows.

It’s the same suite she and Ethan shared the first time they visited The Celestial. “Ethan, this is...wow.”

“I take it you’re surprised?”

“I’m more than surprised.”

Naomi wanders around the room, her fingers lightly touching all of the fixtures. The bedding is still the same, white and lavender, the room open and light. It even smells the same, and suddenly she’s transported back in time, 3 years ago.

Leaving Ethan where he’s standing, Naomi heads to the balcony, throwing open the sliding glass door. Everything is so still, weird for a city like Miami that’s constantly buzzing with energy. She doesn’t notice Ethan step out a minute later, a chilled bottle of merlot and two glasses in his hand.

He pops open the bottle and pours them both a glass, handing one to her. “Would you like to toast?”

“Sure.” Naomi raises her glass. “Here’s to us, our upcoming nuptials, and the best marriage the world has ever seen.”

“That’s a bold toast.” Ethan gently clinks his glass against hers. “I’ll drink to that.”

Naomi takes a hearty sip, ignoring all of the tips a sommelier usually gives on how to drink, the fruitiness of the wine taking over. She watches as Ethan heads to the railing, his own glass less than full.

“I still can’t believe you managed to get this room,” she says, sighing wistfully, overlooking the ocean from her vantage point. “How did you pull it off?”

“Everyone has a price. I said money was no object, and when I told them it was a surprise for my fiancée, they were a bit more inclined to help.”

“Really?” Ethan hums and nods in response.

“I told them the room has sentimental value to me,” he explains further. “It’s the room where I realized I was utterly helpless against your charms.”

“Ethan Ramsey, you’re truly a romantic at heart.”

He’ll never get used to hearing her praise him so openly. Ethan ducks his head down so Naomi can’t see the flush creeping up his neck at the compliment. “You bring out this romantic side of me.”

She goes to join him at the railing. He doesn’t say anything, but he slips his arm around her waist, pulling her close.

Butterflies bloom in her stomach at his words. It’s nice to know that their first trip to Miami means so much to him, because it was an absolute game changer for her.

“I remember everything about that night so vividly,” Naomi says, her voice almost a whisper.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Losing to Declan in that poker match, coming out here, sharing a bottle of pinot noir, and talking about Naveen and my dreams for the type of doctor I want to be. I remember it all.”

“And then we kissed,” Ethan adds.

“Oh yeah, we did kiss, huh? I can’t believe I almost forgot that.”

“Ha ha, Rookie.”

“You know I’m just kidding. Of course I remember that kiss. It was the start of quite the journey for us.” A pained look flashed across Ethan’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“I kissed you and then I immediately reneged. I started us on that ridiculous journey and wasted so much precious time because I didn’t want to admit that I was falling for you.”

“Hey.” Naomi grabs Ethan’s hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “I love you, and look at where we are right now. We’re getting married next week, we’re starting the rest of our lives together. Yes, the journey took a bit longer than I had hoped, but I don’t think I’d change anything in our past. It’s led us to this moment right here.”

“How are you so much more...wise and articulate than me?”

Naomi shrugs. “It’s a gift. Not everyone is privileged to possess it.”

“You remember all of the broad strokes of that night in Miami, but I’m more fond of the tiny details.”

“Like what?”

“I remember your blue dress and how it matched my eyes,” he starts. “I remember the sweet smell of your perfume, jasmine. I remember your coconut shampoo. I remember the way your pupils dilated when you saw me step out of the shower.” Ethan pulls Naomi closer to him and one of his hands gently cups her face. “It’s the same look you gave me when you realized that I threw that poker game for Naveen’s benefit, one of pure awe.”

“Your skin was incredibly soft,” Ethan continues, his finger tracing a nonsensical pattern on her collarbone. “Like silk. And it still is. But you want to know my favorite memory of that night?”

“Wh-what?”

A hand underneath her chin, Ethan tilts Naomi’s head up, their lips dangerously close. If she moves just a hair closer, they’ll be kissing. She’s tempted to just take the plunge, but she’s frozen, trapped under a spell of his.

With that, Ethan’s mouth descends on hers, pulling Naomi into a kiss with a ferocity she wasn’t expecting. She melts into it immediately, moaning, her hand flying to the back of his neck, getting tangled in the hair at the nape. She can taste the wine of him, the sweet taste of cherries as tongue slips into her mouth, deepening the kiss.

Ethan pulls away only to nip at the corner of her mouth. “That fucking moan of yours. The tiny little noise you make at the back of your throat whenever you’re aroused. It’s been playing in my head on a loop ever since.”

His beard scratches a path down Naomi’s neck and shoulder as he kisses her.

“You want to make that sound for me again?” Naomi nods frantically, desperate for whatever is about to come her way. “Good girl.”

Taking her hand, Ethan pulls her away from the railing. Instead of heading back into their suite, he presses her into the tall pillar next to them, barely giving her enough time to put down her wine glass. The exposed skin of her back collides into the pillar with a soft thud.

“Out here?” She asks with a squeak as Ethan tugs at her dress.

Ethan shrugs. “Why not?”

His lips are on her neck again in an instant, clouding her judgment and making it harder to respond. “Someone can–” she dissolved into a fit of moans at Ethan’s ministrations. “Someone can see us.”

“We’re thirty floors up,” Ethan deadpans. “And it’s pitch black out here, no one will see us.” He grabs her hips, pulling her flush against him, and Naomi gasps at how hard he is. “Now hearing you, that’s another story. You’re loud and I have every intention to make you scream.”

If he wasn’t holding onto her, Naomi is sure she would’ve fallen over at his words. Ethan’s cockiness is on full display, and arrogant Ethan was definitely one of her favorite versions of him.

Ethan pulls away, giving Naomi a bit of breathing room so she can properly think again. “Does that sound like a plan, Valentine? Me having my way with you right here on this balcony?”

“God, yes.” She ignores the way he smirks at her unbridled eagerness. Ethan has a healthy enough ego without her stroking it.

“Correct answer, Rookie.”

Ethan’s hand wraps around the silky material at the top of Naomi’s dress and yanks it down. Naomi hears the ripping of the material and her eyes fly open in shock at the cool Miami air hitting her exposed chest.

“We’re going to have to talk about the serious lack of respect you have for my clothing.”

“You told me you got this dress because someone you called a “Pictagram influencer” advertised it and had a coupon code making it 70% cheaper,” Ethan counters.

“Yes, the dress was cheap, but you have to stop ripping all of my clothes.”

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“With a new dress?”

Ethan rolls his eyes at his fiancée’s quip, but he ignores it. “Something better.” He kisses down her neck and chest, stopping to wrap his lips around her nipple, biting down gently.

It takes a second for Naomi to register that the source of the unladylike growl filling the air is her. She grips Ethan’s shoulder to steady herself, her nails digging through his shirt, and her head falls forward at the sensation.

“You’re always so responsive to me,” Ethan murmurs softly. His mouth descends on her other nipple, his tongue flattening over the pebbled bit of flesh. “And I don’t even have to do anything to you.”

“Well, can you do something to me?”

“You young people have no patience,” Ethan clicks his tongue teasingly. Slowly, he sinks down to his knees in front of Naomi, tugging her dress down with him. He’s already ripped it, there’s no use in exercising any more care. The sparkly dress pools at Naomi’s feet and she kicks it away.

“You old people move too slow–”

The words die on her throat as Ethan hooks a finger into the band of underwear and tugs them down at a frenzied pace. His calloused fingers dig into her hips, hard enough to bruise. She always calls him old, teasing him into accepting whatever challenge she’s thrown his way. “I’ll show you old, Rookie.”

Leaving her hip, one of Ethan’s hands travels to her knee, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He hooks her leg over his shoulder, giving him more leverage.

She can feel his breath, warm and tickling on the inside of her thigh, so close, yet so far away from where she actually needs him to be. Her hips fly forward, a silent plea for him to continue this little game they’re playing. Thankfully Ethan doesn’t tease her any further as his tongue flies out, licking at her folds.

Naomi inhales sharply and she nearly hikes up the wall at the sensation. “Oh, God.”

“You’re so wet for me, Naomi,” Ethan whispers against the overly sensitive flesh.

He dives back in, moaning against her and Naomi throws her head back at the vibration. “Always for you.”

She can tell by the way his blue eyes sparkle as they lock eyes that he’s smirking. But Naomi doesn’t have time to care about that because his lips wrap around her clit and he sucks hard. Naomi cards her fingers through his hair, tugging at him roughly, like she will die if he doesn’t keep his attention right where it is.

It doesn’t last long though, and with ridiculous strength and skill, Ethan manages to grab her wrists in one hand, and keeps her hips planted against the pole with the other. Naomi receives the message loud and clear: he’s in control here, unequivocally.

Secure in the fact that she won’t be doing too much moving, Ethan doubles down, his tongue lapping at her. The familiar scratch of his beard against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh only makes her more delirious with lust.

Molten core levels of heat prick at every bit of her skin, from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. Her stomach tightens and there’s a tingle at the base of her spine. She’s close and it’s not fair that he can make her come this quick, and she’s not sure if she hates it or loves it. “I’m gonna–”

“I know.”

Ethan pulls away slightly, but Naomi doesn’t get the chance to whine about it. In an instant, he’s slipped a finger inside of her, earning a groan. He is just so...relentless in his goal, and Naomi barely has a chance to breathe before she’s keening (something so dramatic and unlike her. Ethan will never let her live it down). Her orgasm is swift, crashing into her like a tidal wave, knocking her off kilter almost instantly. Ethan doesn’t back away, his mouth still on her, working her through the release.

Her entire body is buzzing, still wracked with aftershocks when Ethan finally stands up. His eyes are dark, no longer the ocean blue they usually are, now taking on something closer to the midnight sky, fully dilated and hooded. His mouth is wet, slick with...well her, and Naomi has never wanted to kiss him more.

“That was a promising start,” Ethan says. “But it’s just that: a start. I’m nowhere near done with you.”

A start? If Naomi had the energy to do so, she would laugh at him, but one look in Ethan’s eyes lets her know that he’s being serious. She gulps audibly. She’s a shaky puddle of goo right now, and that was only the beginning?

“Turn around, hands against the pillar,” Ethan commands.

“Wh-what?”

“You heard me loud and clear, Naomi. Hands out, ass up.”

He’s using his commanding doctor voice on her, and she loves it. Naomi does what she’s told, palms flat against the pillar holding up the balcony.

She hears rustling from behind, and she’s sure he’s undressing. Now she’s extremely aware of their power imbalance: she’s stark naked, save for a pair of high heels, while he’s still fully dressed. It’s not fair. Shifting slightly, Naomi lifts a foot and shakes it, hoping to get the shoe off in one fell swoop.

She’s stopped short of her plan as a sharp smack is delivered to her ass. She’s unable to contain the expletive in her throat, a loud, “Fuck!” drifting into the Miami air.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Ethan asks.

“Taking off these heels.”

He tsks at her, as if the answer isn’t good enough. “I don’t remember giving you permission to do so.”

The authoritative tone zips straight through her, and Naomi turns to face him, putting on her best doe eyes. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Christ.” Naomi didn’t know it was possible, but Ethan’s eyes darken even further at the word. He doesn’t bother stripping out the rest of his clothes, just quickly undoing his belt and pushing his pants down until they pool at his ankles. Without warning, Ethan wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him. Naomi’s back collides with his chest with a hard thud. “Kiss me.”

That’s not a command that needs repeating. Naomi tilts her head back in an attempt to kiss him, but their vast height difference and Ethan’s death grip on her make it a challenge. She just barely manages to capture the corner of his mouth before Ethan growls impatiently, and grabs her neck, forcing her head back to deepen the kiss.

It’s overwhelming and heady, and she’s so caught up in it, she doesn’t even realize his cock, hard and pulsing, is poised at the entrance until he plunges into her in one smooth thrust.

If he wanted her loud, he got what he asked for, because Naomi breaks their kiss in order to scream at the welcome intrusion. The air rushes from her lungs, and she can’t even begin to breathe again before Ethan pulls out and enters her again with just as much intensity as before.

She feels delirious, and she can’t pinpoint why. Maybe it’s the fact that they’re 400 feet above solid ground, and one look down makes her head spin. Maybe it’s the fact that someone, somewhere in this hotel knows exactly what they’re doing. Maybe it’s the fact that every inch of her skin burns deliciously as Ethan has her stretched at full fucking capacity, and she has nowhere to run or hide. There’s no sheets she can pull, no pillows to muffle her moans, nothing she can grab onto to anchor herself to reality. She’s suspended in this moment, and she can’t do anything but simply take it as Ethan fucks into her like a madman.

The noises she’s making along with the sound of their skin slapping together is wildly obscene, and it only spurs Ethan on. Abandoning her throat, his hand travels down to her chest, his forefinger and thumb pinching her nipple, bringing the tiny nub to an almost painfully hard peak. He makes sure to give the same level of attention to the other nipple, torturing his fiancée until she’s whining unintelligibly.

His lips find her earlobe and he bites down. “Are you close again?”

“Yes,” Naomi answers.

Instead of speeding up, Ethan slows down, his thrusts slowing down to an agonizingly deep pace, fully pulling out of her and thrusting in again at a leisurely pace, the sole intent of driving her insane.

“Ethan,” she whines. She’s a shaking mess, unable to do much else besides cry out and occasionally moan his name. Her spine curves, back arching and her head falls against his shoulder. “Fuck! Ethan, please.”

“Please, what?”

Despite his teasing, Naomi can tell he’s just as desperate as she is. His breath is coming out in ragged and uneven pants, there’s a thin layer of sweat, slick and coating his chest, and she can feel his heartbeat, wild and erratic against her back. He’s just as tortured as she is.

In a Hail Mary attempt to get what she wants, her inner muscles clench down on him, stopping him mid-thrust. Ethan’s knees buckle, the move unexpected and throwing him off-kilter.

“Shit, Naomi,” he manages to rasp out. “You don’t play fair.”

Being fair has no place in this, she plays to win, but she has no time to throw it back in his face as he presses into her clit with the pad of his thumb, applying just enough pressure to make her yelp.

If her last climax felt like getting slammed with a tidal wave, this one feels like floating down a river: languid and unrelenting, refusing to stop. It consumes her entire body, engulfing her in pleasure so white hot and intense, she’s sure stars are popping behind her eyelids as every bit of pleasure is wrung out of her body until there’s nothing left to give.

Ethan’s thrusts speed up again, messy and spasmodic, all rhythm gone. His hips snap against hers before she feels him coming, his entire body going rigid.

Thankfully, Ethan has enough energy left to pull them into a chair because Naomi was more than willing to simply collapse onto the concrete and stay there. She curls into his side, her face finding a spot in the crook of his neck.

They don’t speak for what feels like forever, both just trying to regulate their breathing and return back to normal.

Ethan breaks the comfortable silence, but Naomi barely realizes he’s talking before it’s too late to fully listen. She tilts her head back so they can lock eyes. “What?”

“I asked if you’re okay,” Ethan says.

“I can’t feel my legs,” is all Naomi manages to say. Ethan chuckles and reaches forward, slipping Naomi’s heels off, the relief pretty much instant.

“Better?”

“Much.” She sighs sleepily, her eyelids growing heavy. She burrows deeper into his side, Ethan’s body heat lulling her to sleep. “This was much better than staying in the girls’ room.”

“And it was much better than going to a strip club with your friends,” Ethan adds.

“You like them. They’re your friends too, don’t deny it.” Ethan doesn’t outright confirm or deny anything, which is all the confirmation Naomi needs. “Told you so.”

“How about a shower, Miss Know-It-All?”

“Sounds great,” Naomi huffs, but she makes no effort to move.

“This is doing more for my ego than you’ll ever know.” Ethan is careful, extracting himself from Naomi’s grip in order to get up. He then hooks his arms underneath her, lifting her up bridal style to carry her back into their suite.

Naomi might as well be unconscious because she’s dead weight in his arms as he maneuvers his way to the en-suite. Thankfully the shower isn’t complicated and all Ethan has to do is turn a few knobs for it to turn on. He waits a few seconds to make sure the water is the perfect temperature, before pulling Naomi in with him.

They don’t spend too much time in the marble and glass box, as Ethan can see Naomi is probably seconds from passing out. The shower is over almost as quickly as it began. Both wrapped in large hotel robes, Ethan nudges Naomi back to the bedroom where she collapses face down onto their bed.

Once Ethan is in bed with her, Naomi rolls over, her face firmly planted on his chest. Upon making contact, Naomi sighs.

Ethan kisses the top of her head. “I can practically hear your thoughts. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” Naomi assures him. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“It just feels...surreal, being back in Miami, being back in this room,” Naomi explains. “We’re getting married next weekend.”

Ethan lifts Naomi’s left hand, her engagement ring sparkling in the moonlight. “It does feel surreal.”

“I think we should make it a tradition, coming out here.” Ethan looks down at her, a curious eyebrow raised. Naomi feels the need to explain herself, the words rushing out of her mouth. “It doesn’t have to be annual or anything, but I want this to be our special place.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Ethan says. The next they come to Miami, she’s going to be his wife, and the thought spends a thrill down his spine.

“And we have to have sex on the balcony. It’s tradition now.”

“I’m starting to think you only want me for my body.”

“Of course not,” Naomi argues. “I’m in it for your money, too.” Ethan pinches her leg for the teasing, and she squirms away from him, laughing.

“When I die, I’m bequeathing all of my money to Jenner.”

“He’s a good boy, he’d share with me.”

Ethan rolls his eyes and pulls Naomi in for another kiss. They don’t make it very far though, as the sound of a cell phone pierces through the air, making them spring apart.

“Yours or mine?” Ethan asks, eyes scanning the room for the source of the noise.

Naomi bends over and sees her cell phone on the floor by their bed, and not on the nightstand.

Weird. She picks it up, and her eyes widen at the amount of texts she’s received in the past minute, the vibration so strong, it knocked the phone off of the table. “It’s mine.”

Bryce L: DUDE!!!

Bryce L: Where the duck r u?

Bryce L: ????????????????????????????????

Bryce L: Srsly not funny, did u run away from ur own bachelor party?

Bryce L: Pick up fone. Nay will murder us for losing u.

Bryce L: But I will murder fist, 4 running away

Bryce L: Oh shut. Naomi, ignore this!!!

Bryce L: JK, false alarm

Bryce L: Ethan is fine, picky promise!

Between the misspelled words and strings of emojis, Naomi can tell that her surgeon friend is completely drunk, but she manages to figure out what he’s saying. “So Bryce is having a meltdown because he lost you.” Taking the phone from Naomi’s hand, Ethan holds it up to his face, squinting as he reads. “And he thinks he was texting you, when he really just texted me.”

Ethan chuckles slightly, and mere seconds later, his own cell phone rings ‘Dr. Bryce Lahela’ flashing across the screen. “He’s figured it out, and he’s calling me now. Should I answer?”

“No. Let them have their Hangover moment.”

“Their what?”

“From The Hangover. The movie with Bradley Cooper, Ed Helms, Zack Galifiniakis where they get totally shitfaced and lose their best friend a day before his wedding,” Naomi explains. Ethan just stares at her blankly. “Oh my gosh, you’ve never seen it?”

“How does this come as a shock to you, Rookie?”

“Well, we can't get married until you’ve seen the entire trilogy.”

That makes Ethan’s brows fly up. “There’s 3 of those movies that you want me to sit through?”

“God Grandpa, you’re so lame,” Naomi groans and her hand reaches out onto the nightstand, grabbing the remote control. She points to the large flatscreen tv in front of them. “Hopefully we can order movies on this. If not, I brought my laptop so–” Ethan plucks the remote from her hand, and tosses it to the edge of the king sized bed. It lands softly. “Hey!”

“I don’t care about some stupid movie.”

“It’s not stu–” He tugs at the knot holding her robe together until it falls open. “Ethan…”

“You have options, soon to be Missus Ramsey,” Ethan starts. He rolls over until he’s on top of Naomi, his arms bracing either side of her cage, caging her underneath him. “We can watch that movie, or we can pick up where we left off on the balcony. Which choice do you prefer?”

“The movie,” Naomi quips back with a smirk.

She laughs at her own joke and Ethan’s eyes darken mischievously, taking on the challenge. “Just for that, I’m going to guarantee that you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

#ns*fw #playchoices #choices: stories you play #open heart #open heart 2 #dr. ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #pixelberry

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erule · 4 years

Text

Sounds of Someday

Title: Sounds of Someday

Pairing: Dean x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6700ish

Warnings: age gap (the reader is 21, while Dean is 26), mention of self-sabotage, mention of a mother abandoning her child, slight smut, angst, romance, friends to lovers, professor!Dean, plot twists, betrayal from a father figure, breakup, language, happy ending.

Summary: Dean and the reader have always been good friends, even since their fathers made them play together when they were kids. After loving Dean for six years, she thought she had forgotten about him, but when they see each other again at her house, she realizes that she’s still in love with him. But maybe even Dean seems to feel something for her this time. The problem? She’s about to graduate from uni and her father wants her to leave for London. What will she do? Will Dean be willing to let her go now that he has found her again?

A/N: Hello hello! This fic participates to Jen’s Make Me Cry Challenge. Thank you Jen for the opportunity and congrats again for your goal! I chose prompt #7, We were never friends, that you can find marked in bold inside the story. I had so much fun writing it! This story means so much to me, I really put my heart into it, so I hope you like it.

I suggest you to listen to Sounds of Someday by Radio Company (fic’s title comes from there), 21 by Gracie Abrams (the whole idea of the story comes from here) and Empty Spaceby James Arthur while reading, if you want.

If you wanna be tagged in my Dean Winchester fics, just let me know in my ask box! You can also find me on AO3 and Wattpad. Feedback is always appreciated by a writer! Enjoy!

Tags: @akshi8278 @jawritter

Story under the cut!

«So, it was all a lie, uh?» she asked, holding back the tears.

Dean clenched his jaw, shaking his head.

«No, of course not. It was all true and we were real, Y/N. It’s just that we can’t do this anymore.»

«You’re breaking up with me after you said you loved me, in a very emotionless way and I should believe that…? Listen Dean, I’m not buying it. Did my Dad forced you to do this?» she asked, coming closer to him. Dean swallowed, without looking at her. She said he wasn’t feeling anything, but she was wrong. He felt something. He felt his whole body burning up just because of her breath near him, but he coudn’t say it. «You can’t even look at me in the eye… You’re gonna regret it, Dean. You’re not coming back from this.»

«Good, because I don’t want to» he replied, with his best poker face. He really seemed cruel. He had to.

She bit her bottom lip.

«I hope you’re satisfied with this ending. I’m certainly not.»

«Endings are never easy. I’m sorry, kiddo.»

«I hate when you call me like that, now» she said, her throat dry as the desert. He used to call her like that when she was younger. It was like he cared about her, but making a distance between them at the same time. Dean looked at his bare feet, feeling so guilty. «You used to call me like that, when we were just friends.»

«But that’s the matter, Y/N: we were never friends» he said, trying to hurt her even more.

«Well, fuck you, Dean!» she yelled, angrily.

«I’m sorry, ba… Y/N.»

«Fuck you, Dean» she repeated, then she surpassed him to get to the door.

***

«Hey Y/N, come downstairs! The Winchesters are here!» said her father.

«I’m coming!»

That was the day of their ruin.

She hadn’t seen Dean in a year and now he looked stunning. He had always been handsome, but now, that guy, who had just turned twenty-six, seemed better than ever. He was breathtaking.

She sighed on the stairs, then she went downstairs to welcome Dean, his brother, Sam and his father, John. Her father, Jay, had always been a good friend of John, so Sam and Dean were always at her house to play when they were kids. Then, Dean was always coming around because he constantly asked her father what he had to do to become a teacher and now he had finally become a professor at her university. She was twenty-one and she was about to graduate. Jay wanted her to go to London to find a job, but she wasn’t sure about that, because her dream was heading to Chicago.

«Y/N, are you okay?» Jay asked her.

«Yes, of course! I was just thinking, sorry. Hi, everybody» she said, politely.

Dean immediately offered her his hand to shake.

«Hey, Y/N. You look really beautiful, tonight» he said. Y/N blushed and her father noticed that.

«Are you hitting on my daughter, Dean?» joked Jay.

«I always am» Dean replied, with a wink.

Everybody laughed at that, but Y/N doubted about his answer for a moment. Dean wasn’t someone who talked like that about any girl, not about her anyway, for sure. But that thought was erased instantly: he wasn’t interested in her. She wasn’t attractive, he said that some years before that day with a very simple sentence: “You’re like a sister to me. The little sister I never wanted”. Yeah, that pretty sure cancelled all of her thoughts.

After the dinner, she went to the garden to breathe some air. She sat down on the little swing they still had from her childhood, a cold beer in her hands and the eyes full of the stars she was looking at.

Later, she surprised Dean on the door, staring at her. He made her heart beat faster than ever, like the last time she saw him. That was bad, very bad. She had healed from her crush on him a long time ago, she hadn’t to fall for him all over again. It was just painful. Too much painful.

«Hi» he said, his voice even lower than she remembered.

«Hey» she said, offering him her beer. «You want some?»

«Why not?»

So, he sat on the other swing. They just seemed two children too grown up for that game.

«How’s uni goin’? I didn’t have the chance to see you after class. It was weird to see you there, even if I was just an assistant of your professor» he said. Y/N chuckled.

«It’s going well. I just need to pass my last exam and then I’ll be free!» she exclaimed, opening her arms as they were a bird’s wings. He laughed. «I think you were very serious, Winchester.»

«Was I?»

«Yes» she answered. Dean was looking at the beer, nodding. «You’re understimating yourself as always, aren’t you?»

«You know me better than anyone else» he said and then drank a sip from his beer.

“And even despite that, I loved you anyway”, she thought.

«You’ve worked so hard for that, Dean. Don’t let anyone take it away from you. You hear me?» she said, pointing a finger at him. Dean smiled.

«Yes’, m’am.»

«Good» she said, chuckling. «I’m your number one fan» she added, then she grabbed the beer from his hands to take another sip because being around him made her nervous, but drinking just made the situation worse. «In fact, I had a pretty bad crush on you when I was younger.»

Dean’s eyes seemed to turn dark, but maybe it was just a wrong impression.

«This is getting interesting» he said, with a grin.

«You didn’t notice it? No? Well, when I was in high school I was head over heels for you. I couldn’t think about anyone else, even if when I dated some other guy. They just… weren’t you.»

«Why didn’t you tell me?» he asked, watching her finishing the beer.

«Because you always took home some very pretty girls and I always thought that I wasn’t enough for you.»

«Who’s understimating herself, now?» Dean said and she laughed.

«Touché.»

Then, Dean took the bottle away from her hands, touching her fingers. He was warm, unlike the weather. She turned to look at Dean, while her arms were now freezing. His gaze was slowly coming down from her eyes to her lips. Her heart was racing in her chest, not letting her breathing properly. He had never looked at her like that. What had changed?

«Here, take my jacket» he said out of the blue, offering her it. «Your nose is red like Rudolph’s.»

She was about to get the jacket with trembling hands, when the voice of her father arrived from the door.

«Y/N! Dean! What are you doing there? Come inside!»

His jacked fell on the grass. Y/N stretched an arm in order to get it, but Dean’s hand was faster. He gave it to her, staring at her figure. She was about to burst into flames.

«Your hands were shaking. Why?» he asked and it was like he was closer to her, because she could feel his scent on herself, the smell of leather and mint.

«You just said that yourself: I’m cold» she lied.

«Or was it because I was too close to you?»

She raised her gaze in order to look at him. His eyes were dark like two black holes.

«Y/N!» Jay called. «Get inside! Now!»

Fortunately, that woke her up. She got up from the swing and came in the house. John and Sam were about to leave, that’s why they were saying goodbye to Jay.

«Is that Dean’s jacket?» Sam asked her, with a grin.

«Y-yes.»

«Hey, whatever you’re doing here, stop it» John said to Dean, when he came inside.

«I’m not doing anything. She was just cold» Dean said, with a shrug. She gave him an eloquent look. He didn’t know that they could play that game together.

Dean winked at her.

«You can keep the jacket, if you want.»

«Nah, I don’t need something to remind me of your cockiness» she said. Sam laughed. Dean nodded, admitting the defeat to himself. «But thanks, though. I was really freezing out there.»

«You’re such a liar, Y/N» Dean murmured at her ear, while she was returning his jacket to him.

«Alright, alright, stop it, kids» Jay said. «Dean, I’ll see you tomorrow at work. John, Sam, we’ll see each other another time. Drive safely.»

«Thank you, Jay» John said.

And then, they were gone. Y/N helped her father to clean up the kitchen, smelling a strange scent nearby her. He was unusually quiet, but she didn’t want to hear something about London or Dean again. She just wanted to go to bed, feeling pretty satisfied about that evening. She didn’t know why, but Jay seemed to understand it and in fact, he didn’t shoot any question.

She got to bed feeling the scent of Dean still on herself.

***

«We can’t study like this» Olivia said, putting the books aside. «What’s bothering you? London again?»

«Oh, believe me, I wish!»

«Is there something more important than London?»

«Well… do you remember that guy I liked back in high school?»

«Who? That idiot that made you feel like you weren’t enough?» Olivia asked and Y/N nodded. «You’re joking, right?»

«I saw him the other night and I think that he was hitting on me.»

«This can’t be real!» she shouted.

«Please, be quiet» Y/N begged her.

«What was his name? Daniel? Dave?»

«Dean.»

«Dean! Yeah, I remember what you told me about him. He was an ass.»

«Nah, he was just stupid. Now he’s not like that anymore» Y/N said, putting her chin on a hand. A part of her was still thinking about his beautiful green eyes and his hands touching hers.

«Hey! You have to pass this exam, remember?» Olivia said.

«Yes, right. Get back to study.»

Olivia agreed with a smile. She was reading the book again, legs crossed on Y/N’s bed, but Y/N couldn’t. Yeah, London was important, but on the other hand, Dean was her first love. She couldn’t think to leave without knowing if he was just playing with her or not. His eyes were insanely dark the other night, when he was looking at her. Was he just glad that another woman had a crush on him or did it mean something to him? And also, why now? She had so many thoughts in her mind. Then, she noticed that Olivia was staring at her. She was wondering was Y/N was thinking and when she got it, her eyes just popped out like she was a puppet.

«Oh, fuck Dean Winchester!»

Someone opened the door. Y/N almost fell from the bed when she saw who had done that. She prayed that he didn’t hear Olivia.

«Was that an insult or an invitation?» Dean asked, his shoulder lying on the door’s jamb. «I’d prefer the second one» he said with a wink in Y/N’s direction.

Of course, he had to hear that, she thought.

«What are you doing here, Dean?» Y/N asked.

«I was working with your Dad. He wanted me to ask you if you girls would like to take a break from studying and come downstairs» he answered. Olivia kept looking at him like he was the Devil, though. «Do we know each other?» Dean asked, but she shaked her head.

«Not really.»

«It’s definitely time to take a break!» Y/N exclaimed.

Olivia went downstairs, but Dean stopped Y/N from doing that. He closed the door behind himself, scaring her. Why would he do that? It was like they were in some cheap rom-com. That was getting worse.

«Look Y/N, I want to apologize about the other night» he said. Oh, she didn’t see it coming. «I’m not that kind of guy anymore and I just want you to know that. It’s just that… this job is everything I have ever wanted and I’m so scared of screwing things up, that it’s like I’m doing that on purpose because I think I don’t really deserve it, so I try in every way possible to screw up my life too to prove it. I don’t want to ruin our friendship. I appreciate what you told me and for that, I promise I won’t use it your weaknesses against you.»

Y/N was overwhelmed by all of that. It seemed like Dean had really became a very mature version of himself and she was really glad he did. Unfortunately, it also made him even more likeable to her.

«Thanks, Dean» she said.

«No problem» he replied with a smile.

And that, that was the moment she knew she fell in love with him all over again. The very start of her downfall.

Two weeks later, she had successfully passed her exam. It was snowing, so she decided to go to a pub near the university with her friends to celebrate. It was Friday night, after all. Olivia came with a gift from her, since she was heading to London and it was a new coat.

«It’s red, but don’t be naive like Little Red Riding Hood» she said, but Y/N didn’t understand what she meant until she didn’t see someone entering from the door. Someone who noticed her and that now was approaching their table.

«Hi! How did your exam go?» Dean asked. Olivia rolled her eyes.

«Well, I just passed it, so I’d say not bad» Y/N answered, happily.

«I knew it! Come here» he said, before he could give her a proper hug. Every inch of her body just burned up.

«Thanks, Dean» she said with a soft smile. She’d have sweared she saw Dean’s eyes shine.

«I’ll leave you to your friends» he said.

She looked at Olivia, who was already shaking her head, but she wanted him to stay really bad, so in the end, after she bit her bottom lip, she called him.

«Dean! Hey, if you’re not busy with your friends, maybe you could… you know… stay.»

Dean smiled and he felt her heart doing a flip.

«Unfortunately I’m here with other professors, but I’ll come around later, is that okay?»

She nodded.

«Yes» she said, lying to him.

Then, the hours passed very quickly. She spent the evening laughing and joking with her friends, but she couldn’t deny that she often glanced at Dean. The thought of being there wih him but far away, killed her from within. It was as if a rib was missing from her body, a limb of her skin that now belonged to him. It belonged to him since she was fifteen, actually.

The pub was about to close. Oliva was very drunk, so she got home with a friend, while the others went away. Maybe it was a dumb idea, but she stayed because of Dean’s promise. Ten minutes later, while she was sitting at the table all alone, someone offered her a beer.

«Hey, I’m here finally» Dean said, taking a seat in front of her.

«Hi» she replied with a tired smile.

Dean wetted his lips before talking.

«I saw your friends leaving and I was wondering… why did you stay here, all alone?» he asked.

Her heart started racing faster and faster in her chest. Did she want him so bad to ruin everything between them? Dean was someone who noticed things so he probably did understand the situation very well. Also, his bad jokes that night at her’s still made her think that maybe he liked her too. Maybe not as much as her, but it was still something. But was it right to settle with someone who didn’t want her completely? Because she wanted Dean in every aspect a human being could be wanted.

«Where’s the catch? Because you said that you didn’t want to use my feelings against me» she said.

Dean clenched his jaw, looking at his hands crossed on the table. He still had the silver ring of his mother. Then, he slowly looked at her, raising his eyelids, so seriously she could swear it was maybe the first time she saw him that way.

«No catch. I just wanna know. You’re free to tell me a lie and I’ll believe it. But please, if you stayed here because you were waiting for me, I’d really love to hear it.»

Her throat was dry.

«Why?»

«Because no one ever did something like this for me. And I know that it probably seem stupid, but it shows me that you care» he answered, with a soft smile on his lips. «So, I’m gonna ask you for the last time, before they kick us out, why did you stay here?»

She swallowed, looking straight into his eyes. They were incredibly green. Constellations of flowers. It was now or never. Her voice was like a winter’s breath, when she spoke.

«For you.»

Then, she couldn’t remember how they arrived to Dean’s apartment, but she remembered very well how his clothes fell on the floor or the way he delicately throw her dress off of her. It was all slowed like in a movie. It almost seemed a dream to her.

«I’m not doing this, if you don’t want me to» Dean said, his thumb brushing her lips.

«I want you, Dean. I’ve always wanted you. Always» Y/N said and then, Dean kissed her so hard, they crumbled on the bed.

She felt the coldness of his ring on her back, while his fingertips were caressing it. Their lips found each other and a spark was born, fuse of the Apocalypse. She felt like collapsing, cut into two parts, completely folded as a blooming flower.

He completed them. Every single empty space. He filled them all.

«Could you repeat it, please? Always.»

She smiled on his lips.

«Always» she whispered, between the kisses. «Always.»

And she kept repeating it all night.

***

She looked at him like he wasn’t supposed to be there, but she was glad he was. It was her graduation day. They’ve been together for three months, without their fathers knowing it, but Sam and Olivia were well aware of that. Never in a million years she would have thought to see that day. To actually see Dean there, standing between her father and Sam, clapping at her with a smile so bright on his face, she could swear it could cure every disease. It was so pure, but mostly, happy and it was all for her. She held back the tears, but it was, without a doubt, the most important day of her life. The most beautiful one. Maybe having faith did help at something.

She got back to Jay, who hugged her tight and said something like My baby has graduated now in a very proud tone of voice. She also hugged John and Sam, before she could finally look at Dean.

«You did it» he said.

«I did it» she repeated, blushing, even if she didn’t know why. He had that influence on her.

«I knew you would have made it» he said and then, he did something she wouldn’t thought he would have done. He kissed her.

It was like her whole world fell apart. He cupped her cheeks and gave her a gentle kiss on her lips. She felt her whole chest burning because of that, her skin collapsing between his hands.

When they parted, she saw the light in his eyes and bit her bottom lip. It was an authentic moment of pure joy. The emotion in his gaze was real. He was real. It was like the universe had accepted every desire she wished for, every year for six years. He meant it. And he was there to see her succeed.

Thank you, her lips mimed.

But his answer surprised her once again: I love you.

She didn’t even have the time to elaborate his words, that her father spoke: «What just happened?»

She felt it. That was the moment he was about to tear Dean away from her. The moment she didn’t want to come. The moment everything fell apart like a castle made of sand. She felt the coldness in her bones, like a warning.

«Jay, please…» John tried to say, but Jay stopped him with the sign of his hand.

«You’re not getting away with this, Dean» Jay said and Dean just shrugged, like it was normal to him.

«I don’t understand, Jay. Did I offend you in any way?» he asked, calmly.

«We’ll talk later.»

And then, she understood. He kissed her on purpose becase it was a public place, so Jay couldn’t say anything because of his reputation, but now he knew about them. Clever, very clever.

After the ceremony, Dean took her hand and they just hid behind the stage. He kissed her, his hands everywhere and nowhere along her dress, that ascended her legs, her stomach, her waist.

«You think you’re smart, Winchester?» she asked, while he was sucking the skin of her neck.

«I think I’m utterly smart, as a matter of fact» he said, looking at her with messy hair and dark eyes.

God, he was so beautiful in that moment.

She laughed. A laugh so clear and free that made Dean smile like a child. It was so unreal.

«He’s gonna kill you, you know that?»

«I already spent three months of Heaven with you, who cares?»

«Heaven? Damn, I have to be a wild fire in bed.»

«Oh, trust me baby, you are» he said and she laughed again.

«Come on now, Sam and your friends are waiting for us. We’re gonna get so drunk tonight, you’re not gonna even remember your own name!» he said with an excited voice, kissing her hand.

«But I’ll certainly still remember you» she replied, with two images of Dean in her eyes like two comets. He gave her a delicate kiss on her lips.

«You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me, Y/N.»

The next day, Dean got up in a strange room. He wasn’t in his apartment for sure. It looked very different. He looked at his watch: 11 AM. What did he do last night? And then, when he turned, he saw the answer: the girl of his dreams was sleeping next to him. He caressed her hair, left a kiss on her temple and then put on his clothes.

When he got downstairs, he immediately met her father in the kitchen. He saw Dean while he was drinking a cup of coffee.

«’Morning, Jay» he said.

Jay groaned in his direction. He was surely still angry at him. He wanted to talk to him, but he had a terrible headache due to the hungover, so he wasn’t at his best. He sat down at the table, thinking about his next move, when Jay gave him a cup of coffee and an Aspirine.

«I talk, you take this» he started. «Look Dean, we’ve been knowing for years by now and we’re also colleagues, so I think I can say that I know you pretty well. You’re a very good guy, but you’re also a hard person to love. You’re scared of being left behind and for that, I suggest you to use this fear of yours to break up with my daughter.»

Dean almost spilled his tea on Jay.

«What?»

«You heard me. You’re gonna hurt her sooner or later, I know what you do. You think you can take advantage of her, just because she’s been in love with you since she was fifteen?» he asked. Dean looked confused: how did he find that out? Did Y/N tell him? «I’m a single father of a girl, Dean. I had to learn a lot of things. I noticed the way he looked at you. Hell, she still looks at you like that!» he exclaimed. Dean felt flattered about that, but he was still scared of what Jay just said. «I want you to break up with her. Just what you usually do, I think you’re pretty good at that by now.»

And that hurt. Jay was like a second father to him, a friend in some way, a role model and now he was just destroying their relationship. It was too much to handle.

«Jay, I know you’re just trying to protect her, but we’re adults now and…»

«She’s only twenty-one, Dean! She doesn’t even know what life is. She had to understand that hard work pays, that’s why she has to go to London. Life’s not a fairy tale.»

«I get it, but why London? I mean, she could look for some job here or…» Dean tried to argue, but Jay’s glance explained it all to him. And it was heartbreaking. «London was her best chance to forget me, wasn’t it? Your plan has always been this: sending her as far away as possible from me. You helped me to get the job at your university so you could make sure that I couldn’t leave it to follow her» he said. His back slipped along the chair, his throat dry. «You never admired me. It was all a lie.»

«No Dean, don’t get me wrong: I’ve always put my faith on you, because I knew that you were capable of doing great things, but you’re not the perfect fit for my daughter. It’s just as simple as that.»

«You came up with a fucking plan to take her away from me and now you’re even playing the martyr here?» Dean shouted, getting up from the seat. «You’re a monster, Jay. You don’t love your daughter, if you don’t let her decide what she wants from life. And for the record, I’ve changed. I’m not that fuckboy anymore. But maybe you were too busy thinking about your stupid plan to realize that» Dean said and then he got out from the house.

He was furious with Jay. He had always put nothing but trust in that man, confessing him every fear, every thought, every memory and now he just betrayed him like that. He wanted to punch a wall so bad, in that moment. But the worst thing he couldn’t believe he was thinking was that despite all of that, Jay knew that he would have done that.

And he knew that too.

He had avoided her for two days. Olivia had already told her that he was back to his old habits, but she didn’t believe it. Dean had grown. He was not the same guy of some years ago, he was trustworthy and reliable now. A lot people just kept seeing him as someone who wasn’t serious just because that was they wanted to see.

Then, he called.

«Y/N?»

«Hey, Dean.»

«Can we meet, please? I have to tell you something.»

She swallowed.

«Yes, of course. Where?»

«At mine’s. Twenty minutes.»

«Okay. Dean, are you alright?»

«See you later, Y/N.»

He was definitely not fine.

Anyway, she got there twenty minutes later. He opened the door, never even glanced at her and made her enter. He looked terrible, like he didn’t sleep at all for two days. He had dark circles under his eyes and he looked very pale. He had some grey sweatpants on and a white t-shirt. It was like turning back time and seeing him when he was studying for the last year of high school. He seemed so lost back then and he seemed so lost now too. It was heartbreaking.

«Dean?»

«Y/N, this could be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do» he began, running a hand through his hair.

«If that’s because I didn’t say it back, you don’t have to…»

«What?» he asked. He seemed so confused. «No, it’s not that.»

«Then what happened, Dean?» she asked, getting closer to him, but he made a step back.

«Please, don’t. Just… don’t» he said. It was like a weight was expanding in his chest. «Y/N, we have to break up» he said, raising his eyelids to look at her in a way that had always made her heart do a flip. But now, it was just tragically painful.

«What? Why?»

«Because you’re going to London now and I don’t do long-distance relationships.»

She made a noise of disbelief.

«You’re joking, right? Please, tell me that you’re joking. This is so stupid.»

«Look, I’ve been abandonded by my Mom when I was a child and you know that. I just don’t want you to leave me too. And London it’s your best chance for a brighter future.»

«You’re what, Freud, now?» she asked, incredulous. It was all ridiculous.

«Just respect my decision, okay? You’ll find someone better than me, I promise» he said, but he could barely look at her while he was doing that. It costed him an enormous amount of strength to say those words.

She sighed, defeated within her bones.

«So, it was all a lie, uh?» she asked, holding back the tears.

Dean clenched his jaw, shaking his head.

«No, of course not. It was all true and we were real, Y/N. It’s just that we can’t do this anymore.»

«Good, because I don’t want to» he replied, with his best poker face. He really seemed cruel. He had to.

She bit her bottom lip.

«I hope you’re satisfied with this ending. I’m certainly not.»

«Endings are never easy. I’m sorry, kiddo.»

«But that’s the matter, Y/N: we were never friends» he said, trying to hurt her even more.

«Well, fuck you, Dean!» she yelled, angrily.

«I’m sorry, ba… Y/N.»

«Fuck you, Dean» she repeated, then she surpassed him to get to the door, but she stopped halfway through it. She bit her bottom lip, then she turned to look at him, who was confused. «You know what, Dean? Fuck you, because you think I don’t know. I heard you shouting the other day, I can only imagine what my father said to you» she said. Dean’s eyes grew wide at that realization. It hit him right in the ribs. «You’ve always understimated yourself, but I did too. Now I know that we were wrong. I remember when you brought me home one night, after the school’s dance. I looked at your face, half soaked in light and you know, you had these crystal green eyes that made me think about a lighthouse, because it helps ships come back to the shore and I thought... I thought they could bring me back home. You’ve always been my home» she said, with tears in her eyes.

Dean felt a lump in his throat, that maybe him unable to talk.

«Please, don’t do this» he begged her.

«Look Dean, I’ve been in love with you for six years now. I blamed it on the alcohol, but since we’re two adults, let’s be honest here: I wanted to say it to you. I wanted you to know that. I hid that for a long time, I was capable of keep going with it, but I didn’t. But since I’m an adult, I also know that life’s not a fairy tale, so when it seemed that you liked me too, I just took the chance. It could have lasted a day or a year, I just wanted that. You. Us. I wanted all of it. I fell in love with you every fucking day for the past six years and despite your bad behaviour sometimes, I still loved you. Or maybe I did because of that, I don’t know. So please, respect my heart and tell me right now, right now Dean, if you’ve ever felt something for me, because I think you owe me this, at least. It’s alright even if you didn’t, but tell me the truth. I think that after everything we’ve been trough, I deserve it. I’m asking you for just one thing.»

Dean looked like he was about to fall apart. His eyes were glossy and red at the corners.

«Repeat the question, please.»

It reminded her of the night at the pub. She nodded, swallowing.

«Did you feel something for me?»

And then, Dean answered something she couldn’t see it coming in six years.

«I did» he said. And then, with his eyes full of tears, he added: «I do.»

She let slip a sob out of her throat.

«Then why are you doing this? Don’t listen to my father and stay with me» she said, caressing his cheek. Dean closed his eyes, leaning into her touch.

«Because I think you should go to London anyway. It’s your best chance. I dont deserve you. I never did. It was just a pretty good fantasy I wanted to believe in.»

She took a step back. His cheek suddenly seemed too cold.

«This is not about you Dean, it’s about me! It’s about the fact that I want you and trust me, besides the graduation, I’ve never wanted anything so bad in my entire life like I want you right now» she said. That word had always been a very strong word for her and now Dean did too. «You were the love of my life when I was young. You still are» she whispered, right before her voice cracked up.

Dean sighed, defeated into his bones.

«I’m sorry, Y/N. I don’t know what else to say.»

And then, she walked away. Dean closed his eyes, feeling like he couldn’t breathe. He had to let her go. She had to go to London, to go away from there. She wasn’t supposed to stay. He just had to accept that. Her father was right: she deserved the world and he was just stopping her from having it.

But she was right about one thing: he was gonna regret it. For the rest of his life.

***

«Are you ready for London?» Olivia asked on FaceTime, smiling. She shrugged. «Y/N, please, stop thinking about Dean. He just made you waste plenty of time. You’re gonna forget about him, you’ll see.»

«Just be honest, Olivia: you never liked him» she said, annoyed.

Olivia sighed.

«I liked him, Y/N. » she confessed, surprisingly. «That’s why I wanted you to never have something with him. Because I knew that he would have anchored you here and you don’t belong to Lebanon. You have the skills to do anything you want. Don’t make a man or anybody, stop you.»

«You knew he liked me?»

«I knew he was head over heels for you the moment he leaned an eye on you the first time I’ve met him» Olivia said.

She held back the tears.

«Thanks, Olivia.»

«You’re welcome. Now pack your things. Tomorrow’s almost here!»

But is that a good day without Dean by her side?

She had just left. He saw her going to the airport on a Taxi. The last time he had seen her had been awful, but this one? This was way worse. Because he didn’t get to actually see her. He just knew it was her in that car, slipping away from his fingers.

«Dean?» Jay called, on the threshold of the door.

«I’m here to talk to you» Dean said, firmly.

Jay let him in, wondering what he could possibily wanted now. He seemed so sure of himself, like he had never been. Maybe he really grew up, somehow. And he didn’t even notice.

«What do you want from me, Dean?»

«You know, I never really got the chance to thank you, Jay. I mean, you helped me get into college, become a professor, make me a father when John wasn’t there… I’m really grateful for that. And you know, I broke up with your daughter as you asked me to, even if I hated every second of what I did. But didn’t give me a chance to explain myself or maybe I just wouldn’t take it, because I was too busy thinking that I wasn’t enough. I did it for almost all of my life, you know that and you never told me that it was bullshit. You know who did? Your daughter» Dean said. Jay clenched his jaw. «So, since I’ve figured out I’m better than the fuckboy you get to know, thanks to her too, I just want to say to you that I’m in love with her and I would have done anything to make her happy, anything» Dean said, with a lump in his throat. It took him a lot to actually say those words out loud. But he was glad he finally did. «She’s the only one. She’s the one for me, Jay. I love her and even if I’m terrified about this, I want to be with her. I just want to be around her until I can and until she’ll let me to. Please, don’t take this away from me. Please» he begged him.

Jay put a hand on his shoulder, nodding.

«I appreciate your words son, I really do, but I can’t let you stop her. I’m sorry.»

Dean took a step back, disappointed.

«No, you’re not.» Dean said, with disgust in his voice. «You know what? Screw you, Jay. I’m gonna get her back and I’m gonna follow her to London. I won’t spend another day without her. We already lost too many of them.»

And with that, he was already in his Impala to get to her. He arrived at the airport and began to look for her the second he took a foot inside. But since life’s not a fairy tale, when he found her gate, it was already too late.

She was gone.

He got back at his apartment, sighing. He had lost her forever and the worst part of that was that he had done that to himself. He opened the door and felt empty.

«Dean» someone whispered his name in a soft tone.

He turned to look at Y/N behind him, who was getting up from the stairs.

«Y/N? What are you doing here?»

«I didn’t leave. Can I come in, please?»

He nodded.

«Sure.»

She entered.

«A good friend told me that I was capable of doing anything I wanted and I thought that letting my Dad decide about my future was not what I wanted. That’s why I got back» she explained. «But I don’t want you to stop me either. So I’m just here to tell you that I’ll move to Chicago, so I can use my degree properly» she said. Dean lacked of words. «That’s it? I mean, I didn’t think you could say something like I’ll come with you, sweetheart, but maybe…»

«I was at the airport» he finally said.

«What?» she asked, confused.

«Your father didn’t give me the permission to go after you, but I did it anyway. I was ready to go to London with you» he confessed, clenching his jaw.

«Really?»

«Yes» he said and he was about to fall into pieces for saying that. «Chicago sounds alright too. I don’t really care.»

«But your job… and you hate flying!» she exclaimed.

«I’d hate to spend the rest of my life without you, sweetheart» he said, caressing her shoulders with a smile. «Is it a better answer than the one you expected?»

She nodded, a lump in her throat.

«It’s the best answer you could ever give to me» she said, before he kissed her.

#dean winchester imagine #dean winchester ff #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #jensmakemecrychallenge #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #jensen ackles x reader #dean winchester smut #erule's masterlist

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sometimesitrytowritethings · 4 years

Text

Mountain Man: Part 4

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: None

Summary: You never thought you’d love again. Then Arthur Morgan came into town. Fate continuously has you meeting each other in odd ways, and a troubled past is something you are both familiar with. Perhaps that’s what will make this time different.

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Valentine was, first and foremost, a run-down, muddy livestock town. It constantly smelled at least slightly of manure, and rest assured that every person’s shoes were caked in mud and shit by the end of each day. There were very few children or families in town, and thus little entertainment for anyone who was too young to drink or play poker. Gossip ran through the town as fast as whisky in the saloon, which is coincidentally where you had heard about the upcoming auction.

At the large Livestock Auction on the outskirts of town, a small troupe of men were to be riding in, followed by nearly two-dozen sturdy-looking horses. Luckily for you, Ben loved animals - especially horses. He really did take after his father in that aspect. So, there was naturally no better entertainment for the five-year-old than taking him to watch the small herd ride into town.

The two of you sat on a bench outside the back of the train station, close enough to see the action, but far enough away to stay safe in case any of the poor animals were suddenly spooked. Ben was dressed warmly in the crisp morning air, huddled up in a sweater as he sat on the bench, swinging his short legs back and forth in excitement. He held the last half of his chocolate bar tight in his fist, watching in awe as the horses were separated into groups and led into the corrals. Occasionally, he would smack your arm in excitement and point at a specific horse, admiring their coat or gait or hooves or anything else he found interesting.

After nearly an hour of watching from a distance, the horses were all herded into their pens, and Ben looked up at you with wide, excited eyes. “Mama, can I go to the fence now?” he asked, practically bouncing from his place on the bench. “Please?”

You gently pried the chocolate bar from his hand, and nodded. “Go ahead,” you agreed, “but watch out when you cross the road.” The end of your sentence was called to the back of the child, who had immediately dashed to the fence of the Livestock Auction.

With a small smile, you stood and slowly followed him over. You had been so focused on your son that you didn’t notice the familiar face of the man riding towards you until he had called your name. “Well, I shoa didn’t take you for a rancher,” came Arthur’s voice from your left. There was no way you could hide your smile.

He had been tying his own horse to the hitching post by the train station when he called out to you. He gave the horse a gentle pat and whispered something to it before walking towards you and Ben, who was far too distracted by seeing the horses up close to take notice of him. You let out a laugh as he made his way to you. “Hello again, Mountain Man,” you greeted, putting your hand on Ben’s back as he climbed up the first rung of the fence. “I certainly ain’t, but I figure Ben may be when he’s older.” You patted Ben’s back affectionately has you spoke about him. He didn’t notice. “Thank you for dinner, by the way.”

Arthur reached up with a large hand to tip his tattered hat in your direction, which also made it slightly cover his eyes. “It weren’t no problem, miss. Really,” he explained, now standing behind Ben with you at his side. The awkward energy that had overwhelmed the end of your conversation the day before was now completely gone. It was amazing what a good night’s sleep could do.

Ben suddenly called to you loudly, bouncing up and down on the fence, “Mama, there’s a baby horsy! Do you see?” He held up his right arm and pointed enthusiastically at a small pony towards the back of the lot. It had stubby legs and a long, black coat, contrasting significantly with its nearby cousins.

You reached forward and shushed him gently, not wanting him to spook the nearby animals. “Yes sweetheart, I can see it,” you confirmed, keeping your hand behind his back in case he lost balance and fell backwards in his excitement. “Regardless, it was very kind. Thank you.”

Luckily for Arthur, your eyes were still trained on your son, so you missed his small smile and light blush. “You’re welcome,” he responded, before he cleared his throat and took off his hat, holding it at his side.

The three of you watched the horses together for a moment as they kicked up mud in front of you, both of you glancing down occasionally at Ben with small smiles on your faces. You had to admit, it was nice, standing there with him by your side. Any passerby who didn’t know you would have reasonably thought the three of you a family.

Ben continued to ramble on enthusiastically, “How old do you think it is?” He finally tore his eyes away from the small pony and looked around the lot at the other horses. “Which one is it’s mama?”

He looked around for another pony, raising one foot up to the next rung of the fence, for a better view. As he searched, Arthur moved to his side and bent down slightly, so that his head was at the same level as Ben’s. “Which baby horse you talkin’ ‘bout?” he asked, looking in the same direction as your son.

Ben, thrilled to have a companion with the same interest, removed his hand from the railing and grabbed ahold of Arthur’s shirt. He nearly lost his balance, but Arthur’s strong arm swung up just in time, keeping the boy upright as he once again pointed toward the pony. There, that little one in the back.” After regaining his balance, and using Arthur’s shoulder as leverage, Ben clambered up to the second rung with both feet.

Arthur grinned when he saw the little horse. “Well that one there’s a Shetland Pony,” he explained, keeping his arm around your son’s back to help him maintain his balance. You couldn’t help thinking that Arthur looked good like this. With an arm wrapped around your son, teaching him about the animals in front of him, he looked like a father. “They’re bred to be real little, and they stay that way their whole lives.”

Ben’s eyes went wide. “Wow! So it’ll be a baby forever?” he asked, looking to Arthur for confirmation.

There was that barking laugh again from the man, the one that was accompanied by a wide grin, the one that made him throw his head back, the one you were now hoping to hear on almost a daily basis. “Not a baby,” he responded, patting Ben’s back affectionately, “but yeah. It’ll stay little forever.” He nodded toward the horse, and Ben turned his attention once again to the creature. “‘Cause they’re so small, they’re used in the mines, usually. I bet this one is on its way to Annesburg or maybe somewhere up in the Grizzlies.” With his free hand, he gestured at the horse. “See its thick coat? That means it’s real easy for ‘im to stay nice and warm up in the snow.”

The boy stared at the pony in awe, mouth slightly agape. “How come you know so much about horses?”

Arthur chuckled at his wonderment and reached over to put his worn hat on Ben’s head. It sunk low and covered the boy’s eyes, forcing him to reach up and tilt it backwards - but he didn’t remove it. “Was always fond of ‘em, I guess,” Arthur responded, reaching to the satchel at his side with his newly free hand. “They’re good, strong beasts, and real loyal if you treat ‘em right.” As he spoke, he pulled a worn, leatherbound book out of the bag and began to flip through the pages. You caught glimpses of long, handwritten texts, plenty of doodles, and several large, intricate drawings. That was certainly surprising. “Here,” he continued, holding out the book to Ben when he had found the page he was looking for. “I found a real pretty, snow-white Arabian up in Ambarino a while back. Wish I had one of them cameras so I coulda’ taken a real picture for ya.”

You looked down at the page, where a large, intricate image of a snow-white horse was drawn in pencil. Somehow, you managed to hold back the gasp that threatened to escape. He drew that? It was one thing to defy the stereotype of a rough-and-tumble mountain man by having a journal, but he took it to a whole different level with his sheer talent. You glanced up at him as he proudly showed Ben the image.

“Wow!” Ben gasped, turning from the fence to run the fingers of his right hand over the page. “It’s so pretty!” You reached over and helped him down before he fell, and he immediately moved to stand between Arthur and the opened journal.

Immediately, Arthur moved to squat behind him, his head again level with Ben’s as the boy took hold of the journal. “She shoa was,” he said into the boy’s ear. “Almost missed ‘er ‘cause she blended right in with the snow.”

After a minute of entranced study of the drawing, Ben turned his face toward Arthur’s. “You drew her real good!”

He laughed again and stood up, rubbing the back of his neck. If you didn’t know better, you would have sworn his cheeks looked slightly redder than they had been a moment ago. “Thanks, boah. But it ain’t much,” he replied. His self-doubt once again bubbling up.

“No, he’s right,” you chimed in. Your eyes met his as you smiled at him and nodded toward the book. “It’s really a beautiful drawing.”

He paused for a moment before taking the book gently from Ben’s hands and reaching for the edge of the page. “Thanks,” he responded, and began to gently tear the page from the book. Your hand immediately rose to stop him, there was no need to tear it out. But before you could reach him, he already had the paper in hand and was handing it over to your son. “Here ya go. You can keep it.”

For the hundredth time in a single day, Ben’s eyes went wide. “Really?” he asked in awe, eyes again going wide as he gazed up at Arthur. This was surely going to be the highlight of his week.

Arthur nodded, chuckling. “Shoa,” he agreed, closing the book and slipping it back into the satchel at his side. “Can always draw another if I want.”

Ben’s face immediately lit up as soon the drawing was in his hands. “Woah! Thanks, Mister Mountain Man!” exclaimed Ben, who immediately dropped to the ground next to the fence to analyse the paper in more detail.

Arthur responded with a chuckled, “‘Course,” and ruffled Ben’s curls. For some reason, looking at the adorable scene brought back that familiar lump in your throat. Was this what it would have been like if Andrew were here to watch his son grow? Was this what it looked like to have a child with a father?

Seeing Ben this happy was more satisfying than anything in the world. Seeing Arthur smiling down at your son, fingers again looped in his gun belt, also brought out a strange fondness that you didn’t think you would ever feel again. And then, inevitably, the memory of Andrew floats back into your mind, flavoring the entire situation with a strange sort of bittersweetness.

“He’s a good kid,” Arthur’s contented voice brought you slowly back to reality. His gaze had moved from your son, still sitting on the ground, carefully holding the paper to prevent wrinkles, to your own. A small, bittersweet smile was aimed in your direction, and in that moment you knew - he understood.

You nodded, not having the willpower to take your eyes from Arthurs. “He certainly is,” you said, affectionately. “Thank you, really.”

The self-doubt that ate at Arthur every day reddened his face. “It weren’t nothin,” he finally looked away from you and plucked his hat from Ben’s head and slipped it back on his own, shading his eyes from your view. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

“No, no,” you weren’t having any of that. Not today, when he had made your son happier than you had seen in ages. “You probably just made his entire week. That’s not nothin’,” you continued, stepping closer to him and teasingly pushing his shoulder a bit.

He chuckled. “Well…”

But you weren’t about to let him continue, especially if he was only going to degrade himself. “How about I thank you by finally getting you that drink tonight? No price negotiations necessary,” you cut in, reaching up to straighten out his collar like you had done at the saloon on his first night in town. Again, your fingers brushed his bare skin at the collar of his shirt. This time, you were certain you felt him tense.

After a second of looking down at you, so close to him, feeling the brush of your fingers on his skin, he smiled and nodded. “Shoa. That’d be nice.” You grinned back up at him and dropped your hand from his shirt, missing the feeling of it as soon as you did.

Arthur left shortly after your conversation, confirming that he would meet you at the saloon later that evening. You stayed for a while longer, sitting in the grass on the side of the road with Ben as he moved his gaze back and forth between the real horses, and the picture he had gotten from Arthur. After a half an hour or so, when all of the horses were penned and the sun was high in the sky, you finally stood, ruffled Ben’s hair and told him it was time to go home for the day.

Slowly, the two of you made your way back home, taking the road through the center of town. On the way, you heard the familiar call of the newsboy, and looked over. Immediately, the headline and image on the front page caught your eye.

“SNAKE OIL MURDERER CAPTURED” was written in large bold font above an article and a photograph of a man, whose face you recognised. You quickly walked over and purchased a paper, opening it to read the entire page with Ben by your side.

Looking again at the photograph, angry heat swelled in your chest. There was no mistaking those eyes. You had nearly forgotten them, but now they would be burned into your mind for the rest of your days.

The memories flooded back to you like a dam had been broken in your mind. Andrew’s hacking coughs. His pale face, burning with fever. Worry about Ben. Worry about the Harvest. Resigning yourselves to wait the illness out and skimp on food during Winter. Hearing about a travelling doctor in town. Picking up the medication. Hope.

And then? Finding Andrew’s lifeless body in bed next to you in the morning.

There was no denying it. It was too much of a coincidence to not have been true.

Benedict Albright, the Snake Oil Murderer, had killed your husband.

#Arthur Morgan x reader #Arthur Morgan #RDR2 #RDR2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x f!reader #f!reader

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emeraldeyes23 · 4 years

Text

Fictober/Fantober2020 - Day 5 - Sleepover

"I've never done that before. A sleepover, I mean."

Those innocent words made everyone at Eiji's table stare at him in utter disbelief, gaping at him. Seeing all the eyes on him, Eiji wondered what he had done wrong, fidgeting nervously with the sleeves of his hoody while looking down at his now empty plate.

Eiji had just arrived at the school a few months ago and still had some trouble adjusting to a big city like New York. He had come here a few months ago with his uncle from a small town in Japan because this school offered a special art wing, and he had gotten a scholarship.

Despite his hard accent in English, he had found friends pretty quickly. He had met Shorter when Arthur wanted to bully him and Ash because he had to work on a school project in chemistry with him. Shorter had immediately asked him to join them for lunch. That way, he got to know Skip, too, because Ash looked out for him like a big brother. And Sing was friends with Shorter and was always around, too. Sometimes Bones and Kong joined them since Ash was tutoring them.

It had all started when they were all having lunch in the cafeteria, and Shorter had asked them what their plans for the weekend looked like.

"Reading and sleeping.", Ash said while trying to eat and read simultaneously.

"God, you're so boring. Why am I friends with a nerd like you again?", Shorter complained to him.

"Because you need me to copy my excellent homework or to change our grades by hacking into the school server."

When Eiji looked at him, completely shocked by that revelation, Shorter assured him it had been a joke. But judging by the mischief in Ash's eyes, he wasn't so sure. He was undoubtedly brilliant enough to pull it off.

"And because I constantly talk you out of all your crazy ideas. Or blame Arthur for them if they fail.", he added, a smug look on his face.

Shorter grinned. "Ok, I admit that the last part is true."

Then he asked the others for their plans. When Eiji mentioned on the side that his uncle would go on the business trip for the weekend, he put an arm around Eiji's shoulder.

"Is that so? You know what that means, right?"

"No.", Eiji asked innocently, "What does that mean?"

"Sleepover.", Shorter smiled mischievously while looking around.

"A sleepover? Seriously? How old are you, ten?", Ash scolded him without looking up from his book. "Count me out. I'm too old and too smart for that."

Everything else was really excited at the idea. Their exams had been a week ago, so they had more free-time now as Sing reminded them excitedly.

"I love sleepovers!" Skip exclaimed happily with shining eyes.

"Of course, you do.", Ash replied in a softer tone. "That's because you ARE ten years old." He finally put his book away. "You're supposed to love them."

Eiji was silent for a moment, trying to keep up with their conversation. Then, he looked nervously at them. "What's a sleepover? I've never done that before."

Everyone looked at him, completely astonished, their jaws practically hitting the floor.

"Never?", Shorter gasped out in surprise, recovering first. Eiji shook his head but kept quiet. He was anxious that he had said something wrong or weird. Maybe he shouldn't have admitted that so openly. Even so, he was so miserable at lying...

Ash looked at him, a half-smile escaping his lips. "Wasn't your last school a boarding school, Eiji?", asked Ash, suddenly curious. "I thought you told us something like that when you introduced yourself to our class." When Eiji nodded, he continued. "A sleepover means a friend or more stay overnight at another friend's house." Eiji smiled at him, relieved that Ash had come to his help. There were many rumors about Ash circulating. From being a criminal killing his parents for money to him being a pure genius. Eiji didn't listen to any of them since rumors were rarely true. Ash kept mostly to himself, and he had an intense glare and a confident stance that scared many students. Eiji, however, was convinced that his tough-guy-act was just covering up his pain and suffering. One time, he had been looking for Ash and had finally found him on the rooftop. Ash hadn't noticed him at once. It was at that moment that he had seen a hurting teenager and eyes that cried out in pain and reflected such loneliness it broke his heart. That's when he decided to learn more about him. While working with him on the group project, Ash had slowly opened up to him, and they had grown closer. Still, Ash still kept mostly to himself and preferred reading books in the library to conversations with other students. Shorter, however, was an exception. Ash was more talkative and relaxed around him. He always tried to force Ash into social gatherings and told Eiji he would turn him into a decent and social human being one day. "Since Eiji went to a boarding school, he lived at the school. Therefore, it makes sense that he has never done anything like that.", he lectured the others. "Thank you for the lesson, Professor Callenreese." Shorter took the glasses from Ash's head and put them on, then mocked him by mimicking his voice perfectly. The others burst out laughing while Ash's cheeks flushed in embarrassment, glaring at him. "Give them back! Now, Shorter!", Ash exclaimed furiously, eyes burning wildly. Shorter held them away from him, completely unfazed by his death glare, so Ash grabbed the sunglasses tucked on the collar of his shirt and took those instead. "They look better on me, anyway.", he said, putting them on and peering over the edges of his sunglasses in self-satisfaction. "Fine, you win." Shorter gave in, and they switched their glasses. "Anyway, Eiji, you wanna do a sleepover? At your house, of course. Your uncle won't mind, will he?" "No, I'm sure it's fine. I'll tell him later. That sounds great!" Then he turned to Ash, a bit flustered about the question he was going to ask him. "You really won't come? I was hoping you'd be there as well." He nervously fumbled with some brown strands, trying to remove them from his face, but they always fell back into place. The others grinned, watching the conversation with open curiosity, all staring at Ash. They had probably noticed by now that he liked spending time with Ash. He had no poker face, after all. Ash sighed deeply, then smiled a little. "If you want me to be there, I'll come. I can't leave you alone with this group of monkeys, after all.", he replied, winking at him. Eiji felt his cheeks burn up when he smiled at him. "Thanks, Ash." _____________ When they arrived at his apartment, they first made some pizza together. That had been his idea and was a lot of fun, especially for the younger Skip. After they had eaten, they played a few games until Skip had fallen asleep before sneaking into the other room to watch a horror movie. When Eiji heard that, he grew nervous. He was a scaredy-cat when it came to horror movies and flinched at every little sound and movement. He wondered if it would be alright. They grabbed some snacks and drinks Ash had brought with him and sat down at the living room after Shorter had some put in a DVD and had switched out the light. Shorter and Sing sat down at one couch while Ash and Eiji took the other one. Eiji sat there frozen up and didn't dare to move. He could feel A

#Banana Fish #Bananafish #Fictober2020 #Fantober2020 #Fanfiction #Ao3 #My writing #My fanfic #Sleepover #Shorter Wong #Sing Soo Ling #Skip #Ash Lynx #Eiji Okumura #Arthur

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browniefox · 3 years

Text

Waking from the Long Winter

Ace Attorney - 5K Words

Phoenix Wright and a few moments during the ten weeks it takes to receive results from the Bar Exam.

A one-shot written solely for the half-joke I make within the first couple paragraphs lol. Character exploration of Phoenix finding himself again. Hinted narumitsu but just hinted.

oOo

Phoenix is sure there’s a joke here, somewhere.

Something about a lawyer walking into a bar, and then knowing to duck the second time. Or maybe not ducking, but running into it at top speed. Or trying to vault over the bar and getting his feet caught on it and falling on his face instead. There’s something there, he’s sure of it. More than anything, however, Phoenix wishes his brain would focus on the Actual Bar Exam instead of trying to make this stupid joke work.

He took the bar once before, of course. His memory of having done so, however, is shaky at best. Trying to look back at it, it’s nothing more than two days of pure stress. If he tries to pin the experience down to a word, it's just a really long and drawn out scream.

Taking the bar the second time, ten years later, is… different.

Phoenix studied, of course. Apollo had still had his flashcards and big binder full of notes. Slow days in the office were often punctuated with spontaneous quizzing on terms and laws and procedures. He’d spent late nights reading big law books and then falling asleep on top of them like he was in college again. He sat in on a lot of trials, reviewing the roles of the people in the court.

Now that he’s finally actually taking the Bar, it’s like a math test.

Obvious not as far as subject matter went. But it reminds him strongly of what taking a math test back in middle/high school had been like. Going into it scared and then being surprised by how quickly and easily he seemed to go through the questions. Of course, that also always ended with him getting the test back with a million red marks that revealed the test hadn’t been easy, he’d just been dumb.

For the first five minutes, nerves making Phoenix fidgety, the Bar exam had been scary and the words had refused to form comprehensive sentences. He’s pretty sure he almost had a panic attack. But then the five minutes pass, and Phoenix takes a few deep breaths, and when he opens his eyes again, he realizes he actually does know this stuff.

He was a lawyer, once, seven years ago. It feels like that should be more than enough time for him to have forgotten what being one was like, for all of the words to have become greek to him once more. And yet, his previous cases stick out to him on the page. Yes, he remembers using evidence law for the Skye case, he knows this. Ah, yes, he remembers studying this case because it reminds him of the Powers one. There’s even a question about spirit mediums at one point and Phoenix almost laughs out loud.

It probably also doesn’t hurt that he’d kept his enemies close during his disbarment, as well as working on MASON.

Kristoph had often asked for Phoenix’s opinion on cases, setting out the evidence and asking for the ex-lawyer’s input and expertise. He wonders if it was supposed to sting, if Kristoph had been trying to rub salt into the wound. If so, he had succeeded, sometimes. Other times, it’d been nice to fall back into those familiar ways of thinking, of trying to piece together a story, of trying to find justice.

Phoenix would never ever thank Kristoph for anything ever, but he did admit there were unexpected rewards for having put up with him for so long.

oOo

Paying for a barber hasn’t exactly been in the budget for years.

Not that there weren’t places you could get a haircut at fairly cheap, but every single dollar and penny counted. Even the months where things looked alright, where there was a comfortable sum left over after rent and taxes and food, most of it was set aside for when the rough times would return. They always did.

“Just a trim?” Trucy asks. She wears the fake mustache she insists on wearing every time he asks her to cut his hair. Her own was just trimmed by him, the floor littered with split ends. There’s layers throughout it, and now that it’s started to dry back out he can see his handiwork and nods to himself. The days of terrible and uneven cuts while trying to watch a video tutorial are well behind both of them, years of practice instead showing through.

The swivel chair from the desk has been moved into the bathroom and Phoenix looks at himself in the mirror, his hair for once not bunched up inside of his beanie. It’s long enough to pull back with a hair tie. Trucy is already gearing up to cut off an inch, the same inch she cuts off every time to keep it from getting too long. For years, that’s been the only reason to cut his hair. He runs his fingers through it. It’s to his shoulders right now and he blinks when he realizes that he hates it.

He hates how the long strands get in his face. He hates how sometimes he pulls his beanie off and his hair is staticy. He hates how if he doesn’t pull it back while cooking, if he has something on his hands, he has to awkwardly flick his head in usually-futile attempts to get the hair out of the way.

He hates it and he’s hated it for a while. But for some reason, every time before now, it’s felt easier and safer to keep it long and annoying.

“Actually,” He says, and then hesitates. He’s had his hair like this for so long now, and shorter hair… He steels himself and straightens a bit, “Actually, Truce, could you go a little shorter this time? Just, you know, a little-”

“Don’t worry, daddy, leave it to me!”

There’s a mischievous little glint in her eyes and Phoenix almost changes his mind, but she’s already spun the chair around and started cutting. Phoenix closes his eyes and waits. Trucy hums as she cuts his hair, and usually she does little tricks with the scissors, but this time she’s just cutting. He tries not to think about how close to his head the scissors sound, how much she must be cutting off. He’d asked her to, and he hates how long it was, and yet now that it’s too late to change his mind he’s nervous.

“Alright!” Trucy chirps and spins him back around to face the mirror. Phoenix opens his eyes.

A young lawyer, full of hope and trust and pure stubbornness, stares back at him.

And then he blinks, and the man has little tired wrinkles around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth and prominently between his eyebrows. He still has the couple-day-old stubble that he had yet to shave. There’s dark shadows under his eyes. He runs a hand through his hair. It spikes up in the back, just like it used to, just like it always has, like how his mom used to hate and try in vain to flatten down.

“Well, what do you think?” Trucy beams at him.

“It’s perfect.” He says.

And it’s true.

oOo

Phoenix has never owned a perfectly tailored suit in his life. He never found an issue with this. Off the rack was just fine, and a lot cheaper, and you didn’t have to worry about anything happening to it.

Apparently Miles thought that this was an issue.

Two weeks after Phoenix took the bar, Miles drags him to get a new suit. Phoenix stresses that his old suit was perfectly fine. He at least assumes it's fine. It is shoved somewhere near the back of his closet and by now is probably made up of as much dust as fabric. But it should still looks like a suit, and he can probably send it to the dry cleaners or something if he ever needs it.

Still, Miles insists on dragging him to get a new suit.

The people there all recognize Miles right of the bat, greeting him as ‘Mr. Edgeworth’, with a lot of ‘So good to see you again’ and ‘Are you here for the usual’ and ‘How is dear Ms. Von Karma doing’. His answers are amicable enough: ‘It’s nice to be back in the country.’ ‘No, not today, I’m here for my friend.’ ‘Franziska is doing well, thank you.’

Phoenix sees how they look at him when they don’t think he can see them. They don’t know that Phoenix is well used to being on guard constantly, no matter the time or place. He cedes that maybe he should’ve worn something today other than his hoodie and beanie and flip flops, especially with how the ‘flip-flop-flip-flop’ is just shy of echoing throughout the large store. He knows they must look an interesting pair, prim and perfect well put together Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth next to disbarred pianist and poker player Phoenix Wright. He doesn’t let it bother him as Miles picks around the room, finding suits that he approves of.

There’s too many shades of blue. Half the time, Miles holds up two and asks which one Phoenix likes more, and they look exactly the same. Still, they eventually end up with a few different ones for Phoenix to try on, and Miles and one of the men - the tailor? Maybe? Or the owner of the store? - walk around Phoenix and critique how it looks on him and then send him back to try on another. It reminds Phoenix how much he hates shopping. The whole process of having to try things on and take them off and then repeat is just a bit too tedious for his sake.

Miles more than Phoenix decides on which suit is best out of the ones he’s picked out, and then Phoenix's measurements are taken so that it can be fixed to fit him just right.

They’re looking at the ties, the last thing to grab before they leave, when Phoenix finally says,

“I haven’t passed the Bar Exam yet.”

Miles pauses for a second, then hangs the white tie back up. He doesn’t turn to face Phoenix but his eyes do glance over.

“You took the test.” He says, and Phoenix can hear the unsaid in there. ‘You took the test, right? You didn’t lie about that? You didn’t purposely sabotage your own test? You haven’t done something incredibly stupid already, have you?’

“I did.” Phoenix nods, and means ‘I really did. I gave it my all. I tried my best, I swear it.’

“Then you’ll need a new suit.” Miles says.

“But I haven’t passed yet.”

“Mm,” Miles hums, grabbing a dark red tie and looking it over, comparing it to the swatch of fabric that matches the color of Phoenix’s new suit, “You’re not going to fail.”

“But-”

“If you fail, then you’ll still have a new suit. There’s more reasons than being an attorney to own a nice suit, you know. If you ever eat somewhere nicer than the Borsch Bowl, for one. Or I have a wide array of incessant events I’m expected to attend throughout the year. They’ll be more manageable if I have someone there with me, but there is usually a dress code. Or perhaps I’ll be in need of a co-council at some point. I could use your eyes, and lord knows they’ll let absolutely anybody co-council, qualifications be damned.”

Miles doesn’t say anything else, and neither does Phoenix. He does, however, pick a wine red tie and add it to the growing stack.

oOo

When he moves the items off of the piano, he’s careful to make sure he remembers where everything goes.

It’s his office, it’s his piano, and while maybe most of the things he takes off aren’t his they also haven’t been touched in weeks, and he doubts that Trucy or Apollo would notice anything different. Still, he feels oddly like a kid sneaking food out of the cupboards while his parents are out. Trucy is setting up for a show and Apollo is out looking at a crime scene. It’s the perfect chance.

He lifts up the covering from the keys of the piano. He sits down on the bench, and a chill rushes over him that isn’t there. He can almost hear the sound of the Borscht Bowl, the clamour of patrons. He’s played this piano so few times, he can count them on one hand. He’d given practice a couple tries when he first got hired, until it became clear that being paid not to play was probably just as lucrative - if not more so - than actually having the skill.

Phoenix rests his hands on the keys, cold ivory under his warm fingers. He’d taken classes, once, years and years ago, when he was small and young. His piano teacher then had been an old and nice woman, but she’d had to stop teaching after a few months due to health problems. He can still find middle C, and that is more or less where his skills end. Usually, when someone requests a song, he plays ‘hot cross buns’ or ‘heart and soul’ or any other classic of the sort.

This time, Phoenix lets himself bang around with wild abandon on the keys, like he had as a kid, caring little for melody or timing or anything at all. The piano is probably out of tune. Not that he can hear that sort of thing, but it's a fair and safe bet to make. The piano hasn’t been played in a long while.

He steps away for a moment and runs a finger over the spines of the books on the shelves until he came across a thin one, so thin that the spine didn’t have any kind of title, just staples holding the pages together. Some hot-shot customer had come into the Borscht Bowl, slapped the ‘Beginner’s Piano Lessons’ book on the top of the piano and declared that Phoenix was going to need it once he was beaten at poker that night.

Of course, Phoenix had won. He got to keep the book anyway. By ‘got to keep’, he meant the customer had punched Phoenix in a fit of rage after losing and had been kicked out, leaving the book behind. Phoenix had kept it.

He isn't any good at reading music, but he has the afternoon to himself. He gets out a pencil, writing the letters above the notes, counting the keys to make sure his fingers land on the right ones. It is slow, and tedious, and not something he has to do. It's something he's doing because he wants to.

oOo

Phoenix has a love-hate relationship with Parent-Teacher Conferences.

He loves to go when the teachers will tell him ‘oh, Trucy is a joy to have in class! Trucy brings such a brightness to the classroom! Trucy is brilliant, what an amazing daughter you have! She’s so talented!’ And then Phoenix gets to beam at Trucy, and Trucy gets to glow under the praise, and then he gets handed her report card that he can place on the fridge so he can look at it every morning and be filled with pride again.

He doesn’t so much like them when the teachers look at him funny.

Look, Phoenix is an adult, he can admit that his appearance took a pretty sharp decline after he was disbarred. But some days it was all he could do to put on the hoodie and beanie, and he had learned pretty early in how to rationalize it all away as ‘putting on an act’, as trying to get Kristoph to underestimate him. However, an adult man who adopted a daughter, and thus had had someone declare him fit to raise a kid, looking like he was one trip to McDonalds away from being completely broke wasn’t always the best way to present one’s self to other adults, especially ones on high alert make sure their students were in a stable living condition.

One time, Trucy had even had to warn him to clean up a bit. She’d picked up on the worried questions her teacher had been asking her, about how often she ate and what her dad did for a living. Phoenix had put on actual shoes and a button up for that PTC. The teacher had still looked at him suspiciously, but he’d done his best to exude confidence and ‘I’m perfectly capable of raising a child on my own’. He couldn’t risk losing Trucy. If he lost Trucy…

He can’t lose Trucy.

Of course, the days of those sorts of PTC’s are behind them. Now that Trucy’s in high school and has eight different teachers, PTC’s consist of going between the school’s cafeteria and library to find Trucy’s teachers, get told if she’s a good student or a distraction or doing well or doing poorly, and then heading right to the next teacher. Some teachers they just outright skip, like Trucy’s gym teachers.

“C’mon Daddy, you have to dress up too!”

Trucy spins around in her magician outfit. The straplessness of the dress made it against the school’s dress code, so she never got to wear it to classes. She’d been talking about showing it off during the PTC, when school wasn’t technically in session, and Phoenix knew that she was probably going to take the chance to dazzle her teachers with some of her smaller tricks as well.

Put that in the list of reasons why he did like PTC: getting to see people be amazed with Trucy’s close-up magic tricks.

“Trucy,” Phoenix sighs.

“No, please? I always get dressed up, and you never do.” She pouts, crossing her arms.

“That’s because you’re the star of the show tonight.”

“But you’re my assistant! Please, just this once? I know you don’t like getting dressed up, but...” And then Trucy hesitates, which is so unlike her it catches Phoenix’s attention right away, “But I’d like it.” She finishes. For a moment, the room is plunged into darkness that only Phoenix can see as chains shoot out of nowhere and a single psych-lock places itself in front of Trucy.

Phoenix sighs one more time. He’s not going to pry, not unless it becomes a big deal.

“Sure, can’t have you performing with a sub-par partner.” He relents and Trucy claps her hand excitedly.

He goes back into his room, reaching for a button down. Something simple, he figures. Just something a little nicer than usual.

And he sees the suit Miles had bought him.

It’s in a big black bag to keep it safe from dust or whatever. Almost without thinking to, he takes the hanger off the rack and sets it on his bed, unzipping the bag and looking at the suit. It’s so much like to his old one. He runs a hand over it and then almost puts it back. But if he can’t wear it to a PTC, how can he wear it to any of the myriad of events Miles had listed off? He used to wear a suit everywhere. It had been border-line mandatory.

“Hurry up, Daddy, or we’ll be late!”

Phoenix jumps at the banging on his door.

“Just a minute, sweetie!” He shouts back.

It feels… different. He blames that on the light blue waistcoat that Edgeworth had insisted on. That, and the fact that it was a suit that was made to fit him exactly. His old suit had been second-hand, all that he’d been able to afford at the time. The blue, what many people seemed to remember about him, had been due to lack of options rather than real choice.

He looks at himself in the mirror, running a wet hand through his hair to try and get it into some semblance of presentable. He still has his stubble. He hadn’t shaved this morning. It’s not too late to tear off the jacket and vest and go with his original plan of just a button up.

“Daddy!” Trucy calls again.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” He shouts back, and with one last look at himself, one last effort to convince himself he looks fine, leaves his apartment looking more like the Turnabout Terror than he has in years.

oOo

More of Miles’ things seem to come weekly.

Apparently Franziska is doing a deep and thorough cleaning of the Von Karma estate. She keeps finding more things, and so boxes and boxes turn up on Miles’ doorstep.

Phoenix finds himself spending a lot of his time in Miles’ office, and it means he ends up spending a lot of time helping Miles unpack boxes. Some of them are things that really shouldn’t have surprised Phoenix, like Steel Samurai manga and dvds that Franziska has unearthed from hidden corners of the estate. Miles had admitted he’d kept them anywhere he thought Manfred wouldn’t look. Other little things like that showed up - small mementos or notes, most of which seem innocuous, but that Miles insists would’ve been disapproved of.

There are also other things, like pens or books or pictures. Some of these do belong to Miles while others of them are items Franziska 'didn’t wish to hold on to any longer’. While that seemed to be the case with some, it only took looking at Miles face to confirm for Phoenix that a lot of them had secret sentimental value.

He never understood their relationship. He’d been an only child, and while there were people he was close to, he’d never grown up in the same building with them, nor under the harsh condition Miles and Franziska had. He's glad he doesn't have to jump through the weird hoops and unsaid rules that Miles and Franziska do when navigating anything to do with the other.

“Okay, you can’t tell me these are important.” Phoenix holds up a pair of scissors. They’re cold and pure metal, no plastic handle like the three pairs Phoenix himself owns. All three of them always go missing at the same time too, which completley defeatst he point of having so many pairs.

Miles sighs and rolls his eyes. He’s sitting on the ground in front of the bookshelf. With the most recent influx of books, alphabetizing them means that the previous books need to be pushed to the next shelf, and it has created a chain of necessary rearrangement to every subsequent shelf as well. Phoenix has seen Miles force the work onto some younger prosecutors or even unlucky detectives, but with Phoenix here he does it himself.

“Open them up.” He says and Phoenix does just that. There are initials welded into the metal, M.E.V.K. Phoenix raises his eyebrows.

“Miles Edgeworth… Von Karma?” He says, just to be sure, and Miles nods.

“Mm, yes. Those are my shears. Franziska insisted on the initials so that if I ruined my pair, she’d be able to tell they were mine right away, and I wouldn’t be able to try and steal hers. She took them to get initialed herself.”

He speaks of the event with the calm and cool that is so Edgeworth, but Phoenix has learned to read between lines. He runs a finger over the four initials. Von Karma. The household Edgeworth had lived in and belonged to in all but the official name change. The name that he was able to carry on these shears.

“I’ll put them in your desk.” Phoenix says instead of the millions of other responses running through his head. He’s standing in front of it anyway. He pulls open the first drawer as Miles says,

“No, I’ll be taking them home. They’re fabric scissors, Phoenix. Using them on paper will ruin them.”

Phoenix’s response to that completely leaves his head when he sees the small golden pin in the drawer.

“What’s this?” He says, more to himself than Miles. He knows what it is, and yet he asks anyway. It’s a defense attorney pin. He can see the petals, the image of scales in the center. It’s not as if he hasn’t seen one recently, he has defense attorneys working for him, after all. But it’s so out of place to see one in Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth’s office that it takes him completely by surprise. He picks it up, turning it this way and that.

“Is this... your dad’s?” He asks, the first answer that comes to mind.

“Is what- oh. No. It isn’t.” Miles is looking over now, and there’s something in his voice that makes Phoenix’s brow furrow. He sounds… hesitant? Scared? Nervous? None of those seemed quite right, but Miles didn’t seem completely at ease. Phoenix returned his focus to the pin.

There are teeth marks in it, like someone had bit into it at one point. The edges of it are worn slightly, softened with time. It’s nostalgic to look at.

It’s even more nostalgic to turn over and see the number 26381.

“Wait, this is…!” Phoenix stares at the number, the number that is burned into his memory. He’d memorized it soon after receiving the pin. It was his number, the number that meant he was really a lawyer, that he had done it.

“... yes. It is.” Phoenix looks back up. Miles is still looking at him, the odd expression still there. Not hesitance, not nervousness, not fear.

Anticipation. Miles is sitting there, watching in anticipation, as Phoenix finds his old defense attorney’s badge in Miles’ desk.

“You have my badge.” Phoenix says. He turns it back around to stare at the face. Yes, that bite mark… that was from Ema, wasn’t it?

“I do.” Miles confirms.

“Why?” Phoenix says. He weighs the small pin in his hand and then tosses it, catching it easily enough. It’s so light and small.

Miles considers both Phoenix and the pin, eyes tracking the movement of the pin as it goes up in the air again and then returns to Phoenix’s palm.

“I didn’t want anyone else to have it.” He says. He’s still anticipating something.

“I see,” Phoenix says. And… he thinks he does, “You never told me. Would’ve been a lot easier to have given it to you personally instead of having to take it off and give it to the board.” He gives Miles a half grin.

“They wouldn’t have accepted that. They’d be upset with you.”

“What would they do? Disbar me?” Phoenix jokes. Miles looks like he’s trying not to crack a smile at the joke. It’s a joke at Phoenix’s expense, but the pain of the event has been numbed by time, and the joke is made to Miles.

“I suppose there wasn’t much they could do at that point, no,” Miles agrees, “It would’ve been easier to have gotten it from you personally. I had to pull some strings to get it.”

“And you didn’t tell me.” Phoenix brings up again.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“I thought you’d want it back.” Miles answers honestly.

Phoenix looks back down at the pin, his pin. He can see himself, six or five or even three years ago, finding out that Miles had his pin and begging the man to give it back to him. It had meant so much to him. Its absence had meant even more. It wasn’t as if he would’ve been able to do anything more with it than Miles had been doing; he’d have stuck it in a drawer, and on his worse days he would’ve pulled it out and cried over the small piece of metal.

Maybe if he’d found out a few years earlier, he would’ve been upset at Miles for not telling him, for keeping this from him. It was his badge, after all.

But now, seeing it placed in the top drawer of Miles’ desk where he could quickly open it and look at it whenever he’d wanted to, it fills Phoenix with something warm. This whole time, it hadn’t been locked away somewhere, or handed off to some rookie, or tossed away. It had been with Miles, watched over, polished, kept safe.

“Thank you.” Phoenix puts it back into the shelf, closing the drawer. The anticipation finally leaves Miles to be replaced with relief.

“It was my pleasure.” Miles smiles, and Phoenix returns it.

oOo

A lawyer doesn’t cry until it’s over.

For seven long and painful years, through even terrible twist and turn in the road, Phoenix hadn’t cried. Oh, he’d come close several times. Times where everything had started to get to him, when his chest had shaken with the sobs he so desperately wanted to let out, when he was reminded that he wasn’t a lawyer anymore, that the rule wasn’t his rule anymore. And yet the tears never came. His face stayed dry. And he’d rise again to carry on.

The packet comes in the mail ten months after the test.

It’s thick and heavy. He’s home alone, Trucy at school and Apollo doing some last-minute preparation for a trial. Sometimes it seems like the kid has better luck getting clients than Phoenix ever did.

He knows what the packet is the moment he sees it in the mail slot. He feels numb as he carries it to his apartment. He considers waiting to open it, but that seems like putting himself through unnecessary cruelty.

There’s a knife in the kitchen and he grabs it so he can cleanly slice open the top. It feels wrong to rip into it like an animal.

His shoulders shake as he slips the knife under the flap, his eyesight becomes blurry as he cleanly cuts across the top.

Win or lose, pass or fail, Phoenix thinks he knows how Godot felt at that trial. He imagines that if someone was watching him with the magatama, they’d see a final psyche-lock, placed firmly there when Phoenix had first started to close himself off for the war against Gavin, break apart.

Alone, in his apartment, for the first time in seven years, Phoenix cries.

It finally feels like it’s over.

#ace attorney #phoenix wright #fanfiction #fanfic #browniefox writes #i shall post fic here #as a treat to myself

6 notes · View notes

jalapeno-princess · 4 years

Audio

Mark Tuan x Reader

Genre: Some angst, fluff, Surgeon Mark! (Lord help me)

Summary: You’re five months pregnant and practically on your own with your pregnancy when your fiancé gets a promotion. However, he fails to notice the distance between the two of you, nor does he understand how bad things are between the two of you until you make the announcement that you’re going to be staying with your parents for a while.

A/N: I don’t know if y’all have seen Jane the virgin or if you have heard this song (On tiktok) but it honestly fucks me up (and makes me cry over the boyfriend I don’t have) but I watched a tiktok about a single mother going through pregnancy and parenthood alone (You go sis you deserve the entire world men aren’t shit) and this just sort of came about (The idea of being domestic with Mark makes me want to scream @ God send him my way)

“Hey, why are you still up y/n? It’s 3:30 in the morning. That’s probably not good for the baby.” Your fiancé put his briefcase down before heading towards the fridge to look for something to eat. Mark was one of the head surgeons in the hospital he worked at, which is why he would find himself returning home at random times of the day.

Some days he came home in the afternoon and other days, he came home at midnight. As proud as you were of him for working so hard and dedicating his life to saving people, you wished he paid more attention to you, your relationship and your growing belly. You were five months pregnant at this point and when you first found out about your pregnancy, you were over the moon.

From the time you and Mark first started dating back in college, you knew he was the man you wanted to settle down and spend the rest of your life with. Which is why you felt on top of the word when he finally proposed to you and found yourself only a few months later sitting in your bathroom, waiting patiently for your pregnancy test results. It was as if everything seemed to be falling in to place for you and Mark. You knew your fiancé loved you with every fiber of his being. No matter how many times he would tell you how madly in love with you he was on a daily basis, he never failed to show you through his actions.

Just a few months ago, he had gotten a promotion to lead surgeon in his department. After seeing him cry and stay up many times during his residency, you knew all the blood, sweat and tears he went through to get that position was worth it. However, the more time he spent at the hospital, the less time spent with you. At first, you didn’t care because you knew how dedicated he was when it came to being a surgeon. But you felt as if you were the only one putting effort in to your relationship and in your pregnancy.

You checked all your messages and your call log; you were the one sending all the texts and calling him all the time. You were the one attempting at having a conversation with him and trying being intimate with him, but your plans always seemed to fail. You knew that he was exhausted and you tried your best to be understanding that he had a job that drained away all his energy. For the last week and a half, the two of you have been going at it over the smallest things and you were sure it was because the both of you were both so tired.

Pregnancy was wearing you out and there were days you found yourself suffering alone. It seemed as if the only time the two of you shared together was spent arguing and disagreeing on things. He would complain about the place being messy, how you would leave dishes in the sink for him to clean and how you would fail to throw empty milk cartons away. Then came the complaints about work and you felt that he took out all his stress on you. As much as you wanted to listen to him vent and be his shoulder to cry on, it was more like being his punching bag and you were getting tired of the way he was treating you.

When you found out you were pregnant, you were hesitant on telling Mark only because you didn’t want him worrying about you when he had other things to focus on. However, when you finally did get around to telling him, to say he was excited was an understatement. He’s been dreaming of having a big family from the time he was little. Since he was surrounded with so many nieces and nephews, he couldn’t wait to have little ones of his own. He made a promise to you that he would be there for you for every little thing you needed. During your first trimester, he did pretty well with keeping his promise.

Whenever you were hungry, he cooked whatever you were in the mood for and one time he found himself driving to Taco Bell at three in the morning just to get you a quesadilla. If you had to pee, he wouldn’t hesitate to bring you to and from the bathroom no matter what time it was. He would massage your shoulders to get you to relax, prepare baths for you when you had a long day and even talked to your belly from time to time in order for your child to recognize their father’s voice. He still had a hard time believing that him and his favorite person were going to have a little one of their own in just a few months.

Although the two of you had yet to find out the gender of your baby, he began buying things he thought they would need just to be prepared and he even purchased things he felt you needed. That’s how you found yourself with a body pillow, twelve different pairs of maternity clothes and three different stomach warmers. He also bought every pregnancy book Barnes and Noble had to offer.

Unfortunately, that all changed as soon as he got promoted. Since his schedule was constantly changing, you’d find yourself attending your appointments with your parents or sometimes by yourself. He tried to get his friends to go with you, especially because you were pretty close with them too; but you hated being a burden on people. Plus, it didn’t feel right having them attend the ultrasound of a baby that wasn’t theirs.

Every time you got to see how quickly your baby was growing, it never failed to bring tears to your eyes. You were extremely happy to see their tiny tittle frame growing bigger as the months went by. However, you wish Mark was there to celebrate with you. It was getting harder for you to move around as you were getting in to the middle of your second trimester and some of your body parts began getting swollen. You felt like you were all alone in this and Mark wasn’t around enough for you to tell him how you were feeling.

It was in those moments of being alone in your bed where you would find yourself crying at the thought of how life will be like when your baby finally does arrive. If Mark is already absent like this during your pregnancy, what more when you finally gave birth? The first few months after your baby arrives are apparently the hardest and you had a feeling you were going to go through all of that alone. Which is why you made the decision to sit your fiancé down and tell him your plans. As much as you hated being away from Mark, it wasn’t like he was ever around much these days anyways.

“We need to talk.” Mark pulled his head out of the fridge and looked at you in curiosity. Those four words never led to anything good, so he was worried you had bad news and he wasn’t quite in the mood to hear it. He almost had two failed surgeries that night and wanted nothing more than to sleep. Before he could open his mouth, you beat him to it. “I’m going to stay with my parents for a few weeks.” For some reason, he wasn’t surprised. He knew something like this was coming. You were always an independent woman, you had such a good head on your shoulders and it was one of the many things Mark loved about you. That was the reason why he wasn’t in shock when told him of your decision.

Although he hid it behind a poker face, deep down his heart was breaking. Mark hated the distance between the two of you and as much as he loved his Job, he hated that it took him away from you. He didn’t think the two of you would end up like this, distant to the point where you could be considered strangers. Looking at him, it didn’t feel like you were staring at your fiancé; the man you’ve been in love with your years. It was as if you were looking at someone you didn’t recognize and the thought made you feel numb. When did things get this bad between the two of you?

“What? Why? When?” You released a frustrated sigh before making your way to the couch. Your body felt as if it was about to pass out at any moment and you were afraid of things taking a turn at the worst.

“Why? Are you seriously asking me that right now? I’m almost five months pregnant Mark and I’ve been practically going through this pregnancy by myself. I’ve been going to all the appointments by myself and I’ve been having to take care of this house by myself. You’re never around and I can’t keep doing things on my own. I’m stressed, lonely, tired, depressed and frustrated all the time. All I want is to fall asleep in your arms and for you to reassure me that everything is going to be okay. But everything won’t be okay, will it? Look at us Mark. We’ve been arguing almost every day for the last week, we can barely hold a decent conversation hell, I can’t even remember the last time we shared a genuine kiss. Pregnancy is supposed to be such a beautiful and exciting experience but lately all I ever seem to do is worry and cry and I have no one to comfort me. I understand that you love your job and I’m very proud of you for all that you’ve accomplished. But it seems that you forget you have a fiancé and a baby on the way. I don’t think you’re ready to be a father Mark—“

He furrowed his brows before looking at you in disbelief. Sure, he hasn’t been that involved in your pregnancy, but he didn’t think that made him a bad father. The reason why he’s been working so hard and so often was because he wanted to be able to provide for both you and your baby before it arrived. He wanted to make sure you both were financially prepared for the baby. If he knew it was going to take such a negative toll on your relationship, he wouldn’t have agreed on taking up all those extra hours.

“And you’re ready? Look y/n, I’m sorry. I’ve been a shit fiancé and I’m sorry, but don’t you dare say I’m not ready for parenthood. You may be the one carrying our baby and I’m very thankful that you’re being so strong in a time like this. But I’ve read every book and bought everything our little one needs—“

You scoffed. “Of course not. I’m scared out of my mind but I’m handling it better than you are. Oh, and that’s supposed to be enough? God Mark, how stupid can you be? Admit it, you love your job more than anything else. More than you love me and probably more than you’ll love our baby. Don’t give me that look, you know it’s true. If I’m already going through my pregnancy by myself, I’m sure it’s gonna be like this once the baby arrives. You’ve always been my number one priority Mark. I always want to put you and your happiness before anything else. But then I came to the realization that maybe I’m not important enough for you to do the same. Our baby is my main priority now and I think staying with my parents is the best option for the both of us. My mom was the one who offered and I was hesitant at first. I hate the thought of being apart from you, but you’re never around anyway, so what’s the point? I need to be around people who can give me the support and attention I need right now.”

Mark hesitantly looked up at you and felt a tear fall down his cheek as he took in your appearance. It was obvious that you were tired beyond belief. You had dark circles, your eyes were red and swollen as if you had been crying and even though you were pregnant, you looked like you’ve lost quite a bit of weight. He knew he was the reason why you looked so fragile, so small and he wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow him whole. How could he have done that to you? Mistreated you, neglected you, not give you the help you need during your pregnancy? He felt like such an idiot.

He opened his mouth to speak, but he had nothing to say. What do you tell your pregnant fiancé when you’ve been absent in everything going on in her life? No amount of apologies would ever be enough and he was afraid to say the wrong thing. When you noticed that he was just standing there in the kitchen and not saying anything, you sauntered off to your shared bedroom and reached for your bags you’ve packed just a few hours prior. The tears were hot as they fell from your face but you continued to grab your things. After taking a few minutes to breathe, you made your way back to the living room only to find Mark in the same place you left him. But this time, he was crying. You could hear his quiet sobs when you were in the hallway and immediately stopped moving.

Mark could be extremely sensitive sometimes, but he never cried because of you. He never had a reason to. However, as he gave you your space and allowed you to do whatever it was you were doing in the room, he couldn’t help but think you were leaving him. Permanently. As much as he tried convincing himself that you just needed some time to yourself, he couldn’t help but feel this was a sign of the end of your relationship and he obviously was not going to let that happen. He’d give you your space, he’ll allow you to do whatever you need in order to satisfy you. But there was no way in hell he was letting you go. Not only because you were pregnant, but because you were his person. You meant everything to Mark. He couldn’t care less about anything other than you. He’d give up his job and settle for a shittier one that paid way less if it meant being able to spend more time with you.

He was too deep in his thoughts and self pity that he failed to notice you re-enter the living room and when his eyes landed on your suitcase, his sobs grew louder. “Are you leaving?” You looked at him with so much sadness in your eyes and nodded slowly. “Me. Are you leaving me?” Once those words fell from his lips, you felt your chest getting heavy. Did he really think you were going to break up with him? You were only staying with your parents until you decided you no longer needed their help. You couldn’t help but think you’d end up staying with them even after you gave birth. Sure, things haven’t been going as well as they used to be between the two of you, but you didn’t think it was bad enough to make you end things with Mark. You were sure you’d die of heartbreak if you were to lose him.

“No, I’m not leaving you. Unless that’s what you want.” His facial expression was quick to change to something you’ve never seen before. He looked angry, yet hurt and confused.

“Of course that’s not what I want. Why would you even think that? Fuck, I don’t even want you going now but you have your reasons and I can’t stop you I just—fuck.”

There were so many reasons why you loved Mark. In fact, he was everything you could want in a significant other and more. Sure, there’s no such thing as a perfect person, but he came pretty close. Sometimes, you had a hard time believing he was real and that he was yours. With that being said, there were a few things you could live without. His stubbornness. He always had to have the last say in things and he always had to be right, even if he was wrong; and if he were to be proved wrong he wouldn’t admit to it.

He was also really bad at communication. You knew there were so many things he wanted to say, ways he wanted to apologize to you. You knew he wanted to yank your bags out of your hands and beg you to stay; but words were never his forte.

Lastly, the fact that he couldn’t apologize. Sure, if he did something wrong and took responsibility for it, he would say sorry. However in situations that he didn’t feel he did anything wrong, he wouldn’t apologize. You knew you weren’t going to get the apology you deserved out of him, but you were too tired to continue arguing with him.

“How long will you be gone for?”

“I don’t know, however long I’m going to need help from my parents.”

You could tell he wanted to make his way towards you with the way he kept inching forward but he would ultimately move back. Mark knew his limits and he knew how much you didn’t like it when he would try and reach out to you right after the two of you would fight. But in this moment, you wanted nothing more than for him to pull you in to his embrace. You missed the feeling of being wrapped in his arms. Mark was your safe haven, your home. You always felt so protected with him around, but you haven’t felt that way in a while.

“You can stay here. I’ll help you from now on—“ the emotionless chuckle that left your throat sent chills down Mark’s spine. You were always so positive, you were his own personal ray of sunshine; he hated that he was the reason you were now so cold.

“Yeah sure, because you’ve been doing such a good job at helping me these days. Please don’t make this harder than it already is. Go get some rest, I’m sure you’re tired. Don’t worry about me, you’ve already been doing such a great job at that.” When he saw you pick up your car keys, that’s when he finally made his way towards you and all but gently yanked it from your hand.

“Mark, what the hell?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “I thought someone was here to pick you up. There’s no way in hell I’m letting you drive twenty minutes to your parent’s house by yourself in this condition. I’ll take you.”

You shook your head in disagreement and attempted to reach for your keys but to no avail. “I’m fine Mark. I don’t think it’s a good idea—“

He released an exhausted sigh and you knew by the way he was looking at you that he was serious about not letting you go by yourself. However, you knew that you’d end up staying completely if he continued to try talking you out of it. “None of this is a good idea! You’re leaving me for God knows how long y/n! Fuck. I’m so fucking sorry. For everything, but please rethink this. I’m nothing without you. I know, I’ve been gone all the time and we hardly ever see each other but please baby, let me make it up to you. I’ll take good care of you and our baby. I’ll change. I’ll work less and be home more. I’ll start getting more involved again and I’ll pay more attention to you and—“ you slowly got on your tip toes and placed a gentle kiss on the corner of his lips to get him to stop talking.

Your mind was made up and you believed this time apart would help in bringing you both back together again. You needed Mark to feel how you’ve been feeling these last few weeks. You wanted him to know something was wrong; you wanted him to feel the effect the distance was having on you. You wanted him to miss you, to need you and to regret the way he’s been neglecting you.

“I have to go Mark. We’ll be fine. Okay? I’ll let you know when I get there. Take care of yourself while I’m gone please. I love you.” He tried to grab at your waist, but you were already out the door. There was no way he’d be able to sleep now that you were no longer there. Even if the both of you were no longer intimate and hardly ever saw each other, just your presence kept Mark sane. He knew was going to lose it now that you were gone and he was pissed with himself that he didn’t try harder in stopping you from leaving. He began pacing the room back and forth, waiting for a text or call, letting him know you got to your parents place and released a sigh of relief when he got the notification fifteen minutes later. He began typing out multiple messages filled with apologies, telling you how much he loved you and begging you to come back; but he ended up deleting each and every single one.

When you got to your parent’s house, you quietly made your way up to your old room and began to cry to yourself once you laid down on your bed. Your hands made your way down to your belly and you began to apologize to the tiny little being growing in there. A part of you was upset that Mark didn’t try harder to get you to stay. If only he were to genuinely admit to his faults and promise you he’d do better, then maybe you would’ve stayed. But he just let you leave, as if it was so easy. As if it didn’t bother him that you were leaving and that’s what hurt you the most. You continued to cry as you remembered everything that went down almost an hour ago until you found yourself falling asleep.

Mark however, couldn’t find it in himself to go to bed. Images of your hurt expression continued to play over and over again in his mind as if you were taunting him. He couldn’t stop thinking about you crying to yourself and having to go through so much pain on your own. You were right. He was obviously not ready to be a father. If he was, he would’ve never allowed you to go through everything alone. No matter how time consuming his job was. He didn’t realize just how much time he spent at work until you brought it up to him. Mark knew what he had to do in order to get you to come back home, and he was going to do it soon.

For the next two weeks since you’ve left, you had only gotten bigger which meant it was harder for you to do anything by yourself. Your parents were extremely kind and understanding. To your delight, Mark texted you multiple times every day, checking in on how you were doing, if you were eating your meals and taking your vitamins. But that was pretty much it. You weren’t going to lie, you missed him so much. However, you were too busy focused on the well-being of your little one that you didn’t have time to think about what Mark was doing and if he was missing you the way you were with him.

Little did you know, your fiancé was suffering without you. The house was cold and empty without you. He decided to sleep on the couch because he wasn’t able to sleep in your room knowing you weren’t there next to him. He also began lagging at work. His mind was too busy with thoughts of you that he actually took a sick leave for a few days. On some days, he didn’t even have an appetite. Your absence was killing him. He tried giving you your space by not bombarding you with texts and calls. But he wanted more. He wanted you home. He wanted things to be okay between the two of you again. He hated how awkward things seemed to be getting between the two of you, as if you weren’t a couple.

There were times where he’d find himself outside of your parents house, wanting to take your things and you back to your place, but he didn’t have the courage to do so. He was afraid your mom now thought negatively of him. You were very close with your parents, but your mom was your best friend. Mark was sure you told her everything, which is why she came up with the idea of you staying with them.

Finally the day that Mark would make things right finally came. Almost a month since you’ve left to stay with your parents, he got a text from your mom, letting him know that you were at the hospital going to find out the gender of your baby. He was upset to say the least that you didn’t tell him you were going to find out what you were having. Even if you were mad at him, he was still your fiancé and the father of your child; he had every right to know the gender of your baby.

He was minutes away from a surgery, but he had asked to slip away for a few moments in order to go be with you. As he made his way towards your gynecologist’s office, he felt as if his heart was going to beat out of his chest. This was the first time he was going to get to see you again after that night and he couldn’t be more happy. His heart yearned for you and he was going to make sure you were aware you were going back home with him.

The receptionist was quick to greet him but looked up at him in confusion. Mark was well known throughout the hospital because of his position and because he was extremely handsome. All the nurses and receptionists would fawn over Dr.Mcdreamy and this receptionist was no different.

“Dr.Tuan, is everything okay? What can I help you with today?” He looked around for you but you weren’t in the waiting room. Was your appointment over? Did you leave? Did he just miss it? But your mom said ten o’clock, he made sure to be there on time.

“Y/n y/l/n, is she here? She’s supposed to have an appointment today.” The receptionist looked at her computer before nodding in agreement.

“She’s in room 7, is she a patient of yours?” He shook his head before heading towards the room.

“She’s my wife.” Your mom was holding your hand while gently running her hands through your hair in attempts to get you to calm down. You were extremely excited to find out what you and Mark were having. Just a few days after finding out you were pregnant, you and Mark made a bet on what you were having. You wanted a boy and he wanted a girl. You couldn’t help but giggle at the memory, but quickly grew sad when you realized you were going to find out by yourself. Before you could start tearing up, you heard the door open and when you turned to see who it was, your heart began to flutter.

“Mark—“ he made his way towards you and brought your face in his hands, pulling you in for a long awaited kiss. When he felt you smile in to the kiss, he found himself smiling too.

“Hey stranger, I’ve missed you.” You brought your fingers up to his face and gently grazed his cheek with your thumb.

“I’ve missed you too. Wait, why are you here? Are you not going to get in trouble for leaving work?” He playfully rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“I was kind of upset when your mom told me about this appointment and that you didn’t, but that doesn’t matter. I’m here now. And I’m always going to be here from now on baby. This is the most important thing going on in my life right now. Hey mom, thanks again for the invitation.” He pulled your mom in for a hug before taking his place back on the bed with you. He looked at you lovingly before placing one more chaste kiss on your lips.

“You only get more and more beautiful every day and look at you, you’re practically a basketball. God, I’ve missed you so much.” Before you could respond, your gynecologist walked in to the room.

“So y/n, how are you—Oh—Hi Dr.Tuan. How have you been? What are you doing here?” Mark reached for your hand and intertwined your fingers together while showing it to your gynecologist.

“Y/n is my wife.” You looked at him in shock before smirking and nodded in agreement. Your doctor had you lie down while applying gel on your belly and began the ultrasound. Mark never let go of your hand the entire time and even placed soft kisses on the back of it every so often.

After a few moments, your gynecologist smiled down at you. “Congratulations y/n, you’re having a baby boy. There’s his cute little toes and his fingers. He’s hiding his face but that’s his nose right there. Right now he’s approximately 5 pounds.” The gentle squeeze on your hand sent warmth to your cheeks and you turned to face your fiancé. Although Mark made it clear that he was hoping for a girl, the wide grin on his face made it known that he was just as happy that you were having a boy. Once the gynecologist got done explaining to you how the remaining weeks of your pregnancy were going to go, you were left alone in the room with your mom and Mark.

“I’m going to go validate our parking. I’ll be waiting for you outside y/n, but take your time. Mark sweetie, it was nice seeing you again.” He said his goodbyes to your mom before turning to you. Even if he was confident just a few minutes ago with the way he kissed you as if nothing was wrong, he knew he had a lot to make up for and a few kisses weren’t going to solve your problems. He needed to tell you what he should’ve said a month ago.

“You must be happy. You’ve always wanted a boy, even when we first started dating I’d catch you in the boys section looking at clothes you’d want to dress our future son in.” You hummed in contentment before motioning for him to come closer. He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead while bringing his hands down to yours, absentmindedly playing with your fingers.

“Baby I’m so sorry. I’m an asshole, a fucking idiot. I can’t believe I was so blind to the way I was neglecting you and failing to give you the love and attention that you need right now. I cried every single day you were gone even if I had no right to. I missed you so fucking much y/n. I didn’t realize just how much I needed you in my life until you were gone. I put you through hell and I hate that it took you having to leave in order for me to realize it. And I’m sorry for not telling you this that night, I could’ve prevented all of this if I just got this off my chest. I was just so stubborn. I admit it, I let my job take over my life and I didn’t make you and our little bub my priority as you should’ve been. I’m sorry, for all the times you cried to yourself, for having to suffer alone. For making you feel like a single parent. Hearing you said you didn’t think I was ready to be a father upset me, but I understood where you were coming from. If I couldn’t even take care of you, there’s no way in hell I was ready to take care of a newborn baby. But I am, and I will.” A tear fell from his face and you were quick to wipe it away before placing a soft kiss on his temple.

“The lack of intimacy, the lack of communication, not being able to spend much time together, that’s all going to change. I already talked to my supervisor, she’s reducing my hours and I get a month off to spend with you and our baby once you give birth. I’m going to stick by your side like glue to the point where you’re probably going to get irritated with me. Anything you need, I got you baby. I’m going to take good care of you y/n and I’m going to make sure I’m the best father to our son and the best fiancé you could ask for. This is only the beginning y/n, but I’m telling you it’s only going to get better from here. I love you, more than you will ever know. You mean the entire world to me. I’ll give up anything and everything for you and your happiness. This, this pathetic and broken thing I call my heart, it’s yours. It beats for you, it yearns for you. You’re all it wants and all it knows, for the rest of my life. By the way, you’re coming back home with me today. I’m going to show you just how much I’ve missed you my love.”

#got7 imagines #got7 #got7 drabbles #got7 mark #mark tuan #mark tuan got7 #mark tuan imagines #kpop imagines #got7 fluff #mark tuan fluff #guys #i miss mark and got7 so much #this quarantine is ruining my life

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the-awkward-outlaw · 4 years

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i’m so excited your inbox is open!!😁😁can i request an arthur x fem!reader where he’s insisting he’s “an ugly, old outlaw” and all that bs and she gets really emotional and gives this speech on how handsome (adorable) and loyal and caring he is? basically just tooth-rotting fluff😊😊love your work!!🤍

I hope I ticked all the boxes for this one, lol. But it definitely turned out very fluffy (which is good, because I live for fluff! They are my favorite to write, especially with Arthur). Enjoy!

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You stand on the edge of Horseshoe Overlook, repeater in hand, waiting for an improbable attack. Of course, you can’t be entirely sure there won’t be one. Arthur mentioned a couple days ago running into some Pinkertons while he was out fishing with Jack. Something tells you that if they found this place, they’d have no problems marching in.

An hour later, the sun’s beginning its slow descent into the sky and you hear something: a horse coming down the path. Just as you lean around a tree to see who it is, Arthur comes into view.

“Oh hey, Arthur!” you say excitedly. Not only does he carry heavy weight in camp, he’s one of the nicest men you’ve ever met (despite being an outlaw), and he’s also the man you’re in love with. You haven’t had the courage to tell him this, the thought alone terrifies you.

He gives you an adorable “gun” finger salute as he trots past, but you notice his eyes don’t crinkle the way they do when he smiles, almost like he’s faking it. He goes on towards the camp and you follow him, wondering if something’s wrong.

When you get to camp, you ask Karen to take guard duty for now, explaining you’ll make up for it later. She accepts, saying you owe her a whiskey, to which you agree. Arthur dismounts his horse, feeding her a treat. You hear him say, “rest now, girl. You did good.” God, he’s so cute the way he talks to his horse.

He continues on towards his tent and young Jack crosses his path as he walks. “Hiya, Uncle Arthur!”

“Hey there, Jack. You keepin’ safe?” Arthur’s been worried about him ever since he ran into the Pinkertons. Of course, Arthur’s always been protective.

“Yeah.”

“You still reading with Hosea?”

“Yeah! He read me a story about a prince! I did a page all by myself!”

“That’s excellent, son! Good for you!”

Jack skips off and Arthur continues on towards his tented wagon, his shoulders rolling as he walks. You melt at the exchange he had with Jack. He is the most adorable, gentle man you’ve met. How is it that he’s a wanted man?

Arthur shuffles around his wagon a bit, adjusting some things on his little table. Then he grabs the flaps of the canvas and pulls them down, clearly wanting some privacy.

Silently, you go over to his tent and peak in. The sight breaks your heart. He’s sitting on the cot, hunched over, his hands clasped together as his elbows rest on his thighs. You can tell he’s upset about something.

“Mr. Morgan?” you ask.

He looks up and clears his face. “Oh, hey there, Y/N. What can I do for ya?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to check on you. I was… I guess worried. You okay?”

He smiles a little, huffing a bit. “Oh I’m doin’ just fine.”

You can tell he’s lying, and you’re nervous to stay any longer. It’s clear he wants to be alone. However, you swallow your fear and walk into the tent.

“Can I ask what’s wrong, Mr. Morgan? Whenever I have something weighing heavy on my mind, I find it’s helpful to tell someone.”

“Oh trust me, no one wants to hear about my problems. I’m just… just a sad, miserable ol’ outlaw.”

Your heart feels like it’s going to break. How can he think such awful things about himself when every time you see him, he’s doing something good to those around him? Bringing Mary-Beth a pen, reading stories to Jack, giving that one-armed man in Valentine money. Every time you’re with him, he proves the exact opposite of what he’s saying now.

“You… don’t really think that’s true, do you, Mr. Morgan?”

“Oh trust me, I ain’t sayin’ bad enough about myself. I’m… a no-good killer, a fighter. And uh, just a bad man.”

A tear slides down your cheek and you go sit down next to him. “Mr. Morgan, forgive me, but that’s not what I see. Every time you’re around, I see you helping folk, making people smile. I see you doing too much good to believe that a bad man is all you are.”

“You don’t know me very well, Y/N. Hell, you only been with us a few months. Wait a few years, you’ll be sayin’ somethin’ different.”

“I don’t think so. If anything, I’ll probably be sayin’ even nicer things about you. And honestly, Mr. Morgan, I’ve never lied to you. I ain’t startin’ now.”

“Trust me, you won’t. No one does, everyone who spends any length of time with me knows how horrible I am.”

“I’ve spent plenty of time with you,” you say. “I don’t think you’re horrible. Sure, you’ve made some bad choices, but who hasn’t? I… I’ve made choices that I regret too. But you can’t look at the world with people split in two based on good and bad. People are complicated. You’re complicated. That’s how the world is, and you ain’t doin’ yourself any favors by seeing it that way.”

He sighs heavily, looking away from you. He doesn’t speak for a few moments and when he finally does open his mouth, you’re sure he’s about to tell you to leave him alone.

“To be honest, Y/N, I really am a bad man. The only thing I’m good for is fightin’. All I ever been good at.”

“Mr. Morgan, can I ask who told you this?”

“No one told me, Y/N. I… I always known. And the other night, robbin’ that train full o’ city folk. Well, I robbed and beaten plenty of people before, they was really no different. But… I was over near Strawberry earlier. Some guy challenged me to a race. Guess he just bought a new horse, wanted to show off. Anyways, ol’ Artemis and I gave him a run for his money. I won, of course.” He scratches his chin. “When that other bastard got there, he was real angry. So angry he shot his horse in the head, so I shot him. Don’t quite know why I did neither. When…. When I shot him, I realized I felt nothin’. Not joy, not regret. Just nothin’.”

“Maybe because there was nothing to feel, Mr. Morgan. After all, a man who can so easily shoot his new horse he was so proud of moments ago cannot be much of a man at all. Perhaps… perhaps you killing him was a good thing.”

“How do you mean?” he asks. He finally turns to you, his blue eyes searching yours.

“Well, if he can so easily shoot a horse in that fashion, something tells me he doesn’t know how to rein in his anger, that he lets it get the better of him. Who knows? Maybe he was constantly hurting his wife or kids if he had them. Maybe you killing them will send them relief, freedom. That’s the way I have to see the world, Mr. Morgan, that our bad deeds have a positive effect somewhere in the world.”

Arthur grunts a bit. “Maybe. But… but I’m still nothin’ more than a fighter.”

“No you’re not. Forgive me, Mr. Morgan, but I’ve been watching you probably more than you think. You’re a good man, a wanderer, a hunter. An artist too I bet.”

“How do you figure that?” He cocks his eyebrow a bit, staring at you from the side of his eye. Part of you thinks he’s on the verge of smiling, which encourages you.

“I’ve seen you sitting on the edge of camp, writing and doodling in that journal of yours. John told me Dutch taught the two of you to draw, but it didn’t take with him.”

“Hmm, a lot of things didn’t take with that boy.”

You giggle, but don’t really want to lead this conversation into a heated discussion about John Marston and his flaws. “I bet you’re good though. Could… I mean, would you hate me for asking if I could see your drawings?”

You are extremely doubtful that he’d give you that privilege. After all, you and Mary-Beth talked about journaling and she mentioned how Arthur is notorious for it, but how no one has ever seen the inside of his. However, Arthur surprises you by sighing heavily and taking his journal out. He flips through it quickly, finding a page that has a drawing of a large wolf on it. He hands you the book, though he seems nervous.

Gently, you take it from him and inspect the drawing. It’s beautiful, professional even. You can so easily see the textures of the wolf’s fur, the bristles of the pines behind it. It’d be impossible to not admire the strokes put down, each one with their own intention and purpose.

“Mr. Morgan, this is incredible. I knew you were an artist, but I didn’t think you were this good.”

“Oh nonsense. Anyone can draw like this. Hell, I bet you ain’t that bad of an artist yourself.”

It’s your turn to raise your brow. “You wanna bet? Give me your pencil.”

He hands it to you and, in the lower right corner, you draw a small version of his wolf, which is far more than laughable. You’ve never been very good at drawing, but even this version is pathetic. After a few minutes, you hand him back his journal.

“There. Now your wolf has a badly deformed companion.”

Arthur takes one look at it and then he lets out a laugh. “I like it,” he says after a moment, his eyes meeting yours. This time, his eyes crinkle.

You can’t help but giggle. “I’m glad you like it, Mr. Morgan.”

Still grinning, he straightens up a bit. “Why you always callin’ me Mr. Morgan? You can call me Arthur on occasion, you know.”

“Oh I… I know,” you say, looking down at your lap, your cheeks burning. “I… I don’t know why I do.”

He admires your features for a moment. Arthur knows you’re sweet on him. He clued into it pretty quick when he first asked you to call him by his first name weeks ago and you refused. Then he heard Tilly and Mary-Beth joking about how they knew. He also noticed you did things for him no one else did: bringing him coffee in the morning, offering to clean his guns, how he was the only person you asked to teach you how to play poker and black jack. Other small things you did only for him. It didn’t take long for him to realize he felt something for you too.

He finds your behavior now endearing and you’ve helped cheer him up immensely. He grabs your hand and lifts it, placing a soft kiss to the back of it, which causes you to look up at him.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he says.

You’re blushing hard again. “You’re welcome. Arthur.”

Just as he’s about to lean over to try and place a kiss to your lips, Grimshaw’s shrill voice carries across camp.

“Where the hell is Y/N?! That damn girl, always disappearing! I swear when I find her…”

“Shit,” you say and quickly yank your hands out of Arthur’s grasp and then darting outside to subdue Grimshaw.

Arthur chuckles, his heart much lighter than it was before. He looks down at his journal, finding your poor rendition of a wolf. Little do you know that it brings him great comfort and always will. In the future, when things go bad, he opens to this page just to look at it, to remember the things you said. It’s a moment he’ll never be able to forget.

#rdr2 fanfic #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female reader #awkward asks

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