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the-cult-of-russo · 1 year

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Such a Softer Sin (Part 26)

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Warnings: I’m not specifically tagging this one, if you’ve seen the show, nothing will shock you. Smut will happen eventually so minors DNI, thanks.

A/N: I have no idea what’s up with me today. I’ve had the worst headache behind my left eye and it hurts when I look up or to the left. It’s driving me crazy. I have no idea if it’s sinus related because it's the same side I’ve been having issues with my eye and nose with whatever cold or bullshit is beating me up right now.

On another note, I can’t believe there’s only one more full chapter after this and then the epilogue. As I’ve already said, tomorrow when I post chapter 27, I’ll be posting 28 (the epilogue) right after it because it’s shorter. So tomorrow is the end of this story and I can’t believe it’s gone so quickly. I never expected for the story to turn into what it did and for me to get so attached to it. And I really didn’t expect you all to love it as much as you do, so thank you.

—-------

Two months pregnant

You stared at the open book in your hands, rereading the sentence a few times when your brain didn't quite take it in the first time. You were comfy on the sofa with Billy, both reading separate books as you just enjoyed each other’s company. You were reclined sideways, feet in his lap and he rubbed one of your feet absentmindedly. You weren’t at the castle, you were enjoying some time at Anvil. You found yourself going there every so often with him to get some peace after you’d told him how much you liked it here. You weren't showing yet but you were bloated and the pregnancy had been pretty easy on you despite some light sickness and tiredness. Your mind wandered again as you tried to read and you huffed to yourself, looking over your book to look at Billy who was engrossed in his own book.

“Does the baby need to be a boy to be the heir?” you asked curiously and his head snapped up from his book at your seemingly random question.

“Yeah,” he answered, watching you carefully as you nibbled your lower lip.

“What would happen if it’s a girl?” you asked.

“I don't know. She’d be a princess but wouldn't be the heir, I guess,” he explained.

“Why though?” you pressed with furrowed brows.

“It’s just how it is,” he shrugged, looking at you strangely.

“Don’t you think that's a little misogynistic?” you scoffed and he looked slightly uncomfortable as he shifted where he sat.

“It’s just tradition,” he muttered and your eyes narrowed at his vague answer.

“But why? Because girls can’t lead as well as boys?” you questioned incredulously and he rolled his eyes.

“It’s not like that…Even if we had a daughter, I wouldn't want her to be heir anyway ‘cause I’d wanna protect her and I know it’s a hard job,” he frowned.

“Right, ‘cause you think girls are weaker than boys. I could take you in a fight,” you squinted at him and his brows rose.

“Is that right?” he asked with an amused smirk.

“Yeah, it is. If I wasn't pregnant right now I’d kick your ass,” you muttered and his amused smirk only widened.

“You really think you could take me in a fight?” he asked teasingly.

“I’m faster and stronger now, we’d be more evenly matched,” you huffed. You knew deep down you couldn't take him in a fight at all but you loved to wind him up.

“You’re bein’ facetious right now,” he muttered as he leveled a look at you and you snorted.

“Look, I get wanting to protect a daughter, but what happens if we have five hundred babies and they all wind up being girls?” you asked him and his lips twitched up.

“You’re already thinkin’ of baby number five hundred and you ain’t even done cookin’ number one yet,” he murmured in amusement but when your eyes narrowed at him again, he sighed.

“I don’t care if the baby is a boy or girl and honestly, I think my first born should be heir no matter what,” he shrugged and you tilted your head at him.

“Where the hell did the transition even come from then? I mean, you're the first Lycan King so it’s not like it's been done before,” you asked in confusion and he furrowed his brows, looking deep in thought for a moment.

“It was the Council that said it and I just went along with it,” he admitted and you raised a brow at him, causing him to give you a sheepish smile.

“Whatever the baby is, they’ll be the heir, alright?” he asked, giving you a smile and you nodded, feeling a little better about the whole thing. You really hadn't enjoyed the idea of having to pop out a million babies in trying to give him a son.

—-

Four months pregnant

You turned to the side, looking at your small bump as you lay your hand over it. Your clothes still fit you but you knew you’d need new ones soon. You were still wearing your corset although you’d keep it loose, it was mostly to keep your tunic in place. After getting ready, you left the room to start on your jobs for the day, the first being to oversee training. As you walked down the stairs in the castle, you saw Azalea and she grinned when she saw you, a basket over her arm with a cloth over it.

“This is for you,” she beamed and you took it curiously.

“What is it?” you asked pointlessly as you uncovered the basket to peep for yourself. It was full of croissants.

“I know you’ve been craving them, I made them myself,” she murmured bashfully and you felt your eyes well up a little, your free hand moving to cover your mouth and Azalea’s eyes widened as she looked at you.

“Y/N! I’m sorry, I didn-” she started but you shook your head.

“It’s just the hormones, ignore me,” you rushed out, trying to get yourself under control. It had been getting a little harder to do lately. You found yourself touched by the fact she’d thought of you like this, that she’d made them all herself.

“I love them, thank you,” you smiled sincerely at her and she relaxed. You gave her a one armed hug before you said your goodbyes and you hurried to make your way outside, basket in hand. As you approached the training area, warriors were milling around as they got ready and you spied Frank already waiting for you as he sat on the lowest bench. You’d be working with him today. You sat next to him, the basket by your feet as you reached out to grab one.

“The fuck’s this? A whole ass basket of croissants?” he snorted and you flashed him an impish smile, handing one over to him. He didn't hesitate to take it and start eating it. You shared the croissants as you watched the training, it was one of your favorite things to do since you couldn't fight yourself right now. Viron stepped up to fight one of Frank’s guys and you turned to Frank with a grin.

“I bet you the rest of my croissants that Viron’s gonna win,” you smirked at him and he scoffed.

“Yeah right, Eli’s gonna win, hand’s down,” he muttered in contempt.

“We’ll see,” you smirked and he narrowed his eyes at you. You both watched as if you had more at stake than some croissants as the pair fought with their swords and it was a pretty close fight, keeping you on the edge of your seat the whole time. Eventually, Viron managed to disarm Eli and his sword went clattering to the floor.

“Yes! No croissants for you, Frankie boy!” you laughed, giving Frank a smug grin as you grabbed the basket and stood.

“Aw, come on! Not even one?!” he whined and you snorted, taking a teasing bite of the one in your hand and making a show of eating it as he sulked. You walked over to Viron and gave him a high five.

“Croissant?” you asked him with a bright smile as you offered him the basket, laughing when Frank cursed up a storm from where he sat.

—--

Five months pregnant

You lay on the slightly uncomfortable bed in the medical facility, nerves flowing through you as Billy clutched your hand. He was sitting on the chair next to the bed, his leg bobbing up and down anxiously. You were having an ultrasound today and you hadn't had one yet. Billy could sense if anything was wrong so that hadn't been a worry and you’d decided to hold off on an ultrasound until you could tell what the baby’s sex could be. Knowing you were about to see your baby for the first time filled you with anxious excitement and your heart was hammering away.

“Alright, this is gonna be cold,” Curtis murmured, holding some of the gel in his hand. You nodded and he squirted it in your stomach and you gasped a little.

“You weren't joking,” you muttered wryly and he smiled at you. He pressed the wand onto your stomach and before you saw anything on screen, you heard it. The heartbeat was fast and it soothed something primal in you to hear it. You felt Billy clutch your hand tighter as both of your eyes were glued to the screen in anticipation. A very obvious baby appeared on screen and you were taken aback by how developed it was already. You knew from the books you’d been reading that the baby was around the size of a banana right now and it blew you away that it looked very much like a real baby when it was so small. You blew out a shaky breath, tears pricking your eyes as you just gazed at the baby that was half you and half Billy and when you looked over at Billy, he had an awed and tearful smile on his face, eyes wide as he stared too.

“The baby is healthy and strong, they’re measuring as they should be. Do you guys wanna know the sex of the baby?” Curtis asked you, glancing from Billy to you and you nodded. He moved the wand around a bit more, looking at the screen as he tried to make his conclusion and a grin split his face before he looked back at the pair of you.

“You’re having a boy,” he smiled and Billy let out a delighted watery laugh as you felt overtaken by happiness. You knew you were pregnant, you very much felt it, but just knowing what the baby would be made it feel so much more real. You had a little person inside of you. A son. Billy wiped his eyes with his free hand, the one holding yours bringing your hand to his mouth as he pressed a lingering kiss to the back of it as he smiled at you. You could feel the happiness and excitement radiating off him in waves.

“How many pictures do you want me to print off?” Curtis asked as he grinned at you both.

“Uh… one each for us, one for Frank and Karen, one for Micro and Sarah and one for you,” Billy murmured, still trying to get his tears under control. You’d barely seen Micro lately so you knew you’d have to wait to tell him the news. He’d been staying a lot with Sarah and the kids at their pack. The plan had been for them to move back here after the war was over, but the kids were happy there and Micro didn’t want to unsettle them yet. Billy had offered Micro to go and live with the other pack if he chose to do so but Micro refused to give up his duties as pack Delta, so he was trying to split his time.

“I can’t wait to tell Frankie,” Billy laughed, staring down at the photo now in his hands in adoration. You could barely tear your eyes away from your own photo as you looked down at the baby. You really couldn't wait for him to get here so you could hurry up and meet him. When you left the medical facility, Billy led you over to where Frank and Karen were just hanging out together.

“We’re havin’ a boy, Frankie!” Billy laughed, running over to his friend and picking him up as he twirled him around comically and you couldn't help but laugh at the sight. Karen looked at you with wide eyes and a wider smile as she rushed over to hug you, Billy setting Frank on his feet as they shared a hug too.

“Look!” Billy beamed, passing Frank the picture and Karen moved over to peer at it too. He already sounded like such a proud parent and it filled your whole chest with warmth. Frank stared at the picture, his eyes tearing up as pure wonder lit up his face.

“I can’t believe I’m gonna be an uncle,” he murmured and Billy wrapped an arm around his shoulder with a blinding grin painting his face. You couldn’t believe how loved this baby was already and he wasn't even here yet.

—-----

Seven months pregnant

Your hand lay over your bump that was getting pretty big and you tried to calm yourself. Your moods had been all over the place lately and luckily, Billy had been nothing but patient with you. You were sitting on the bench in the Royal gardens as you cried softly, struggling to keep your raging emotions at bay. You sensed Billy before you saw him and you glanced over to see him standing in the archway watching you with a sympathetic look on his face.

“Did they run outta hot chocolate again?” he asked softly and you shook your head.

“No,” you whispered and you found yourself crying harder as you lowered your head, your breathing coming in ragged as Billy slowly approached you. You didn't blame him for being hesitant and apprehensive like this, you’d had a full blown melt down the day before because your feet were too swollen to fit into your boots.

“I-I can’t believe Kos and Atti aren’t here to see the baby,” you sobbed brokenly and his face fell as he realized you were upset for a very real issue this time. He hurried over to you, sitting down as he wrapped his arms around you and held you to his chest. His hand cradled your head, storking your hair as you cried into his chest.

“They might not be here in person, but they are in spirit. Wherever they are right now, they’re looking at you and the baby and they’re happy,” he soothed. You moved away from him, wiping at your eyes furiously.

“Why does everyone I care about die? My parents, Kos, the whole thing with Atti… What-What if something happens to you?” you wept pitifully and he frowned.

“That won’t happen, I’m immortal,” he murmured and you shook your head.

“You were immortal before and then I found out about the glowing red sword. It doesn't mean you can't die,” you bit out tearfully.

“The sword’s been destroyed, we used magic to get rid of it,” he countered.

“Something else could come up,” you argued, getting worked up and he grabbed your face, making you look at him.

“No matter what, I won’t leave you. I love you more than anything and there ain’t a damn thing in the world that can take me away from you,” he said vehemently, his eyes imploring as he stared at you. You sniffled with a nod and he moved you to lay your head on his chest again as you gripped the front of his tunic. He held you like that until your sobs stopped and you started to feel a little better. You knew the whole thing had been playing on your mind, but usually, you were better at keeping control of it. With how your hormones were lately though, it had just overflowed and poured out of you. You sat up, wiping your damp cheeks as you shot him a sheepish smile and he stroked your hair as he watched you carefully.

“What do you think about Kosmos? For the baby's name?” you suggested quietly, glancing at him. A small smile tugged his lips as he took your hand, kissing it softly.

“Kosmos Francis Russo,” he murmured, raising a brow at you and you smiled at him.

“I like that,” you nodded and he beamed a smile at you. You felt lucky to have him to take care of you, putting up with your up and down moods. You didn't know what you’d do without him.

—---------

Eight months pregnant

You strode to the meeting room with purpose, knowing Billy was having a meeting in there. A part of you knew you shouldn't disturb him yet your feet carried you there anyway. When you pushed open the door, you saw Billy sitting with Frank, Curtis and Micro by his side and on the other side of the table were the Human King and the leader of the Witches.

“Queen Y/N,” the Human King smiled, bowing his head and you did the same.

“King Alfred, Lady Mariam,” you smiled politely, bowing your head to her as she did the same with a warm smile. You liked her quite a bit and you’d spent some time with the witches after Karen introduced you. They seemed to like you too.

“I just need to borrow King William for a moment,” you murmured to them before your eyes snapped to Billy, who was watching you with slightly narrowed eyes. You stared at him intently and he shifted in his seat, feeling what you were feeling before he cleared his throat and turned to Frank.

“Can you finish up for me?” he asked him and Frank nodded. You left the room quickly as he said his goodbyes to the others there and you made your way to your room hurriedly, waiting for him to follow. It didn't take long before he came into the room, shutting the door as he gave you a look.

“You can’t keep interruptin’ my meetin’s like this, Y/N. This is the third time this week,” he sighed and you made your way over, trying to look innocent. You knew you shouldn't be doing it as he’d been busy forging alliances with the humans and the witches to ensure another war wouldn’t happen. That if the vampires tried to uprise again, they’d all band together and they’d be unbeatable.

“I can’t help it, I’m sorry,” you murmured as you reached him, slipping his jacket off his shoulders.

“I just… I need you,” you whispered as you blinked up at him.

“I’ve had you twice already and it’s only noon,” he muttered and you huffed, moving away from him as you shook your head.

“It doesn't matter. You don't need to give me excuses, I know you're not attracted to me anymore. I look like a whale,” you accused as tears stung your eyes and Billy looked aghast at your words as he strode over to you.

“You’re overreactin’ right now. I think you’re beautiful, you look like a Goddess carryin’ my baby like this,” he frowned, cupping your cheeks. He leaned down, placing a soft kiss to your lips and you tried to let him soothe you.

“You’re just wearin’ me out a little,” he joked with a smirk, rubbing his nose against yours sweetly.

“You're just old,” you muttered teasingly and he pulled away, mock offense on his face as you smiled up at him. He nipped your lower lip and you gasped, hands fisting his tunic.

“You’re insatiable,” he purred against your lips.

“It’s not my fault when you're so good looking,” you pouted playfully and he grinned down at you before he stepped back and started to undress. You watched him with sharp and focused eyes, feeling like if you didn't have him, you just might die. He prowled over to you in all his naked glory before he kissed you deeply and your hands smoothed down his sculpted body before your hand wrapped around his cock. He moaned into the kiss as you stroked him, losing himself in the feeling for a moment as he kissed you more insistently. He grabbed your wrist, pulling you away from him as he broke the kiss and you could see the fire behind his eyes, you knew you had him right where you wanted him.

He undressed you quickly before he got you onto the bed. Sex with a big bump wasn't exactly easy but you’d done it often enough recently to figure out what positions worked and what didn't. He lay down as you climbed on top of him, too eager for him to wait as you sunk onto his hard and thick cock with a moan of relief. He groaned, hands digging into your hips as you started riding him hard and fast. He was moaning helplessly, face the picture of euphoria and you could barely tear your eyes away from him. You leaned down, which wasn’t an easy feat with the bump in the way, capturing his lips in a hard kiss and his hand gripped your hair, making you let out a needy moan.

“Such a good girl, takin’ my cock like this,” he growled and you felt the pleasure ricocheting off every inch of you.

“Billy,” you gasped, burning up from the fire he lit inside of you. He tugged harshly on your hair, making you moan in pleasure and your head was spinning as you continued to ride him at a frenzied pace.

“Your Majesty,” you corrected quickly, earning a satisfied growl in response. He was rutting up into you, meeting each desperate roll of your hips with one hand still buried in your hair and the other wandering, touching every bit of skin he could. You were both panting and moaning, chasing the delirium together and you let out a delighted moan as your climax hit you. Pure bliss washed over you in waves and you rode it out, feeling him fall right over the edge with you with a loud groan. You were breathless as you relished in the calm feelings you were now bathed in, moving off him before you collapsed next to him on your side. He rolled to face you, still panting a little as he reached out and wrapped his arms around you. You snuggled into him the best you could, a smile on your face.

“I love you,” he murmured tiredly and your smile widened.

“I love you too,” you replied, basking in his presence. You felt sated for now but you had no idea how long it would last. You almost felt sorry for Billy with how hard you were pushing him.

Taglist: (if you’ve been asked to be tagged and aren’t here, it wouldn’t let me tag some people.)

@firexfate

@blanchedelioncourt

@on-ya

@sunshinedaisies-anddeath

@snowkestrel

@music-indie-tv

@idaofinfinity

@sweetserendipity65

@ramadiiiisme

@k-marzolf

@celestialams

@woowwwee

@noortsshift

@rainbowgoblinfan

@mysweetlittledesire

@promnightbinbaby

@intothesoul

#billy russo imagine #billy russo fanfic #billy russo x reader #billy russo

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tokyo-revengers-writings · 2 years

Text

Tenjiku with a S/o who has emetophobia (Fear of Vomiting/Sickness)(HC)

A/n: It's been a while since I've done an HC, so I thought I'd start again by making it something personal. Long story short, I got emetophobia after I woke up from surgery and threw up for three hours straight (including dry-heaving. I already didn't like vomit in general, so this is engrained in my brain) Also, I didn't write all the Tenjiku members because this was kinda hard for me to write but feel free to request a pt. 2! Enjoy, sorry for the ramble.

Warnings: Emetophobia, cursing, Rindou

Izana Kurokawa

Low-key wouldn’t know what it is

But he doesn’t wanna look like an idiot

Would look it up on his own time and be so confused

Like, he’s not weirded out, but he doesn’t understand

better than most people

He’d ask you random things to try to understand better

“So, like, are you scared of other people getting sick?”

We stan a man willing to learn

He’d be so willing to help you with your random panic attacks

He’s probably really good at calming people down

Would never force you to eat foods that you don’t think you can stomach

Encourages you to eat every two hours

“Have you eaten today? No? Okay, come with me. We’re going to your favorite ice cream place.”

Idc what Wakui says, he is the sweetest man ever

He would be so quick to tell you you wouldn’t throw up

Completely understands if you can’t be around him when he’s sick

Trust me, he’s used to being alone, he’ll be fine

He’d be absolutely amazing when you’re sick

Not terrible, 9/10

Kakucho Hitto

He definitely has no clue what that is

Will ask; looking it up could lead to misinformation

Would never judge you for your fears

Would be so quick to validate your feelings

“You’re not the only person who has this; it’s normal, so don’t feel bad for something you can’t control.”

Asks for your permission to cook certain foods

marry me

Always encourages you to eat in the best ways

“Okay, I’m gonna give you a few options that we could try. It’s fine if you don’t wanna try any of them, but we can start with this, sound good?”

He’d be amazing at telling you that you wouldn’t throw up

This man is so amazing at calming others down

Will not take you to a random resturant or anything

Constantly asking about textures and foods you can’t stand

Does not care if you wake him up

Is great at taking care of sick people

If you want him away from you when he’s sick, he won’t mind

I love this man, 20/10

Ran Haitani

Has definitely heard it, but has absolutely no clue what it is

Does not hesitate to ask

He finds it strange, but he understands why you could be scared of something like that

Definitely asks questions

“So, is it like the action itself? Or is it more of a gross factor?”

may accidentally trigger something

This man can’t cook for shit, don’t worry about eating his cooking

Would ask before ordering takeout

“You alright with Chinese food? I can pull up the menu and we can decide on a few things?”

I want Chinese now

Honestly will be pissed if you wake him up because you think you’ll throw up

He’ll never tell you that he’s mad, he’ll just gently encourage you to go back to sleep

“It’s just anxiety, I promise you that you’re just anxious. Just breathe for a moment.”

Will respect if you can’t be around him when he’s sick, but he’ll definitely be a bit curious

Would not mind helping you when you’re sick

Is the goofiest person when it comes to getting you to eat

“Come on~, you know you can’t resist the airplane~!”

He’s okay, 9/10

Rindou Haitani

Has absolutely no idea what you’re talking about

Kinda scared to ask you because he doesn’t wanna look like an idiot

“What is it exactly? I mean, I know the broad strokes, but can you explain in more detail?”

He’s intrigued by the whole concept

not in a weird way, he just finds the mental health aspect interesting

He would love to hear as much detail as you can give him, but won’t push it

He’d ask before making something

“Wanna make breadsticks? I have a recipe for homemade breadsticks that we could try together. It’s okay if you don’t, just thought I’d ask.”

I want breadsticks now

He’s definitely the therapist friend, so he’d be great at helping you

“Hey, hey, breathe for me. It’s alright; you’re not gonna throw up.”

This man doesn’t sleep, he won’t mind

Wouldn’t mind for a second if you wanna be away from him when he’s sick

I have this random HC that Rindou’s a bit of a germaphobe himself

Honestly, this man probably has no clue how to help a sick person

He’ll try his best, but keep in mind that he’s Rindou

Perfect at eating encouragement

“Can you name a food you’re thinking about? If not, I can name a few things and we can figure something out. Worst case scenario, we can get whatever takeout you think you want. Deal?”

Perfect, 10/10

~~~

Masterlist

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sgcairo · 2 years

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I’m amazed (and in love) with how u still hold onto dottore’s apathetic trait. Ik it’s obvious but I see a lot of people brushing it off, I personally dislike it..

Can you please speak about him and emotions more? So much light on pantalone pls don’t abandon the doctor😞 hehe. Not necessarily between babyttore and pantalone but also other things such as grief anger and love (also loneliness I’m curious)

Do u think someone before outed him about his (dottore’s) actions and how he doesn’t realize/care abt the consequences of them and how they affect others? If yes could u please explain dottore’s inner and outer reaction? Sorry im so Inlove with your characterization 😆

Honestly, I hate it when people brush off the fact that yes, he's an apathetic bastard. That's the whole point of his character, the risk of science without morals. And I like theorizing about it, because psychology is interesting and I'm a psychology nut.

I got you on the emotions bit. I kind of went over these in some of my previous answers to your asks, but it's time to deep dive, as it's my favorite thing to do other than write stupid fanfiction and read my books.

Here's the thing: Dottore is hard to characterize at times because I really can't relate to apathy, so it's a lot of speculation. He's just as crazy as they get, and I just have to let go of my own moral standpoints when thinking in his general perspective. No morals, just arson and destruction.

Dottore is a man of few emotions in general. And that's why he's so confused when Babytorre invokes some of these strange feelings within him. He's a wild card with how he feels, and honestly seems a bit scattered in terms of how his emotions present themselves. His anger is manifested in the destruction of the things he's worked so hard to create, his satisfaction is shown through lack of work on these projects, instead used as time to go bother others or take a moment to sit down and consider the outcomes.

But for things such as grief and love, he doesn't understand them. It's not that he doesn't feel them, he just can't recognize them when they happen. The first time he feels anything close to either, he thinks he's sick, as physical sensations equivalent to actual love are foreign to him. He's so detached from feeling them that he can't even tell what they are anymore, and that's where the whole "apathy" portion really strikes hard.

He just lacks the understanding and conceptualization of these feelings, which makes him detached from his victims. He does it because he believes in furthering his research, but also because he can't relate to the feelings that stem from having unpleasant experiences. He detached those feelings long ago, and now he can't exactly recover them easily, as he doesn't know them anymore.

Within childhood, there's a crucial stage of psychological development that's called "preconceptual morality". Basically, it's the idea that most of a child's actions are typically egocentric, or surrounding their own self interest. Dottore is the perfect example of a lack of development past this stage. He does only what benefits him. The definition of preconceptual morality also spreads to adults "under extreme pressure". So Dottore's own responsibilities ambitions and self imposed expectations may be a root cause of this, or simply his own lack of moral exemplifications.

He's quite literally a psychopath. I could throw all my above analysis away by just saying that his brain doesn't comprehend emotions, and his violent tendencies have stemmed from that in their own right.

But loneliness is an interesting emotion, as Dottore is unfamiliar with feeling lonely. He's always been a man that works alone, that much is clear. And by feeling lonely... It's not an emotion he's ever really felt or recognized as an actual ability.

From a psychological standpoint, we develop our ideas of emotions through our guardians/caretakers. They teach us what we're feeling and how to deal with that. Part of me wonders if Dottore just wasn't told no or that manifesting his feelings in such unproductive ways was bad. Either he has parent issues, or he just completely lacks the emotional awareness that most people have.

And yes, Pantalone in particular outed him about how he doesn't understand feelings, and that he's heartless. Basically chewed him out for being inconsiderate, especially towards Pantalone himself.

And let's just say that Dottore reacted poorly. I like to think that he doesn't yell, but he definitely has a warning tone, the "I'm dangerous and I could mutilate you if I pleased" type of tone. Pantalone is one of the few people below him that isn't terrified of it. Dottore wouldn't be visibly shaken, he's too good at keeping his physical displays of emotion in check.

But internally, I would think that Dottore wouldn't feel much of anything at all. In fact, he might even agree. But depending on the situation, it would also make the tiniest crack in his chest, for all the unpleasant feelings to leak out. He definitely knows what it's like to feel defeat and anger, along with frustration and jealousy. He lacks the counter balance for them. He would likely feel his own form of frustration, especially because Pantalone dares speak to him like that, much less after everything the Doctor has done for him. How dare he go against Dottore, they were on the same side.

Arguably, I think Pantalone's opinion is the only one Dottore would respect, every once in a blue moon. Only because he's the only Harbinger that doesn't actively pursue murder and instead plays the game of manipulation. And when two manipulative bastards are honest with each other for once... It doesn't end well.

So there's my brainrot for that. Hopefully it makes sense, I wrote this in the middle of the night with only two braincells skipping in circles to the "it's corn" meme.

Dottore is just a mess of a man, there's no explaining it. I cannot with his thought process, it just jumps around like a possessed Easter bunny.

Meanwhile Pantalone is just enough of a bastard to be coherent, there's a reason why I live their dynamic. Scattered and composed, the perfect complementary personalities.

#il dottore #il dottore character study #help this was written at midnight #pantalone #babytorre #fatui harbingers #fatui headcanons #genshin impact #genshin impact headcanons #psychopathy #have you seen how he dresses #please

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beantothemax · 9 months

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What a horrible day. Disaster after disaster after disaster. Crick had been murdered, Harvey decided to turn up and Roque made a tumblr account. What hadn't gone wrong? Seeing how upset Castti was, Partitio thought of a solution.

Usually, he would’ve had to drag her to the tavern. But today, she went willingly. Alcohol was likely the only thing that could make her forget about how bad that day had been. She took a seat beside Partitio at a small table.

While he left to get drinks, she got a good look at the tavern. It wasn’t unusually full or empty. Just the amount you’d expect from a tavern in a medium-sized town on Sunday evening. Agnea, Throne and Hikari sat by a table in the corner. Castti tried waving to them, but they seemed not to notice.

… that or they didn’t want to talk to her. Who knows. Partitio returned, two drinks in hand.

“I got the sparkliest, fruitiest thing I could find for you, and a northern Leaflands beer for myself,” he smiled.

She took the drink and gave it a sniff. It smelled like the stuff she used to clean her hands before handling a patient.

“What’s the percentage on this?” she asked.

“Thirty-five, ya’ might wanna drink it sl-”

Before Partitio could finish his answer, she downed her drink.

Castti had a coughing fit and hissed at the taste. Partitio couldn’t help but laugh at her reaction. Such a drink was nothing to him. He’d probably drink straight hand sanitizer if he could.

“If I sip it then I’ll know what it tastes like and I won’t want to finish it,” she finally said.

“Fair ‘nough, some o’ that stuff hardly tastes edible sometimes.”

“D’ya want another one?” he asked.

But Castti shook her head, “I’ll be fine.”

He knew she didn’t want to think about that day, but didn’t push it. If she wanted a distraction other than alcohol, then he’d provide one.

“If ya’ could instantly master any new skill, what’d it be?” he asked.

Castti thought long and hard about the question, “remembering stuff.”

“Aw come on, that’s a boring answer. I’d become a ventriloquist and scare Ochette,” Partitio laughed.

What a strange hypothetical. She answered honestly, but that somehow wasn’t good enough.

“The violin then? I don’t know, I’m satisfied with the skills I have,” she said.

Partitio wracked his brain for another hypothetical, one Castti would be forced to give an absurd answer to.

Not much later, Castti laughed so hard her stomach hurt.

“No, but think about it! If ya’ had a thousand cockroaches in yer attic, you’d just fetch an exterminator. If it was a person, they might’ve been watching ya’ all this time! That’s a terrifying thought!” Partitio argued.

Castti thought long and hard about the question.

“That’s a stupid hypothetical, if it’s just cockroaches then you obviously pick the cockroaches. It has to be something bigger,” she said.

“A sand lion?”

“No, too big, smaller…”

She rested her head on her chin as she thought. Her brows furrowed as she went over a mental list of the most horrific monsters she knew of. But none of them seemed quite as scary as the idea of finding a human in your attic.

“What about a thousand cockroaches versus two buttermeeps?” she questioned.

But he didn’t answer. He stared at her with a dreamy, distant expression. Castti was, by far, amongst the most attractive people he knew. She had adorable kind blue eyes and thin brown eyebrows just above them. Her bangs were always off center, the left side covering more of her forehead. The asymmetry suited her, it-

She snapped her fingers a couple times.

“Hey, you there?”

Partitio suddenly came back to reality, “huh? Oh, yeah, I am.”

“Are you sick? Your ears look red,” Castti muttered.

Before he could answer, she pressed a gentle hand to his forehead, then to his cheek. She stared intently in his eyes as she thought.

“You seem fine…” she trailed off.

His eyes were captivating. In the candlelight, his brown irises resembled amber. They seemed to glow in the light. He was handsome.

She leaned closer to him and he didn’t protest. Her cheeks become hotter by the second. They had become pink in no time. She leaned over the table.

Their lips met. Partitio placed a hand on her shoulder as he leaned into it. Her lips were just as soft as they looked, they tasted vaguely of the awful drink he bought her. When he pulled away, Castti took a deep breath in and he couldn’t help but laugh.

“You’re allowed to breathe,” he said.

“Sorry, I don’t really remember if I’ve kissed anyone before,” Castti chuckled.

She scooted her chair closer to his, “sooo…”

Partitio put a hand on her waist and the other on her cheek before pulling her in for another kiss. Her arms traveled around his torso in a similar fashion. He pulled her closer, holding her tighter as he deepened the kiss. He tried to open his mouth but their teeth only clacked against each other.

Castti couldn’t help but giggle as she pulled away. She was still tight in his embrace, her face only inches from his.

“Do you wanna go for a walk? I think Throne, Hikari and Agnea are watching us,” she whispered as she vaguely gestured to the other side of the tavern.

Partitio’s good mood and bright smile were suddenly interrupted by Castti’s words.

“They’re what!?” he said.

He looked at where she pointed, and sure enough, the three of them were sitting by a table, hardly even hiding as they watched. He flipped them off, earning a nasty looked from them before he took Castti’s hand and lead her to the exit.

pie you were right the first few sentences are absolute gold. roque making a tumblr account being treated with the same gravity as crick being murdered is hilarious.

also!!!! i feel like. honored? idk a less serious version of honored that you put my dumb lil thing about agnea throné and hikari spying on these two the entire time in here. kiwi does the same thing when they include some of the things I’ve said in asks with them in their travel banters and. i just really like that my dumb jokes are good enough to be put into your fics. it make me smile :]

also parti just flipping the three off at the end was equally hilarious. he gets one bird usage a month

pie this was a very nice fic and im just. idk im happy my idea helped you make something this cool

#asks #pie-knight #inbox fic #fave

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gothicprep · 2 years

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roughly a week ago, Matt Walsh shared something from a transgender tiktoker – dylanmulvaney is her username – and threw a predictable shitfit. “oh, this bitch is going to be at a Forbes summit and I’m going to make a massive stink of it”

my immediate read of the video was that she was taking the piss at glamping influencers (hence “hiking heels”) but I also don’t have the distinct brain rot that transphobia gives people, so maybe I can’t provide a lot of insight here.

i took it upon myself to scroll through the quote tweets because I took a sick day, am sort of bored, and being angry is strangely entertaining – I never can wrap my head around the idea that trans people are a functional parody of their gender identity. all the trans people I’ve met are broadly just doing their own distinct, separate thing. I’d say “quirky” is an accurate overarching description, but not “PARODY OF WOMENS”

also, I’m genuinely wondering if this prejudice makes people forget that women are people – women are weird and awkward and sometimes they make jokes that don’t land. none of this is a big deal lol. sometimes women are hyper-feminine, sometimes they couldn’t give less of a shit about any of all that. i cannot emphasize enough how little any of this matters.

i find this fascinating in the most morbid way hah. “this is such a stupid thing to be angry about”. but it’s honestly just all so stupid. there are better ways to waste your time.

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cupcakefactory · 1 year

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Hey! I was just wondering if you could maybe do a female reader x Vanderwood (or 707 if you feel more comfortable) where the reader gets involved in a mission of theirs (it was never intentional but they saw an opportunity to help resolve things I guess?) and it all works out, but Vanderwood/707 becomes mad at them because they could’ve been hurt? A little bit of angst/fluff y’know👀. No problem if you don’t feel comfortable at all. Thank you💗

Okay; first things first – I use they/them for vandy, vandy is our they/them monarch and we love them for it. Also my brain is being awkward today so MC has been given a temp name Onna, it means woman in Japanese.

ALSO SO FUCKING SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I SWEAR I GOT DISTRACED MORE THAN 1000 TIMES WRITING

Writing under the cut ^^

WC: 1586

“What are you doing Onna?!”

A bellowing voice rings out from behind you, who was that? You recognised it enough.. but, you don’t actually know what you’ve done wrong. All you were doing was working your job, weren’t you? Serving a simple customer whatever they ordered. Twirling on your heals you meet vanderwoods menacing gaze – They looked angry that’s for sure. Vanderwood, your friend from childhood who you had rekindled with after joining, or well, being forced into the RFA. That felt like a while ago now – you still can’t believe just have naive you had been to accept an invitation from some stranger to test a game.

That is how you re-met Vanderwood, you had been on the run with 707 and V – hiding in a worn down shack in the woods when Seven announced his maid was going to be joining you both. A little strange, but from the few brief interactions you had had with Seven it wasn’t anything too unusual, actually, it kinda fit into his narrative for him to have a maid – however crazy that thought may sound to other people. You can still remember when you saw them again, you could recognise that face anywhere, although they had grown Vanderwood still looked nearly identical to how they did when they disappeared at 15. You couldn’t tell straight away if they recognised you back but after many backwards and forwards glances from them you came to the conclusion that if they didn’t recognise you they had grown into a bit of a creep.

“I..I’m working..”

Your voice sounded pathetic, honestly you had no idea why you still felt a little threatened by them. You lived with them, you had seen them prance around with a frilly pink apron on (Sevens request obviously, Vanderwood was not impressed and you did find yourself at times trying to hold by a laugh), scold seven holding a wooden spoon like a mother would her child and you’d seen them heal a sick V from the brink of death. You knew Vanderwood was a good person that’s why it confused you why you were so nervous of them right now – maybe it was the way their voice sounded at that moment, you had got use to hearing it in a more gentle tone when hanging out with just the two of you. You had even heard them laugh once or twice – although god forbid you tell Seven that, your world may as well end on the spot. The gentle tone was gone, replaced with a rough belting one. You wondered for a moment why people weren’t looking at them – they were making enough noise that the whole café should be aware of his presence.

“This isn’t time for Jokes.”

Their warm breathe against your ear made you jump, right, that’s why the whole café hadn’t turned round. Vanderwood was right behind you whisper-yelling in your ear, Maybe your creep theory from the cabin could have some truth behind it because this was totally creepy right now. You couldn’t really say anything back because – well you weren’t joking around. You were working, this is what you do, and yeah it sucks. Managing to ignoring his lingering loud presence you continued to work around the shop, picking up glasses and plates for the regular and new customers with the basic smile every retail or hospitality worker has been able to make, Making small chat with the elderly customers who make their way to the café every Friday for the same thing, a cup of tea and a slice of cake, they always had interesting stories you enjoyed listening too.

This seemed to piss Vanderwood off, how in the world could you be so damn calm right now when this whole café could be under attack at any second? For the first time in a while they felt themselves starting to panic, you had brought out the one emotion they never really wanted to feel. They loved you, god they loved you so much that they took on extra missions so they could insure the world was a safer place for you to live. It was selfish for them to love you, they knew that. You deserved someone like you, someone with a kind heart, someone who could make time for you in a way he never really would be able too. His whole like was about missions, even though they loved you, they would drop everything to do as their boss says. It’s the life they live, and it isn’t glamorous; and they defiantly don’t want you mixed up in it. But right now? Right now they didn’t have a choice, they knew the terrorists that HQ had warned them off where probably closing in with every second they spent wondering after you in a hurry, they had no choice. Tugging at your arm to force eye contact, they mutter something into your ear.

“Clear the floor. This café is under attack”

That surprised you, what?! The little café in the middle of Seoul that no one knew about what under attack? You nearly laughed until you saw Vanderwoods gaze, oh, they were serious. Anyone could recognise that, you went to say something back when you felt an object being placed very gently in the pocket of your apron. What was that..? Before the question left your lips – they were gone. Lifting your hand up to the pocket, you could have passed out from shock – the vague but recognisable outline of a handgun was easily detectable. The adrenaline that flooded through your body then, as you looked for the easiest way to get everyone out, grabbing a cup of oil you splashed it onto a burning hob – creating a magnificent display of yellow and orange flames, however, as much as you desired too you couldn’t sit around right now and watch the flames dance. You hit the fire alarm to get people moving outside when something was planted against your head.

“Huh?~ What have we here, hmm? A little informant from WISE {Yes I am unoriginal as fuck have spy x family content as well}?” Well that sickly sweet voice was certainly annoying as fuck, what was WISE? Well, using the 2 singular brain cells you seemed to hold at that moment it became pretty obvious that they thought you worked for the same Organisation as 707 and Vanderwood. Great, this is just great, they (as in Vanderwood) were telling the truth and now your stood in the middle of a burning café with what you can only assume is the head on a gun pushed against your skull, If this didn’t seem like one of those horrible nightmare you suffered from during childhood you weren’t too sure what did. You seemed to only have a second or two to think before it all became a blurred mess of voices, and most importantly gun shots. You aren’t sure at all what happened.. it just all went black.

“Onna?! Come on Onna.. don’t die on me now girl. Luciel come on!! Answer your damn phone that’s what you fucking have it for.”

That was a new form for that voice to take, It was laced with concern and worry in a way you had never heard before. What had happened to make Vanderwood so.. scared? You couldn’t tell.. until you went to sit up and a shooting stabbing pain made you pretty much yelp out. You were sure you should have screamed louder, but your throat and voice seemed sore – almost as if they had been the one injured. You tapped around your body, okay at least you were alive, well – you assumed ghosts couldn’t feel themselves or pain, you weren’t really too sure on this matter. Going to wipe the sweat on your forehead you notice that your hand is covered in blood, your blood, holy shit, you had been shot. Normal Friday am-I right lads. {I am so sorry}. It was probably a good job blood didn’t cause you too pass out cause there was a shit tone of it, dripping from everywhere… well that was an exaggeration, it was one bullet hole but, it felt like a lot more! You looked up to meet Brown eyes that looked the same way that voice from earlier sounded, Concerned. They were concerned.

“Oh thank.. im not religious, but thank whatever it up there that you are alive.”

Quickly, almost too quickly you were pulled into their arms, a small but almost happy sigh leaving their lips as they held your weak body against theirs. Until.. they pulled away and almost glared at you.

“What was that about?! Do you know that she would have killed ya? The gun was meant as a fucking last resort Onna, not to be used like a childs toy. Honestly if I knew you would be so irresponable with it I wouldn’t have fucking given it to you. No, don’t say anything. We are going to the hospital.”

You couldn’t say anything even if you wanted too, because behind that forced anger you could see tears forming in their eyes. Oh how you loved his idiotic man.. and oh how you knew you would help him again if he ever needed it.

#vanderwood #vanderwood mystic messenger #vanderwood x reader #707 mystic messenger #Mystic messenger #707

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steamishot · 1 year

Text

mid-november

a recap of matt’s weeks off:

week in LA

week of recovering/working two extra shifts

COVID week!!!

upcoming - montreal

the last week of matt’s on week was one of the hardest. on top of it being super lonely, i literally worried myself sick about him. we calculated that he worked at least 105 hours in 7 days, which doesn’t include his commute time. this was due to his pregnant coworker calling out and all her work falling on him and J. so, on his first day off on that monday (halloween), it didn’t surprise me that he started feeling unwell. we both thought that it was a cold or exhaustion due to being extremely overworked.

the day started off well. we walked around cobble hill and picked up our favorite hot chocolate from the chocolate room. it was nice to see kids and their families get dressed up again and go for trick or treating (i don’t think i’ve been out for halloween since pre-pandemic). the VCF meeting for me had a hiccup due to one of the doctors not showing up on time but overall went fine. we had scheduled for matt’s flu shot that evening to meet a mandatory deadline of vaccination by the next day. however, when we went to the CVS, they had issues verifying his benefits. after over an hour, they could not administer his shot. we had to schedule an appointment with a different CVS for 8pm. anyway, matt definitely started to feel sick after the CVS stuff and getting his flu shot administered.

on tuesday, i had booked a little getaway for us at the rockaway beach hotel using my capital one travel credit. matt was pretty sick by this point but we made our way out there. thankfully the commute was just over an hour and pretty straightforward to get to. it was both of our first times at rockaway beach. our hotel room was small but had a nice balcony and the beach vibes were really nice. i continued to WFH there while matt napped - definitely nicer to recover by the beach with sun than in a downtown studio without. we were able to take a nice walk to the beach (the beach itself was closed off but we snuck in and it was super secluded), use their private sauna and ate at their restaurant. we watched an hour or so of TV before matt had to call it a night. that night, i started feeling a sore throat myself. my first feelings were honestly anger. anger that matt had to work so much to the point where he’s sick on his week off. on top of that, he got me sick too!

wednesday was okay for me, but i started feeling crappy on thursday. “what do you think we have?” i asked matt. he assumed it was the flu. i decided to take a covid test because i had planned to call off work but wanted to let my supervisor know with accuracy what i was dealing with haha. we found out right before my team meeting that we’re both covid positive. strangely, we were almost excited to say that we finally got covid once. i ended up waiting until after my two meetings that day before calling out. tried to get my work done for that day, but my brain was already in a fog and not registering a lot of stuff. friday i called off sick. monday i resumed. tuesday i called out half day.

i was battling with the idea of calling out sick while already working from home and the guilt of feeling like i’m not working hard enough. i already sneak out from work regularly due to its flexible nature so i felt bad that i had to call out for a few days on top of doing that (my little secret). but whatever, i have over 300 hours of sick hours accrued and i have never lied or called out more than one consecutive day of sick.

matt started his night shifts this past monday, while i continued to recover at home. this past week was definitely the ONLY time that we were both on the same dead/exhausted energy levels for the entire week. it takes me being really sick to have insight into how matt felt during residency or how he feels after working very long hours. i would be pushy about needing to go out, or not staying at home all the time, but this past week i was content with being indoors and relaxing and watching TV LOL.

due to hearing anecdotally of how family/friends recovered quickly and how many experienced just mild symptoms, i thought we would be in similar situations. i had underestimated the time it would take for me to heal. i was sleeping a lot, and taking meds every night. i applied my trusty thai oil to help with congestion. there was one night that i started freaking out. being alone at night didn’t help either. i was still feeling crappy, and before sleeping, i had anxious thoughts about “what if i’m in the percentage that’ll need to be hospitalized; what if i die in my sleep tonight; what if i’m one of the ones that will get worse”. my hypochondriac ass was legitimately worried and i had to get a text confirmation from dr. matt that i will not die from covid lol.

anyway, its now saturday and i’m feeling better. i finally left my apartment for the first time since this past sunday and it feels weird to see people again. i still haven’t exerted myself physically past a “stretch” type of workout and am scared to overexert myself too soon. i felt sad because i’m pretty sure i caught covid from hot yoga. or it may be that matt caught it from work even though he hasn’t these past 3 years. matt thinks that we had the flu-rona. our hypothesis is i was a carrier of covid from hot yoga, he had a weakened immune system and had the cold/flu, i transferred the covid to him and he got sick, then i got sick from him. i feel apprehensive about going to hot yoga again if it means i’m risking the both of us to get sick :/ but we do have the antibodies now to fight it off!

my accounting program restarted on nov 1. i went through half of the material for the employment law class, which is one of the easier ones, but took a break because of covid.

the second time around of night shifts is better for matt! at least we’re on the path of improving. we got better at regulating his sleep (made him drink meds the first couple nights, got him better earplugs and eyemask). we watch ramy over dinner before sending him off to work and it puts him in a better mood. i decided not to cook at all to not make any additional noise and we’ve just been ordering food.

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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 3 years

Text

Father of Mine – 2/2

Character: Bruce Wayne x Daughter!Reader

Summary: With the tragic passing of her mother, Y/N learns to the truth of who her father is.

Word Count: 4,100+

Warnings: absent father, subtle violence, mention of family death

A/N: The reader is described as tall in this fic. Bruce Wayne is 6′2 and I’m tall, so I’m indulging myself with no apologies. Read it or don’t.

Part 1

Bruce was working in the cave when Alfred interrupted him.

“Master Wayne, a guest has arrived unexpectedly.”

Bruce gave him a strange look. Hardly anyone showed up to the manor unannounced.

“Ms. Y/L/N,” Alfred added.

“Right,” Bruce sighed.

“She’s waiting for you in your office.”

Bruce found Y/N pacing in the room, refusing to take the seat that he was sure Alfred offered her.

“Y/N,” he greeted, remembering how she disliked the formalities last night.

She whipped around at his greeting. “Am I your charity case now?”

He feigned confusion. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

She looked offended by his lie. “Don’t insult my intelligence. You paid all of my outstanding expenses that my mother left me.”

Bruce opened his mouth.

“Don’t try to lie to me,” she warned.

Bruce closed his mouth.

“Look, I don’t need your help,” Y/N sighed in obvious irritation. “Did you or did you not pay them?”

He took in a shallow breath, “I did.”

Y/N clenched her jaw as Bruce finally admitted his deed.

“I was only trying to help.”

“You can’t just throw money at me and expect it to make up for being a no-show.”

Bruce tensed.

Did that mean…Did she know?

“You read the letter?” He asked.

“No,” she clarified. “But I figured it out.”

“I had no idea,” he tried to tell her.

“I don’t care,” she almost snorted.

“You have ever right to be angry with me…”

“I’m not angry. I’m annoyed.”

She took a defiant step toward him and crossed her arms.

The heeled boots she had on caused her already tall height to make her be eye to eye with Bruce.

How many people had faced off with Batman and cowered with fear?

But she didn’t submit or show any signs of intimidation.

“Do you think I cried myself to sleep every night as a child, wondering where my dad was or why he didn’t want me?” Y/N hissed.

Bruce didn’t respond.

“You think I give a fuck about the father-daughter dances? Or whatever the hell people think dads are only capable of doing?” She narrowed her eyes. “The thing is…I didn’t need you. I didn’t need you then and I don’t need you now.”

Bruce felt sick as he listened to her.

“I have the sneaking suspicion that you wouldn’t have been there for those anyway,” she added roughly. “My mom loved me more than enough. I didn’t need anyone else. And she made damn sure of that.”

“So I’m not your charity case to make yourself feel better after my mom made it clear she thought it was better to keep me from you, than to ever tell you that I existed. Says a lot about what kind of person she thought you are, huh?”

When Y/N finally stopped, she was taking deep breaths.

Bruce wondered how long she had that all bottled up. He didn’t think anything she said was a lie. Y/N didn’t need him. That had become clear.

She had grown up to be a successful, intelligent, and independent young woman.

And she got that way without a father figure of any sort.

After a few moments, Bruce finally bowed his head and cleared his throat. “I never intended on making you feel like a charity case.”

Bruce saw as Y/N took in a deep breath and the guilt slowly took over her expression.

“Look,” Y/N sighed, “we finally know the truth. Let’s just…let’s just move on with our lives. OK?”

Bruce couldn’t deny that the suggestion hurt.

After processing the news over the past week or so, he realized he wanted to get to know her. This wasn’t the first time a child of his had been dropped on him far too late. He had failed Damian in so many ways because of it.

But Y/N was a young woman, fully developed and independent now. And Bruce couldn’t help but wonder that him being absent from her childhood had only benefitted her.

“If that’s what you want,” he finally told her.

Y/N didn’t know him well enough to hear the underlying pain in his words.

So she simply nodded and walked past him, having nothing more to say.

——————

Bruce adjusted his tie. He wanted nothing more than to rip it off his neck.

But he was on his best behavior tonight.

This year, the Gotham Gazette was given the honor of hosting the Pulitzer Prizes. And since Bruce and Wayne Enterprises donated quite a large sum of money to the Gotham Gazette, they felt inclined to invite him.

Bruce had every intention of skipping, until he found out that Lois Lane was receiving an award and Clark would also be attending.

He figured the least he could do was congratulate her and say hi to both of them.

That’s why he was trying to find them as soon as possible so he could and get the hell out of there.

Bruce finally spotted Clark talking to a woman whose back was to him. All he saw of her was the black dress and y/h/c hair.

He made his way over.

Clark noticed him when he was a few feet away.

“I see you’ve finally left your cave,” he teased with a lift of his brow. “I honestly didn’t expect you to show.”

But when the woman Clark was speaking to turned to look at him, Bruce swore he felt his heart stop.

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, clearly just as surprised at seeing Bruce.

None of this went missed by Clark. “Oh, do you two know each other?”

Bruce didn’t know how to respond. What would Y/N want?

So he hesitated.

“I shot him for a cover once,” Y/N answered quickly.

She was a shockingly smooth liar.

Maybe she got that from Bruce, too.

But she didn’t realize that Clark could hear her heart rate quicken, catching the fib.

“And how exactly do you two know each other?” Bruce asked, recovering quickly.

“Y/N works with Lois a lot,” Clark answered. “She basically refuses to work with any other photographer.”

Y/N managed to force a smile.

“I should actually go find her and say my congrats,” she answered.

“And I need to hunt down a drink,” she mumbled.

Both men caught it.

Clark was rather taken aback by how she fled.

The Y/N he knew was always charming and kind, usually life of the party. He’d never seen her dodge a conversation in such a way before.

As soon as she was out of hearing range, Clark gave a intimidating glare to Bruce.

“Want to tell me what that was about?” He asked Bruce.

But Bruce only clenched his jaw.

“Past fling?” Clark asked with a somewhat disappointed tilt of his head.

“No. Nothing like that,” Bruce quickly corrected.

Not only did the idea make him feel sick. But if rumors started of the two of them being romantically linked, Bruce knew it would only make Y/N hate him more than she clearly already did.

Thankfully, Clark took his denial seriously.

“She’s not my biggest fan,” Bruce added darkly.

“Y/N is a good friend,” Clark told him – almost in warning. “Lois and her have become rather close over the years.”

Then Clark smirked. “She does know how to hold a grudge though. And she’ll make your life hell...if you deserve it.”

Bruce’s brain hurt as he realized how easily Y/N and his path’s could’ve crossed. She had been friends with Clark and Lois this whole time?

“I’m happy for her,” Clark added.

“Happy for her?”

Clark looked at Bruce as if it was obvious. “She’s being awarded tonight, too.”

How could Bruce not have realized? Why didn’t he think of looking at the list of people being awarded tonight? He’d been dreading attending so much that he didn’t even consider it.

“Bruce?” Clark asked with concern.

“Hmm?” He was not one to hum or mumble.

“You alright?”

Bruce didn’t have a lot of friends.

But Clark Kent was one of them. And him and Diana had noticed how Bruce was acting off for weeks now. Bruce was notorious for remaining stoic and giving nothing for people to try and guess what he was thinking or feeling. But they both knew it was something different.

Someone over Bruce’s shoulder suddenly waved Clark over.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Clark told Bruce politely.

Bruce’s first instinct was to leave now that he knew Y/N was also in attendance.

But he knew he couldn’t act so cowardly.

Was he really that scared of his own daughter?

His eyes glanced around the room looking for her.

He spotted Y/N at one of the bars.

Either her conversation with Lois had been quick, or she simply used that as an excuse to get away from Bruce.

Bruce walked up beside Y/N at the bar.

He knew she felt his arrival by the way her body tensed.

“Had I known you would be here I would not have attended,” he told her while looking straight ahead.

Y/N ignored his apology. “How do you know Clark?”

“He’s a friend,” Bruce answered casually.

Then he allowed himself to take a sideways glance at her.

Her jaw was clenched.

He wondered what thoughts she was holding back.

Y/N really did remind him of her mother.

When they were together, Bruce was convinced she was the prettiest girl in the world. He wondered if Y/N had found someone in her life who told her the same.

“Congratulations on being honored tonight,” Bruce offered sincerely.

“Thank you,” she answered shortly.

A beat passed between them.

Bruce was about to give up and leave her be.

“Does Clark think I’m one of your one-night stands now?”

Y/N might not know Bruce well, but everyone was familiar with his romantic history. He wasn’t one to keep the same woman around for long.

“No,” he quickly answered. “I made sure to prevent such a rumor from starting.”

Y/N finally slowly turned to him, her annoyance clear. “And you’re convinced that he really believed you?” She asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes, Clark has always been rather good at detecting a lie.” His tone was so confident that it left little room for argument.

But Bruce knew a losing battle when he saw one.

He dipped his head. “Enjoy the rest of your night. Congratulations again.”

But Bruce lingered, debating if he wanted to say what was on my mind.

“You look very beautiful. Just like your mother.”

There was nothing creepy or contrived about it.

Y/N blinked at the compliment, completely taken aback.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” Bruce dipped his head and finally surrendered, leaving the party.

Y/N felt a presence behind her shoulder as he watched him leave.

“Was Bruce Wayne just hitting on you?” Lois asked with amusement.

“No. Not at all,” her tone was dazed and confused.

“He’s a good guy,” Lois told her lightly.

“Doubt it.”

“I mean it,” Lois insisted. “The media has given him a bad image. But I think he likes it that way,” she shrugged. “It’s not easy for him to open up. He’s not quick to trust.”

Lois thought she was building up a possible suitor for Y/N, having not a clue that she was describing Y/N’s father to her.

But Y/N was too busy thinking about how much Bruce sounded like her.

—————

A few weeks had gone by since Bruce and Y/N had run into each other at the ceremony.

It got Bruce to thinking: would he and Y/N had run into each other at some point in life – even without her mother’s posthumously confession?

Y/N knew Lois and Clark, lived in Gotham, seemed to know the same people through her work that Bruce was forced to interact with to keep up his persona.

Would he have sensed a connection had that been the case?

The possibilities kept Bruce up at night…along with the guilt that had already been eating away at him since he first read the later. And he’d read it 100 times more since.

Of all the boys, Dick was the only one that knew of Y/N’s existence. And if he hadn’t been at the right place at the right time, Bruce never would’ve told him. He had just been in shock after reading the letter that he blurted out the realization while Dick was in the same room.

Since then, Bruce didn’t linger in a room alone with him, knowing Dick would finally let all of his questions loose. And Bruce wasn’t ready to answer them.

While Tim was the one to connect them, he never followed through with what the situation was. He already had too much to deal with on a daily basis. Tim simply thought he was doing a nice favor for a beautiful woman.

But if Bruce had told him, Tim would immediately do every possible background check on Y/N. He would be suspicious of the timing and underlying motives. He would probably assume that Y/N’s end goal was to get money or fame – or both. Bruce knew eventually Tim would come to the conclusion that Y/N wanted neither of those things. But it would still get an unnecessary rise out of the boy.

Bruce didn’t even want to think about how Damian would handle it. He knew his son felt a certain level of pride from being the only blood-son of his. Knowing he had a sibling – and an older sister at that – would most likely enrage him. And that wouldn’t make anything better.

Jason…Well, Jason would get a kick out of Bruce letting down yet another child. And it would just be worse that she was blood related. He’d be curious about Y/N. Hell, he’d probably be tickled by the no-bullshit attitude Y/N had towards Bruce and her harsh efforts to keep him out of her life completely.

Now, Bruce sat at a Justice League meeting.

They were only a few minutes into a council session when his communicator started going off.

The boys knew not to contact him unless it was an emergency. So, he quickly excused himself and stood to leave the room.

“What is it?” Bruce answered, his Batman voice in full form.

“There’s been an attack at city hall,” Dick reported back hurriedly.

Bruce frowned. The boys had handled much worse things on their own before. There had to be more to it than that.

“Scarecrow,” Dick confirmed. “He released a fear toxin. It’s bad Bruce. The mayor has been infected, along with half of their staff. I think it’s a new string. Our antidote doesn’t seem to doing anything. Even if it did, we don’t have nearly enough for the amount of victims.”

“The others?” Bruce asked quickly – meaning Damian, Jason, and Tim.

“They’re fine. Jason’s trying to get everyone out before they inhale too much. Tim and Damian went after Scarecrow. GPD is in a panic.”

Bruce turned to see Clark had raced to his side. Clearly he had been eavesdropping on the conversation. But the expression in his face prevented Bruce from getting into an argument about it.

“What?” Bruce asked him, knowing something was wrong.

“Lois and Y/N were at that council meeting,” Clark breathed out.

“We’ll be there soon,” Bruce told Dick before hanging up.

—

Bruce thought he knew fear from the few times his boys had been in trouble. But it was nothing compared to the fear he had knowing it was Y/N this time. She wasn’t a trained vigilante; she was just an innocent civilian. Bruce had not insured that she was trained and could take care of herself.

As soon as Clark dropped them on the ground, they were in the midst of the chaos.

“Lois!” Clark yelled.

People were too distracted to notice Superman and Batman had arrived.

Bruce looked over to see Lois rushing to Clark. He could tell it took all of Clark’s willpower not to embrace Lois from his relief.

“Are you OK?” Clark asked as he dipped his head and his eyes raced across his wife’s body.

“I-I’m fine. I got lucky. Somehow I was out of range of the gas explosion.”

“Y/N?” Bruce interrupted. “Did you see Y/N?”

“She was helping these kids get out and I was getting shoved out of the building. I tried to get to her but it was impossible with everyone’s panic. I think she’s still in there.”

Before Bruce could turn to Clark to come up with a plan, Clark flew into the building. A few people finally noticed the presence of superheroes and started murmuring.

“Nightwing, Red Hood – I’m at the front entrance of City Hall.”

Clark flew back to them not even 30 seconds later.

Y/N was unconscious in his arms.

“Oh my god,” Lois muttered at Y/N’s condition.

“She’s gone into shock. We need to get her to the medics,” Clark informed them. “She was exposed to the toxin more than the others.”

But Bruce was already shaking his head. “They won’t be able to help her.”

Clark gently handed Y/N to Bruce as he explained, “There are others in there.”

Just then Nightwing and Red Hood dropped in front of them.

Nightwing immediately recognized Y/N and his eyes shot up to Bruce with worry.

“Nightwing, I need you to take her back to the cave,” he tried to sound as controlled as possible.

Bruce was confused why Dick hesitated to take Y/N out of his arms.

“Do you have the batmobile? I brought my motorcycle,” Dick sounded apologetic when he explained.

Jason stepped forward before Bruce could answer. “I got her.”

As if she were the most fragile being ever, Jason carefully took Y/N’s unconscious body from Bruce’s grip. He could see in Bruce’s gaze that she was someone special. How and why, Jason would figure out later.

Jason had seen Y/N trying to help as many people before she was completely poisoned from the toxin. She’d risked her life to help.

Watching Jason cradle her into his body caught Clark off guard, always seeing the brute strength and almost animalistic energy from Red Hood whenever they so happened to fight beside each other.

“Meet us at the cave,” Bruce clarified. “Alfred will know what to do. We have to help out here more.”

Jason nodded before he hurried away with her and rushed to his hidden car.

——————

Y/N’s eyes snapped open and she shot up, sitting in a cot.

“Hey, hey, hey,” a voice she didn’t recognize said beside her. “You gotta relax.”

She turned to see a mammoth of a man sitting beside her, wearing vigilante gear with at least two guns being displayed at his sides. But it was the red helmet completely hiding his face and true voice that made Y/N feel uncomfortable.

“What the fuck,” she groaned at the sight of him.

Just a few seconds later, two men rushed into the room.

Bruce walked in still in his Batman uniform, but without his cowl – to Jason’s shock.

Clark was beside him, making Jason confused as to why he was still here. Surely he would want to be with Lois.

Y/N took in the sight before her.

“You were poisoned with a new strand of Scarecrow’s toxin,” Superman explained.

Y/N had seen plenty of pictures and shaky video of him. But now that the man stood before her, she immediately recognized him.

“Clark?” She gasped.

He didn’t say anything. But his expression didn’t fight her realization, just silently waited for the truth to settle.

“Does Lois know?” Was her next question.

Clark smirked at that. “Of course.”

Y/N gave a slight nod.

But now her attention switched to Bruce.

The Batman symbol was large across his chest, and his cape was still intact.

She looked around her surroundings and then up at the ceiling.

They were in a cave.

“You’re…you’re…” she couldn’t finish her sentence.

“Batman,” Bruce finally offered.

Y/N’s eyes were wide with panic.

How was this possible?

Now that the others had exposed their identity, Jason felt inclined to take off his helmet. Clearly, it was making her uncomfortable.

The hiss of his helmet being removed caused Y/N to finally look away from her father and to Jason, who still wore a domino mask. But it was far less frightening than the helmet.

“We’ll give you two a moment alone,” Clark spoke for both him and Jason.

Jason nodded and stood up from the seat beside Y/N, and walked out.

Clark lingered in the doorway. “I’ll be right outside if you need me,” he told her.

He might’ve revealed his Superman identity to her, but she was still his friend.

Y/N managed to nod in thanks, but was clearly still shook by all this news.

Bruce very slowly made his way to the chair that Jason had just been sitting in.

“How are you feeling?”

She shook her head. “Body’s sore. Migraine is killing me. What happened?”

“You were more exposed to the toxin more than the other victims. Jason brought you here. We had to make a new anecdote, and quickly.”

Bruce wanted to add that she could’ve died. But he didn’t see the use in scaring her.

“Oh,” was all she managed to mumble.

An awkward silence settled between them.

“Very few people know the truth about me,” Bruce explained.

Y/N’s gaze flickered up from her lap to look at him.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I figured I couldn’t ask you to allow me into your world if I didn’t allow you into mine.”

She was silent.

“Y/N…” Bruce cleared his throat. The time had come. “The reason I left your mother was because I was starting this life. I pushed her away to protect her. I knew I couldn’t be the man she deserved while also being Batman. Had I known the truth…”

His words died out. It was starting to become harder to control his emotions.

He leaned forward in his chair, just getting slightly closer to her.

“Had I known about you, I would’ve…” He cleared his throat to try and hold back his tears. “I never would’ve abandoned you or your mother.”

He leaned back then. “But I know those are just words. And to you, they probably sound like empty promises for the past.”

“She never knew?” Y/N whispered.

In the few moments she was allowed to process this information, her mind immediately wondered if her mom had known about Bruce’s double life all along. And that’s why she kept him away from her.

Bruce shook his head.

“Thank you…for trusting me enough to tell me your secret,” Y/N finally told him. “I promise I’ll never tell anyone,” she quickly added, feeling like she just needed to clarify that to him.

He gave her a small small, “I know.”

Y/N winced as she thought about how terrible she’d been to him all this time. Now that she knew the truth – the whole truth – she was looking at everything with a new perspective. Even what she knew about Bruce Wayne, the spoiled socialite... it was clearly all wrong.

He used it as a cover. It was all a cover.

“I’m sorry for how I’ve treated you,” she whispered shakily.

But Bruce shook his head before she could even get the apology out.

“Do you think it’s too late for us?” She breathed.

Could they ever find any fragment of a father-daughter relationship?

Y/N was an adult – she had been for years now. And she made it clear she didn’t need nor want a father.

“Believe it or not, this isn’t the first time this has happened to me,” Bruce sighed.

Her brow furrowed. “This meaning…?”

“My son, Damian. His mother kept him a secret from me. She didn’t reveal his existence until he was nine. And she only did it in an attempt to disrupt my life.”

“This seems to be a rather strange pattern in your life,” Y/N couldn’t help but point out.

Bruce glared at her, causing her to chuckle.

“My point is,” he continued, “I don’t think it’s ever too late.” And he cleared his throat quickly. “That is, if you want to try.”

“I think I do,” she answered with a shy smile.

It was the first time she’d done so in his presence.

“I don’t know anything about raising a daughter,” Bruce rubbed his face as he attempted to make the joke. But she could tell there was sincerity there, too.

“Well, I’ve already been raised,” Y/N laughed.

There.

That laugh.

It brought Bruce back to his teenage years. It sounded so much like her mother. Her face lit up just like her’s had.

“You remind me so much of your mother,” he gasped.

Her face dropped at his confession.

“Really?”

He nodded. “She said you were just like me. But there’s more of her in you than I think she ever realized.”

Bruce saw his much his words effected her.

Y/N’s eyes were shiny with tears, but she managed to hold them back.

“So what now?” She quickly asked, obviously trying to distract herself so she wouldn’t have a complete emotional breakdown.

“Well, Alfred should have dinner ready soon. Would you stay?”

She gave him a tear-filled smile. “I’d like that.”

“You can meet the rest of them,” Bruce told her casually as he stood.

“The rest of them?”

He nodded. “Well, you only have to meet Damian now. You already met Jason, Dick, and Tim in passing.”

“And here I thought you had no idea how to be a father…” Y/N muttered with amusement.

Bruce helped her get out of bed, making sure she was alright to stand and walk on her own.

“Well, depending on which of them you ask, they might tell you that you’re right.”

--------------------

Thank you to everyone who read the first part. Let me know what you think <3

BONUS: This Game of Ours

#father of mine #father of mine part 2 #bruce wayne reader insert #bruce wayne x daughter #bruce wayne x daughter!reader #batman x daughter #batman x daughter!reader #batboys #batfam #bruce wayne angst #bruce wayne fic #batman fic #batman universe #batman family

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talesofstyles · 3 years

Text

Drs Styles

paediatric heart surgeon harry, husband harry and dad harry. honestly the holy trinity.

warning: they did it in the car. bloody animals.

Harry

“Move your car, please!”

“What are you going to do? Write me a ticket?”

“This is in the interests of safety for the children!”

I look at the time in the car. I’ve still got about twenty to twenty-five minutes to watch this drama unfold at the school gate. I just wish we had popcorn because drop-off and parking situations at the school gates are always more entertaining than Good Morning Britain.

The school gate is a strange social scene, and honestly, I don’t blame my wife for trying to avoid it like a plague. Sometimes, you don’t even have to talk to these people to know everything about their lives and more. I swear there are more gossips in the class WhatsApp group and daily playground chattering than in the copies of The Sun and Daily Mail combined. You know who’s married, who’s getting a divorce, whose husband shagged the au pair again, whose party you haven’t been invited to, even who’s looking for a builder.

I see the school caretaker chuckling to himself as he sweeps the autumn leaves off the pathway, no doubt also enjoying our morning entertainment.

“Why is Mrs Chambers screaming like that?” Alma, our eldest daughter, asks from the back of the car.

“Because that man parks his car in a drop-off zone,” I reply, still watching him as he removes a child from his car seat. “Do you know who that is?”

“I think the boy is your classmate,” Alma turns to her sister.

Fiona, our youngest, peers over to inspect. “Oh yeah, that’s Rufus and his dad.”

“Do we like Rufus?”

“Not unless we like boys who pee down the slides,” Fiona scrunches her nose up. “He stood at the top and peed down like a waterfall. I haven’t gone down the slide ever since.”

I shake my head and let out a chuckle. “M’sure they’ve cleaned it up since, button.”

Did you know that choosing a school for your child after nursery can be a head-throbbing, stomach-twisting, heart-pounding experience? Well, it can. How is one supposed to choose a school anyway? According to the proximity? Leavers Results? Adorable uniforms? Parents’ agendas?

After many, many discussions and visits through more schools than I can count, we ended up with Thomas’s Kensington. It’s a great school, and only ten minutes away from our home, making school runs easier. The downside of this school is the fact that it costs us an arm and a leg and that they’re always trying to rip us off any chance they get. Also, they only take the kids until 11, so after that, we’ll have to look for other schools again. But since our girls are only seven and five, we can worry about that later.

There’s a strange mix of parents at this place. I went to school up in the North and the school gate scene is nothing like this. Here there are more au pairs, fancy cars, nicer clothes and people coming with impressive tans from their last weekend break in Antibes. The kids here are suited up too: the PE kit is the size of a small weekender bag, and we put them in uniforms that make them look smart, hoping that will increase the size of their brains. A child walks past our car with a cello case, another with a hockey stick. It’s a different land here. One that my socialist in-laws constantly tease us about and one which my mum was hysterical about because she was scared her grandbabies would be little Tories. I promised her I’d keep them grounded by only giving them plain hobnobs. None of those luxury chocolate covered ones.

Jokes aside, my girls are happy here. They’re thriving. They learn French and Spanish and Mandarin, even if they share a class with kids who have ridiculous names like Kitty and Archibald.

A knock at my window calls me to attention. I wind it down.

“Are you Fiona’s dad?” A mum asks me.

“I am.”

“It’s about Ophelia’s riding party this Saturday at the riding stables.”

Like I said, it’s a different land here.

“I thought we RSVPed to that?” I look at her in confusion.

“Yes, you did, but we have to change the food options as one of the partygoers is allergic to nuts. I’m making everyone aware and we need to let the guests know that they can’t bring any nuts on the day.”

A dirty joke is right there on the tip of my tongue and I’m trying my hardest to keep it in. My wife would definitely find it funny though, I’ve got to remember this and tell her later.

“Noted,” I mean, I wasn’t going to send my daughter to a party with a packet of cashews anyway but I nod politely.

“And just gift vouchers for gifts please. Smiggle, if you can.”

Again, I nod, biting my tongue at the presumptuousness. But then I suddenly panic, because we haven’t entered the realms of pony riding just yet. Do I have to buy jods and boots? If I don’t, will my daughter be the odd one out? But Ophelia’s mum saunters off before I’ve got the chance to ask.

“Do I have to go to that party, daddy?” Fiona asks.

“Well, we’ve already replied, poppet,” I tell her. “Did you not want to go?”

“I’ll go if I have to.”

I don’t answer because I get distracted by a vacant space. I edge the car forward so my girls can hop off.

“I love you both. Have a good day, make good choices.”

“Bye daddy! We’ll see you after work!”

***

Evelina London Children’s Hospital is our second home. Of course, as a children’s hospital, we try to make the place as fun as possible as not to freak those little patients out at being ill. It is bright and primary coloured, and each ward is decorated according to its own theme with different colours and lovely artworks. There are televisions and toys almost in every corner. We have a giant slide on the ground floor, and even the bins are shaped like red London buses. The aim was to help the children to forget that they’re in a hospital and take their minds off their sickness.

Since my wife and I are in the same department, our offices are next to each other, both overlooking the Thames. It’s nice up here. Would’ve been nicer if we could sneak in a quickie, but that’s practically impossible with our shared secretary’s desk sitting literally in front of our doors.

Speak of the devil.

“Good morning. Here’s your tea,” my secretary follows me into my office with a cup of tea and a tiny plate with a couple of rich tea fingers. “Clinic until 3 pm, scheduled PDA ligation in the laboratory for 4 pm and then evening rounds on the wards.”

“Mornin’ Rhonda, you look lovely today,” I greet her cheerily. She’s a stern-looking woman who definitely likes her tea as strong as tits and who has probably never cried in her life. With such severity, she runs a tight ship, but she secretly has this affectionate side in her too. Not only is she a great secretary, but she also takes care of us in a way as a grandma does. She makes us tea, feeds us in between surgeries with biscuits or nice baby cheeses and crackers just so we wouldn’t starve.

See that sofa over there in the corner of my office? Rhonda got me that. It was around the time when I had just become a new father with the sweetest, most gorgeous little baby who did not sleep. Alma wasn’t a fussy baby though. For some reason, she just wouldn’t go back to sleep after her midnight feed for months. Believe me, I tried everything. I changed her nappy, I swayed and jiggled and rocked and sung her to sleep. Odd nonsensical songs like, ‘Alma darling go to sleeep. Sleepy sleep sleep. Pleeeeease. I’m so tirrrred. My eyeballs may actually exploooode. I don’t want you to see thaaat.’ And she would just look at me all wide-eyed like I’d lost the plot. Those were song lyrics? That was rubbish. Please don’t give up your day job. Also, it’s not sleeping time. I’m awake. I’m ready for life. Come on, entertain me, old man. Isn’t this nice, just you and me? Tell me everything you know. EVERYTHING.

Except of course she didn’t say all that. She would just stare at me and I had no idea what was going on in her little head.

I took over my wife’s patients at the hospital during her maternity leave, so I had longer hours at the hospital. One day Rhonda found me napping on the floor between surgeries, so she sweet-talked some porters into looking for any old sofas on the go and paid to have this one reupholstered. She even bought me a fleece throw for it too. We really don’t deserve her.

“You hittin’ on me?” She deadpans. “Yer wife not doing it for you these days?”

“It’s the blazer. I’m a sucker for a blazer.”

“If I’d known, I would’ve worn it more often,” she replies. “Did my nice dress yesterday not give you the fanny flutters?”

“It’s schlong shiver for me,” I roar with laughter. “And it’s the tartan, makes you look well old.”

“YN, yer husband’s a bloody git, did I ever tell you that?” Rhonda says loud enough for my wife to hear, and I can hear my wife’s laughter from her office next door. “Drink your tea. Your first clinic appointment is in twenty.”

“Yes ma’am,” I salute her.

***

The Arctic ward in the Evelina is home to many of our imaging, heart and kidney services. The name is probably giving it away, but everything is decorated in blue and white to go with the theme. We have several zones, and since paediatric cardiology clinics are held in the Walrus zone, I spend a great deal of time each day looking at walrus and snowflake decals.

“Doctor Styles!” I hear a little voice shouts in excitement as I walk towards the waiting room in the outpatient ward. I smile, because I recognise that voice even before I see the little person.

The waiting room is very open here compared to other hospitals. There’s a sea of noise, snacks, tiny juice boxes and colouring pages. There’s also always a look of expectation, judgement on the faces of parents and guardians every time I walk in. They want to see if their doctor is old or qualified enough to see their children. There’s always one child who has the whole gang with them; parents, two sets of grandparents and even several aunts and uncles, and there’s also at least one child running around in circles out of boredom.

This little lad bounces off his chair and hurls himself at me in a way like a little puppy would when its owner comes home from work. I put an arm out, hoping that he’ll apply the brakes but no such luck and he bundles himself into my arms. “Nice to see you, mate.”

His parents smile as they watch their son’s antics, who then runs off as I shake their hands. I turn around to see what caught his attention, and I can’t help but chuckle when I realise it’s my wife.

“Doctor pretty Styles!” He exclaims excitedly as he bundles himself into her arms. She gets a mouthful of curls in the process.

“Hi Rory,” she greets him as she runs her fingers through his curly mop.

“Oi,” I pout as I walk towards them. “You don’t think I’m pretty?”

“Your wife is prettier,” he says with a shrug, his tone matter-of-fact.

She laughs and gives him a high-five. “Rory, you are officially my favourite patient.”

She is right. Rory is one of our special patients for sure. We’ve both known him for about six years now, ever since Rory’s mum gave birth to this tiny human next door at St Thomas and his heart was literally broken. I remember watching proudly from the theatre when my wife replaced two of his valves when he was born. It was in our early years of training. Long time patients like Rory almost always feel like family. We’ve seen all their parents’ tears and watched over their children throughout the years. They send us cards and wine every Christmas and despite all attempts to keep a professional distance, their kids do feel like our own.

Rory shrugs off his dinosaur rucksack and unzips it, pulling out a drawing of a blue whale and an opened packet of KitKat. I like that the whale wears a top hat and appears to also don a moustache.

“I drew you both a picture. Only one though, because I figure you can share,” he says with a big toothy grin and hands the packet of KitKat to my wife. “And I’ve got half a KitKat here. Do you want it?”

“I’m good for now. Keep that KitKat for later on the tube,” she smiles and waves at Rory as she begins to walk away towards the fetal cardiology ward just down the hall. “Bye Rory, thanks for the picture.”

“Bye doctor pretty Styles,” Rory replies, making my wife laugh as she walks away. I give her a wave and a wink.

“Hey Rory, did you know a blue whale has a heart the size of a small car?” I ask him and his eyes widen.

“No way! That’s mega!” He exclaims. “Do you think you could operate on a whale heart?”

“I would need a very big ladder,” I tell him. “And a wetsuit. I’d give it a go though.”

A senior nurse from the outpatient ward, Florence approaches us with a junior nurse trailing behind her. “Dr Styles, always a pleasure.”

I smile at her. “Florence. How are we today?”

“Busy as usual,” she replies. “We’re about twenty minutes behind I’m afraid. We had Dr Goodridge in this morning and you know he likes to talk.”

“He always runs over,” I chuckle. “Well, don’t worry. I’ll skip lunch and get us back up to speed.”

“I’ll make sure to send some snacks for you. Here’s your chart, your files are already in your office. And this is Alice, your nurse today. She’s newly qualified so might need some instructions.”

The new nurse looks terrified so I smile at her to try and calm her fears. I totally get that. When you work in medicine, unfortunately, you’ll realise that there are a lot of rude self-important wankers.

I look down at my chart and find Rory’s name on the top of the list. “Well, look who’s coming with me to the exam room.”

Rory reaches out to hold my hand and we walk towards the examination room. His parents follow us closely, carrying the usual coats and devices that people do when they know they’re bound for a hospital waiting room. I see them inside and sit behind the desk.

“So, young man, I hear we’ve had a touch of drama with you. Can you tell me what happened?”

I’ve actually already got the information in the file, but I like the way this kid tells a story. He reminds me of my youngest.

“So… I was at school and we were doing PE and I wasn’t really feeling it because it was cold and really we should have been inside but Mr Witter makes us go outside because he used to be in the Army apparently and he says we should get used to the cold but that’s what they do in prisons.”

I smile. “Go on.”

“And then my heart started running.”

“You mean racing?”

He nods firmly. Racing isn’t even the word. It sprinted to the finish like Bolt at 252 beats per minute, three times the speed it should.

“It felt like bubbles in my chest and then the school went crazy panicky and they called the ambulance and they brought me to the hospital but not this one, it was another one and it wasn’t as good because you weren’t there and they had really bad biscuit.”

His mum adds. “And they gave him some drugs to bring it back to a steady rhythm; they were close to shocking him.” Her voice trails off and both parents’ faces look drawn and pale remembering the incident.

Rory looks absolutely unbothered by this. To be fair, we have put this little man through everything. We’ve cut his chest open more times than is necessary for someone so small, we hook him up to machines and put him on treadmills. His resilience and character amaze me, and I really can’t imagine what it feels like to see your child so vulnerable and helpless, to be paralysed and weighed down with such worry.

“Alright then, little man, we need to make sure that your heart is working as it should. This is Alice, and she is going to take you over for an ECG and we just need to make sure your tick-tock is in good shape.”

Rory nods and jumps off the chair. His dad offers him a piggyback, and his mum smiles at them. I can hear Rory offering that half KitKat to Alice as they leave the room.

His mother turns to me as the door is closed, her shoulders relaxing, allowing herself to breathe. “And how are you?” I ask her.

“You just think it’s done and then something like that comes along to scare you,” she says with a sigh.

“Let’s have these tests and then see if it’s anything major to worry about,” I try to calm her. “Episodes of rapid heartbeat is quite common in Rory’s case, and we can look into drugs to remedy that if necessary.”

She smiles, nodding.

“Did you have any other questions for me?”

She studies my face for a moment too long. “I… well, it will show up in Rory’s records soon, but my husband I are… I mean we’re getting a divorce.”

I pause for a moment. Of course, I know these things happen in life, but I’ve known this couple for years. I’ve seen them at their lowest ebb, bound by friendship and their love for that boy. I really do feel sorry for them.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I mumble.

“We just… we’re terrified about telling Rory.”

“He doesn’t know?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “We’re scared of breaking him. I mean, look at him. All of this stuff he’s been through and he carries on like nothing has happened. We don’t want to upset him.”

“It took a team of us the best part of six years to build Rory’s heart. There's a warranty on that workmanship,” I reassure her. “Have that chat with him. He’ll be fine.”

***

“Have we got time for dinner first?” I turn to my wife as we walk out of the hospital. We don’t normally have the luxury of ending our shift at the same time, but today is exceptional. We have parents’ evening at the girls’ school so Rhonda made sure to clear up our schedule after our evening rounds at the ward.

“No, but we can raid M&S and eat in the car?”

I’m starving and I almost cry with relief at the suggestion. “Always knew I married the right woman.”

She chuckles. “Damn right you did.”

We leave the car at the hospital and she drags me along the walkways to Waterloo, the breeze biting at our cheeks. I pull her into M&S, dodging the marching commuters and grab a basket.

“I’ll look for some wine,” she says before she saunters off. “Oh and I want sushi. None of that crap with the mayonnaise please.”

“Alright.”

I skipped lunch today so the whole place calls to me. I start taking very random things off the shelves: a packet of raspberry iced buns. That’ll do. I also take some hummus for my wife because she bloody loves hummus. I’m not even joking, I’ve seen her down a whole pot of it. Then I take some sushi as requested, some coleslaw, a family bag of mature cheddar and red onion crisps and a trifle. I hope I don’t bump into Rhonda. Next are cheese twists, noodle salad and cocktail sausages.

It takes me a while to notice that there is a man right next to me with a roll of yellow stickers in their back pocket. Hello there, you are one of my favourite people tonight. Have I managed to find that sacred hour when all the food is being marked down? He labels some prawns with dip and even though I get a little squeamish about eating fish near its expiry date, I put it in my basket. I then follow him around the corner. Now, this is dinner. I put all sorts of random food in my basket and smile at the thought.

Ooh, knockdown pizzas. I should get a pizza. That’s tomorrow’s tea sorted, the girls will love it. Although I can’t help but wonder, what’s the limit for us to feed our daughters frozen pizza in a week before they get taken away from us? But eh, we might be able to get away with it if we give them frozen peas on the side.

“Look at you,” says my wife, depositing two bottles of red in the basket.

“Yes, it’s me. I’m the yellow sticker bitch.”

She snickers as we turn to head for the tills. “Excellent work.”

***

“Mr and Mrs Styles, welcome.”

“Mrs Ebner, always a pleasure,” I shake the headmistress’ hand who’s standing at the door.

“Busy evening?” My wife asks her as she shakes her hand next.

“Always,” the headmistress replies with a smile, then proceeds to speak like she’s reading out of brochures. “But such a wonderful opportunity to connect with our parents and build on the special relationships we have with our school community.”

Two uniformed minions appear.

“Lewis, Maggie, could you please show Mr and Mrs Styles through to the drinks reception?”

They both nod in unison. The boy holds his arms out like a waiter showing us to our table. We follow them through the school’s grand corridors to the main hall. It’s the one thing I like about this place. It’s very Hogwarts-like with hefty engraved name boards and sepia photos of successful sports teams. In the hall, a throng of parents mill around waiting to see respective teachers. It’s the same every year. We all dodge the people from the PTA trying to sell us quiz tickets, and the bowls of crisps out of hygiene concerns.

“Red or white?” Asks a lady in an apron.

This right here is the very reason we get through parents’ evening. From the look of the bottle, it’s decent wine too. I think that’s where a good proportion of our fees is going.

“Red, please.”

We both take our glasses and walk to the corner of the hall. It’s essentially a holding area without the background music. The idea is that all the parents will get on and create a party vibe but it just becomes a strange family gathering. As terrible as it sounds, it’s sorted into cliques: parents who know each other via NCT groups, the international expat brigades who keep to themselves, the parents who’ve ostracised themselves by gossip, the ones who you know regularly brunch and ski together.

The boy from earlier suddenly appears in front of us. “Mrs Hughes is ready for you.”

I put my hand on the small of my wife’s back as we walk towards the classroom. Fiona’s teacher first and then Alma’s straight after. Right, we can do this.

“Mrs Hughes, we meet again,” I shake her hand. I’ve got no qualms about Mrs Hughes. She’s a seasoned teacher who likes a slack and sensible moccasin and we’re familiar with her since she taught Alma two years previously. When we enter the classroom, Lewis bows in reverence, taking his leave and I wonder whether to tip him.

“It’s always lovely to have another Styles girl in my classroom. Fiona is a particular delight.”

My wife and I smile proudly. I’m sure Mrs Hughes says this to every parent here about their child, but that’s always nice to hear.

“She talks a lot about you,” my wife says. “She seems to have settled in well.”

Mrs Hughes opens up a couple of books and it’s classic Fiona. Alma is ordered and neat—if she makes a mistake then she erases it completely and she underlines things with a ruler and listens to instruction carefully. She gets that from her mum. Fiona though, on the other hand, she’s all me. She has more wild abandon about her; no rulers, no rubbers. She puts giant crosses through things that don’t work and likes her bubble writing decorated with doodles of many, many cats.

I glance around the classroom as Mrs Hughes talks to us about standardised scores. The theme of the school is to show you how smart and educated these children are. Look at the copperplate handwriting, their reproductions of Van Gogh and our languages corner where they’ve all had a go at telling us what they like in French. I spy a contribution from my girl. J’adore les chats et le gâteau au chocolat.

I’ve lost track of the conversation so I try to catch up.

“So to push Fiona into those top scores, perhaps we can look into tutoring? For maths, in particular, so she can grasp some of the concepts a little more tightly,” says Mrs Hughes.

My wife and I look at each other confused. “Uh, I don’t think there’s a need, right? She’s only five.”

“It’s never too early,” replies Mrs Hughes. “We run an after-school tutoring club on Tuesdays that would help.”

Back when I was a youngster, clubs were fun endeavours that involved matching baseballs caps or were a chocolate biscuit that you had in your lunchbox. Maths tutoring session was not a club.

I ask her. “Is it free?”

“It’s fifteen pounds per session.”

See? My point being this should be a parents’ evening, not a sales session.

“Well, then it’s something to think about,” says my wife. “It could be that Fiona catches up with people throughout the year.”

“Possibly,” Mrs Hughes nods. Still, though, she proceeds to go into her folder and passes me a form. Sneaky. “Fiona has also shown great interest in languages and art. Her pictures have been a joy.”

Mrs Hughes goes to a file and pulls one of Fiona’s drawings. I glance down at it. It’s a standard child piece of art. The grass and sky are strips of colour to the top and bottom. It’s a family portrait, and we are as tall as the broccoli style trees. Wait, hang on a second. I count the number of people in the picture again. Is that-

“And Mrs Styles, I gather congratulations are in order,” she says with a smile. “Such lovely news.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Fiona told me it’s a boy,” she adds, and the sheer terror on my wife’s face at the realisation is priceless. “You must be very thrilled.”

I study the picture. There’s a house in the middle, and standing in a line in front of the house is our family. The one slightly taller than the broccoli tree is me. I’ve got my white lab coat, and I look like a serial killer because I’m holding a scalpel with the size of a butcher’s knife. Next to me is my wife, also with a white lab coat, but instead of a scalpel, she’s holding a very chunky baby who rather looks like a basketball with a head.

“Oh dear,” I chuckle. “Guess now we know what she’ll ask for Christmas.”

“Yeah,” my wife shakes her head. “We’re not expecting.”

“Oh, I apologise,” Mrs Hughes says with a sheepish smile.

“No worries, Mrs Hughes,” I tell her. “So, what else has our girl been up to here? Besides gossiping of course.”

Mrs Hughes laughs under her breath. “Well, in class, Fiona is attentive, bright and very helpful. She is a credit to you both.”

***

“I swear your daughter, Styles.”

We’re sitting in the car now. Finally done with parents’ evening, still laughing at the slightly creepy, chunky basketball baby in Fiona’s picture and the fact that three people, including Mrs Hughes, have congratulated us for the ‘baby’.

“You haven’t called me Styles in years,“ I turn to her with a grin. “Not since medical school.”

I can’t help but flashback to the good ol’ days when we had matching university hoodies and we’d test each other on the parts of a kidney whilst walking into lectures, sitting next to each other, sharing pens and cans of Lilt.

“Well, after that I became a Styles too,” she chuckles. “Would be confusing then, wouldn’t it?”

“True,” I laugh under my breath, then I grab her hand and pull it to my mouth so I can kiss her knuckles. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For being a Styles.”

“Aw, aren’t we soppy tonight?” She smirks. “Alright, stop the car.”

“What?”

“There,” she points to a dark empty spot and I oblige.

Then, before I can even ask her why, she reaches over and grabs me by the collar. Pulling me close to her and gives me a kiss. I kiss her back, and I smile when she bites gently on my bottom lip.

“Oi, oi. Something’s got you randy.”

The next thing I know, she undoes her seatbelt and then rolls her trousers down her legs along with her knickers, fumbling and giggling at the awkward movement. I push my seat back and pull my trousers down.

“Don’t fall on gearstick now,” I joke as she climbs over to straddle me. “Well, unless you want to, of course…”

She laughs as she lowers herself over my lap. I really can’t believe what’s happening here.

“Mrs Styles, we’re about to have sex in a car. Around the corner from our daughters’ school.”

“I know,” she says with a smile before she runs her tongue along my neck. “Not our first rodeo though.”

“Oh right, we did it in our Volvo years ago, didn’t we? Thought the suspension couldn’t take it.”

“And it turned out fine. Told you that you needed to have more faith in the Swedes, they’re a reliable breed.”

“I love it when you talk about Sweden.”

“Ikea.”

“Fuck.”

“Meatballs.”

“Billy Bookcase.”

She throws her head back in laughter and I take this as an opportunity to run my tongue along her collar bone. She gasps. I reach down to lift her before I slowly lower her over my cock. We both sigh as I enter her, a long exhalation with our lips barely touching.

“Viggo Mortensen.”

“Isn’t he Danish?”

“Tomato, Tomahto.”

I smile at my wife and push my hips up, silently telling her that we don’t need to talk about Swedish people anymore. She grabs onto the car seat and levers herself up and down. I look at her in the eye, a goofy smile still plastered across my face.

But then I squint. Light. Bollocks, what’s that? Where’s that light coming from? Crap, that’s bright. Shit. I see the flash of a hi-vis jacket, a knock at the window and someone shaking their head.

Oh sodding fucking bollocking shit wank.

#harry #harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles fics #harry styles ff #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #dad!harry #husband!harry #doctor!harry #surgeon!harry

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criminalmindzjunkie · 3 years

Text

Love Sick

Masterlist

Summary: A story about how Spencer’s worst decision ever somehow ends up being his best.

A/N: Happy Valentine’s Day, my loves! This fic is loosely based on a request I got about Spencer faking an illness to keep the reader from going on a date.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: swearing

Word Count: 4k

Spencer has done a terrible, awful thing.

He wants to argue that he doesn’t know what came over him, but that would be untrue and he’s already met today’s quota on little white lies. Spencer knows exactly what possessed him to call you up at seven thirty on a Saturday night, and it wasn’t so that the two of you could discuss the weather or the recent upward trend in the stock market. Spencer’s spontaneous (panicked) phone call to you was a brazen attempt to abate the green-eyed monster that had been whispering dreadful things in his ear for the better part of a week.

To put it simply; Spencer is jealous, and he’s dealing with it rather poorly.

So poorly that he’s resorted to sabotage.

As he sits on his couch and worries at a hole in the bottom of his designated lounging sweatshirt, Spencer attempts to justify his actions. His tiny fib won’t hurt anyone . . . except, perhaps, one annoyingly perfect and stupidly handsome veterinarian. But Spencer can live with that. Potentially scorning an animal care specialist isn’t the thing that has his stomach in knots. That, he can live with. Spencer doesn’t even have pets, so there’s no longterm consequences as far as the vet is concerned. The notion of lying to you, on the other hand?

Spencer is positively sick with nerves.

He’s not sure why. Spencer’s gotten rather good at lying to you. Several months of pining for you from across the hallway of your shared apartment complex has turned him into quite the master of deceit, after all. He was a sucker from the moment he opened his door and lay his eyes on you, arms outstretched and wielding a plate of homemade sweets. The cookies were lovely, but the breathtaking smile on your face is what really did him in.

Since that first day, Spencer’s gone out of his way to ensure that he’s on the receiving end of that smile as often as possible. His efforts are never in vain; for reasons unbeknownst to him, you seem to enjoy spending time with him just as much as he did you. This mutual fondness results in most of Spencer’s off days being spent in your company. Spencer was certain that, with time, he would work up the nerve to ask you out on a date. He’s halfway to convincing himself that you might even say yes when your cat makes the unfortunate decision to steal a brownie from your plate and gulp the whole thing down.

Enter, aforementioned veterinarian.

The sound of your door opening from across the hall has Spencer breaking out into a cold sweat. His hand is halfway to his forehead, ready to wipe away the perspiration when he pauses. His body’s anxious reaction might just help him sell his story. Yes, Spencer thinks, this is a good thing. Authenticity, and all that.

Several soft footsteps are muffled by the door that separates him from you, and then his doorknob jiggles as you struggle to fit your key into the lock. A jolt of adrenaline surges through Spencer and in the blink of an eye he’s on his feet and sprinting to his bathroom in the name of authenticity. If he wants to keep up this ridiculous façade, and he really, really does, Spencer is prepared to fake it until he makes it. The alternative is far too mortifying. Failure is not an option.

Spencer cringes when he lifts his eyes to meet his reflection. He’s been told more than once that he’s an absolutely terrible liar, and the wide, guilty eyes that stare back at him confirm this. All it will take is one look at him and you’ll know something’s amiss. Perhaps it isn’t too late for Spencer to come clean. It would be embarrassing, yeah, but no less embarrassing than it would be an hour from now when you call him on his shit. But then again, there is always the possibility that you will get angry with him and leave, and Spencer isn’t willing to risk you walking away from him. Not tonight.

Spencer barely has the time to splash some cold water on his face and dive to the bathroom floor before you’re pushing open the door to his apartment and calling out his name. His brain, the part that isn’t rendered useless in his panicked state, reminds him of just how many germs can be found on the average bathroom floor. It’s enough to make him pause, but only for a moment. He takes a deep breath before slumping over against the toilet.

Showtime.

“M’ in here,” Spencer calls out in his croakiest voice. It comes out exactly as he intended, all rough and pitiful. Maybe he can pull this off, after all.

The soft pitter patter of your bare feet makes his heart rate increase exponentially. Spencer steels himself, recites a reassuring mantra in his head. I can do this; I can do this.

Spencer’s poor, overworked heart gets a much-needed rest when you step into the doorway. In fact, he’s almost certain it stops completely at the sight of you in a tiny red dress. A tiny red dress that leaves very little to the imagination. Spencer can’t even see past his mounting panic to enjoy the way you look. That damn red dress serves as a brutal reminder of why he’s sitting in his bathroom floor, clutching his toilet bowl and damn near drowning in a nervous sweat.

The thing is, Spencer hadn’t intended on sabotaging your date with the vet. He had every intention of staying in, wallowing in his sorrows and waiting up for you. Spencer even said this to Derek, who was kind enough to call him and remind him of how big of a jackass he was. Spencer didn’t need the reminder. He was well aware.

But then Derek said something that made Spencer’s blood run cold.

“And what exactly do you plan to do if she doesn’t come home?”

So, really, it’s Derek’s fault that Spencer promptly ended the call and dialed your number. It’s also Derek’s fault that Spencer is about to give the most convincing performance of his entire fucking life.

“I’m sorry I called you, but I didn’t know what else to do. I just feel so awful.” And he does feel awful, just not in the way you think.

You’re quick to close the distance between the two of you, dropping to your knees and brushing stray pieces of hair away from Spencer’s clammy forehead. His skin sings where your hand grazes it. If he didn’t have a fever before, he will if you don’t stop touching him.

“Don’t ever apologize, Spence. I wish you’d have called me sooner,” you murmur. Warm, concerned eyes drag across Spencer’s bedraggled appearance. “How long have you been feeling sick?”

Spencer gulps. “A few hours, I guess. I ate my leftovers from last night for lunch. Maybe that’s what’s wrong.”Lies, lies, lies!

Your brow furrows. “That’s strange. I ate mine, too, and I feel fine.”

Spencer doesn’t really have an argument for that, so he fakes a pained groan and rests his head against his arm. He closes his eyes and prays the intro to theater class he took in high school will pay off.

You must deem his act convincing enough because you press a soft kiss to the top of his hair and stand. Spencer hears the sound of a cabinet opening, followed by the sound of running water.

The tender touch of your hand on his shoulder has him raising his head and looking up at you, inquisitive. You place a cold washrag to his forehead, and Spencer melts into the touch. It feels heavenly against his hot skin.

“Do you think you could manage to take a shower?” you prompt, earning a feeble nod from Spencer. He doesn’t even have to fake the way he trembles as you run the damp cloth down his neck. “I think I have some broccoli and cheddar soup at my apartment. I’ll go change and grab it while you shower.”

Elation spreads through Spencer, pouring from his heart until it reaches the very tips of his extremities. He can’t believe his scheme hasn’t blown up in his face already.

With the help of your outstretched hand, Spencer rises to his feet and braces himself against the shower door. You make no move to remove your hand from his, and that gives him the courage to ask his next question.

“What about your date?”

You shrug and an easy smile spreads across your face. Spencer feels faint. He blames it on his imaginary illness.

“Don’t worry about that. The only thing I’m concerned with right now is taking care of you.”

Spencer bites down hard on the flesh of his cheek to keep a smug grin at bay. This is a victory he’ll have to celebrate at a later date.

Spencer enters his living room, freshly showered and donned in clean pajamas, to the sound of your voice speaking quietly into your cellphone. He halts just before he enters his kitchen, straining to catch a snippet of your conversation. As he leans closer to the sound of your voice, Spencer halfheartedly chastises himself. First, he deceives you, now he’s resorting to eavesdropping. Rock, meet bottom.

He’s just about to wrench himself away and retreat to the couch, when:

“I really am sorry about cancelling, especially on such short notice.” A short stretch of silence follows. “Next Saturday? Oh. Um, yeah, I’ll let you know, okay?”

Spencer is very much like a popped balloon; the earlier feelings of elation leave him in a harsh gust. Next Saturday? He barely managed to derail this Saturday’s date! No way he could get away with it a second time.

In the midst of his inner turmoil, Spencer misses you exchanging goodbyes with the vet before collecting Spencer’s bowl of soup. He’s still standing there, absolutely crestfallen, when you round the corner. You nearly collide with his chest, narrowly avoiding it by skidding to a halt in front of him. Your eyes run up his frame, assessing him, until they rest on his face.

“You scared me, Spence,” you chuckle. You cock your head to the side. Spencer imagines his expression is none dissimilar to that of a disgruntled frog. “You feeling okay? You’re not going to puke again, are you?”

Honestly, he might. The idea of you rescheduling your date with the vet is about as vomit inducing as it gets.

“I’m fine,” Spencer says on an exhale. Funnily, it’s probably the biggest lie he’s told all day. “The shower helped.”

His delivery is flat, but you don’t seem to mind. You smile up at him, relieved, and Spencer’s chest aches.

“I was thinking you and I could watch a movie?” you offer, and Spencer nods his assent. He can’t fathom turning you down. Not when you’re wearing an old sweatshirt you stole from his closet and a pair of fuzzy socks with little hearts on them. The ache intensifies.

“What are we watching?”

You plop down on the couch and look at him expectantly. He follows in suit, settling in beside you.

“I was thinking that you could choose,” you murmur as you place the bowl in his hands. Spencer shoots a teasing smile your way as he raises the spoon to his mouth.

“You mean, you’re actually going to let me pick the movie? I should get sick more often.”

His cheek earns him an exaggerated roll of your eyes.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter. “You always pick the movie.”

He can count on one hand the amount of times he’s gotten to pick the movie.

Spencer is about to launch into an impassioned rebuttal when the feeling of your fingers scratching against his scalp renders him speechless. His eyes dart to your face as you concentrate on scrolling through the TV guide, seemingly unaware of the effect the simple act has on him. Meanwhile, Spencer’s brain is short-circuiting.

You begin to read off a list of potential movies to him, but Spencer barely hears you. He’s practically purring as you twirl his curls around lithe fingers, his eyes threatening to flutter closed as an intense feeling of euphoria washes over him. Maybe it’s because he’s touch starved, or maybe it’s because it’s been so long since someone just looked after him. Whatever it is, Spencer embraces it wholeheartedly.

“-heard it’s pretty good. So, what do you say, Spence?”

Spencer pulls himself back to the present, blinking lazily at you. You’re looking at him, expectant, and Spencer’s eyes flit to the TV. His eyes skim its contents, reading briefly about a movie in which some family moves into a haunted house.

His face breaks out into a grin and he nods, because Spencer’s known you long enough to recognize that watching a horror movie usually results in you pressed tightly to his side and clinging to his hand. He also knows that nine times out of ten, you choose to watch a horror movie over anything else. No wonder he always lets you choose.

And sure enough, not even ten minutes in, Spencer is ditching his bowl of soup and pulling you into his arms. Once you’ve draped a blanket around the two of you settled in, you glance up at him.

“How are you feeling, Spence?”

Spencer responds by saying that he’s suddenly feeling much better.

Spencer Reid - 1, Veterinarian – 0

Spencer’s not sure at which point he fell asleep. All he knows is that he certainly does not remember sprawling out across your body, nor does he remember tucking his head into the crook of your neck. But this is how he finds himself when the sun begins to pour in through his windows the next morning, and Spencer can’t bring himself to care about how he came to be there.

Spencer guesstimates that it’s no later than seven in the morning. You’re still fast asleep underneath him, your chest rising and falling rhythmically with every breath. It’s early, and it’s Sunday, and Spencer can’t think of a single reason to wake you. Instead, he snuggles in closer, because he’d be a fool not to enjoy this while it lasts.

Unfortunately, the shrill sound of Spencer’s ringing phone shatters the serenity. He prays that it won’t disturb you, that you’ll remain oblivious and continue to sleep, but that hope is shattered when you begin to shift underneath him. Spencer makes quick work of peeling himself off of you before dashing to his kitchen and snatching his phone off the table.

He’s prepared to verbally assault whoever has the audacity to defile the sanctity of lazy Sunday mornings when a quick peek into the living room finds you still fast asleep on his sofa. He smiles, soft and fond, before pressing the accept button and bringing the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“I was beginning to wonder if you were still alive.” Spencer’s smile transforms into a grimace. Apparently, Derek Morgan doesn’t believe in lie-ins. “I was preparing myself for a rescue mission.”

“It’s seven in the morning. I was asleep.”

Derek lets out a low whistle. “Who pissed in your Cheerios, Pretty Boy?”

“You, when you decided that it was acceptable to ring me before eight,” Spencer whisper shouts. He knows that he’s being touchy, to say the least, but who can blame him? Five minutes ago, he was cuddling with the most beautiful girl he’s ever had the privilege to lay eyes on. Now, he’s shooting the breeze with a colleague. Obviously, Spencer would prefer the former to the latter.

“Jesus, kid. I’m going to take a wild guess and say that girl of yours didn’t make it home, after all. You okay?”

The guilty feeling returns and Spencer cringes. “Uh, define ‘okay.’”

Derek curses on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry, kid. Try not to beat yourself up about it, okay? There’s plenty of fish in the sea, you’ve just gotta put yourself out there. How’s this; you and me will go out next weekend and bar hop. I’ll teach you some Derek Morgan tricks of the trade. Soon enough, you’ll have forgotten all about her.”

“I don’t know, that might be hard.” Spencer scratches the back of his neck. “She’s asleep on my couch right now.”

A long stretch of silence comes from the other end of the line, and Spencer thinks for a moment that the call dropped. Unfortunately, he isn’t that lucky. A booming laugh erupts from the speaker and makes him jump out of his skin.

“My man!” Derek laughs, incredulous. “I didn’t think you had it in you, I’ll be honest.”

“It’s not what you think-”

“How did you manage that? Did the Good Doctor make a grand romantic gesture? Damn, I really hate that I missed that.”

“No, there were no gestures. And it’s not-”

Derek cuts him off. Again. “How’d she take the news? I’m assuming she took it well, if she stayed the night.”

“I didn’t tell her anything!” Spencer spits out, frustrated. “I… I told her I was sick. She came over to take care of me, and we fell asleep on the couch.”

Spencer’s proclamation is met with another long silence.

“So, you sabotaged the date?”

Spencer winces. “I did not sabotage it. I just… manipulated the situation a little.”

“Oh, you certainly did,” Derek chuckles. “How did you pull that off? I’ve seen you try to lie. That shit is laughable.”

Spencer opens his mouth to defend himself, but the pitter patter of socked feet approaching him from behind has his mouth running dry.

“Yeah, Spencer. How did you pull that off?”

Spencer had been correct in his earlier assumptions. The inevitable moment in which you called him out on his shit has arrived, and it’s every bit as mortifying as he expected. So mortifying that he can practically feel the blood drain from his face. And the thing is that he knows he deserves whatever you’re about to throw his way… it’s just that the thought of you being angry with him kind of makes him want to cry. And that would only add to the mortification.

He turns around slowly, his body rigid, until he’s met with the adorably rumpled vision of you with your arms crossed and your hair sticking up in all directions.

Spencer’s never seen anything quite so mesmerizing, and it hurts because he knows he’s ruined everything. He’ll never get to watch another scary movie with you tucked neatly against his side, or wake up in your arms again. He’ll never get to kiss you.

And the worst of all; Spencer will never get to tell you how he really feels. It’s a crying shame, because he thinks he could have been really good at loving you.

“Hey, Derek, I gotta go.”

Spencer presses the end call button and immerses himself in what has to be the most awkward stand-off of all time. You stand there, arms crossed, head cocked to the side with one hip jutted out. Spencer isn’t sure how you manage to look intimidating and endearing at the same time. He supposes the fuzzy socks are to blame.

Minutes pass, but they feel like hours. Spencer is approximately three seconds away from dropping to his knees and groveling when you finally speak.

“You sabotaged my date.”

Spencer lets out a strangled laugh. Perhaps humor is the way to go? It couldn’t hurt to try. In his opinion, the situation couldn’t possibly get any worse. “I think sabotage is a strong word. I prefer the term obstruct.”

You let loose a laugh of your own, but this one holds no humor. “And I prefer keeping the company of people who don’t lie to me.” Okay, maybe it can get worse.

Spencer visibly deflates. It was a stupid idea. He’s never been a funny guy.

“I am so, so, so incredibly sorry.” Sorry for lying to you, that is. Spencer isn’t in the least bit apologetic for ruining your date. Given the chance, he’d do it again - in a more tactful way, of course. Preferably, in such a way that didn’t involve him laying in his bathroom floor.

Spencer attempts to take a step forward, only to be rooted to the spot when you fix him with a look. He’s not funny but he is smart – smart enough to know better than to push it.

“Why did you do it?”

Spencer was really hoping you wouldn’t ask that.

“I-I…”

Apparently, an eidetic memory doesn’t stand a chance when it comes to confrontations involving pretty girls. One quirk of an immaculately plucked eyebrow and Spencer loses the ability to recall a single word of the English language. It’s tragic, really.

“Spit it out, Spencer.”

“I didn’t want you to go on the date.” It’s like ripping off a band aid, the way the words tumble from his lips. It’s painless at first, but then the sting sets in when he realizes what he’s done.

Your lack of reaction doesn’t help. Your face remains passive, as if he didn’t just offer himself to you on a silver platter. Spencer squirms uncomfortably.

“Why didn’t you want me to go on the date?”

God, this is excruciating. You’re clearly out for blood, and the twinkle in your eye shows just how much you’re enjoying this. Spencer would have never taken you for a sadist.

“Because…” Spencer trails off and allows his eyes to drift closed. If he’s going to do this, he’s going to do it his way. With his eyes closed, because he can’t bear the thought of looking you in the eye when you reject him. “B-Because I like you. A lot.”

Spencer hasn’t had a lot of practice at being wrong. In fact, he’s spent the majority of his life being right. It seems the universe is making up for that now, because he can’t seem to get a single goddamn thing right today.

You laugh at him. You actually laugh in his face. Mortified doesn’t even begin to cover it.

“You like me.” It isn’t a question.

Spencer keeps his eyes shut tight.

“Y-Yeah.”

You know how they say if you take away one of a person’s senses, all of the others are heightened? Spencer couldn’t disagree more. In the midst of his despair, he’s completely unaware that you’ve crossed the room and are now standing directly in front of him until you speak again.

“Well, that’s rather unfortunate,” you sigh. Spencer inhales a sharp breath when he realizes you’re close enough to touch. Still, he keeps his eyes closed.

“Uh, why is that?”

Spencer nearly jumps out of his skin when your hand reaches up and caresses the side of his jaw.

“Because, Spencer,” you murmur, silky and sweet. “I was hoping you just might love me.”

Spencer’s eyes fly open and he’s greeted by a lazy, contented smile. It’s similar to the one that greeted him when he opened his front door on that very first day, but it’s better somehow. Later reflection will determine that it’s better because it’s the kind of smile reserved just for him. And that’s all he’s ever wanted, really.

“W-What?”

“You heard me.” You tilt your head up and rest your palm on Spencer’s chest. His heartbeat is erratic, thundering hard against his ribcage. He’d surely be embarrassed if he wasn’t about to faint from shock. “Do you love me, Spencer Reid?”

Spencer doesn’t even have to think twice.

“More than anything.”

“Good.” Your thumb brushes across the apple of his cheek, eliciting a full body shudder. “I was beginning to think you would never catch up.”

Spencer must be hallucinating. That, or this is all a dream and any second now his alarm is going to go off. He subtly pinches himself on the thigh to test the theory. You can imagine his surprise when nothing changes. He doesn’t wake up in a pile of his own drool, and now the skin on his thigh stings.

“You . . . You like me, too?”

You shake your head. “No, Spencer. I love you, too. Why do you think I bake you cookies and spend all of my free time in your apartment?”

“Because my couch is better than yours?” Spencer deadpans.

“I mean, that certainly doesn’t hurt. But it’s not the only reason.”

“What about the vet?” It must be his guilty conscious talking, because Spencer cannot conjure up any other reason he has for asking such a moronic question. He, personally, could not care less about the vet. Full offense intended.

“Cameron is a nice guy, sure,” you trail off. Spencer doesn’t miss the way your eyes drift down to his lips before returning to his eyes. “But he’s not really my type.”

“And what is your type, exactly?” A giddy grin finds its way to Spencer’s face. He’s notorious for being chronically clueless, but even the master of imperception himself can see where this is going.

You snort, and it’s adorable. “Liars, apparently.”

It’s impossible to determine who moves first, but that doesn’t really matter. What does matter is the end result of Spencer’s lips colliding with yours. It’s earth-shatteringly lovely; slow and sweet and tentative. There’s no rushing, no frantic fumbling of hands. Just the reverent drag of your lips against his, warm and intoxicating.

Spencer eventually regains the use of his limbs and when he does, he’s snaking one arm around your waist as the other entangles itself in your wonderfully unruly hair.

You sigh a happy sigh against his lips and Spencer’s heart soars. In a completely unforeseen turn of events, the possibility of more lazy Sunday mornings is now back on the table. Thank God he’s better at lying than he gave himself credit for.

God, and Derek Morgan’s meddling ass.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer x reader #spencer reid fluff

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lucy-sky · 2 years

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Coffee and Pancakes (Blake x Reader)

Tadaaaaaaam! Guess who wrote another fic about an unpopular character? YES, THIS IS ME! This story was eating my brain the whole week, and I had ABSOLUTELY no time to write it down - the struggle was real!! Basically I spent this week in mental dialogues with Blake xDD And you know what? I now have another Blake x f!Reader story idea, a spicier one... I am fine, I guess :’)

Warnings: none. Only fluff about two slightly awkward people who really like each other :)

Words: 2026; AO3 link if you prefer reading there

“Table number seven, coffee!”

You huffed brushing a strand of hair falling down your forehead. You’ve been working for less than three hours, and were already soaked and stressed.

Applying for a job as a waitress in a diner for sure wasn’t your greatest achievement or your best idea, but what choice did you have? For years you’d been working as a barista in a quiet coffee shop and you honestly enjoyed this job. Unfortunately everything comes to an end someday. The owner sold the cafe and the new owners had other plans for it. You couldn’t afford staying jobless for a long time. Christmas presents had to be bought, rent had to be paid, and moving back to your parents didn’t seem like a great option at your age. So you figured you could work here for now, while searching for something better.

Your first day, with all honesty, felt like a day in hell. You happened to be so lucky that the second waitress who was supposed to work on your shift got sick. You were all alone, and it was not too bad… Until the brunch hour.

The diner was crowded. You ran between the tables like crazy. People were angry, no one wanted to wait. You struggled not to mix up the orders, to bring them fast enough and to be nice and polite at the same time. You knew your boss was watching you from the counter and tried to make a good impression. This certainly wasn’t your dream job, but at the moment you really needed it after all.

“Your coffee, sir,” you told the dark-haired man at table number seven, and he raised his eyes on you as you placed a mug in front of him.

“First day?”

The question caught you by surprise. You looked at him to meet a pair of curious yet kind brown eyes.

“Uh… Is it that obvious?” You let out a nervous giggle.

“No, it’s just that I come here often and haven’t seen you before,” he smiled softly.

“Oh, I see,” you nodded. Something about this man was strangely comforting. Maybe his mustache or knitted sweater… Or these kind eyes of his. You wished you could talk to him more, but the work couldn’t wait, so you gave him another polite smile and rushed for another order.

The work kept going. A couple from the eighth table left and you grabbed their empty mugs and plates, put them on your tray and headed to the counter.

“Hey, miss!” someone called you out. What happened next was something you’ve been afraid of since morning: You wheeled a little too fast and tripped. Someone’s big hand managed to catch you before you hit the floor, but you couldn’t save the plates from falling down and breaking into pieces. Instantly, your heart sank, as you glanced at the counter to meet your boss’s gaze. Fuck. You’re totally gonna be fired now. Fuck. Fuuuuck.

“Yo, I’m sorry! Man, sorry, that’s totally my fault!”

You turned your head to your sudden savior - the dark-haired man with a mustache from the seventh table. He was talking to your boss right now.

“That’s my fault, see?” He pointed at his duffle bag on the floor next to the table. “Shouldn’t have put it here, she- she tripped over it… I apologize, okay, man? I’ll pay for it.”

Baffled, you stared at him, then back at your boss, and felt a huge relief when he nodded at the man.

“No problem, Blake!”

Damn. You couldn’t believe this good man just saved your ass. He doesn’t even know you! You turned to look at him again, and his expression was suddenly concerned.

“You okay?” He asked quietly.

“Yeah, yeah… I am,” you mumbled sheepishly, nodding at him.

You let out a deep sigh and began to collect the shatters from the floor. The man - Blake, as your boss called him - leaned down and silently started helping you. At some point your hands touched as you were about to pick the same piece, and for some reason it made you feel the heat creeping over your cheeks. He chuckled softly as your eyes met for the second time today.

After the brunch was over and you finally could take a little break, you decided to ask your coworker Nicky about Blake, and it turned out they were good friends since high school.

“He’s a nice guy, yeah,” Nicky told you. “I’m not even surprised he helped you.”

“I feel so dumb,” you sighed. “He literally saved me, and I didn’t even give him a proper thank you, just mumbled something like an idiot.”

“Don’t worry,” Nicky winked. He comes here often, so you for sure will have another chance.”

Another chance happened sooner than you expected. In the evening, an hour before the end of your shift Blake came over again and ordered coffee.

He blinked in confusion when you put a plate on the table before him. On the plate, there was a double portion of pancakes with maple syrup.

“But… I only asked for coffee…”

“Oh, that's from me,” you replied. “I mean… Obviously I wanted to thank you for uh… helping me out, so… Nicky said it's your favorite.”

“You really didn't have to…”

“No, you didn't have to. Honestly, I'm still wondering why you did it.”

“Well uh… You just looked kinda stressed out. And yeah… First day at work is always rough. Plus Christmas is just around the corner, so…” He shrugged, looking at you with his big innocent brown eyes.

“So you just helped me because you're just… a genuinely nice guy and because it's Christmas?”

“Guess so. That's hard to believe?”

“I didn't mean to offend you,” you said even though his voice didn't sound offended at all, it was quite friendly and warm. “I just meant you're a rare species.”

“Yeah? Good to know.”

His smile looked ridiculously cute, and you suddenly felt kinda flustered in front of him.

“I'm Blake, by the way.”

“I know,” you blurted out. “I mean… I remember boss calling you that.”

“Course,” Blake let out a small laugh.

“Oh, and I'm-”

“Y/n. You got this name tag right there…” He added, smiling awkwardly, as he noticed your slight confusion.

“Right, yeah… That's my name,” you mumbled. Great. You totally just won the dumbest conversation award of the year.

“Okay uh… I need to get back to work,” you said to escape the awkward pause which was about to happen. “Thanks again, Blake. I really appreciate it a lot. Enjoy your pancakes.”

“I will.”

You smiled at him warmly before heading back to the counter. Ugh, what's the matter with you? You've never been good at speaking to men you liked. Flirting? Who's that? You just turned into an awkward mess who blurts out the most stupid things before realizing it.

On the other hand… oddly enough, but you had a feeling that Blake could probably relate to this. He also seemed a bit abashed, and in general he gave an impression of a simple guy, not some kind of Casanova, far from it. You definitely liked that about him.

The next couple of weeks you saw Blake in the diner almost everyday. Pancakes with maple syrup and black coffee were now strongly associated with him in your brain. Sometimes when you weren’t busy you had little nice conversations with him, sometimes you just exchanged glances and smiles. With him this job didn’t really seem that bad, every time he entered the diner, the sight of him made your day a bit better.

A week before Christmas you were leaving the diner earlier, and literally bumped into Blake at the door.

“Oh! Hi, y/n!” He looked surprised. “Are you… Leaving already?”

“Yeah, finished my shift earlier today. Wanted to do some Christmas shopping before the stores are closed,” you smiled at him.

“I see…”

You were standing at the porch, awkwardly looking at each other.

“Are you um… Going in?” You gestured at the door.

“No, I… Well you see, I… basically came here to see you, so I guess not…” He blurted, letting out a small, slightly nervous laughter, which you found absolutely adorable. “Shit, sounds creepy. Like I’m stalking you or something…”

“Doesn’t sound creepy to me,” you gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m always happy to see you around too.”

“Yeah?” Blake’s smile turned wider. “Good, uh… Maybe… Maybe you need a ride to the store? For that Christmas shopping you were talking about.”

His warm pleading eyes didn’t give you any chance to say no. Plus the perspective to spend more time with him made your heart beat a little faster with excitement.

“Yes, sure,” you nodded happily.

“Alright, let’s go.”

The way to the local mall didn’t take much time, and it saddened you a bit. You would happily spend a few more hours in the car just talking to him about nothing and everything at once.

“Hey, um… Did Nicky tell you about the band, by the way?” Blake suddenly asked when he stopped the car at the parking lot.

“Band? No… What do you mean?”

“We kinda have a garage band - me, Nicky and a couple more old friends. I mean, we don’t play very often now… We play very seldom actually. But we’re playing this Thursday. Decided to remember the good old days, you know. It’s nothing very special, but I thought maybe you wanna come?..”

“Of course I want to!” You exclaimed. “Wow! So you’re a rock star? That’s so cool!”

“Well, not as cool as you might think - I just play the drums…”

“Are you kidding me? Drums are cool! Just so you know, my favorite Beatle has always been Ringo.”

“Ringo?” He laughed. “That’s a good one, you know… Me and Ringo, we got a lot in common, like… Big nose.”

“I like your nose,” you blurted out. Here we go, once again you stopped paying attention and just straight up told what was on your mind - that’s what this man was doing to you.

Thankfully Blake didn’t freak out, just blushed a little, not knowing what to reply to this.

“So yeah, of course I’ll be happy to see you and your band on stage,” you gave him a wide grin.

“Awesome!” Blake returned the smile. You still found him ridiculously attractive with those crickles at the corner of his sparkling eyes, and this big nose and stache and everything. You wished you could pull him closer and kiss him right now, but it definitely wasn’t appropriate.

“I need to go now,” you mumbled. “Thanks for the ride, Blake.”

“Welcome. Enjoy the shopping,” he winked.

You put your hand on the handle to open the car door, but hesitated for a moment. You both clearly liked each other, so maybe… What the hell?

“Y/n?..”

Following a sudden impulse, you turned to him, placing your hands on his shoulders, and pressed your lips to his.

It was weird. You’ve never ever kissed a man first. What if he’s gonna think you’re some kind of a crazy woman? Cheeks burning, you drew away from him.

“Sorry, I…”

The words instantly left your brain when Blake’s big hand cupped your cheek as he leaned in and kissed you tenderly. His stache tickled your skin, and his warm tongue was incredibly gentle as you parted your lips allowing it to sink inside your mouth. A soft hum he made against your lips made you feel those butterflies in your stomach people always talk about. You think you didn’t really know how exactly it feels until today.

“Y/n?” Blake’s voice came out a bit hoarsely when your lips finally parted.

“Yeah?”

“Thought maybe… You need some help with this Christmas shopping of yours?” He gave you a soft chuckle.

“I thought men hate shopping…”

“Well, I need some stuff for holiday anyways,” Blake shrugged. “And then we could have coffee or… pancakes, or something… How does that sound?”

You couldn’t help but place a quick kiss on his nose, making him smile again.

“Coffee and pancakes sound perfect.”

Thank you for reading! Any feedback is greatly appreciated, especially with unpopular characters like that :)

#the unforgivable #blake x reader #jon bernthal #jon bernthal fanfiction #lucy tries to write

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multiplefandomsblog · 3 years

Text

request; I am lusting for the emo boy 👉👈 Could I get something where the reader gives him a bj after he had a stressful day

warnings; bj, deep-throating, cussing, cum-eating, shuichi is receiving, reader is gender-neutral.

note; im trying to think of a song to go with this hold up- (yes thats all i have for my note, im running out of things to say-)

OH SHIT YES!!! SANGRIA?? BY EASY LIFE??? ARLO PARKS??? OR GET YOU BY DANIEL CAESER!!!!!

wc; 2k+

Slapping the screen of his work computer shut, the sudden and loud noise kept him awake for just a little longer. Shuichi brought both of his cold hands to his face, rubbing the eye bags that had formed as a result of his overworking and lack of sleep.

“God…” It took him everything he had to not yell into his slightly trembling hands. His fingers tangled themselves in his hair as he stood up from the chair that had made his backside ache, breathing out the pent-up stress he had cultivated throughout the… He checked his watch, drooping eyes barely able to read the hands of the miniature clock.

—The twelve hours of sitting down, typing in and submitting in files, piled onto files regarding a tough case. He’d be lying if he wasn’t at least a little used to this shit work ethic.

The first thought his mind allowed him to possess after draining his brain completely out of energy, had been, ‘S/o...-, I hope they didn’t forget to eat today.’ He hadn’t gotten the chance to monitor you, nor text or call you; his phone, to kick off the day, hadn’t charged properly the day before, leaving his phone with 3%. The moment he had tried to text you mid-way through his extended work period, his phone had given up on him, leaving him frustrated and worried.

Sighing, he quickly packed up his things, ready to leave the suffocating, but honestly quite nicely designed office— to see you. He was so close to just falling asleep on the nice, cold surface of his computer, but the thought of you waking up to an empty bed had his heart, crumbling over something he hadn’t done yet. And hadn’t planned to do, either.

Exiting the office, he called a taxi as he was too deprived of sleep to safely drive.

---------------------------------------------------------—

Hearing the door open, you immediately rushed to the front door, almost slipping on the waxy surface of the wood floor against your fuzzy socks.

Pulling back, your eyes held a different emotion as you gazed into Shuichi’s tired but loving orbs; your eyes no longer contained the same soul-crushing worry for him. Instead, they had held a needy lust. Could you blame yourself? It had been twelve hours. Shuichi let out a quiet startled noise as you started dragging him to the couch, he did nothing but let you; too tired to ask what you were doing despite having the sneaking suspicion he already knew. No one can overlook a stare like that; you’d have to be blind to.

Pushing him onto the couch with little effort, he watched with intrigued eyes as you got to your knees and sat in between his knees, your own gaze locking onto his as you lowered yourself to the point where you had to crane your neck to properly see his pretty, flushed face.

Golden eyes flashed in need, small whines spilling from his trembling lips as he slightly parted his thighs for you to drag your fingers further up into. “You worked all day, Shuichi… C’mon, just a taste?” You looked up at him, doe eyes pleading and tongue swiping across your bottom lip entrancingly, as Shuichi’s golden eyes followed the glistening muscle. He could already imagine your tongue swirling around the tip of his—

“A-a little… A little taste. Please.” Ten hours of neglect, and the craving for his musk only augmented with each agonizing second that passed by. His eyes widened at the sultry tone you equipped; had he really worked so long to the point you were on your knees for him? “I...”

Yes, yes he had. It had been twelve hours, and you were worried sick. Not only that, the poor boy looked so tense and stressed, it had given you the urge to just strap him to the bed and force him to sleep, and nothing else. Knowing him, he wouldn’t have allowed himself the proper amount of hours of sleep, and food he needed to stay alive.

A part of him didn’t want to take advantage of your state, but a part of him already knew you wouldn’t let up until you got what you wanted; it’s not like he detested the idea of getting sucked off. “O-okay.”

He let out a small gasp as he felt you suddenly play with the zipper of his pants, your fingers ‘accidentally’ brushing against the growing erection he hadn’t noticed he had. You watched him carefully, fighting the urge to laugh as he arched his back against the couch; you didn’t want to embarrass him, you simply wanted to help him de-stress.

Deciding you’d focus more on him than your own sadistic desires, you quickly halted your teasing and zipped open his fly, wasting no time to reach down the waistband of his navy blue boxers and pin-striped pants, erupting a gasp from him as he hadn’t been expecting it to escalate so fast.

Gingerly, you pulled out the hardening cock that seemed to twitch in your hold, only causing you to smile at the cute reaction. Though Shuichi’s facial expression had been incomparable to his cock. You had barely down anything to him, and his whole entire face flushed red, a hand already clamped over his mouth that concealed the lip he had been chewing at so aggressively.

Stroking your thumb over the pretty pink tip of his cock, you cooed at it, already finding yourself craning your neck down to kiss the tip of it, causing Shuichi to jolt up from the light but impactive pressure on the tip of his cock. He found himself getting more alert, differing from his previous state of mind where he had barely been able to register what had been happening at the door.

Tired, lolling eyes from earlier converted into wide, lustfully lidded golden eyes that bore into your own coloured irises. The only difference between the two pairs of eyes had been the soft domineering gaze you set upon the boy who seemed to be putty in your hands and mouth.

Winking at him, you felt confidence grow in you as you heard him slightly whimper and wine through the futile coverage of his hand over his mouth, and so, with suave, you slid the eager cock into your mouth, tapping it over your lips and tongue before deciding to suck the entire thing in, in one go. The near-scream Shuichi emitted definitely helped you take the entirety of him inside your mouth.

You let out a small hiccup as you felt him throbbing in your throat, eyes wide and nose deep in the base of his shaft as your lips had almost been able to kiss the base of his cock. Keyword; almost.

With tear-filled eyes, you moaned onto his cock that only seemed to fit in half of your mouth before you started gagging. The small choked gasps from your side seemed to be in earshot of Shuichi, as he reached down to check on you- his hand was caught mid-way as you took a deep breath through your nose and fit the rest of his length down your throat. At this point, tears had been falling down your face uncontrollably, and you had been too busy massaging the base of his cock and balls to try and wipe them off.

“S-S/o— Y-you shouldn’t- F-fuck, I’m already so close, please don’t stop…!” He whined in a broken voice, head spinning and eyes rolling to the back of his head as he practically heaved out pants against the couch behind him. You felt your own thighs tremble as you heard him lose character, cussing; something you didn’t know he’d ever do. It sounded foreign in his voice, but was it strange that you actually liked how it sounded?

Moans and pleas spilled out of his drooling mouth like a running faucet; he noticed it only seemed to egg you on, in which, he wasn’t sure he liked or feared. He was highly certain he wouldn’t be able to last long—the thought hit him like an 80-pound brick as you dragged your tongue on the sensitive underside of his cock. “Hhnn- Ah—!” He let out an embarrassingly high moan, though he didn’t seem to care enough to tend to the humiliation, as he had currently been occupying his mind with the fact you had been sucking him off and sucking him off good.

His neck and thighs twitched as he writhed, not able to hold back the urge to pull your hair as he felt like he was going to lose it if he didn’t. Reaching down quickly, he yanked your hair upwards, in a force that didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would. It seems, even during moments like these he was always gentle with you.

Rewarding him for the action, you hummed muffled praises he couldn’t hear, but could definitely feel the effect of it against his cock. Vibrations shot up from between his legs to up the trail of his spine, sending shockwaves of pleasure through his entire body.

You felt his clammy hand that had kept hold of your hair, push you down onto his length roughly, causing you to stifle a surprised choke as you felt his tip hit the very back of your throat. “S-Shui—” You couldn’t even say half his name properly.

With tears streaming down your face, you shut yourself up and took it, bobbing your head up and down faster—to which he rewarded you with shaky, blissful sobs. God, did you wish you could see his expression right now.

At the thought, your slightly red eyes darted up to his face, which seemed to be staring right back at you with his own tear-brimmed gaze. “S-S/o...!” He whined out, a few stray tears falling as he felt his climax approach him. Throwing his head back, you lost sight of his flushed, slobbering face as he rested the back of his neck against the couch.

“Close..! Close! Hah- Hnngg! Please, I need to- to—!” Shuichi cut himself off, mouth contorting into an ‘O’ shape as he tensed his thighs underneath your clawed grip, feeling his well-deserved orgasm finally hit him. You suctioned your mouth around his length especially hard, eyes squeezing shut as you felt him pulsating against the walls of your sore throat.

You could feel the milky white, nearly translucent cum shoot down your throat and, as you usually do, you let it slip down your throat with no complaints—and it wasn’t as if you could try spitting it out; Shuichi’s cock had been so far down your throat, he had been practically been shooting it directly down your throat, giving you no chance to swallow.

You felt his cock shudder, twitch and go flaccid in your mouth; so with a final drag of your lips, you trapped any leftover semen within the insides of your lips and licked whatever had escaped the bindings of your aching mouth. Shuichi remained heaving against the couch, his hand that had previously been holding onto your hair with a death-grip, weakened and dropped to the side of your face.

Bringing his head back down from the thrown back position on the couch, he stared down at you who had still been seated between his legs, your cheek resting against his thigh as you watched him with a soft and infatuated gaze. After such a feat, to look at him like that; he felt like he was on cloud 9. He truly wondered what he had done to deserve a blow job like that, and someone like you to give him such a thing after neglecting you for twelve hours, he felt terrible for you yet also fortunate to have you. His gaze, despite still fucked-out and slightly mind-blown, held worry for you.

With his already red face going even more crimson, he brought his hand down to the side of your head to stroke your face tenderly. Still heaving out pants, he stuttered out quiet words of gratification, “... T-thank you. For that.” To which you only grinned cheekily at, head turning to gently nibble and kiss at the inside of his thigh, causing a small yelp to erupt from him.

Your hand gripped onto his thigh, making sure to immobilize him and his squirming as you sucked a hickey onto his thigh. “Hh-!” Shuichi could only whimper at the pressure, his free hand going up to wipe away the tears that formed from earlier, and the ones that had been forming currently.

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