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gimme-mor · 3 years

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ACOTAR THINK PIECE: ELAIN ARCHERON, UNTOUCHABLE

*DISCLAIMER*

This will be a long post.

Please take the time to read this post in its entirety and truly reflect on the message I am trying to send before commenting. My goal is to use my background in Gender and Women’s Studies to deconstruct the comments I have seen on Tumblr and Twitter and bring awareness to the ACOTAR fandom.

The reason I am tagging “Elriel” in this post is to call attention to the arguments in the Elriel fandom that: weaponize Elain’s femalehood to shame real life people for their opinions about Elain’s character and her relationship with Lucien; victimize Elain’s character in fandom discussions; and coddle Elain’s character, which limits fandom discussions about her narrative development and prevents the ACOTAR fandom from holding Elain accountable for her actions and inactions in the same way that the fandom holds other characters accountable for their actions and inactions. It is for these reasons that I WILL NOT remove the “Elriel” tag from this post because all of the above points contribute to the toxic discourse surrounding Elain’s character.

I urge those who use these arguments to understand their implications, why they are problematic, regardless of intent, and reexamine their contributions to the ACOTAR fandom. I WILL NOT tolerate anyone who tries to twist my words and say I am attacking people and their personal shipping preferences. In fact, I AM CRITIQUING THE ARGUMENTS THEMSELVES NOT THE PEOPLE USING THE ARGUMENTS.

Also, I highly encourage the Elriel fandom to read this post because it addresses how the concept of choice as an argument enables arguments to exploit social justice and feminist languge in order to vilify Elucien shippers, among other problematic things.

Elain Archeron is one of the most polarizing characters in the ACOTAR fandom. Though opinions about Elain vary, arguments in the Elriel fandom cite society’s perception of traditional female characters in comparison to non-traditional female characters as the reason behind the hate, and this belief is used to provide an explanation as to why other characters in the series are favored over her. In the series, Elain is portrayed in a wholly positive light and this image carries over into the Elriel fandom, painting her character as a good and kind female who has been unfairly wronged and a victim of circumstances that were out of her control. When arguments in the Elriel fandom oppose other viewpoints in the fandom, they fall into one of three categories:

Category 1: Weaponize Elain’s femalehood to shame real life people for their opinions

Maybe people who hate Elain are just jealous of her in a weird way similar to when someone hates the pretty, nice, and charming girl in school just because she is too perfect

Disliking Elain is misogynistic

What happened to feminism? What happened to women supporting women? What happened to she can say no? All of that disappears the second you force Elain to be with Lucien

Elain antis are misogynistic

All Eluciens are Elain antis

Antis claiming they’re feminists when in reality they hate on Elain and Feyre but love Nesta

Elain antis are such sore losers. Y’all were that bunch of people who could not get over being rejected from hanging out with the cool kids so y’all are projecting your hatred towards pretty people now to get validation

I don’t get how Elain’s love for gardening equals boring for some people. I’m sorry your misogyny finds traditionally feminine activities boring

Why are you attacking a female? What did Elain do? Where are your feminist voices?

The fandom is misogynistic towards Elain

If people loved Elain they would ship Elriel

If you hate Elain it says a lot about your feelings toward women

If you hate Elain because she has no “development” then you must hate Azriel because otherwise you’re misogynistic

Eluciens are turned off by the idea of a woman that has the autonomy to reject a man for the simple reason that it is her choice

Eluciens are all about feminism and “it’s HER choice” until it comes down to females not wanting a male

Eluciens don’t respect Elain’s feelings when they ship her with someone that was part of her trauma and makes her feel uncomfortable

The way some Elucien shippers completely disregard how uncomfortable Elain is around Lucien is so hilariously not funny. Prioritizing being mates over Elain’s feelings is just regressive

It’s hard as a fan of Elain to see someone ship her with a person who makes her physically uncomfortable to be around. Wouldn’t you want both characters to be happy to be around each other

Imagine if SJM saw all the awful things her “stans” had to say about Elain

It’s true that we know comparatively little about her, but is she really boring or do you just not value stereotypically feminine traits?

So y’all are just gonna tell me you prefer Elucien over Elriel? Even though Lucien treats Elain as if she’s something that belongs to him? The only reason he wants to be with her is because she’s his mate, he doesn’t respect her, doesn’t treat her as his equal, even though that’s what mates should be? He doesn’t bother to look past what’s on the outside to see her for who she is. And Elain is obviously repulsed by the idea that she should belong to anyone or have no choice in who she can be with. Azriel is her friend and the only person who sees her quiet strength. He has so much faith in her, in her abilities; he’s the one who kept her company when no one else did, he’s the only one who bothered to see her for more than her brokenness. You’re going to tell me you still prefer Elucien over Elriel?

The more I see Gwynriels that ship Elucien out of their hate for Elain, the less I can understand Elain stans that ship Elucien. Pls Elain has made it very clear that she doesn’t want Lucien, why would you ship her with him? Do you hate her too? Smh

The real question would be, if you care and understand Elain why would you ship her with Lucien (where she canonically shrinks when he is near)?

People crying over Helion and Lucien’s mom not getting to be with each other and her being forced into a relationship she didn’t want, but also ship Elucien? Just say you hate Elain

When Elain’s book is out, Gwyn stans will look like clowns and I will laugh because they set her up by shipping her with Azriel just because they hate Elain. Watch them play the victims now because Elriels are clapping back the hate they’ve sent towards Elain

As romantic as wanting girl who is visibly uncomfortable around a guy who caused her trauma to end up with the said guy. Guess their standards for romance are in hell

Category 2: Victimize Elain’s character

Gwynriels only want Gwyn with Azriel because they despise Elain

Gwyn stans and Gwynriels are Elain antis

No one in the books dislike Elain, so why are there so many people who do?

Elain hasn’t done anything wrong or questionable to warrant the hate she gets

Not having Elain’s POV makes it easy for people to be swayed a certain way about her character if you already don’t relate to her in some way

It’s been years since this series came out and we haven’t gotten a lick of an Elain POV, but people still hate her for what? We don’t know her thoughts, dreams, or aspirations

We haven’t even had Elain’s perspective yet and people are passing these judgments off on her

Elain antis who say she’s boring are just cruel when she has obvious symptoms of PTSD like Feyre and Nesta

Gwyn is one of the most overhyped characters and that’s only because most people hate Elain and they couldn’t wait to find a random girl to ship Azriel with

Nesta was abusive to her sisters but Elain (who has only ever been kind) is painted as the villain

From the text we know that Elain is the epitome of feminine stereotypes (gentle, gardening, baking, non confrontational for the most part). Yet people still call her boring or deny that she has any interesting character traits?

You can’t love Nesta and hate Elain

People hate Elain because of internalized misogyny and lack of taste. All the girl does is tend to her garden and mind her business and they treat her worse than Tamlin

Does Gwyn deserve all this support? Of course yes! She is amazing! But where’s that support when Elain was in the same situation as she? Where’s that support for her right now? Why do they idolize Gwyn for her interactions with Azriel and hate Elain for having any interaction with him?

It’s not even a ship war anymore, they just hate Elain

People hate Elain for no reason

Some of y’all don’t like feminine traits and it shows

We know less about Eris and Helion but people don’t call them boring. Why would rejecting femininity make Elain more interesting?

Elain has had a lot forced upon her

The main reason I believe most people love Gwyn so much is to get Azriel away from Elain. It’s not a secret that Elain has been a widely hated character for years so suddenly we get a new female who has a minimal amount of interactions with Azriel and BOOM. New ship that once again doesn’t make sense (just like Azriel x Emerie after ACOFAS)

Elain hasn’t done something so terrible for her to get this hate. At this point some of you are just being misogynistic and you don’t want to accept it. Don’t call yourselves feminists and then say bs like this, it’s embarrassing. She’s pretty and everyone agreed to hate on her

Just a personal feeling, but I feel like a lot of the Elain hate stems from internalized misogyny. That to be a strong female lead, you need to pick up a sword and fight. That to be strong, you need to adapt traditionally masculine traits

Elain is feminine. She is beautiful. She loves to bake and garden. She is docile, quiet, observant, and a people-pleaser. All traditionally feminine traits. Yet for some reason, she’s like the worst in these people’s eyes?

I think also maybe a lot of people can’t relate to her femininity? That her being so beautiful and quiet doesn’t allow for the people who dislike her not to self-insert? Most of the hate stems from people not wanting Elain to be with Azriel. It’s mean, but maybe the people who hate Elain literally just can’t self-insert if they have a story and that’s why they’re vehemently against it?

Poor Elain. The Cauldron dealt her a bad deal. Upon emerging as Fae, she is immediately declared by Lucien as his mate, never mind that she was already engaged to a prick. Her love life is not good

It blows my mind how they really think that they can compare all the shit that Elain gets with some dumb jokes about Gwyn on Twitter (and yes, the “hate” towards her started mostly because Elriels are clapping back, it was bound to happen)

I would think of it as anti-feminist with Elain and Lucien because she has consistently stated that she does not want him so if she was forced to embrace the bond that would be taking away her right to have a choice but with Az she feels comfortable around so if they were mates then Elain would be happy and feel safe which again should be the priority for women to feel safe in their relationships with anything and to not be forced into any type of situation aka the mating bond in this

Category 3: Coddle Elain’s character

Elain has value the way she is, in all her domestic girly glory. Not every character has to be badass

We don’t speak of Elain’s flaws frequently because everyone else already speaks badly of her, mainly in an unfair way

There is definitely something deeper going on with Elain but by no means will she ever be evil or any less feminine. That goes against everything we already know about her

It’s ok to critique Elain because she needs growth but y’all keep forgetting the shit her and her sisters went through

The last “bad” thing Elain did in ACOTAR was not help Feyre when they were impoverished and I’m tired of people acting like she’s a terrible character when it was their father’s responsibility. It happened 4 books ago and Feyre has forgiven both Nesta and Elain

Elain’s character and the evil Elain theory are a great example of the trend where people only consider female characters interesting if they reject femininity

We don’t know enough to hate Elain

Many people want Elain to turn evil (which in my opinion seems to come from a place of internalized misogyny)

However we don’t tend to talk about her faults, at least not publicly, as that has been, and still is, done to death, and I--personally, at least--find it much more fun to theorise about potentially interesting aspects of the overall plot, than dwell on negatives

And ultimately, I would be shocked if Elain has a more karmically-charged story than Nesta, considering that Elain’s “wrongs” are so much less severe and bad than Nesta’s, and Elain has already apologized for them (or paid the price in other ways, like through what Graysen did)

I guess I also think Elain has suffered and been punished enough. I hope her story is about finding hope in terrible situations, and learning to love her new life, and choosing her own path after everything that has been done to her. I don’t think she needs to be punished anymore or face any additional trauma

Also, why is she being judged on her decisions as a human at all? Fae are monsters to humans! They enslaved them for thousands of years, and the Wall was erected to keep them out

Like I’m sorry, but think Elain would want to leave her ONLY FAMILY AND FRIENDS for the Spring Court where she has no one because--oh look, lots of flowers!--is the craziest thing I have ever heard

Her sisters are in the Night Court. Her nephew is in the Night Court. Her closest friends (Nuala and Cerridwen) are in the Night Court. Her love interest is in the Night Court. Her extended family is in the Night Court. Her home is in the Night Court

SJM isn’t going to keep two sisters together and split up the third. Especially not keep Feyre and Nesta together and separate Elain. They were either all going to end up in separate places, or together. Not 2 here and 1 there

Compared to the other female characters in the series, Elain is the only character whose femalehood is at the center of conversations; this is because arguments in the Elriel fandom fixate on it when discussing her character. While Elain, Feyre, Nesta, and Mor are all representations of white womanhood and white beauty, Elain epitomizes the most fragile version of white womanhood. It’s easy to blame society’s perception of traditional female characters in comparison to non-traditional female characters when it comes to the discourse surrounding Elain’s character because it: falls in line with the fixation on Elain’s femalehood to silence opposing viewpoints; is a simplistic explanation that fails to tackle the underlying issues with Elain as a character, the same issues that are downplayed in-universe; absolves Elain of her wrongdoings; prevents the ACOTAR fandom from holding Elain accountable for her actions and inactions within the series; and diminishes the impact Elain’s actions and inactions have on those around her. It’s not that Elain is hated in the fandom because she’s a traditional female character; it’s the fact that arguments in the Elriel fandom deflect a critical analysis of Elain’s character because she’s a traditional female character who embodies the ideal white woman in need of protection. White fans and white-aligned fans of color, especially white women, have a tendency to vehemently defend, gatekeep, and coddle white female characters in fandom; this makes it difficult for other fans to engage in critical discussions about these white female characters because they’re viewed as flawless and all around perfect characters despite evidence to the contrary. Since Elain is viewed positively by the other characters in the series, it has rendered her character untouchable to any perceived slight or criticism in fandom discussions because those negative opinions challenge what has been said about her character thus far. And as a result, her character has been placed on a pedestal and implicitly hailed as the epitome of white womanhood; and when she’s criticized, it’s seen as a direct attack against white womanhood. Arguments in the Elriel fandom: exploit feminist language and perpetuate white feminist tactics under the guise of defending Elain’s character; center Elain in conversations about female oppression in the ACOTAR world and uphold white feminist ideologies in their critique of ACOTAR’s patriarchal society; and use the fragile white woman narrative to victimize Elain in Lucien’s presence, playing into racial biases that are associated with white supremacy’s defense of white womanhood.

Feminism is a social movement that seeks to promote equality and equity to all genders, and feminists work toward eradicating gender disparities on a macro-level, in addition to challenging gender biases on a micro-level. As feminism became more mainstream, a flat and oversimplified version of feminism emerged: mainstream feminism. The mainstream feminist movement is meant to represent all women, but rarely does it center conversations around issues that concern most women. The problem with mainstream feminism is that it’s just a popularized version of white feminism. White feminism has relied extensively on an individualized understanding of women’s oppression, exclusively from the lens of privileged white women. White feminism only focuses on the oppression experienced by white, able-bodied, affluent, educated, cishet women; and it views gender as the key mode of privileged white women’s oppression, isolated from the privileges granted by their other social identities. White women can be and are oppressed under the patriarchy but only because they are women; their identity as women does not exempt them from the privileges granted by their whiteness. The term white feminist does not mean any feminist who is white, but refers to feminists who prioritize the concerns of privileged white women as though they are representative of all women. However, the term is not exclusive to white people. Because white feminism is so pervasive, people of other racial and ethnic backgrounds often buy into white feminism, believing that if they work hard enough, they may be able to reap its rewards.

Just like white feminism, mainstream feminism only recognizes the identity of being a woman, assumes that all women share common experiences of gender oppression, fails to address other social identities in relation to overlapping systems of oppression, and disregards privilege in relation to various social identities. Just like white feminism, mainstream feminism is palatable because it doesn’t seek to challenge the systems in place, instead its goal is to succeed within them. Essentially, mainstream feminism and white feminism are extensions of performative feminism. Performative feminism is a type of performative activism that’s used to describe feminist views that are surface level and solely for the benefit of one type of person. It’s a pretense which often has nothing to do with genuine activism. Arguments in the Elriel fandom normalize and promote performative feminism because the topic of feminism is only referenced when discussing Elain. This indicates that these arguments are engaging in disingenuous discourse to push a personal agenda within the ACOTAR fandom, and it becomes more apparent when they use white feminist tactics to shut down opposing viewpoints:

White feminists weaponize and exploit feminist language to silence the opinions of other women, especially when they’re called out for their problematic behaviors

White feminists use the phrase “Women supporting women” to defend other white feminists who exhibit problematic behaviors instead of holding them accountable

White feminists weaponize phrases like “Women supporting women” and “You just hate women” to attack other women who disagree with them on any given topic

White feminists use phrases like “All women face challenges” and “Stop pitting women against each other” to sidestep conversations about privilege

White feminists divert conversations away from privilege and towards the Trauma Olympics to equate their struggles to the oppression of marginalized people

White feminists skirt around the realities of other forms of oppression and discrimination, downplaying the experiences of marginalized people

White feminists diminish or ignore the ways in which gender oppression affects other marginalized people

White feminists paint those they harmed as aggressive, mean, or divisive when confronted with the ways they have harmed a marginalized group

White feminists deflect criticism by focusing on the anger or emotions being expressed rather than the issue that is being discussed, invalidating the concerns of marginalized people

White feminists speak over marginalized voices in an attempt to sound “woke”

White feminists get defensive and insist there’s no way they could be a part of the problem because of what they’ve done to help marginalized groups already

White feminists say they don’t see color in an attempt to obscure racial issues that need to be addressed

White feminists center and victimize themselves in conversations about racism, which derails necessary conversations from taking place

White feminists who are white weaponize the intersectionality of their race and gender to avoid accountability

Feminism is not meant to be approached from an individualistic perspective nor is it only about addressing the experiences of privileged white women, it involves addressing the intersections of race, class, gender, sexuality, (dis)ability, and other social identities as well; and it involves addressing how these social identities relate to privilege. Moreover, feminism is not about women upholding complete loyalty to other women because of a shared gender identity, and to claim that it does implies that women should be held to different emotional standards than men. If men are able to dislike and criticize other individual men, real or fictional, without their characters being compromised, why aren’t women granted that same privilege?

It’s clear that SJM set up the ACOTAR world to mirror a patriarchal society, and that the imbalance of power between males and females stems from sexism. Arguments in the Elriel fandom analyze the ACOTAR world through a feminist lens to show how ACOTAR’s patriarchal society, to which the mating bond is innately tied, contributes to female oppression and limits their agency. When choice and free will are emphasized as part of Elain’s arc, they imply that Elain, through the mating bond, experiences female oppression under ACOTAR’s patriarchal society because of her identity as a female with that identity being the focal point of her oppression in the world. Elain is one of the most privileged characters in the ACOTAR world: she’s High Fae; she’s the sister of the High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court, which gives her access to wealth and political influence because of that connection; she’s able-bodied; she was magically blessed by the Cauldron; and she lives in Velaris, a place that grants females autonomy and power because of the beliefs of Rhysand and Feyre. Arguments in the Elriel fandom trivialize female oppression in the ACOTAR world because they disregard the fact that Elain’s privileges prevent her from experiencing female oppression in the same way that other marginalized females in the world do. The mating bond being one such example because those around Elain are not forcing the bond on her, instead they’re allowing Elain to reach a decision about the bond for herself; a privilege that other marginalized females in the world probably wouldn’t have. Just because Elain has endured hardships in her life and is a female in a patriarchal society, they do not erase the privileges she holds within the ACOTAR world. The failure to include Elain’s privileges in discussions about Elain being a female in a patriarchal society feeds into white feminist ideologies because white feminism operates from a very narrow perspective; it doesn’t take other intersecting identities into account when it examines gender oppression, leaving no room for discussions about privilege (or lack thereof) in relation to those intersecting identities. When discussing oppression in hierarchical societies, it’s imperative that privilege is also included in the conversation because privilege and oppression are not mutually exclusive; they equally affect the ways in which people navigate those societies through their social identities.

Rather than attributing Elain’s uncomfortability to her new life as a Fae female or the mating bond itself and her trauma to the Cauldron, the King of Hybern, or Ianthe, they’re placed on Lucien to cast his character in a negative light. Moreover, fandom discussions portray Lucien as a possessive character to further emphasize Elain’s discomfort despite the inaccuracy of this characterization in canon. Arguments in the Elriel fandom play into racial biases when it comes to Lucien (a male character of color) because they mischaracterize his character in order to victimize Elain (a white female character), placing her character in the role of the white damsel in distress. In Western society, the concept of womanhood has been conceptualized from a Eurocentric perspective with femininity and feminine attributes favoring white women. It’s the idea that a certain type of femininity is only inherent to white women as they are seen as the embodiment of an ideal womanhood. White womanhood has been a symbol of innocence and purity, and white women have been viewed as fragile beings in need of protection. The reason white womanhood functions within white supremacy is because it’s the same idea that has motivated white men to kill and beat black and brown men. The so-called protection of white women has been used as a justification for the horrific violence committed by white men because black and brown men were stereotyped as aggressive and seen as a threat to the virtue of white women. The white damsel in distress trope considered white women as worthy of protection because of their perceived innocence and purity; women of color were not granted that same treatment because they did not fit into the ideal image of womanhood. Over the years, this trope became a means for white women to exercise limited power in a patriarchal society with white women weaponizing their status as the damsel much to the detriment of black and brown men. It’s through the white damsel in distress trope that white supremacy sustains its dominance in Western society. The misrepresentation of characters of color in fandom, the dismissal of their importance to the overall story, and using them as tools in arguments centered around white characters are the foundation of fandom racism; they’re examples of how racism moves silently in fandom spaces. Instead of examining their behavior and taking constructive criticism from fans of color, white fans will often double down on their bigotry and center their uncomfortability in the conversation when confronted with their complicity in fandom racism. White fans expect fans of color to swallow fandom racism in its many forms in order to not ruin the experience of fandom, dismissing the fact that racism is prevalent in nearly every aspect of society. This mentality ensures that no one is held accountable for the harm they caused and alienates fans of color in fandom spaces.

To reiterate what I mentioned in my first think piece: terms like “oppression”, “the right to choose”, “feminist”, “feminism”, “anti-feminist”, “anti-feminism”, “internalized misogyny”, “misogyny”, “misogynist”, “sexist”, “sexism”, “racist”, “racism”, “classist”, “classism”, “discrimination”, and “patriarchy” are all used in specific ways to draw attention to the plight of marginalized people and challenge those who deny the existence of systems of oppression. Yet these words and their meanings can be twisted to attack, exclude, and invalidate people with differing opinions on any given topic. When social justice and feminist terms are thrown around antagonistically and carelessly to push a personal agenda, it becomes clear that these terms are being used to engage in disingenuous discourse and pursue personal validation rather than being used out of any deep-seated conviction to dismantle systemic oppression. Being an ally, activist, or feminist is not an identity, it’s a practice. It requires: ongoing self-reflection; holding ourselves accountable; listening to marginalized people; educating ourselves; dismantling implicit biases; challenging those around us who are exhibiting problematic behaviors; and action behind our words.

It’s important to be aware of the language that is used within the fandom when defending or critiquing characters and ships. It’s also important to question how an argument is framed and why it’s framed the way that it is to critically examine the intent behind that argument: is it used as a tool to push a personal agenda that reinforces problematic behaviors, or is it used as an opportunity to share, learn, enlighten, and educate?

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Tagging: @spell-cleavers @bookofmirth @m0bulidae @ilya-boltagon

#elain archeron #elriel #acotar fandom #acotar: fandom critical

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mcheang · 4 years

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Exclusive

Edna Mode was a renowned designer, famed for her harsh but accurate critiques, her fierce and practical lines, and of course, being the designer of the majority of superheroes.

And now she was hosting a fashionista gala, inviting those worthy of a Mode gala. As for those asking for an invite, Edna just asks who they are and calls security.

Lila, as the self-proclaimed BFF of Ladybug, and Gabriel’s muse, had already boasted of receiving the glamorous invitation. It didn’t just come in an envelope, it came out of the sky in a rosewood chest, accompanied by a bottle of wine and canapés. (Or so she says. Adrien and Marinette rolled their eyes. Chloé wasn’t paying attention)

Alya: Girl, I’m so jealous. But hey, maybe this will be a good thing. After all, Adrien is going with Kagami. Chloe will just stick with her mom. That means it’s a chance for you and Marinette to know each other better.

Oh yeah, did I mention that everyone knows Marinette is MDC?

Lila forced a grin but didn’t want to make any promises.

Imagine Lila’s rage to know she wasn’t given an invite because she was just a model. Adrien was the heir to a fashion company. She was not.

With all the bragging Lila did, she can’t back out or Chloe and Marinette will call out her absence. (Chloé learned about Lila being a guest from Sabrina later from gossiping)

So, she stole Marinette’s invitation. She did some editing and made her own customised invite, brandishing it for her class to see.

Marinette saw her invitation missing, rolled her eyes and reported the theft to Edna. Plz, everyone knows Edna invited her. She didn’t really need a piece of expensive paper.

The day of the gala arrived, and Lila brought out her invite.

The guard looked at his clipboard. “You’re not on the list.”

Lila: No, but I do have an invite. Obviously someone must have made a mistake with your list.

The guard snorted. “If that’s the case, then your fingerprints and eye scans should have already been registered. That’s what opens the doors.“

Lila gulped and thought about sneaking in with the next guest. But no such luck. Security made sure one person entered at a time.

As the security guard moved to push Lila back into the crowd of fans, Lila cried out that she knows Ladybug and Gabriel.

Guard: what’s your point?

Lila: You’ll be fired for this!

Guard: Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard this all before.

Another guard just scoffed. “You’re only a model. One of many in the industry. Miss Mode doesn’t care for models.”

Lila: what are models if not the face of fashion?

“Spoiled, stupid little stick figures with poofy lips who think only of themselves” Edna herself was at the entrance, wondering what was causing the disruption in her guest entrance flow.

Lila: How can you say that? Then why would Ladybug be my Best Friend?

Edna: the day Ladybug says she is your Best Friend is the day I wear crocs. And I don’t mean crocodile leather.

Edna points at a random guard. “You, get this so-called model out of the way. She is blocking the queue.

Oh by the way, Edna calling out Lila was caught on camera by the reporters.

One of them questioned why she was kicking out Gabriel’s muse when his son, a supermodel himself, was invited.

Edna: I did not invite the boy because of his face. I invited him because I saw potential (basically she realized he was Chat Noir. She would never invite Adrien otherwise. As seen from her quote, she doesn’t have a high opinion of models) That is, if he ever gets out of his father’s shadow. Because, let’s face it darling, what can Adrien do besides look pretty and play with swords and piano? You would think the boy would be in part of business meetings, but no. At this rate, Gabriel needs this gala to get out of that stuffy house. Realize that maybe his parenting methods are flawed compared to some other talented figures here. Look at Miss Kagami, focused on upholding her family legacy of fencing. MDC already knows how to run her own business after learning a bit from her parents. Even Audrey’s daughter has been joining in on becoming a fashion critic and throwing parties for political parties. But I must go, my guests await.

Back inside the party, guests were avoiding a seething Gabriel’s eyes. He had come to scout out the superhero guests, only to be called out by Edna on live tv.

Marinette went up to Edna and asked one of her fashion idols why she burned the Agrestes in public.

Edna: do you think Gabriel would change his parenting ways if we did not expose them to the influential figures of this industry, as well as the public eye? I guarantee you Adrien will be allowed more freedom of choice, lest Gabriel wants his son to be known as a coddled boy who can’t even make his own decisions.

Edna didn’t bother softening her sharp voice as she says these words.

Adrien flushed.

Quickly changing the subject, Marinette asked why Edna hated models.

Edna: it’s not that I hate them personally. I just hate their jobs and what they represent. Models nowadays are beautiful only according to the world standards. People who see them want to be like them, never mind that the models they see on the screen are airbrushed to unrealistic and impossible perfection. Now models focus only on their own appearance, trying to maintain their beauty as time ages them. They go on diets and become superficial. Whereas outside the modelling industry or such like, you don’t need to be stereotypically beautiful to be worthy. Where your worth is measured in kindness and bravery and talent and intelligence and anything beyond superficiality.

Adrien overheard and he frowned, not liking the idea where his appearance on ads is not exactly right. He only joined the company to make his father happy. But maybe it’s time he stepped into the business side of things and exit the modelling world. Bonus: no more Lila!

Edna snorted, “Though I must admit Gabriel surprised me with his newest model. Her attitude is lousy but she doesn’t strike me as a model. She just doesn’t have that model walk. But enough about the old man, my dear MDC, let’s talk about you. I love your gender-neutral line. And was wondering if you would like to join me in creating my next line of clothes for the Incredibles. A rare opportunity but I like style. Now take this offer before I change my mind.”

Marinette: wait, do I have to fly over or-

Edna: you are too excited, darling, but don’t worry, my assistants will send you the details.

Why are the Incredibles getting a new look? The kids are growing up and Edna wanted to move on to new styles.

As Marinette was flabbergasted, Audrey congratulated her for landing the job. Kagami and Adrien also beamed at her good fortune.

Even the Incredibles admitted they looked forward to working with her. Violet was a big fan.

Gabriel was seething and thought about akumatizing himself but come on, one villain against a room of superheroes? No thanks.

Drinking a glass of wine, he eventually admits that Edna had a point, however loudly and rudely it had been announced.

He would not be around forever and he wanted to leave the company in Adrien’s hands. In order for that to happen, his son needs to know business (if he can’t design, he can hire designers)

And yes, Lila was a lousy model. She survived by shooting with professional models who managed to overpower her mediocre work. But a deal was a deal. Besides, her contract was only for a year.

After the gala, Adrien happily quit modelling (aka Lila) to spend more time with his father, learning about how to run a company.

Marinette and Edna proudly claimed credit for the fashionable Incredibles.

Violet also became the talk of the school for her MDC exclusives.

Lila had been humiliated on air. Alya hesitated but finally did her research. At the end, she collapsed over the ruined credibility of her blog. But she can still get revenge by informing the principal, Ms Bustier and Mrs Rossi what Lila lied about. The perks of being a class vice president for a busy class president is that she also has the contacts list for emergencies.

Considering how Lila framed Marinette, there would be no suspension or detention. Only expulsion. Good luck finding a new school when Edna’s gala was a global topic.

When Lila returned to school for her last week (it takes time to gather evidence and get the attention of busy adults), nobody wanted to talk to her or even exchange glances. She quietly kept to herself, hoping for this to blow over soon. She was still a model working for Gabriel. She could befriend other supermodels (as if. Like they would want to befriend her after Edna called her out)

Hell, even her jobs were down. Gabriel just told her to take test shoots to fill up her portfolio until the hype died down (aka her contract expired)

When Lila was expelled, she was ready to be akumatized into Chameleon again. Except one problem. Everyone avoided her like hell so how could she kiss her target. Even Adrien was told to stay away lest his reputation be tarnished.

Ok, I admit it. I was hit by “I’m no Angel” quotes as I wrote this. But seriously, does anyone feel weird at the idea of trying to become thinner when your weight is just right, all the while you know there are people out there even thinner than you are and are starving, not because they want to be stereotypically thin, but because they cannot afford food?

#miraculous ladybug fanfic #miraculous ladybug fic #ml fanfic #ml fanfiction #ml fic #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #Lila is exposed #Lila gets exposed #everyone knows Marinette is MDC #post ladybug episode #post episode ladybug #Gabriel salt #ml salt fic

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aquanova99 · 2 years

Note

When I tell you that I am sleepy, im telling you I typed this ask twice in the search bar. 😫

Have you given your in-depth thoughts on Esme before? Thanks to many in the fandom yourself included, I’ve grown to like Jane, Rosalie, and Leah. I wanna love the women so bad (minus Alice). But tell me, do you think Steph just did her dirty? Do you think she’s a doormat? Is there something in her that you like that I can’t see yet? She’s gorgeous, but her characterization is hard to want to defend.

I have to agree with you anon, love Elizabeth Reaser but Esme seems to be lacking. Its no ones fault but SMeyers, but we are just not given enough. And what we do get is pretty strange.

I don't necessarily see Esme as a doormat but as someone who needs is clinging to this illusion of a perfect family. She's a stay at home mom for kids who don't eat, don't make too much of a mess and don't need to be coddled/cuddled. What on earth is she doing all day? They don't even have any dust to shed, so she cannot be cleaning endlessly. Does she just watch daytime soap operas and Ellen? She doesn’t even have a car, I’m so serious it’s in the illustrated guide. She can’t even pretend to be human. I mean we know her control isn’t great so it’s probably for the best but still, give her a minivan for gods sakes. As another woman with a terrifying tragic backstory, you would think there was more depth but the more you peel back on Esme we just get nothing? No thoughts head empty kind of vibe. I say this because upon trying to find exactly what chapter it was (Eclipse CH 9 btw) Esme suggests that a vampire might be in Bellas room because they are curious about the Cullens and they might not have any bad intentions. Ma'am, your future daughter in law is walking safety hazard to herself, please get it together, no random vampire is going to come in a humans room looking for more vampire friends.

She also does not seem to care for human life as much as the Cullens all say they do, since we see in Midnight Sun that when Carlisle sent Esme to try and get her to tell Edward he should stay away from Bella, Esme is perfectly fine with him eating her if it makes Edward happy and less stressed. I--

And while we are on Edward, there does seem to be that weird boy mom energy with him. She tells Bella hes the best out of all the Cullens, like her other "children" aren't right there??? I mean most likely Edward reminds him of the son she lost and what he may have turned out to be, but Edward is quite literally a weirdo. But at least if SMeyer had dug into that maybe it would have made her character more interesting. Instead she is given the ability to love? I just dont really get that. Shes also more than happy, and not at all triggered by Ragdoll. Bella is the hero once again because her daughter (that she never takes care of) has given Esme, and Rosalie the fulfilment of the baby they lost or never had.

I would have loved if after Bella took Rigatoni, she pulls Carlisle aside and says she needs some time away because shes realizing that it isnt her baby and it never will be. And the sped up process probably would hurt her too.

There isnt really anything to hate about her, she is the only Cullen besides Carlisle that doesnt call Jacob and the rest of the Quileute's dogs or mutts, so she does get some bonus points there. I think my biggest disdain of hers is how much she enables Edward. Not in the way Alice does, just in the way that he can seem to do no wrong. Rosalie even calls herself and the others substitutes. Which is so sad, but Esme is only like 26, so the Cullens probably cant fit into the ' i need to protect these babies at all costs,' it probably breaks the illusion. Which is why I imagine Edward, a boy that was probably skin and bones about to die of the flu probably brings out her maternal side, he is going to be permanently look like a sick child that needs her care, because as much as everyone loves Rob, Edward was only 17. A sick, almost dead 17 year old boy from the 1900's, mans was itty bitty (theory???that thats why Bella also was drawn to him, since she always feels like she has to take care of people)

Honestly, I think I wrote her as an unhinged antagonist once because I feel like she could be in the right circumstances, but because of the lack of information she could go either way. She's just another character we have to like because she likes Bella. Even then, its always to serve Bella. I have my own headcanons on how she should be because in the end, if we go by SMEYERS CANON then we know that the mindset you die in, is the mindset you stay in. Meaning Esme should be terrified of being intimate with a man even if it is Carlisle. Probably more so since her first husband was so charming until he wasnt. She should be in a state of constant depression because she literally unalived herself. But she was turned and wheee I get to be with the man I had a crush on when I was a teenager (we are not digging that up) and wheee I get to be a mom to an angsty emo child.

To give her some hope, I will say that its all a trauma response, which should be plausible thanks to canon but in my world it can. But boy, getting her to open up to some kind of vampire therapist and who knows what they could find.

#aquas asks #esme cullen

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thran-duils · 3 years

Text

I Crave Annihilation (P.3)

Title: I Crave Annihilation (Part Three) Summary: Fem!Reader x Mafia!Dark Tony Stark. Tony works for the reader’s very influential politician father moving guns and drugs. She starts flirting with him and he is returning the vibes. She moves into her own place out of her parent’s house and texts him to come save her from a house party. Smut ensues. Words: 3,069 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Smut, HUGE age difference, angst, violence, infidelity, possessive behavior

Part Two || Part Four || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

“He’s here,” your mother whispered in your ear as you rinsed the dishes from the counter.

You had gone immediately into the house instead of into the back yard, Gabriel following you inside. He had held out the food he had brought to her and she thanked him. The two of you got under her skin when you two got together at these things but she loved him deeply. He was one of your best friends still. He had walked off towards the liquor cabinet when your mum approached to whisper to you.

“I know,” you told her, not taking your eyes off the dishes.

“Have you seen him?”

“No. I came straight in here. Jackson went out there though. I’m sure Steve will be all too ready to point out to Tony who he is.”

Your mother looked at you worriedly, “Has Steve been bothering you?”

“No. I just know he’s keeping tabs.”

“’Keeping tabs’…” she muttered, shaking her head. “You cannot let him get back underneath your skin.”

“Mum, he’s always been under my skin. I feel I’ve just been trying to fill a void.” You noticed the way she was looking at you and you shrugged, “It’s why I don’t want to go out there. Because I’ll see him… And…”

She shook her head and said crossly, “I told you… I warned you.”

“Are you really going to blame me for feeling this way? You still ended up with dad.” She faltered and you said, “No, I put that together a long while ago. Dad is twelve years older than you!”

“That’s different.”

You reached forward and turned the water off, to stand up and face her fully. “That’s different? Then why did you bring it up that night when you found us?”

“He’s almost twenty years older than you!”

“And?”

“Don’t you love Jackson?”

“Of course I do!”

“Then why would you even entertain the idea?” she sounded exasperated.

“You and dad are more similar to me and him than you are giving me credit for.”

Your mum snapped, “No, I know that. You just have a chance with Jackson.”

“You seem perfectly fine,” you hissed back at her.

“Money softens the blow, Y/N. It doesn’t solve everything.”

“I’m sorry for you that you’ve been miserable for so long.”

“I’m not miserable.”

“You are sure sounding like it!”

“I just… Jackson is good. Jackson treats you like an equal! Yes, I’m happy with your father but I wish he would also treat me like I was his partner rather than just his wife. Jackson gives you that. Tony wouldn’t!”

You paused before asking, “Is that why you were gone all the time?”

“What?” she asked, giving you a shocked look.

“You were always gone. It was always just me and dad. Or me and the nanny.” She opened her mouth to say something but apparently she could not think of anything and she closed it again. You sighed, “It was always me and dad… you were always gone. On some trip. Just at a spa retreat. I never had you around until suddenly in my teens when you realized I had blossomed.”

“Because I had to protect you.” She sounded so self-righteous.

“And you did for years. From the sidelines. Since I was what, 14?” You straightened up seeing Gabriel was coming back from the other room and said quickly and quietly, “I’m going to steer clear of him as much as I can, mum. If that’s what you’re worried about. I do love Jackson.”

Gabriel said, “Mom, I found your favorite rum! Should we make daiquiris?”

Donning a perfect mask and pulling away from you, your mum said, “That sounds lovely, Gabriel.”

With a wink, Gabriel said, “That’s what I always try to be for you. You’re my favorite.”

“Suck up,” your mother teased, shooting another glance at you before walking away and following him to the blender. “There are strawberries in the fridge, love.”

<><><>

“Well, she’s here,” Steve said, before taking a long drag of his cigarette. “At least somewhere because Jacksons here.�� He pointed in the general direction quick. Tony looked Jackson over and simpered. Steve smirked in return and said, “Yeah, that’s the competition.”

“He makes her happy though according to you which is pretty big competition,” Tony replied, bringing his own cigarette up to his lips and taking a long drag.

The two of them shut up as Bucky and Sam came back to the table. Bucky had been in prison with Tony as well as Thor and he had not had to confide to them about the relationship because Steve had been on the outside keeping an eye on Y/N for him. They fell back into conversation sans her for a while.

Then Y/N walked out with another guy. He drank her in slowly. She had aged, obviously. But she was still as gorgeous as ever. His eyes ran up her body, trailing over her short, high waisted shorts. He saw she was looking at him and she quickly looked away, turning her attention to the guy at her side again. Tony cocked his head, recognition coming on.

“Is that…” he said to Steve under his breath. Steve looked at Tony for an explanation and Tony said, “That guy from that bar. That one time.”

“Yep. Gabriel. They’ve been friends since college. You think Jackson is gonna be the problem to get her alone? No, it’s going to be Gabriel.” He stopped for a moment before chuckling and saying louder so Bucky and Sam could hear to not arouse suspicion about their whispering, “And Rebecca is already on them.”

“How do you mean?” Tony asked, watching Rebecca stop on a dime and turn back to stare them whispering between each other.

“They always get into trouble,” Steve explained. “One year, she asked Y/N to help her with the food and she was already too drunk to do it and she paid one of her friend’s to do it because her and Gabriel had already been day drinking. They took Molly another year. Gabriel fell off the table he was dancing on and rolled his ankle. Last year… they took some shrooms and disappeared for hours and Rebecca found them in the far back lying amongst the rocks, still high off their asses watching the stars.” He snorted seeing her point at the two of them threateningly. “Yet, she coddles the shit out of him and loves him to death. Look at them and their matching daiquiris.”

<><><>

He had sunglasses on but the way his head was pointed, you knew he was looking at you. Fuck. He had an undercut now, nice glasses, and his shirt unbuttoned, leaning back in the chair without a care. You made sure you did not linger too long on him before turning your eyes away. But you knew it had already been a couple seconds too long no matter how long it was because as soon as he had you in his sights, and he knew he had you, that was endgame.

Gabriel was there and tugged on your arm. He pulled you towards the covered area with the grills where your dad and Thor were cooking. He looked in his element, fresh out of prison and enjoying doing this again.

“I got some…” Gabriel caught your attention again. He gestured snorting and your eyebrows rose in response and he grinned. “When do you wanna?”

“I don’t know if we should though….” you said trailing off, shooting a quick look and finding Tony still watching you. You should be on your toes tonight… but maybe it would make it that much easier to just brush it off if something did happen…

“What? Come on! This is the perfect time! There’s a lot of people around and it’s not like—”

“What are you two whispering about?” your mum asked, startling the two of you. She saw you two jump too before looking at her and she leveled the two of you with a threatening glare. She was carrying a plate of cut vegetables in one hand, her drink in the other, obviously about to go put them out on one of the tables.

“Nothing, mum,” you and Gabriel said in unison.

“What?” you asked innocently when she was still silent after a couple moments.

“I don’t trust either of you. Not after last year.”

Right. The shrooms. And she had found the two of you lying between two of the rocks in the back part of the garden, giggling, half naked.

“I sincerely apologize for that. Still. Can I send you a third bouquet of orchids?” Gabriel said, giving her a curt bow, smiling sheepishly. He held up his drink at her in surrender.

Your mum’s mouth twitched ever so slightly, holding back a smile. She adored Gabriel but she did mean business. She did not want to babysit again this year. Her finger left her glass and she pointed between the two of you and said, “No funny business this year. Especially you, Y/N. Keep your head on straight.”

You held back a scowl at the comment. Gabriel looked confused for a moment and you said as she walked off, “She’s right. I should just stick to drinks.”

“Bitch, I—”

“I’ll do it with you next weekend, Promise! We should give her a break for one year.”

Gabriel groaned and took a long drink of his daiquiri. “Fine! I’ll go ask Jackson to share his bud. Buzzkill! Both of you!”

<><><>

In your old bedroom that you and Jackson were going to sleep in, you tore your shirt off and your swim suit top, tossing them carelessly on the bed. It was getting cold outside and you were ready to change into your pajamas and a sweatshirt. You heard the door open and close behind you as you reached for your pajama top. Without turning around, you said, “I thought you guys were going to stay in the hot tub for a little bit longer.”

“Your hair is different.”

Whipping around, holding your shirt up against your bare chest, you found Tony standing there, hands in his pockets. He was blocking your way to the door, looking confident as ever. Prison had only given him time to work out, as you could plainly see from his open shirt, and apparently had done nothing for his domineering personality. He was still bold as ever, showing up here in your room knowing you were changing when your husband was outside.

“Tony!” you hissed, mortified. “Get out!”

He smirked at your attempt to shield your nudeness from him. “I haven’t seen it in a very long time, but still, is there really any reason to be modest around me? I mean, I’ve been in every hole—”

“Shut up!” you told him furiously – embarrassed, really –, turning away from him, and throwing your shirt over your head. You heard him move and you turned back around quickly finding him closing the space between the two of you and you stood your ground. “You shouldn’t be in here!”

He cocked his head, his face scrunched in vexation. “So, you’ve only been teasing me all night?”

“’Teasing’? What are you going on about?” you said, trying to play dumb.

“Sweet pea, your sneaky glances and putting yourself in my line of sight did not go unnoticed. You’re not subtle, not to me. We played that game for years if you care to recall. Almost three to be exact. The only thing I regret is not going in for you sooner so we would’ve had more time together in the sack. I had a plethora of memories to dive into while I was incarcerated but shit, I would’ve enjoyed more.” He stepped closer and this time you did take a step back and you did not miss his fleeting amusement. He leaned in closer and said, “I know your games and your little tantalizing behaviors.”

The drunker you had gotten throughout the night, the more you found yourself slipping into your old ways. He was correct about that history between the two of you. That first night you had seen him when you were in the pool and since then, you had always tried to be in his sights and it had paid off for you. Tonight, you had found yourself drawn back, adjusting your swimsuit where you knew he could see and sitting in the chairs where he could keep his eye on you. It had been a conscious decision. You hated yourself for it, how much you craved him and his attention still. You were stuck between the life you currently were leading and being dragged back into your relationship with him. Stealing those glances to see if he was looking had only fueled the fire more because he had been watching you like a hawk. Every time you had looked his way, especially when it had gotten dark and his glasses had come off, you caught him always watching your movement. He had looked hungry, just like he looked now.

What your mother said came back to you then, remembering how Jackson treated you versus how she believed – and you knew deep down – Tony would. You hated you wanted Tony so badly and simultaneously craved the partnership you had with Jackson.

“I’m sorry if you got the wrong idea, but Tony, I’m married now,” you said, mustering more calm in your tone than you actually felt.

Tony looked tickled by that response and you gritted your teeth, knowing he was going to brush you off. And he did. “Yeah, I’m happy he was keeping you well and safe for me. You look amazing. I am beyond impressed.” He raised his hand, his hand ghosting down your side to grip at your waist. You tried to flinch away, but his other hand shot up and held you on your other side, preventing you from moving back. His thumbs caressed as he told you, “But you’re still mine, don’t act like you’ve forgotten.”

“You can’t just order me to divorce my husband!” you told him defensively.

“Who said anything about divorce so soon?” Tony chuckled. It was foreboding the way he said ‘so soon’. It was all too clear where he wanted this to go. “I was just starting out with the courteous approach of inserting myself into the situation. Letting it play out.”

God, you hated his ego but fuck if you were not responding in like. Still, you fought against it and tried to hide it. “’Courteous’. Cute, Tony.” You leaned in and said, “If you want tits and pussy, you can go on the Boulevard. It’s about twenty minutes away.”

You pushed his hands down away from you and started to turn away, to reach for your sweatshirt. But his grasp was tight on your arm, yanking you back roughly. You gasped as your noses brushed, before he let you go back a couple inches. You smelled the bourbon on his breath, something you used to relish in.

“I’m not fucking around, Y/N. You’re coming back to me,” he growled. He pulled away even more and looked at you disappointed. He shook his head slightly and said, “You didn’t even come visit.”

That cut deep, unexpected by you. He actually looked hurt.

“I couldn’t! You know I couldn’t leave the state without—”

His demeanor changed in the blink of an eye, again.

“No, this is where you zip it. Okay? The adult is talking,” Tony snapped, his fingers digging into your arm. He melted you right back down to the naïve girl you had been. “You’ve had your fun. Seven years of it actually while I was rotting away in a cell. I’m glad you got to make house and have good dick. And by glad, I mean I am monumentally fucking pissed off.” The words spit like venom. “I had to sit there day after day thinking about how you just threw it away, so easily. I was so disappointed in you, precious. How you could just leave me there like that, after all I did for you?”

Pitifully, you started, “Tony, you’re scaring—”

“Oh, don’t use that as an excuse! Don’t play victim! It’s not cute, Y/N. Stop wasting both our time. You know you want it as bad as I do. I get you feel guilty about your little husband but he was just a placeholder until I got back.” His eyes flashed and his hand left your arm, wrapping around your waist to hold you close. His eyes ran over your face and he leaned like he was going to kiss you and you blinked, watching him closely. He stopped himself at the last second though, running his tongue along his lips. His hand slipped down to your ass, cupping. “I want you around me so badly. So badly. I’ve dreamt about that cunt for years.” Your heart picked up pace. “I’ve dreamt about having you for so long, precious. Don’t deny me this. Not after everything I went through. Especially without you there for comfort.”

You were quiet, your lips parted in surprise, staring at him. His fingers flexed on your back after a few moments at your silence. His tone was firm when he told you, “You’re getting in that Uber with me. You understand me?”

An Uber? He was going to make you leave here?

“We can’t just leave. My mum—”

“Yeah, your mom is passed out. Or should be soon.”

“What? I--”

“She likes her daiquiris way too much and opioids.” Tony snorted and added with a laugh, “Giving you shit for having sex and she can’t even stay sober.” He got closer again and said, “And your husband is way too high, he’s gonna pass out soon. I’m sure we can make a story up between now and whenever his ass wakes up. I have a lot of time to make up for, so the longer you stand in front of me like a fish gaping at me, the more time you wasted. I’m already ordering the ride as soon as I can take my hands off you.” He squeezed his hand once more on your ass before telling you, “What you craved in us you won’t find in him. If you did, you wouldn’t still be standing here.”

~~~

Forever tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld

Fic tags: @buttercandy16 @esistmon @flawra16

#tony stark x reader #dark tony stark #dark!tony stark #mob tony stark #dark marvel fic #dark marvel #my shit

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seokmingiggles · 4 years

Text

powdered sugar.

@ofrosesandteacups requested on 201220: "Would you do a fluff Yoongi one shot where he goes home for the holidays with his girlfriend for the first time (but he's previously met her family when they've come for a short visit) and although he's nervous, he finds that since his girlfriend is the youngest of her family with a wide age gap between her and her siblings (like 8 years older) she gets babied by them/gets them to do things for her by being cute/whining which he's seen bits of in Seoul but she usually independent and tends to take care of him and the rest of the boys so he teases her for it? Also I really enjoyed 'Comfortable' and I'm excited for whatever else you create!"

Pairing: Min Yoongi x female reader

Genre: fluff, established relationship, holiday season.

1.85k words

Warnings: brief mentions of alcohol consumption, (dialogue heavy).

On the drive home from your parent's Christmas Eve dinner with the rest of your family, your boyfriend enjoys hearing you whine as he reminds you of the way you're coddled by your older siblings. Later on, he continues to pamper you when you return home. Alternatively, Yoongi wants to baby you every once in a while because you're just so darn cute.

A/N: Thank you for the request (and for all the support you've shown for me so far)! This one was a bit tricky for me to think about since I am the eldest of my family. I tried to put myself in my step-sister's shoes (who is younger than me by nine years) to come up with how the reader would feel being the youngest. I hope it turned out okay! I kind of made it turn into something else near the end (it felt like I was around 600 words for a long time, and then it suddenly became 1.8k). Please enjoy :)

•• "Wait, no, when Jun got hit when we opened the champagne! That was the highlight of dinner, I swear. My cousin is hilarious."

You laughed again just picturing your tall relative hiding in the corner of the kitchen behind your (much smaller) aunt, but still getting the cork to his head despite his efforts.

"Yeah, Junhui is something else, that's for sure," Yoongi grinned, keeping his eyes trained on the road ahead of him. One of his hands was on the steering wheel, while the other encased in yours. "Do you want to know my favourite part about seeing your family again?"

You glanced over at your boyfriend, interested in what his opinion was, "I bet it was the turkey my mom made. I know you love her cooking."

"Well, yes, that's a given," Yoongi silently thanked your mom again when he remembered the delicious care package she put together before you left, "but actually, I love seeing how different you act when you're surrounded by your siblings."

"I should have known." You rolled your eyes despite knowing he wouldn't see the action under the passing streetlights.

"It's true! I keep forgetting you're the youngest when it's just you and me. You always insist on taking care of me and asking how I'm doing, so it's funny to see your siblings pull that stuff on you when you're all together." Your boyfriend's face was illuminated crimson from the traffic light. He glanced at you, "You're the baby. The little, tiny baby-"

"Ah, stop it!" You smacked his hand situated on your lap.

"Be careful, (Y/N)-ie, that dish just came out of the oven!" Yoongi ignored your gentle warning and continued to tease, quoting what your siblings had said earlier, "Let me do it. You can go sit down at the table."

"Now you're just as bad as them, Yoon."

The light turned green.

"You just rile them up when you walk around all cute and pouty. I'm scared to open the champagne bottle. Can someone else do it for me, please?" Now he was quoting you.

"And I had the right to be scared of it! You saw how it hit Jun's forehead!" You still couldn't get over how the cork managed to find him. "Are you telling me that I'm not normally that cute around you?"

Yoongi scoffed, "You already know I think you're cute. It's just that you're so different around your family."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No, not at all. But it catches me off guard. They're all so cautious about their youngest doing things on her own." Another stoplight. "But little do they know what a big girl their baby sister has become!"

He had the audacity to poke your cheek as he laughed; a cold sensation on your skin warmed from the champagne—you’d had both yours and Yoongi's portion as the boy knew he'd have to drive you both home afterwards.

"Yoongi," you dragged out, "please! I could be teasing you at how stiff you were when you first walked through the door tonight."

"That's not the same."

"Isn't it? It's nice to see you again, Mr. (L/N). I swear you corrected your posture as soon as my dad opened the door."

Now Yoongi was whining out a complaint.

"They like you already; my family has for a while. I don't know why you still act so proper around them."

"I'm only being a good son-in-law."

"Say that again after you propose, Min."

"Yes, ma'am."

You finally were met with silence, a nice change from your boyfriend's loving teasing. You leaned your head against the top of the passenger seat and watched the colourful lights pass by. The radio was quietly playing in the background; a Christmas hymn barely heard over the noisy car, crunching over the gravelled-down streets.

"Do you want me to propose?"

You almost missed Yoongi's words from your ears being tuned to the gentle orchestral arrangement playing from the speakers.

"Of course I do," you cooed. "I love you, so yes. Without a doubt, one day, when we both feel ready to take that step."

"You know we've been together for years now, (Y/N). It'll be our sixth in the spring. Maybe it was because I saw your siblings with their spouses tonight; it got me thinking about it all. Your eldest sister already has a daughter too." He paused, eyes still focussed on the snowy road, "It made me wonder if you'd want that too someday. With me."

You couldn't help the smile that formed across your face at picturing a lifetime with the boy next to you. You squeezed Yoongi's hand intertwined with your own.

"That sounds perfect, Yoongi. Any future with you sounds perfect."

The car finally reached its designated parking spot in front of your condominium unit. Yoongi put the vehicle in park and removed the keys, but you both remained in your seats with hands still laced together.

You turned your head to the side to see Yoongi already giving you a fond gaze.

"I love you," he whispered. Anything louder would seem deafening under the delicate snowflakes beginning to fall, instantly melting as they hit the glass of the car's windows. "Merry Christmas, (Y/N)."

"Merry Christmas, Yoongi. I love you too."

The two of you exited the car and collected the cards and small presents arranged in the backseat that your family so graciously handed to you after dinner. Of course, also not forgetting the leftovers your boyfriend was so enthusiastic about too.

You unlocked the door to your home as Yoongi had the assorted gifts held tightly to his chest with the oversized Tupperware of food in his hands, carrying it like some prized possession.

He walked over to the small decorated tree in your living room to add the few new additions of prettily wrapped boxes beneath the shrubbery after dropping the food in the fridge on his way. He plugged in the lights and admired the way the tree sparkled.

He found himself looking beneath the tree at one small box in particular. "Hey, could I give you a gift tonight, love?"

You were in the entryway hanging up your jackets and putting away your boots. Once finished, you made your way to see Yoongi sat on the floor next to the tree: his portrait glowing from the gleaming lights.

You smiled at the view; your boyfriend never failed to take your breath away. "I don't know, technically it's not Christmas yet."

"It will be in ten minutes."

"Hm, I suppose I can let it slide just this once."

You made your way closer to Yoongi, taking a seat in front of him on the carpet.

"Can you close your eyes for me?"

You obliged his request, but quipping, "Your idea of a gift that can't wait until tomorrow better not be a kiss, Min Yoongi."

You felt a soft peck on your lips.

"You know me too well, love."

But you also felt something small placed in your hands.

"You can open your eyes now."

As your eyes fluttered back open, revealed to you was a small box. It was no bigger than your palm; black velvet with a forest green ribbon decorating it, turning into a delicate bow resting on its top.

You looked back up at Yoongi, who only nodded his head to encourage you to open it.

Pulling at the ribbon, your breath hitched when you carefully opened the lid.

It was a necklace. In the shape of a heart, it looked even more golden from the warm-toned twinkling lights of the tree next to you.

"Yoongi, it's beautiful," you gasped, already removing it from its container.

"It's a locket," your boyfriend commented, taking it from your smaller hands so he could show you.

Upon opening it, you were met with two small photos on each half of the heart. The left side had a tiny family photo with you, your parents, and your siblings at your graduation a few years back, and the other side contained an old photo of you and Yoongi around the time you first started dating.

You almost felt like crying; the gesture was so thoughtful.

"Your mom found these photos buried away and gave a few to me. I know how much your family means to you, so that's why I chose this one," he pointed to the one with you grinning in your cap and gown and smushed in the middle of a hug by your siblings, "and I'm fairly certain that I also mean a lot to you, so I wanted to include a photo of us." Yoongi brushed his thumb against the right half of the heart housing your younger faces.

"This is the most thoughtful gift I've ever received, Yoongi." You released your grip on the velvet box and moved to embrace the boy, "I can't thank you enough. You're so wonderful to me."

"Merry Christmas, my love," Yoongi returned the hug, smiling into the top of your head. "Would you like my help to put it on?"

You reluctantly let go and sat in front of him once again. "I think you've spent too much time around my siblings, Yoon. You know you don't have to treat me like a baby the way they all do. I'm capable of doing things myself even if they say otherwise."

"I know you can, (Y/N), but you're my baby. I think there are different rules. Here, let me help you."

You sighed with a smile and shook your head at Yoongi's persistence, but turned around in your spot nonetheless. He carefully maneuvered the necklace around you, fiddling with the clasp until the sides hooked together properly.

You spent a little while longer in the gentle ambiance of the decorated tree and watched the dainty snowflakes fall from the sky. It was past midnight now; the world was quiet. Silenced by the powdered sugar fragments drifting down from the heavens and covering the earth in a blanket of icing white.

You fiddled with the chain around your neck, leaning back into Yoongi's warm chest, having moved from your spot on the floor and to the couch.

You felt him press a kiss onto the back of your head, his protective hold around you tightening ever so slightly. Maybe it was from the coziness being in Yoongi's arms, or possibly from the big dinner you had a few hours ago—you felt yourself beginning to drift off, not fighting the all-encompassing tranquillity.

It was only at the sound of your breathing becoming heavier when Yoongi realized the predicament he found himself in. He smiled, wanting to coo at how cute you looked asleep in his arms, but he chose not to wake you.

Instead, he planned on bugging you about it when you inevitably woke up, saying something about how his little baby didn't even make it to the bed because she was so tired.

Yes, like your siblings, you were his baby too. Until you had your own, and maybe even after then as well, you'd be his baby.

••

#min yoongi #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi fluff #min yoongi imagines #yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi fluff #yoongi imagines #bts #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts imagines #bts fanfic #request

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hotchley · 3 years

Text

i’m not bulletproof

Jesus Christ why am I so dramatic? Okay, my laptop is very close to dying, so I am cross-posting this, hotchner’s hoodie and the waiting game, then I will be gone... until tonight

Umm... yeah. This was my second fic. It’s literally for my pinned because I’m dramatic </3

Trigger Warnings: referenced child abuse, canon-typical violence, violence towards children and references to child deaths, suicide

read on ao3!

It started, not with a case, but with an argument.

Jack wanted to go to a party. Hotch said no. He said no because it wasn’t safe, and the party was taking place on a school night, which meant Jack had to be in bed by ten at the absolute latest. He had hoped that by calmly and softly explaining his reasons for not letting Jack go, his son would understand why he was being told no and accept it with the same grace and dignity that he accepted most things in life.

Unfortunately, his son was a hormonal teenager muddling their way through puberty. And instead of accepting he couldn’t go, he kept pressing and asking why. On the third day of being asked, Hotch got irritated and raised his voice slightly, it became an argument.

“I just don’t understand why you never let me do anything,” Jack complained.

Hotch looked up from the budget report. He hadn’t wanted to bring work home- a remnant of the life he had once shared with Haley, but it needed to be done and he had wanted to spend time with Jack. With hindsight, it probably would’ve been better to stay at the office and let him stay with Jessica to calm down.

“I let you do plenty of things that aren’t irresponsible or dangerous Jack,” he replied calmly.

“But this party isn’t going to be irresponsible or dangerous, it’s just a bunch of teenagers. And doesn’t it count for something that I told you about it? I could’ve just snuck out the house and let you wonder where I’d gone,” Jack said, wildly gesticulating.

He closed the file. “I appreciate you telling me, but my answer is no. You may be responsible, but not everyone is. I don’t want you being exposed to drugs and alcohol before you’re old enough to understand the effects it has on you.”

“You let me be exposed to death before I was old enough to understand what it meant,” Jack spat.

Hotch paled, all the blood leaving his body and turning him into a frozen statue, unable to move as the memory of Haley’s dark hair- of course it was dark, she’d gone into witness protection- spread out on the carpet like a halo and her eyes, still open but almost like the glass eyes of those dolls from that one case, haunted his memory.

“What?” his voice was soft, dangerously calm.

Jack crossed his arms over his chest. “You heard me. You’re telling me I can’t go to a party, but I was just down the hall when mom died because of you. I’m not a little kid anymore, and you can’t protect me from anything anymore.”

“I can still protect you from some things,” he whispered, not making eye contact. The colours of the folder started to blur together as his eyes filled with tears. It was a morbid thought, but Jack’s words felt like the thorns his mother would throw in his side when she was angry at her husband and needed to let go of the pain.

“Well maybe I don’t want you to.”

“Jack, I’m still your father.”

“Are you? You’re never home at a normal time, you don’t know who any of my friends are, you always go on cases and leave me with Aunt Jess. Mom died because of you and your stupid profiling, but you still always answer when Miss Jareau phones, and you still go all around the country like I don’t even matter.”

“Of course you matter to me Jack. I love you more than anything in this world. But a profiler who catches the bad guys is who I am and-”

“I’m not five years old anymore. You’re not a superhero. You’re just the man that got my mom pregnant and sometimes makes me mac and cheese for dinner.”

Jack stormed off to his room before Hotch could say another word. He didn’t go after him, knowing that was the last thing his son would want. Rationale told him Jack didn’t mean a word of what he had said, that he was just angry and hurt, but he couldn’t help but wonder if it was all true. Of course Jack knew how to hurt him, what child didn’t know what would upset their parents, but he was also right.

He wanted to go and hold his son, to let him go to the stupid party and tell him he would stop being a profiler, but he couldn’t. He felt frozen in place, unable to do anything more than bury his head in his hands and wonder where he fucked up.

Somehow he managed to get up and make them both something to eat- he went for stir fry instead of mac and cheese- before he went up to Jack’s room and knocked on the door.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” came the muffled response.

“I know you don’t. And I won’t make you.” I’m not your paternal grandfather, he thought. I won’t kick the door in and grab you by the back of your neck because you ran away. “I won’t let you starve though. Dinner is outside the door.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Hotch sighed. “Jack, please. I don’t want you to be angry at me.”

“And I want a real parent. We can’t always get what we want- isn’t that what you always say to me?”

Hotch had to step back, press a hand to the wall to stop himself from falling to his knees and crying. He wanted to tell Jack that wasn’t the way to speak to anyone, especially not an adult, but the words got lodged in his throat and he couldn’t speak, too scared of shouting or repeating the words his father had used the one time he had tried to fight back.

“I know,” he said instead, and walked back to the dining room. He pushed the plate he had set down away.

His work phone lit up with Dave’s name. He answered.

“Hotchner.”

“Is everything okay? JJ tried phoning you but apparently you didn’t answer all three times. She thought you were with me, and when I said you weren’t, everyone got a bit panicked. In fact Morgan is on his way right now.”

Hotch felt bad for making everyone worry, especially given what had happened last time he hadn’t answered his phone and they had gone and looked for him. “I’m sorry. Everything’s fine. Do we have a case?”

He cursed himself for being stupid. Dave wouldn’t call if they didn’t have a case, even if all he wanted was for that to happen. For Dave to call once they had both gone home, just because he wanted to talk about something random.

“Yeah. It’s bad. Three kids have already been buried, fourth was reported missing twenty minutes ago. JJ will brief us on the jet. Morgan said he’s going to pick you up.”

Hotch was not stupid. He knew why Dave had said buried instead of killed. And whilst he hated the coddling, he couldn’t help but appreciate that he never needed to speak when it was Dave.

“Okay. How far away is he? I need to call Jess.”

“Garcia said ten minutes. She’s coming with us by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“Aaron. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Hotch ignored the warm feeling that came whenever Dave said his first name. “I’m fine. I promise.” He hung up before his answer could be profiled.

He had a short, polite conversation with Jess, then went to Jack’s room. He knocked to the theme of Harry Potter- Jack’s new favourite book series, courtesy of Reid. Whenever Jack saw Spencer, he came home with a glint in his eyes and a whole new shelf worth of books. And when Hotch went to chastise Reid for spoiling his son, Reid would give him the happy puppy eyes and he would relent.

“Let me guess. Aunt Jess will be here in twenty minutes, and you’ll call everyday. And you’ll hopefully be back as soon as possible.”

“I’m sorry buddy.”

“Don’t go then.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Then don’t apologise.”

He didn’t have a response for that. Instead, he headed to his own room to change. He entered the code to the safe- the day Jack was born, the month he was born, the year Haley was born and holstered his weapons.

Before he left, he tried to say goodbye to Jack properly. The bedroom door was locked.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said. The only acknowledgement he received was a grunt.

Morgan texted, saying he was outside. Hotch sighed, schooled his features into a somewhat neutral expression and headed down to meet him.

“Thanks for picking me up,” he said, once they had started driving.

“No problem. I have to ask, why didn’t you answer?” Morgan responded. “And you know I don’t want to pressure you to talk or anything like that, but everyone was really scared. We thought something had happened. I mean, Rossi was ready to get everyone from the FBI to look for you.”

His stomach twisted. They weren’t meant to worry about him. “I’m sorry. I was with Jack.” It wasn’t a lie. And Morgan was respectful enough to not profile the truth.

They rode the rest of the way in silence.

“We’re heading to Boston,” JJ said, once they boarded the jet.

Hotch nodded, taking the file from her, ignoring the sick feeling in his stomach. Boston. One of those places he would never not associate with terror, blood and death. Just like Georgia. And Milwaukee.

“Over the past three months, three teen boys have gone missing from three different cities. They’re all pretty similar in appearance, all come from pretty similar backgrounds. All were found in their local parks. No evidence of torture or sexual assault. The only reason anyone made the connection was because of a conference, where two of the detectives spoke and realised something was up,” JJ explained.

Hotch nodded, feeling nauseous. He wished he had tried to force down some of his dinner. Then he opened the file and was suddenly glad he had skipped his meal.

For when he looked at the pictures, both from the crime scenes and of their smiling faces, all he could see was Jack. Dark blonde hair, light green eyes, wide smiles. He closed his eyes, focused on his breathing and looked back at the files. Focused on the victimology. Teenage boys, but no evidence of sexual assault. Mothers weren’t in the picture, either they had passed away or not received custody after the divorce. The fathers were all in high pressure jobs, most of them spending more time at the office than at home.

“Excuse me,” he said to no one in particular, heading to the toilet.

JJ gave him a concerned look but let him go without a word.

To keep up appearances, he flushed the toilet and let the tap run to make it seem like he had actually gone to the toilet, as opposed to stare at his own reflection- tired, old, broken, absent father- and remind himself to maintain some sort of control.

Rossi was stood on the other side of the door.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Hotch nodded, ignoring the taste of bile in his mouth. He didn’t want Rossi to worry about him. He didn’t want anyone worrying about him, but especially not his best friend. Because every time he did, it only served as a reminder of everything he wanted but couldn’t have. The day he realised he loved Rossi had been terrifying, for a number of reasons. He had told Haley by accident, and she had laughed and said he was probably the last one to realise. She had told him to go for it, but he had been a coward and refused. It was another broken promise he had made to her.

“Are you sure? Because you don’t look great. And you sounded distant on the phone.”

“I’m fine. It’s just a thing with Jack,” he confessed.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. I want to get to Boston and solve the case.”

He walked away, unable to stand the look in Dave’s eyes.

Things went from bad to worse when they landed. Hotch had gone with JJ to set up in the field office, only to find out that all four dads were already there and ready to give whatever information they needed to help the investigation. And with JJ talking to the detectives about how to handle the media, he was tasked with speaking to each of them.

He ignored the looks the officers gave him when he asked to speak to them in a conference room instead of an interrogation room. He knew none of them were responsible.

After speaking to each of them, and promising to do his best to find the person that had taken their children from them, and bring the last one back home safely, he felt a pit in his stomach and a migraine starting to form. He had no idea when he had last eaten, or drunk anything, but he also knew he couldn’t handle anything.

Talking to the parents had made it almost impossible to remain professional. He saw himself in each of the fathers. They had all been working when their sons were younger, never fully prepared to tackle fatherhood alone. They had all argued with their sons just minutes before they were taken. When Hotch asked them how they felt after they argued, they all responded with some version of the word bad. When he asked why, all parents argue, they told him they felt like their own parents. It had been like staring at a mirror.

“My son died thinking I hated him,” the third parent had whispered. “What kind of person does that make me?”

Hotch softened his gaze and his tone, clearing his throat before he replied. “Your son didn’t die thinking you hated him. You’re nothing like your own father. All children argue with their parents. He knew you loved him and you cannot blame yourself for what happened. We’ll find the man who did this and bring him to justice.”

The man had just nodded before leaving.

Hotch left the conference room, and was greeted by Rossi.

“Dave. I thought you were still at the M.E’s office.”

“We finished up there. You should listen to your own advice every once in a while.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, already brushing past him to go and talk to Prentiss about what they found at the last crime scene.

“Jack doesn’t hate you. No matter what he may say.”

Hotch turned, ready for an argument, when Rossi raised his hands in surrender.

“I didn’t profile you. But I am your friend. And the only thing that would make you this tense would be something with Jack.”

“Now is not the time to talk about it,” he hissed.

There hadn’t been any DNA found on the scene, which meant they only had a profile to go on. After a quick dinner, that he didn’t really eat, Hotch told everyone there was nothing more to do, and even if there was, they were all exhausted. Rather reluctantly, everyone headed back to the hotel, where it immediately became clear they would be doubling up.

“We can have a girl’s night!” Garcia exclaimed.

JJ and Prentiss laughed, but took the middle room, which for some unknown but helpful reason had three beds.

“Come on pretty boy, you can tell me all about that book you read on the way here,” Morgan said.

Reid’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

Morgan nodded, taking the cards and slinging an arm around Reid’s shoulder. Before they left, Hotch called out for him.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“We forgot his birthday. Listening to him is the least I could do.”

“Not just for that. Thank you for coming to check up on me as well.”

“Hotch, you may be a drill sergeant, but you’re still my friend. And JJ may have yelled at me after she found out what I said to you about trusting people. We’re cool man.”

He nodded. “Go, Reid’s practically exploding with excitement.”

“You going to stand there watching them all night, or are you going to get some well-deserved sleep?” Rossi teased, suddenly behind him and pressing a card into his hand.

“You seem awfully chipper for someone who hates sharing a room,” he said as they went to the elevator.

“I don’t mind when it’s you,” Rossi said.

Hotch blushed, ignoring the way the words made him feel, ignoring the look in Rossi’s eyes that left no room for doubt, ignoring the way his heart sped up and the lack of space between them as they were crammed into a tiny elevator.

They both dropped their bags down. Hotch immediately sat on the bed, knowing Dave would want to shower before he went to sleep. He smiled as his friend- because that was all he was, all he would ever be- left and opened up the case file. Yes, he had told everyone to go to sleep, but something was bugging him.

“You can at least loosen your tie,” Rossi teased from the doorway after he had showered.

Hotch turned and felt his throat go dry. He was only wearing a towel, hair still dripping. “I- what?”

“Tie. Loosen it. Actually, better yet, take it off. Go for a five minute shower. And then sleep.”

“Rossi, I can’t.”

“You can and you will. Don’t make me phone Jess and put Jack on the line.”

That convinced him to get a move on, but not for the reason Dave was smirking at.

There was so much blood everywhere, but he couldn’t work out where it was coming from. He couldn’t move. He was completely trapped, the weight of a body on top of his. There was a flash of something silver and then so much pain. He couldn’t show any fear, but the pain, oh the pain, it was so overwhelming that he couldn’t help but scream. All that existed in the broken home of his mind was that pain and the fear and the terror and that sudden, blood-curdling, chilling realisation that this was how things ended; this was how he was going to die. But someone was calling his name, who would be calling his name that urgently, Haley had Jack and-

“Aaron!” Dave yelled.

Hotch’s eyes flew open and he tried to kick the duvet away, only to find himself tangled in amongst the sheets and blanket and why couldn’t he move, why was it so dark, who was touching him, where was Jack- he was working the case, he needed to save him-

“Aaron, it’s Dave. You’re in a hotel room in Boston for a case. Jessica is at your apartment with Jack. Breathe with me.”

“Dave,” he whimpered.

“That’s right. That’s good. Just keep breathing. It was just a nightmare.”

“M’sorry for waking you up,” he murmured, clinging to Dave’s t-shirt like a lifeline.

“Nonsense Aaron. We all have nightmares. Remember what I told you all those years ago?”

He did. It had been the first case he had worked with the BAU that had involved victims of abuse. He and Dave had been sharing a room when Hotch had the first of many nightmares involving cases. Dave had woken him up, given him a glass of water and told him the nightmares reminded him he was human, that he felt, and however scary they were, however the case ended, they had done their best. There was nothing to be ashamed of.

“Yeah. That if I have a nightmare, I should remind myself of the people that love me and of all the good things I’ve done.”

“Good. So let me start off that list for you, because it’s a very long one. Jack.”

Hotch snorted. “He hates me. I told him he couldn’t go to a party because he’s not old enough and he said I wasn’t really his dad and that it was all my fault Haley was dead. I dreamt about him you know? Foyet. But it’s been two and a half years, I should be over this, shouldn’t I?”

“You’ve always been open with Jack. He knows what will hurt you, and that’s why he said those things. He’s angry. But he loves you. And as for Foyet? He stabbed you nine times. He killed your wife. You don’t ever have to move on, not if you don’t want to. But you have to learn to cope. Let us help you cope. Let me. I’m your friend.”

There was that word again. Friend. He hated it. He didn’t want Rossi to be his friend, not anymore, but how was he ever supposed to look him in the eye and confess that? It would ruin everything. Rossi would probably tell Strauss, who would fire him, and then he would have nothing.

“Yeah,” he ended up saying.

“Besides, every parent bans their child from doing something. At least you haven’t told him he isn’t allowed to date until he’s thirty or explore his sexuality. And don’t give me that look, you know you would be okay so long as they were a good person and he was sixteen and being safe.”

“I guess.”

Rossi patted his shoulder and Hotch didn’t even try and pretend that the touch hadn’t made him tingle. It had been so long since someone had touched him- it was always him hugging Jack or touching his shoulder. He thought of that time Reid had talked about being touch-starved. Was he touch-starved, or was he just an adult with a schoolboy crush?

He laid awake for the rest of the night, unable to do much more than close his eyes for a few moments.

They found the unsub the next day. And they bought the boy home safely. But Hotch couldn’t find it in him to be happy at another case solved. Because it hadn’t been successfully, not completely. The unsub- a man in his mid-forties- had been abused. And when he saw those children, who argued with their fathers over something trivial, he had snapped. He’d wanted to save them from his own fate. When Hotch tried to explain that the fathers weren’t bad people, that the children didn’t deserve to die, he hadn’t listened. When he tried to relate, the unsub realised what had happened. And seeing no other way out, he’d turned the gun away from Hotch and to himself.

Hotch couldn’t help but shout no as the bullet released.

“Strauss approved us staying for one more night,” Rossi said when they got back to the hotel.

“That was nice of her,” JJ said.

“God, I need a drink,” Prentiss complained.

“We should all go for a night out. It’ll be fun. And I’m here for once, so I can’t even complain about missing out,” Garcia said.

“That’ll be nice. Reid, you’re coming, no excuses,” Morgan said.

Reid shrugged. “Sure, why not. I’ll remember every embarrassing thing you do, so just be warned.”

Everyone turned to Hotch.

“Come on sir,” Garcia pleaded.

“I shouldn’t,” he said.

“Hotch, if they’re making me go, then you have to come,” Reid replied.

“It’s one night Aaron. And you’re not a newbie anymore,” Dave said, placing a hand on his lower back to steer him away from the elevator.

He blushed, both at the incident that was being referenced and the placement of Rossi’s hand.

“I’ll go if you don’t bring that up,” he reasoned.

Rossi nodded. Everyone else looked curious, but Hotch shot them all his famous glare, with a small smile to soften the blow. And then they left, still in the same clothes they had been wearing as they had packed up at the station.

Hotch had made it a rule that he didn’t get drunk in front of colleagues. He’d drink enough alcohol to keep them off his back, but he wouldn’t allow himself to become even slightly intoxicated when they were present.

Some cases made all the rules go out the window. It was the only defence he had for getting absolutely shit-faced.

At some point he had loosened his tie, so he didn’t really understand why Rossi was complaining so much as he pulled him into their room and started complaining about the way he dressed.

“If Garcia can come on a case wearing a cat-ear hairband, I don’t understand why you need to always need to wear a suit,” he complained after he got the shoes off.

Hotch grinned. “It’s like my superhero costume. It protects me from people finding out who I really am.”

“Wow you really are drunk.”

“Is it bad that I’m drunk? I told Jack he couldn’t go the party because of the alcohol and he said I was being stupid. Maybe he’s right. I am stupid.”

“Why can’t you ever just stick to being a happy drunk? Why must you always go from happy to crying?”

“Are you mad at me too? I don’t want you to be mad at me. I care about you too much. I don’t think I could stand it if you were mad at me. Not when Jack’s mad at me- did I tell you about that? I think I did. He’s mad at me, Haley would be mad at me if she could see me now, so I can’t have you being mad as well.”

“Haley wouldn’t be mad at you.”

“You’re wrong. She would.”

“Oh, really. Why?”

“Cos I told her I liked this person and she told me to go for it but I was too scared of being rejected and ruining the team that I didn’t. At least, that was I told her, which is the other reason she’d be mad. I semi-lied. I was scared of rejection and ruining the team, but I was more scared that they’d be like my father. He caught me with a boy once. Only once. I was too scared after that. It’s stupid though, this person is as far from my father as you could get.”

At the mention of the person, Hotch went back to being happy. Rossi smiled, still wrestling with the suit jacket, unwilling to make his friend move his arms lest he break the spell and made that smile vanish.

“You going to tell me about them or do I have to profile it out of you?”

“Wouldn’t do that,” he slurred. “Too nice to. Unlike Gideon. Gideon never followed the rules. But you- you may be a pain in the ass, but you follow the rules that matter like not profiling us and not pushing and not using our pasts to get to an unsub.”

Rossi snorted. “Thanks Aaron. It’s nice to know I’m not like Gideon.”

“Be weird if you were.”

“Why’s that?” he had got the jacket and the tie off. He untucked the shirt and unbuttoned the top one, knowing Hotch wouldn’t want any more than that done.

“Cos I love you. I love your stupid notebook and your Italian cooking and your don’t-be-stupid voice and your stupid face and how you’re always nice to me, even when I’m being stupid. I love you Rossi, and I wish you’d love me too, even though I’m a mess who-” the rest of his sentence was cut off by a yawn.

Rossi had no idea what to say. He’d never come out to the team because there had never been a need to. Yes, he had three ex-wives, and only wives, but that was because he hadn’t been able to marry any of the men he dated, and times had been different then. He hadn’t wanted a long-term thing with any of them.

But now, Aaron was drunk and confessing his love, and it occurred to him that he did love the younger man. He had just never realised.

“I’m a mess who can’t get the voice of their father out of their head long enough to ask you out on a date,” he murmured, falling back onto the pillow.

Rossi opened his mouth, but Hotch was already asleep. He sighed, brushed the hair off his forehead and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “Sleep well.”

The morning came, and with it, a pounding head.

Hotch woke up with a groan, immediately pressing his hand to his temple.

“There’s aspirin and a glass of water on the night stand,” Rossi said.

Hotch blinked the sleep out of his eyes. “Wha- why do I need it? What happened?”

Rossi stopped, his coffee halfway to his mouth. Hotch looked away. Not the time.

“How much of last night do you remember?”

“We went to the bar. I- oh. I drank far too much. I’m sorry. Had the others gone by then?”

“No, but they all agreed to spare you the shame and not mention it. Do you remember anything else that happened?”

“You were the one to bring me back. And after that it’s all a bit hazy.”

“Do you want to try and remember or do you want me to tell you?”

Hotch paled. “What did I do?”

“You told me you loved me.”

Hotch fell off the bed trying to scramble away. He noticed that Rossi had left him in his clothes, thank goodness for small mercies, but the sheet got tangled in his legs. Rossi stood as he managed to stand up, his head still pounding and the light making his vision hazy.

He felt a hand on his arm and managed to force it off. “Just let me go, Dave, please.”

“No. We need to talk about this.”

“What is there to say? I told you I love you. But you’re this amazing, caring, funny, handsome straight person and I’m me. Please just let me go. I’ll file my transfer when we get back, but I can’t be here and watch as you reject me,” he said, walking towards the door.

“Aaron. Stop.”

He froze. Rossi had never bossed him around, even when he’d been the newest profiler that was still learning the ropes. But god, there was something about his tone that made him want to fall to his knees and do whatever he wanted. He’d been still for too long, Rossi would have realised too.

“Turn around and look at me.”

Aaron wanted to resist, wanted to run out the door and never come back, but something in him- probably the part of his brain that was self-destructive- made him turn back. And the sight that greeted him made his heart stop all over again. Rossi didn’t look angry or upset. He didn’t look like he was about to hurt him or force him to explain why he was such a coward.

He looked happy.

“I don’t understand, why are you smiling at me?” he whispered.

“Because I love you too. I just never realised until last night when you were drunk out of your mind, terrified that I was going to reject you, that I realised all I wanted was to hold you against me, listen to the steady beat of your heart to remind myself that you were still here and never let you go.”

Before he could even process what was happening, Aaron had crossed the short distance of the room and had buried his head in his shoulder. Hesitantly, Rossi bought his arms around the younger man in an awkward hug.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Aaron confessed, staring at him with dark brown eyes, still full of the fear of rejection.

“We can work it out together.”

“I don’t know how to get over my fear, or tell Jack and the team- and what are we even supposed to tell Strauss, she’ll fire both of us and what about all the other things, like dates and the romantic things,” he rambled.

Rossi pressed a finger to his lips. “We’ll work it out. But that’s not the concern for right now.”

“Then what is?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Hotch nodded, suddenly feeling shy. “I’ve only ever kissed Haley. I doubt I’ll be any good.”

“I don’t want good. I want you.”

Without another word, Rossi placed his fingers under Aaron’s chin and tilted his head up. It was a chaste kiss, barely more than a brush of lips, but Aaron felt his heart speed up and fireworks explode behind his eyes. This. This is what he had always wanted but never had the courage to ask for, and now he had it and he just felt… good.

“We need to brush our teeth,” he decided once Rossi pulled away.

“Agreed.”

“Dave, what are we now? Because boyfriend seems immature, and I plan on telling Jack and the team as soon as possible so don’t even try and suggest lover. And other half is stupid, we’re both whole people without each other.”

“I’d like to think of you as my partner. That’s what we started out as- don’t give me that look you know I’m right- and it’ll always fit us. You the workaholic drill sergeant and me, the agent turned author turned agent-author with three ex-wives.”

Aaron laughed. “I have no idea how that makes any sense but okay. Partners. I like that.”

“It makes sense because it shows that we’re both adults that can depend on each other no matter what happens.”

“No matter what happens,” Hotch echoed.

It was going to be a long journey to undo all the damage his father had done, but he was willing to work through it. He was willing to do whatever it took to let him spend the rest of his life beside the man he could now call a partner.

The team essentially worked it out the moment they got on the jet. JJ just shook her head fondly, Reid smiled and told them that if they needed any advice he was there, Morgan smiled and patted Rossi, claiming he had his work cut out for him, Prentiss actually hugged Hotch with tears in her eyes and Garcia squealed and told them she was going to knit them matching scarves.

It was nice. Unfamiliar and different and scary, but nice. Rossi sat beside him, close enough so their shoulders brushed every time one of them adjusted the way they were sat. Every time it happened, Aaron smiled and blushed a little.

When they arrived back at Quantico, everyone at lot happier than they had been at the end of the case, there was an unfamiliar car in the lot.

“I haven’t seen that one before,” Reid commented.

“It’s probably just someone for Strauss. Let’s go, write the reports and go home,” Hotch said.

“Home. Sounds nice,” Rossi said.

Hotch went pink as Garcia cackled.

Since Emily’s return, it had become tradition for Garcia to sit with them in the bullpen as they did their reports, mainly to annoy them, and if she had accompanied them, to do her own report as she only managed to do them on the job when she was on base. They all headed to the sixth floor, everyone looking forward to the few days of down time they would have once they finished their reports.

It was still early- or was it late- enough for them to be the only people in the building. As everybody else set themselves up in the bullpen, Hotch and Rossi went up to their respective offices, Morgan still talking to Reid and Garcia about something. When Hotch walked into his office, putting his bag down with unnecessary force, Rossi winced.

“What’s going on?”

Hotch bit down the urge to say nothing. “Jack still doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Why don’t you try phoning Jessica then? Maybe he’ll change his mind once he realises just how much you’re willing to sacrifice for him.”

“Maybe.”

“And I know Morgan drove you in, so once you’re paperwork is done, you’re coming home with me. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, but this case must have hit close to home. I’m dating you now, which means I’ve signed up for the good, the bad and the ugly. I’m sure Jess would love to spend more time with Jack anyways.”

He knew trying to fight was a bad idea, and the thought of going home to an angry and hurt Jack was almost too much to bear. Did it make him a bad parent? Maybe. But he was tired and he wanted to give Jack space.

“I’ll give you some privacy to phone him then.”

Hotch managed a weak smile, then dialled his home number. Jessica answered almost immediately. She sounded like she hadn’t slept and he wondered why he thought phoning her at three in the morning was a good idea.

“Hi Jess. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. It was a bad case that’s all. I should let you sleep. I’ll be back in the morning, well later in the morning so you can go once you’ve had breakfast if you need to do anything.”

She laughed, and his chest tightened. Her and Haley had been nothing alike, but when they laughed, it was like they were the same person. “It’s okay. I’ll stay for the whole day and let you get some rest. Jack, what are you doing up? Okay, get your water and then back to- actually do you want to talk to your dad?”

He heard Jack say no. Jessica made a few uncomfortable sounds.

“Jess, it’s okay. He doesn’t have to talk to me if he doesn’t want to. I get it.” He got that he was a useless father, that Jack had every reason to hate him and he didn’t understand why it had taken so long for him to start. He understood that he had failed to protect Jack and Haley, and that nothing he did now was going to ever make up for it.

“Are you sure? He’s gone back to his room but I doubt he’s sleeping. I can talk to him if you want.”

“No, just leave him. He’s allowed to be angry.” Because if you speak to him, you will stop seeing me as the angel Haley loved all through high school. You will stop seeing me as the man who has lost everything and start seeing me as the man who can’t be there when his son needs him, and the man that got your sister killed.

“If you’re sure. But before you go, just listen to me. You’re a good parent. And whatever Jack said, he doesn’t mean. He’s a hormonal teenager going through puberty. He loves you.”

“I know.” But did he really love his father? “I’ll see you in the morning then. Bye Jess.”

“Bye Aaron.”

Aaron. Sometimes he wondered where the lines between Hotchner- god, how he hated his surname, forever tarnished by the memory of his father and everyone in their small town who thought that little Aaron Hotchner was just the quietest little boy, just like his mother yet somehow the spitting image of his father, Hotch: the stoic leader that could be trusted with everything and somehow not collapse and Aaron: absent husband and father, the man that had loved and failed Haley, Kate and even Elle existed.

Sometimes he just felt like that little boy, curled up in the basement of a house that never felt like home, wishing he could just let go and cry for once. But he couldn’t. Not when he was aware that the team were watching him instead of doing their paperwork.

He finished it in record time, unable to look at the images of smiling teenagers for any longer than was necessary.

Dave was already waiting for him. Everybody else had gone home.

“Are you ready?” Dave asked.

Hotch nodded, unable to trust his own voice after having to read through everybody’s accounts of the victims, their parents and the unsub.

They drove to Dave’s in silence, Aaron having texted Jessica he was going to a friends but would hopefully back by late afternoon. He wondered again if he had made a mistake by letting Dave in. It would only be a matter of time before he realised Hotch was damaged and nothing in the world would fix it.

“Aaron, we’re here.” The sound of Dave’s voice, suddenly soft and gentle, lured him out of the darkness of his mind.

He got out of the car, still not knowing what to say. He wasn’t like Reid, who would rattle off statistics about any given topic when he was nervous. He wasn’t like Garcia who would keep digging a deeper hole when she was in trouble, or Morgan who managed to charm anyone with a few words.

Dave’s house, despite its size, had always felt homely. When staring at the wall where the bullet hole had been did more harm than good- and who was he kidding, that had been every time he’d sat there, surrounded by files- Dave’s house had always been a safe haven for him.

“I’m going to make some light breakfast and then try and get some sleep. Do you want anything? And don’t say coffee, I’m not letting you do anymore work until you get some rest.”

He shook his head, already sat on the couch.

Dave sighed, but he didn’t push the issue. Before he could leave, Aaron turned to face him.

“Dave?”

“Yes?” he was already in the doorway, minutely turning to see him properly.

“I’m having a bad day,” he whispered.

Rossi froze. Aaron Hotchner did not admit that easily. Only to him. Only when he was moments away from falling apart. He did not know whether to consider it a blessing or a curse that he was the only one trusted enough to piece him back together. He did not know whether or not he could do it this time. Things were different. He had only ever had to do this as a friend, or as a colleague. Never as partners- and wasn’t that ironic, he was the one to suggest the label but now it didn’t seem significant enough.

He walked back over, sat beside Aaron. Close enough so their feet- Hotch hadn’t even taken his shoes off- brushed, but far enough to let him move away if he wanted. He didn’t. He shifted closer, resting his head on Dave’s shoulder. Dave raised one hand to gently stroke his messy hair.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’m meant too, aren’t I? Haley always used to say there was no point in being together if I was just going to hide from her every time I had a bad day. I know she was right, but I just don’t know how to talk about it. It’s stupid anyways.”

“Don’t do this. Don’t act like your problems aren’t as important because you’re supposed to be an alpha male. That’s only at work. Here, we’re just Aaron and Dave, two old men who never learned how to communicate properly, so they’re muddling their way through life.”

“I just don’t understand why you’re here. And I’m scared you’re going to leave, just like everyone else. I’m scared that the ghosts of my past are going to be too much for you to handle and that you’ll get tired of waiting for me to be comfortable around you. I’m scared of ruining what we have with my nightmares and scars. I mean, I have a son who’s a teenager now. You never even wanted kids. And I know it’s stupid, but I’m scared I’m never going to be able to repair my relationship with Jack. We’ve never argued before. I don’t know what to do. My father would hit me if I dared speak out of turn. I never learned how to be normal. What if I hurt him?”

He had curled into a ball, his legs pressed against Dave’s stomach. His voice had started shaking, and Dave felt a wet patch forming on his shirt.

“I won’t leave you, ever. We’re going to have problems, but I won’t leave, and I will spend the rest of my life waiting for you to be comfortable around me if I need to. I have nightmares as well, we can keep each other up. I love Jack and he loves you too. I have no idea how to be a parent, but you do. You would never hurt him. And I’m sure Jessica has already told you this, but he’s a teenager. You’ll know what to do when you see him. If you don’t, just ask him. He wants to be there for you.”

“Thanks Dave.”

“I love you Aaron. You never need to thank me. Now move off of me so I can take you to bed. You need a good night’s rest.”

He obeyed. Neither of them were about to believe Dave was strong enough to carry a fully-grown man to bed, so Hotch forced himself to stand and let Dave lead him to the master bedroom.

“You’re practically asleep already. I’m glad. Would you let me undress you?”

Hotch hesitated, but nodded almost imperceptibly. “Yes,” he whispered.

“I’m so proud of you. If you want me to stop, just say the word and I will.”

He started shaking as Rossi pushed his shirt off his shoulders, the final layer of armour stripped away from him. He closed his eyes, the tremors only stopping when Rossi pressed their foreheads together.

“You survived. You survived them both. And there will be more, there always is, but I will be here to catch you. Believe that.”

Aaron nodded, tears falling onto the duvet. He couldn’t express how glad he was that Dave wasn’t spouting some bullshit about how the scars on his torso and the lines on his back made him even more beautiful. He didn’t know how to say that though, which he was coming to realise the beauty of their relationship: they just knew.

Rossi was tucking him, having successfully changed him into pyjamas without any incidents when he realised he needed to address something from earlier.

“You’re wrong, you know that right?”

Rossi laughed. “About what?”

“Earlier. You said you don’t know how to be a parent. You do. I see it in the way you tease Morgan, curse at Prentiss in Italian, protect Garcia and JJ, listen to Reid and the way you treat Jack and Henry.”

“Get some sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.” He pressed a kiss to the other man’s cheek, then left. There was one more thing he needed to do.

Aaron awoke when he heard voices. It took a moment for him to realise where he was, but when he did, he smiled. Dave hadn’t left. He left the room, trying to find the source of the voices. The search led him to the same couch where he had started crying only a few hours ago.

“Jack!” he exclaimed.

Jack launched himself into his father’s arms. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so, sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of that stuff, it isn’t true and I love you. I won’t go to the stupid party I swear but please don’t be sad. Uncle Dave told me the censored version of your case. He also told me that you two are partners and I’m really happy about that because he’s cool and I have a vague memory of mom saying you were silly for thinking he didn’t like you-”

“Buddy, it’s okay. Sometimes people argue. I still love you too. And yes, Dave and I are together now but you’re still my first priority. You always will be. So if you need me to take less cases or spend more time at home, then just tell me. We don’t need to let it explode like that.”

Jack looked sheepish. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re my son. You’ll never be a burden to me.”

“Do you promise?” He looked so much like that little boy who believed his father was a real superhero that Hotch could only nod his affirmation.

“Will you stay for breakfast? Jessica dropped Jack here, but she said she’d go to give us some time alone and apparently he only ate a single piece of toast,” Rossi asked, almost nervously.

“Please can we do that?” Jack added.

Hotch nodded, letting go of his son. “Did you want any help?”

“No. Just go sit at the dining table and look pretty whilst you talk to your son,” Dave said.

Hotch flushed but obeyed.

Dave watched as Jack launched into a conversation about the pretty girl in his class and the tension Aaron had been carrying for far too long finally bled off his shoulders and saw as he went from FBI agent to loving father, eyes crinkling as he finally, genuinely, laughed.

There would be bad days. There would be arguments and reckless endangerment. There would be ghosts that would never leave them and fears that couldn’t be destroyed. But Aaron was smiling. And for one David Rossi, that was enough.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #hotch x rossi #david rossi #criminal minds fic #tw implied child abuse #tw violence towards children #tw child death reference #tw suicide #sumayyah writes cm

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crispyjenkins · 4 years

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I dare you to write an Ani5 fix-it fic. I will not be taking criticism and will die on the hill that this is the most powerful ship and could’ve saved the entire clone wars. Bonus points if it features the ship Mace Windu/headaches (bc anakin is a walking mess of shatterpoints and lives to annoy Mace). Codywan to help knock some sense into anakin would also be top tier. I LOVE YOU ZEPH’BUIR

(of course i can’t do a whole fix-it in a quick prompt answer, but i think i’ve set it up for a far happier ending than in canon! support communication and education in relationships (ღ˘⌣˘ღ) and also adhd clones.

fives might be the most i’ve ever struggled with a character (‘cept maybe ahsoka....) so it took a little while to figure out how to write this scene in a way i liked. also, had to go and watch fives clips to try and get my autism brain working, and BOY HOWDY do i actually hate dbb’s take on the clones, especially the accent but everything else too. their character designs make me want to cry. so i’m begging, for me, to imagine this fives like this especially because then we get Tol Anakin and a Smol Clone BF and i think that is a seriously underutilised dynamic.

thank you for the prompt, ad, and for cursing me with this ship in the first place. someday i’ll get around to actually writing them as the battle husbands they are 🧡)

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Echo's always been good with programming, but Fives is better with the actual building. He's not any good with inventing, maybe, but putting things together? Opening them up and knowing immediately what's wrong? Fives would even say he enjoys it — and being able to talk shop with Skywalker like they're nobody mechanics from the Outer Rim instead of General and Soldier makes the long hyperjumps between missions actually bearable.

How that led to him sitting in a rarely used hallway on the Resolute with Skywalker ("Anakin," he keeps insisting with a smile), both leant over a mouse droid in pieces on a drop cloth, Fives isn't really sure. It probably had something to do with Skywalker's excited bounce when he'd come to ask if Fives wanted to help him, the sparkle in his eye reminding Fives just how young the both of them are. How, technically, he's older than Anakin.

Because, yeah, he is Anakin, not Skywalker, when they're like this. With his growing knight cut a curly untamed cloud around his ears, grease smeared on the underside of his jaw, with Fives stripped down to his blacks from the waist up, with even his blasters set on the floor next to them.

With it quickly becoming clear that Anakin doesn't actually need help to rewire the mouse droid, but had asked for Fives to join him anyways.

They've been at it for a few hours now, their jokes winding down to companionable quiet as they both work on separate parts of the droid. It honestly might have been easier to start from a scrap droid than try to rewire this one correctly, but it's easy work Fives could do blindfolded, and sharing the mutually-focused silence is actually quite nice.

Anakin is elbow-deep in the outer casing when he finally asks, "Do the clones feel love?"

And Fives almost gets up and walks away. He knows not every battalion ended up with a good Jedi, that the 212th and the 501st had been so kriffing lucky to end up with "The Team", but sometimes he forgets. Maybe that's the worst part of it: slow, personal moments like this, Fives forgets he's not natborn and bearer of a face shared with millions. Being around his general makes him forget, and maybe he had taken that for granted until now.

Or maybe it's for that reason that he hesitates from storming off, because Anakin had been the one to name Alpha, to insist on giving them proper leave, to defend them from anyone who talks down at them even if they're a planetary leader. And Rex had said something, once, about Anakin’s brain working in either/ors, being hardwired in some way to only see in black and white and believing that if you're one thing, you can't be another. That what Anakin says isn't always what he means.

So instead, he asks, "What kind of love are we talkin'?"

Anakin refuses to raise his head, and Fives can almost see him stressing about how to phrase this. "Y'know, grand romance and stuff. One-and-onlys and holodrama romcom propaganda and imagining growing old together."

"'Not quite sure what you're asking, sir." He takes a deep breath. "The short answer is yes, we can and do feel that, but the long answer is I can't speak for every brother, and I would not want to. Some of us don't feel that." Shrugging, he passes Anakin a socket wrench before he can ask for it. "But it's not because we can't, not because of the longnecks. We're bred to be obedient, sir, not emotionless."

Quiet settles over them again while Anakin processes this, his mouth twisted rather horribly. Fives starts to think he would do a whole awful lot to turn that frown back into a haughty smile.

"What do you really want to ask, General?"

"I'm married to Senator Amidala."

Now, everyone with eyes knows that. Maybe Torrent knows even better, when they've been covering for their general for over a year now, and clearly the Jedi just aren't doing anything about it — but Fives also knows Anakin has never actually told anyone about this, not even General Kenobi. Rex says Anakin still thinks they've been discreet.

"If I may be blunt, sir, this is not news."

And Anakin actually laughs at that, shaking his head as he tosses down his tools to stare at the opposite wall instead. Fives watches his gaze go distant, somewhere far away from the Resolute lost in the middle of space. “I’ve loved her since I was nine years old, Fives. I loved her through not seeing her for a decade, through her assassination attempts and the First Battle of Geonosis and becoming a knight, and I...”

Fives sighs once. “No one said you had to stay in love, sir.”

“But that’s just it,” he groans. “I’ve never known how to do anything else, how to be anything else. I don’t... know who I am without it.”

He has to look away from Anakin, then, because he’s seen brothers go stupid for people they meet on campaigns, or for their Jedi, and Fives isn’t nearly as young as some of the shinies out there, but he knows what it looks like, when they leap in without thinking. He lets out a long, slow breath, his eyes falling on the ‘saber at Anakin’s hip. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

Anakin blinks at him, and nods.

“That’s too young to decide what you want to do for the rest of your life.” Fives raises a brow at his general’s startled expression, which is maybe more amusing (endearing) than it has any business being. “General, you’re barely an adult, just the same as the vode. If my mental timeline is right, you weren’t even twenty standard when you married Amidala, which, frankly, was reckless and unfair on her part.”

“Padmé would never–”

“I don’t mean intentionally, sir. The fact of the matter is, no wonder you don’t know who you are without her, because you’ve always had her.” That decade of no contact notwithstanding, considering Anakin didn’t not have her, either. “Senator Amidala knew who and what she was before you, and she’ll know who and what she is without you.”

“That’s not quite fair,” Anakin grumbles, but his throat is flushed in what Fives hopes is entirely appropriate guilt, or at the very least embarrassment. “It was my idea to get married after Geonosis.”

Fives snorts. “The idea of a child thrown into war, afraid to lose anything.”

“You’re being uncharacteristically candid, Fives.”

“Respectfully, sir, the last thing you need is to be coddled.” His general laughs again, this time good and bright in a way he hasn’t heard before; and then Fives can’t help what he admits next. “We weren’t allowed toys, or anything.”

Laughter cutting off abruptly, Anakin’s eyes grow haunted instead. There might not be anyone else in the galaxy with quite the same experience as the clones, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t those that understand.

“Hevy made me and Echo– Well, he said they were mythosaurs like Kal taught us about, but they looked more like sad loth cats. He cut up his own bedsheet to make ‘em, and couldn’t tell the longnecks what he’d done with it, so he just slept on the bare mattress.”

“Fives...”

But it’s clear Anakin doesn’t actually know what to say, so Fives pushes on. “Some of Fett’s instructors tried to teach us Mando’a, you know? I think Spar is the only brother that ever got fluent, the rest of us have been making up words and combining them with Basic and Kaminoan and whatever else the Cuy’val Dar spoke that sometimes we don’t even remember what language they are anymore.”

“I didn’t learn Basic until I was five.” Anakin thunks his head onto the wall behind him with a sigh, the mouse droid forgotten at his feet. “Other padawans always told me I was lucky Master Obi-Wan knew Huttese.” Ahh, kark, his general had been a Hutt salve; at least the spice runners made sure their slaves could communicate with their customers. “I couldn’t read a word of Aurebesh when I first came to the Temple, though to be fair, I couldn’t read anything else, either.”

“You grow up around other kids?”

“Yeah, my mom and I lived in the biggest slave slum on Tatooine.”

Fives doesn’t need to tell him how lucky he was just to have had their own quarters. “I think, sir, that the vode know better than you think, what it’s like always standing on the edge of losing everything.”

Squeezing his eyes closed, Anakin inhales sharply and clenches his fists over his knees. “What happened? To your mythosaur toys?”

“One of the longnecks found them while we were in training, ‘threw them out before we got back. I think Hevy was even more upset than we were.”

The leather glove over his prosthesis creaks as he tightens his grip on his own palms. “Was it easy? To just... forget about them?”

“Of course not,” Fives snorts and crosses his arms, “we were the equivalent of eight standard at the time, but we honestly didn’t have a choice. As we got a little older, we stopped trying to put meaning in things, because we weren’t allowed things. Our names are our only real possession, even our armor can be taken from us, but we will not, cannot, let anyone take our names.”

Groaning, Anakin scrubs his hands over his face before pushing himself up to finally look at Fives properly. He still doesn’t speak for a moment, just watching him, then teases flatly, “You’ve been spending too much time with Cody and Obi-Wan, you’re starting to speak in riddles.”

“They are riddles only to you, sir.” He offers a small smile, and is only slightly disappointed when Anakin doesn’t return it.

Instead, he lets out a winded breath. “So. You’re saying that it’s not easy to let go of even small things, but we must. And then there are things that we shouldn’t let go of?”

“Some things aren’t ours to keep.”

Anakin swallows. “Like Padmé,”

“Like any person, no matter what sort of love we have for them.”

Groaning, Anakin pulls his knees back up close and drops his face into his arms. “But I still love her.”

Knowing that this is not a new problem, that General Kenobi has been trying to teach his general this for as long as they’ve known each other, Fives takes a moment to consider. “You don’t really have to stop loving her.”

“But you said–”

“You think I stop loving my brothers when they die?”

Whether or not it’s healthy to hold onto affections for someone after a romantic relationship is a conversation for another time, Fives decides, and leans over to pick up where Anakin had left off with the droid.

“General, it sounds to me like you already know all this,” he says, twisting a wire into the grip of his glove to yank it from the motor. “And that you’re digging your feet in — which is the crux of the problem, isn’t it?”

“You sound like Obi-Wan,” he groans, but doesn’t deny it.

“Hmm, well, at least we’re still just kids.”

Anakin very slowly looks up from his arms, just enough for Fives to see his wide eyes. “What do you...?”

“Well, we’ve still got time to learn, don’t we?” Fives raises his eyebrow as he fits the new wire into the motor and starts to close all the panels back up. “I still think about Hevy and Droidbait and Cutup, and honestly, I still think about Echo’s and my mythosaurs. That’s not a bad thing, I don’t think, not even the Jedi would think that’s bad. I’m still angry when my vode don’t get funerals and I honestly hold that against the Chancellor and the Jedi both. But I don’t get to go back to Kamino and take my anger out on the longneck that took our toys, and I’m... working on it, not being so angry with the generals. I’m still angry. But I know the Jedi have about as much say in all of this as we do, and I know burying my brothers won’t bring them back. So I’m working on it.”

“I... don’t have to be good at it all at once.”

“Great Maker, General, just because you’re the Chosen One doesn’t mean you have to actually be good at absolutely everything from the start. You just have to try, and you still have time to.”

He looks up and finds Anakin already smiling back. “Fives, I could kiss you.”

“Considering it sounds like Senator Amidala just divorced you, I think that’s a very bad idea, sir.”

“Bah, you’re no fun.”

Fives feigns offense, “This mouse droid we’ve rigged to follow Captain Rex around and scream says differently.”

The night the 501st returns to the Resolute after finally (kriffing finally) leaving Umbara, Fives finds a hand-sewn stuffed mythosaur on his bunk, with a string collar and a dogtag etched with CT-782.

Mando’a: Cuy’val Dar — “Those who no longer exist”, group of 75 Mando’ade and 25 others put together by Jango to train the clones vod/e — “brother/s, comrade/s, sibling/s”, technically gender neutral but used most often in fandom as “brother/s” (*in this context, fives is using brothers as gender neutral as well, because you won’t take trans and nb clones even from my cold dead hands*)

#prompt fill #crispy writes #ani5 #anakin/fives #no really what's their ship name #prequel trilogy #clone wars #pre-relationship #but they're getting there lads #cw slavery #clone culture #domino squad #past anidala #very recently past lmao #anakin skywalker #trooper fives #mando'a #is it really childhood if you've never been allowed to be a child #but seriously dbb is sort of fucking awful as the clones #like i love the man he's been in almost every cartoon i've ever cared about #but good lord it's like he wasn't even trying to act #anyways #theclonewarsbrokeme #rare pair #like.... never seen anything for this kind of rare pair...#wanna write more about them adhd stimming together #and being worried babs on the battlefield #cause unlike ships like codywan or rexwalker or skysolo #ani5 would have NO problem being obvious as fuck about their worry and affection #they wouldn't even try to hide it

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jensungf · 4 years

Text

𝐂𝐀𝐓 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐄? ฅ 𝐥.𝐣𝐧

summary: your mother always told you a lot as a child — about how you should always be kind to others, to always watch out for stray kittens in dark allies on your way to school and most importantly, to not judge a book by its cover. you didn’t always listen to her. yet you would have to say your biggest weakness would come in the form of cats. and maybe lee jeno as well.

pairing: shy!reader + badboy!lee jeno genre: high school!au, fluff<3 word count: 1.8k warnings: language, mentions of disease

author’s note: another one of my blurbs that accidentally turned into a really long drabble hehe i hope the anonnie who requested this enjoys! <3 as always constructive criticism is appreciated and you can request after checking my prompt list.

just like every other caring parent, your mom went on and on about what she deemed to be important life lessons during your childhood, and even now — about how you should always be kind to others, to always watch out for stray kittens if you pass by the alley next to the flower garden on your way to school and most importantly, to not judge a book by its cover.

you tried your best to listen to her. you really did. but sometimes, people had weaknesses and besides your more than often bouts of procrastination and incessant affinity for watermelon sour patch candies —

(“if i was your dentist, i’d probably hate and love you,” jisung snickered as you shot him a look of confusion. “‘cause you must have hella cavities but that would mean i could charge you more money! i’m so sm- ow, that hurts (y/n)!” you rolled your eyes after picking up the bag of watermelon sour patches you had thrown at his forehead and ripping it open to pop one in your mouth)

— yet you would have to say your biggest weakness would come in the form of cats. cute, fluffy, insanely adorable stray cats.

although you had your fair share of friends, you preferred to stray away from human interaction (honestly, it was too much of a hassle, you were never really the type to approach people first anyways, your shyness getting the best of you and you preferred it that way), you preferred the company of much smaller, fluffier animals. although your mother always warned you about the dangers stray animals possessed, whether it be how they could carry rabid diseases or put you at risk of bad luck, you stopped hesitating to bring some snacks for the poor, small kittens years ago on your daily walk to school.

you paused as soon as you heard a small mewl followed by some rustling and shuffled your feet forward, peering into the dark alley before you felt something nudge against your leg. you jumped back, but let out a sigh of relief. you crouched down, holding your hand out for the tiny kitten to nuzzle against.

you cooed and reached into your backpack, bringing out the cubes of watermelon you had packed earlier before gently offering a piece to the black and white kitten.

“what do you think you’re doing?” a gruff voice asked, causing you to flinch and jump back. your head snapped up, only to find the source of the voice to be someone who scared you a lot more than you liked to admit.

lee jeno.

everyone who knew anyone knew that lee jeno fit in with the cliche archetype of a bad boy. he hung out with his troublemaker friends in a group of seven (including jisung, but how you still managed to be friends with that giant noodle without encountering his friends, you will still never know), with rumors spreading like wildfire amongst your peers of them always being late to school, stirring up mischief with their motorbikes and causing ruckuses during detention.

you didn’t expect him to be here out of all places.

he was never the center of all of the attention, preferring to stay behind his loudmouth friends and observe quietly, laughing whenever donghyuck or jaemin would make a joke and joining in with his friends’ antics whenever he felt like it. but make no mistake — the moment anyone saw his muscular arms and the glint in his eye, they knew he wasn’t going to be one to mess with.

you realized he was staring you expectantly, waiting for an answer but your brain seemed to short-circuit from surprise. you opened your mouth, desperately trying to rack up a response with your pea-sized brain (stupid y/n, why did i have to forget how to speak an entire language right at this very moment?, you groaned internally) before closing your mouth and averting your eyes to the very interesting concrete ground.

“cat got your tongue, sweetheart?” he teased, smirking almost flirtatiously. (you never noticed it but jeno’s ears flushed red, not knowing where this sudden confidence came from. he usually wasn’t the type to flirt… at least not like this in broad daylight with a random pretty stranger. he’d be damned to say jaemin was finally rubbing off on him.)

you bit your lip, unsure what to say back and cursed yourself for being so awkward. you glanced briefly at his figure, his broad shoulders donning his signature outfit of a black leather jacket, low cut almost hawaiian-looking shirt and ripped skinny jeans (it was literally so sunny outside, how was he not sweating in that? also, did he ever wash that jacket? you could’ve sworn you had never even seen him without it) before pressing your lips into a firm, thin line.

your eyes fluttered down to the kitty, ignoring him, yet you were struggling to remember how to breathe properly. your friends had always called you shy, albeit approachable, but you never realized how difficult it was for you to just simply talk to someone you actually sort of wanted to talk to until this very moment. why was just saying a single word so hard? and why did it have to be the school’s notorious bad boy here with you out of everyone in this town?

he frowned, not used to girls blatantly ignoring him, but it wasn’t the first time it happened. he tried to search your face for any sign of recognition, but you were too invested in the cat, or rather, his cat to pay him any attention.

(he’s never been jealous of a cat before but he’d never admit that at this moment, he would’ve liked to switch places with nal. what a nice life it must be for a cat to be fed watermelon all day and be coddled with attention and affection from a pretty girl.)

“how’d you know she liked watermelon?” he asked before bending down. your eyes flickered up until you realized how close he was to you, only a few mere inches away from your body. you shrugged, not trusting your voice to speak.

“nal,” he whispered, bending down to your level, whistling to coax her towards him. she meowed, licking the last bit drop of watermelon juice on her paw before pouncing towards jeno, her fluffy tail looping around his beat-up hightops. his usual stoic expression curled up into a boyish grin as he started petting her and murmuring praises of how adorable she was.

you could hardly believe your own two eyes. lee jeno, everyone’s picture-perfect example of a bad boy who looked like he walked straight out of the cheesiest teenage rom-com flick was ... a softie for cats?

never in a million years would you have pictured this in your mind.

you tried to stifle the laughter bubbling in your chest, but jeno looked up to catch your eyes. heat crept up your spine and consumed your face, causing you to look back down at the kitty who was nuzzling against him again.

“what’s so funny?” he asked, cocking his head and raising his eyebrows.

you couldn’t help it if your heart decided to do somersaults seeing his innocent expression, resembling that of a confused five-year-old child.

you shook your head before softly asking, “she’s yours?”

he bit back a grin at finally hearing your voice and reached into his jacket pocket to pull out a silver chain collar with a charm (engraved with “nal”), the silver bell attached to it lightly jingling. how ironic yet fitting, you thought.

“i can’t take her home with me because i’m allergic, so i let her roam around here and visit every day until i can find a place for her to stay,” he explains as he scratches her behind the ear, earning a delightful meow before slipping the chain over her head.

you took a step back, mentally taking a snapshot of this moment. you couldn’t help but giggle lightly once you realized that jeno and nal looked almost exactly alike, as if nal was jeno in cat form, with her black and white fur adorned with a chain collar looking exactly like his usual monochromatic outfit and worn black leather jacket, not to mention the silver chain bracelets and necklace he wore all the time.

jeno’s head snapped up once again to watch you laugh.

his heart thumped a little harder than he would’ve liked to admit.

“bad boys don’t take care of stray cats,” you say, finally locking eyes with jeno. “especially the bad boys who are allergic to cats,” you smile.

he shrugged, his boyish grin still etched on his handsome face. (screw handsome, you couldn’t lie — you’ve wondered on more than one occasion how blessed his parents must be to have a son whose looks could rival a professional model’s face.)

you couldn’t help but notice how different he seemed now, looking more like a carefree and lovable child rather than a reckless troublemaker.

“don’t judge a book by its cover, sweetheart,” he said before giving you a wink, starkly contrasting with the way he tried to hide how he scratched his reddening nape afterwards.

he gave one last gentle rub to nal’s head before standing up, getting on his motorbike. he looked back, with a glint of something in his eyes. “need a ride, sweetheart? or the cat still got your tongue?”

you froze in your spot, feeling your face turn hot with embarrassment. you weren’t used to this. it was the school’s bad boy after all.

but you could get used to it.

mustering all the courage inside of your shy mighty heart, you look down at nal and gave her a gentle kiss on the top of her head, letting her nibble on one last piece of watermelon.

“my mother always told me not to judge a book by its cover,” you mused, a hint of playfulness in your voice. “i guess i was wrong about you.”

“i’m y/n,” you added shyly.

jeno’s eyes crinkled into crescents, a genuine smile forming on his face.

“jeno.”

you walked hesitantly up to his bike, and took a seat behind him gingerly.

you let your arms fall to grip the sides of the seat, before jeno shook his head and lifted your hands up to wrap your arms securely around his toned torso. “hold on tight.”

guess your mother was right after all.

+ bonus blurb!

#jeno scenarios #jeno imagines #jeno fluff #jeno x reader #kwritersworldnet #nct dream scenarios #nct dream blurbs #nct scenarios #nct dream imagines #nct dream fluff #fluff #jeno drabbles #drabbles #high school!au #badboy!au #i love badboy!jeno so much THIS WAS SO CUTE #leyna writes #hehe if anyone cant tell the symbol is a cats paw

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problematicfavesareproblematic · 4 years

Text

Ignorance is Blitzed (Part Three)

Ron Speirs x Reader

Summary: When you come into contact with some substance that makes you sick while on a routine building search, Ron realizes he may not be as emotionally detached as he’d thought initially thought.

Warnings: war-typical violence, a (literally) dashing nightmare magpie prince, potty words, angst maybe?, a few ocs but don’t get too attached bbs, a very sad attempt at witty dialogue ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

If you weren’t convinced that Dike was moments from getting himself, you, and the rest of Easy killed, you would’ve sworn that you were going to kill him yourself.

At least if you shot him, it meant that someone who actually knew what they were doing could take his place, and that meant that something like this would never happen again.

There may not be an Easy Company left to save, in a few seconds….

You, Christenson, and a few replacements had found cover behind the shell of a truck, a few yards up the field from the hay bale you knew Dike to be hiding behind.

“What in the fuck is happening over there?” Christenson shouted, the replacements trying their best to hold cover while the two of you desperately tried to figure out a way to get somewhere more tactical to alleviate the fire currently being hailed upon all of you like some biblical plague.

“Dike’s being a pussy!” one of the replacements replied before a bullet dinged him in the helmet and he cursed pitchily. “Why isn’t anyone doing anything—?”

You could hear shouting from the hay bale, so you knew your friends over there were still alive and trying to do something.

If we stay here, we’ll die before we can even try to do something helpful.

“What’s CP doing?” you shout to the replacement on your left, grabbing his vest and pulling him down out of the line of fire. “Use you binoculars—!”

With (understandably) fumbling hands, the young man brings the apparatus to his face and scans the tree line, cursing aloud each moment that passes and he can’t see them.

Anxious energy has you so keyed up your body is trembling, but you know that if you rush him it’ll just stress him out and make it worse.

“Good job,” you say, even though both you and he know that he hasn’t really accomplished anything yet. “I’ve got you covered, just let me know whenever—”

“Got em.”

Both you and Chistenson share a look of minute relief. So far, this was the first thing about this godforsaken day that had gone right.

At least the lot of you hadn’t been left to die.

“What do you see, Nelson?” the other replacement, Grante with an ‘E’, called as he reloaded his gun. “Does it look like they’re on the radio—?”

“Winters is coming—no, wait!”

You spot a runner for the Germans from your peripheral, and without hesitation you take aim and subdue them.

Six months ago I would’ve shot to wound….what would my family say if they saw me now?

They’d have to talk to you first, and you weren’t sure if that would ever happen again.

“Oh, shit…..it’s your boyfriend—”

“What?!”

You squint stupidly in the direction of the trees, seeing nothing but suddenly terrified at the prospect of having to watch Nix or Bull or Grant (or whoever else these dicks you worked with decided you were sleeping with) get killed in their stupid attempt at bravery.

Unless he means….

You watch someone burst through the smoke of a target-missing mortar blast, charging like some avenging God of War towards the hay bale shrouding Dike, Lip, Luz, and however many more of your friends were trapped behind before disappearing.

Ron Speirs, you goddamned psychopath.

“Fuck.” you bit out, turning to Christenson and getting his attention. “Any sign of I Company?”

The four of you initially had been part of a bigger group, and your aim had been to hook up along the outer fringes with some of I Company and create a perimeter from which the Nazi soldiers would be unable to escape or send for reinforcements.

Christenson nodded. “They look like they’re waiting on us—”

“Yeah, well tell ‘em to get in line!” Grante barked unhelpfully, his voice cracking and reminding you just how young he was. “We’re waiting on us, too!”

You hear a shout of your last name, and when you look back to the hay bale you see that Ron and Lipton are waving to get your attention.

When you meet Ron’s eyes you see the fire of battle raging inside of him, and you can’t help but feel relief that Dike was no longer in charge of your fate.

Using hand signals that had been drilled into your head ever since Georgia you tell him and Lip that five of your party are down, but you have eyes on I Company and just need the okay to hook up with them.

You watched as the two men spoke to eachother, and when they turned away from you you imagined they were relaying what you’d said to Luz so he could let Sink know your intentions.

After a few moments, Speirs tells you with quick and precise motions that you are good to go— he has cover fire arranged for your group so you can dash the final 200 yards into the building you knew housed I Company.

You shoot him a thumbs up before turning to Christenson and nodding excitedly.

“Ready, kids?” you ask, and when they voice their readiness you make a dash for it, leaving the shell of protection the car provided behind and running as quickly as you could towards the bombed out farmhouse, the sound of heavy breathing letting you know that at least Christenson was right behind you.

You don’t look back, can’t look back- all that mattered right now was forward and careful and shouting “flash FLASH FLASH!”

The call of THUNDER preceded you and Christenson all but throwing yourselves through the doorway and into the arms of the five I Company men you’d arranged to meet.

“Fuck, where’ve you been?!” one of them is shouting in your face, and you glare at them qyuickly before looking to where a blood-speckled Nelson is gasping for breath in the doorway. Grante was nowhere to be seen, and one look from Nelson told you that the younger man hadn’t made it.

“The salon, getting my hair permed.” you deadpan to the rifleman, finding the CO and shaking his hand.

“Where do you want us?”

He nods and waves Christenson and Nelson over. “Just this way, ma’am….”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Ho-ly shit.”

You look up at the I Company CO (Parker, you remember quickly) parts of a jammed machine gun between your legs as you desperately attempt to fix Nelson’s weapon.

“What?” you ask, fingers moving faster than your mind can keep up with as you quickly dislodge the shrapnel from the chamber of the gun and begin putting the thing back together on reflex.

You had been holding the line for the past hour, and for that hour the same question had been on everyone’s mind. “Tanks? Did we miss a runner—?”

Where the fuck is the rest of Easy? They should’ve been here by now to check in….

When the gun is reassembled, you shove it into the replacement’s hand and move to see what has Parker so excited, hoping beyond hope that you’d see the faces of your friends rushing to meet you.

To your horror, you only saw one face, and it happened to be the face of the man who made a point to be the one who woke you up each morning with a full canteen and the promise of breakfast.

Of course it’s going to be someone important to me, my…..whatever it is he is to me.

“Where’s everybody?” Christenson shouted, an unfazed Ron breezing past him to quickly grab the ammo and sling it over his shoulder.

Ron goes straight to the CO and starts talking to him in harsh tones under his breath, yet his eyes still search the room until they find yours.

He’s okay, he’s safe and he’s here now. It’s okay.

You give him a nod before moving on to the next jammed weapon that had been shoved into your hands wordlessly by Christenson after he takes one of the German ones from a body next to him.

Fucking Dike. He’d have us fighting with slingshots and pebbles if it meant he got to stay warm at the CP. Half of us didn’t even have weapons until Bill and Babe started repossessing the Army’s shit. If we survive this, I’m going to kill Dike, I swear to God….

You fix the gun, glad it was only a minor fix that was needed this time. When you look back to Ron, he’s tightening his helmet on his head and looking back the way he had just come.

Goddamnit. Of course he’s running back into danger. He’s Ron fucking Speirs.

You shake yourself from your stupor and quickly rush over to him as he picks up the last of his things and prepares to go.

When he looks up at you, you shove the rifle you’d taken off the corpse of a German you’d come across on your last scouting mission into his hands and take his standard issued one away.

“Take this one,” you say breathlessly, as if you were the one who had been running. “It holds more rounds and shoots cleaner.”

He nods, eyes wild with adrenaline as he scans you over for any sign of injury.

“You good?” he asks, and you nod and try to shrug casually.

It’s hard, you are also nearly vibrating with adrenaline and nervous energy.

“I’d ask you the same, but clearly you’ve got a death wish, so—”

Before you can finish chastising him, his rough hands come up to grip your face and he smashes his lips to yours in a rough kiss that’s nearly bruising in its force.

Oh...OH. Oh shit!

You inhale sharply through your nose, head tilting back as he steps into you and puts his hands on your shoulders and squeezed.

You gape at him stupidly when he pulls back and feel the blood rushing to your cheeks in surprise at his boldness.

You hadn’t been kissed since long before Georgia, hadn’t wanted to be kissed or coddled or shown too much affection because in your relatively short life, you’d come to know unreserved compassion as a weakness.

“Love is nice but it isn’t reliable. Life isn’t a fairytale, sweetheart— everything has a price.

Nothing can hurt you if you don’t let it matter in the first place….”

Well, Mom— I’m doing my best, but I just don’t know if you’re right about this one, not this time….

Ron smirks down at you with such a self-satisfied look you smack him lightly on the chest on reflex rather than due to any actual upset.

“Yell at me later.” he offers when you open your mouth to speak, and with one more quick, breath-stealing kiss he’s gone again, running into enemy fire far too casually for your liking.

When you turn to watch him go you catch Christenson staring at you, a similar expression of shock on his face.

Ok, so I didn’t dream that, that actually happened.

You have to literally shake your head in order to get through the surprise, and when you do a weird pit of anger forms in your stomach.

That fucker better live, because he can’t just do that and run off.

You square your shoulders and grab the newly repaired gun at your feet, going to the hole in the wall and shooting at anything that looks as if it may mean Ron Speirs any harm.

He rolls over a stone fence, and you can’t help but shake your head.

He’s fucking with my plans, that son of a bitch.

“So, uh….that was—”

“Shut up, Christenson. Just…. shut up.”

You hear the hitch of a chuckle from his direction.

“Bull will be happy—”

“Shut. The fuck. Up! Keep shooting, you damn fucking child….!”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Ask him how far away their backup is.”

You nod to Dick, dutifully repeating the question to the bruised and bloodied german soldier who sat before a group of you after his comrade had identified him as his superior officer.

You listen to the mumbled reply and nod. “About three hours by foot, an hour if you cut through fields.”

“Ask him for a number. How many miles? How many villages?”

You press him for specifics, but he just spits bloodily at Dick’s feet before calling him something you couldn’t fully translate (but assumed was insulting).

“I’ll take it that’s a no on getting specifics.” Nix smirked, stepping to the soldier and grabbing him bodily by the arm. “I think battalion’s gonna love you—”

You squeeze your eyes shut as Lewis leads the captured man to a truck where the others are waiting to be transported back to wherever they’d set up HQ, pinching at the pressure point at the top of the bridge of your nose in a vain attempt to ease some of the pain of your stress headache.

“Headache?” Winters asks, and you instantly lower your hand and straighten up.

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

He chuckles at that, giving you a knowing look. “I think you and I both know you could lose a limb and still insist that you’re fit for duty.”

You scoff a laugh. “I suppose it would depend on which limb…. and what duty, Sir.”

He looks at you with all the exhaustion of a first time father, and you laugh in earnest.

“Go see someone if it gets too bad.”

“Sir.” you nod.

You smile as you watch him walk away, catching up with Nixon and falling into step with the man easily.

How I got accused of screwing Nixon and Winters hasn’t, I’ll never understand….

Turning to look back at the war-torn downtown, you catch Grant’s eye and he waves you over.

By the time you get to him, you find that he isn’t alone.

Leaning against the wall beside your friend is Ron Speirs, looking far too at ease for someone who you had spotted running through enemy tanks not an hour before.

“Heard you had an exciting day!”

You freeze, eyes widening as you feel yourself blushing again.

Shit. SHIT!

“Oh, I….um—”

“I was telling him about the car you hid behind,” Ron supplied mercifully, and you feel relief so instantly that you have to brace a hand against the side of the building in order to catch yourself.

“Oh, yes! That exciting part of my day.”

Chuck looks at you strangely for a moment, bringing a hand to your forehead and holding it there.

You roll your eyes and push his hand away, smacking at it again when he tries to repeat the action. “Charles—”

“Grant, Tab!”

The three of you turn towards the direction of Malarkey’s voice, the man jerking his thumb back to one of the trucks.

“Got some stuff for you that just got here…”

Giving you one last look, he points his finger in your face like he’s scolding a child.

“This interrogation isn’t over, young lady—”

“Don’t you mean conversation?” Ron asks, smoke from his cigarette floating around his face like fog over a lake.

You nod your head in Ron’s direction in a sign of agreement, and Chuck moves his arm so he’s now pointing at Ron.

“Y/n and I are far past social pleasantries, and I would never insult her by lying...”

You roll your eyes and gesture in the direction Grant had been called from.

“Don’t keep Mother waiting, you know how she gets.”

You watch Grant jog over and away from sight. Ron’s fingers deftly pull your braid out from beneath your collar and smooths it down, following the length of your spine in such a way that no one else would’ve been able to see should they look over suspiciously.

“If you didn’t look like you’d just committed a crime,” he says matter-of-factly. “He probably would’ve just given you a pat on the back and moved on.”

You turn and look at him over your shoulder, the closeness of his face reminding you of how he’d held you when you thought you were dying all those months ago.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly, suddenly feeling very shy around him.

He hums, lips quirking up in a quick smile. “Well, my ‘suicidal death wish’ didn’t pan out as well as I’d hoped, so I’ll live—”

Something in your face made him stop, and with gentle hands he takes your shoulders and turns you to face him completely. You let him walk the two of you back behind the building a bit before stepping in to you again.

Like he had before, in the farmhouse after he kissed me….

You flush at the memory, and you may as well have said what was on your mind because he whispers your name in the way he does when he knows you’re overthinking things(or at least starting to).

Meeting his softened gaze, bite the inside of your cheek before speaking.

“I’m mad at you.” you say, hating the lack of conviction in your voice.

He nods, expression one of consideration as his hands come up to hold your face.

“I know.”

“Because what you did was really stupid—”

“I know—”

“And then you pull a move like that, hey” you cut yourself off when he smirks again, a chuckle in his throat when you glare at him. “Don’t you dare look so damn proud of yourself, I’m yelling at you—”

“Which move would you be referring to?” he goads, and you frown in order to hide the grin that threatens to break across your face. You shake your head in disbelief, leaning back against the side of the building.

“Oh my God.” you scoff out. “Are you teasing me right now? Ronald Speirs, you’re unbelievable”

He smiles down at you, and you let yourself smile back at him and nervously bring one of your hands up to cover his as it slides down to cup the side of your neck.

Your smile slips as your eyes unintentionally flicker down to his lips again, remembering how they felt against your own.

Shooting a quick look to either side, you slowly raise onto your toes and give him a quick, shy peck. You can feel him grin for a split second before he kisses you deeply and far more thoroughly than you’ve ever been kissed before.

You sigh into the kiss, eyes drifting closed as you wrap your arms around his torso and fist the material of his jacket in your hands.

When you break for air you rest your cheek against his shoulder, hugging him tightly.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” you mumble, and for a moment you think he may not have caught what you said.

“If you think I’m going to let something as stupid as a bullet or a mortar stop me from coming back to you,” His lips are at your temple, and when you pull back to look at him follows you and gives you another smug grin. “you’ve got another thing coming.”

As you open your mouth to reply, the both of you hear Nixon calling your name, loudly asking people if they’ve seen you and which way you’d gone.

You both sigh, and smile at each other at the unintentional synchronization of the action.

“I think your boyfriend is looking for you.” He pulls playfully on your braid when you roll your eyes at him and gently push him away.

“I think I liked you better when you were just quiet and broody and handsome—”

Ron smiles wickedly at that, and you groan when you realized what you’d just said.

“Don’t let it get to your head-”

“Too late.”

Ducking another quick kiss to your lips, he steps back just in time as Nixon rounds the corner, his words forgone in favor of eyeing the two of you suspiciously.

“What were you—”

“What’s up Lew?” you interrupt, trying your best to not look...what had Ron compared it to?

Looking like you’d committed a crime….

Giving Ron a scrutinizing once over, Nix looked back to you and raised a brow.

“Dick’s wondering if you can show him how to switch one of the Kraut scopes to a rifle…”

“Sure!” you said, far too brightly. You had a feeling if you looked back at Ron he’d be smirking in unabashed amusement at your awkwardness. “Lead the way…”

With a frown and a suspicious hmph, Nix turned and began to walk in the direction from which he’d come.

You follow dutifully, giving Ron a quick smile over your shoulder as you hurried to catch up with Lewis.

Ron looked beyond pleased with himself, shooting you a quick wink before bringing another cigarette to his lips and lighting it.

“Care to explain that?” Nix asks under his breath once you catch up to him, taking your arm in his like the two of you were at some cotillion.

You smirk to yourself, rolling your lips together to hide the action.

“Nothing to explain, Nixy. Everything’s perfect….”

And for the first time in your life, you truly meant it.

OOF HERE WE ARE AGAIN! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU FOR READING THE RAMBLINGS I THROW IN YOUR DIRECTION AND SORRY IF IT SUCKS

TAGLIST: @itswormtrain, @mrseasycompany, @softspeirs

#band of brothers imagines #band of brothers x reader #ron speirs x reader #ronald speirs x reader #it's vv bad but I'll just add it to the pile of already burning garbage pile that is my bibliography

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if-you-built-yourself-a-myth · 3 years

Text

Check Ignition: Part X

That Sobbe fake-dating Hogwarts au that one person asked for and I dove into headfirst.... ALL DONE! (besides any editing)

First part // Previous part

Thank you all for sticking with me here. I'm going to make some sweeping edits to this fic on AO3 sometime in the next months, so if you have suggestions, feel free to shoot me an ask. You can also request oneshots if you like :)

Robbe had whiplash. The phone call, the blurry note, the revelation, and now Sander. Sander at his front door. Sander looking into his apartment, at the world he’d done nothing but complain about and avoid while at school. Sander, who suffered like Robbe’s mother without Robbe ever knowing, and who listened to Robbe lament things that were not her fault.

He choked on his breath.

Sander had no problem continuing the conversation. “It wasn’t fake for me, okay? It never was. I need you to get that.”

“Do you want to come in?” said Robbe.

“Who’s at the door?” called his mother from the living room. Robbe bit back the part of him that wanted to hide her away.

Sander shook his head, and water flung from the ends of his hair. “I don’t need to come in. You just had to know that. So when you come back to school, we’ll talk.”

“We could talk, um, now.”

“I don’t want to ruin your Christmas,” said Sander. “Jens said you were free though, so I had to—”

The proximity was too much for Robbe, and maybe for Sander too, because Sander grabbed Robbe by both cheeks and pulled him in for a kiss. They should muddle through everything that just went down. They should clear a space in the living room to discuss everything that happened between them during the past few weeks, most of which was still a blur, even to Robbe. They should—

Robbe leaned deeper into the kiss. All that could wait. Kissing Sander felt like breathing air after being trapped underwater.

“Robbe, who’s at the door?” his mother called again.

They broke apart for a second, Robbe’s lips stinging. Sander looked at Robbe, blinked as if surprised, and went right back in for round two. Robbe barely mustered a breath to shout, “A friend,” before Sander’s mouth on his neck sent a shiver down his spine.

“This isn’t talking,” Robbe hissed into Sander’s shoulder.

“Shut up,” said Sander. The physical aspect of their relationship had always superseded communication.

Britt’s note poked out of Robbe’s pocket as they spun into Robbe’s mess of a room. Sander backed him up onto the bed, where Robbe fell back against a pile of clothing. Layers peeled off. They only separated for harmonious milliseconds, just enough time to get a breath or whisper a sentence that meant nothing outside of their bodies pressed together. If Robbe could do wordless magic, he imagined the whole apartment might have been vaporized in one firm wave of euphoria.

He was not unaware of his mother’s presence in their living room, and thus cast the muffiliato charm while Sander’s tongue danced over his teeth. The non-magical lock should hold. Any other noise would become nothing more than static in her ears.

His mother. Whom Sander thought he hated. They needed to talk about it.

Sander slid his hand across the bare skin of Robbe’s stomach.

Maybe they didn’t need to talk about it right now.

In no time, the early-morning sun cast golden rays through the binds on Robbe’s bedroom window. He woke with a start, sitting bolt upright in the sheets, and jumped again when he saw Sander’s body wrapped up beside him. Still here. Real. The sunlight made Sander’s face resemble an oil painting, glowing cheeks and serene eyes half-closed against the world. A line of drool cut a pathway down to Robbe’s pillow. Robbe disentangled himself from the bedclothes, pulled on a sweater, and tiptoed out of the room for breakfast. He knew he had some explaining to do.

Sure enough, his mother awaited him. She propped herself up against their kitchen counter, a mug of coffee clasped in her hands.

“Morning,” she said, blasé.

“Morning,” said Robbe.

“I hope you used protection.”

Robbe blushed. “Mom.”

“Robbe,” she imitated. “You bring someone into my house, I don’t see her, and next thing I know she’s in your room. I’m not stupid.”

She. Her. Robbe swallowed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to spring him on you. He was supposed to stay on campus.” He drummed his fingers on the countertop, waited for her to notice his pronoun use. Was it a casual way to come out to someone huge? Yes. Did he want to have a larger conversation about his sexuality when he only just understood it himself? Absolutely not.

His mother’s eyes widened. “If you mean to tell me you smuggled Jens in here—oh, his parents already hate me. I’ll have to make a call—”

“It’s not Jens,” said Robbe.

“I should hope not.” Her voice softened. “From the phone last night?”

This was a moment for honesty. Robbe started the coffeemaker and placed a mug of his own under the dispenser. He tried to recall anything awful he’d said about her during his time with Sander, anything that would make Sander think that their relationship couldn’t be real beyond the arrangement. He said, “Yes. I didn’t know he was coming.”

Four weeks. Four weeks had passed since he kissed Sander for the first time in the astronomy tower. So much had happened in that time. What if the whole thing was one long manic episode? No, that was stupid. There were symptoms to mania, and it would be wrong to assume Sander wasn’t completely stable. Lots of people were.

“What’s his name?” It seemed by now his mother had caught on. “You used protection, right?”

“His name is Sander,” said Robbe, “and nothing happened. Honestly.”

His mother waggled her eyebrows at him. He stared down at his bare feet, wondering when Sander would wake up.

The conversation lulled, so Robbe pretended to take a sip of his coffee, even though it was still too hot for his tongue. He supposed he should be thankful that the coming-out experience had not been as hard or as unpleasant as it could have been, but the lack of reaction felt incomplete, far too casual for the scenario in which it was presented.

“So,” said his mother. She looked behind Robbe into the hallway from whence he came, as if scared that Sander would be out of the bedroom at any minute. “That phone call…”

“He was in crisis,” Robbe offered.

“I might have heard my title mentioned once or twice.”

“It’s—” Robbe didn’t know what to tell her it was. He didn’t quite know himself.

Something in his mother’s eyes, though, told him that she did. “Listen,” she said, leaning toward him from her place on the counter. “I feel like there are a few things you and I haven’t really addressed. It’s my fault, in a way, for keeping them unsaid.”

Robbe nodded along.

“You and I, we’re—” Her breath caught. “Lines must’ve been crossed at some point, y’know?”

“I don’t know what that means,” said Robbe.

“It means I love you so much. Even if I wasn’t there for you. I know there are moments that you can’t forgive me for, but—”

“Do we have to have this conversation now?” Robbe was still lightheaded from the previous night, and from waking up next to Sander, and from gathering the courage to casually come out only moments ago.

“Yes, now.” His mother took him by the hand, her fingertips brushing his knuckles, and for a moment, he was with her on the side of the road as a child, watching for passing cars. “I love you, and it’s okay if you hate me. If that’s what you have to do.” Before Robbe could protest once more, she cut him off. “I heard you on the phone last night, and you said you didn’t, I know. But we don’t talk much, do we?”

Robbe burned his tongue on his coffee rather than answer.

“I know that my illness isn’t easy for you to deal with. It isn’t easy for me either. And I know sometimes it feels like we’re not… I don’t know. Sometimes it might feel like I ruined everything.”

He could deny it, but she’d know he was lying.

“Your Sander… in the phone call, well, it seemed like…”

“He has it too,” said Robbe. “Bipolar.”

“Do you love him?”

Robbe dropped his head into her shoulder and inhaled. There were so many moments they missed because of her sickness. There was so much of her that he never wanted to talk about with anyone outside of his father, who knew everything anyway. In the action, though, he hoped she understood everything that he couldn’t say right now: Yes I love him, I’m trying to forgive you, I love you too. I understand you. I’m sorry for the way I talked about you, even if I’m not sure I regret it yet. Sometimes, all you need is time. He knew he’d have to wait for the betrayal to dissipate. Step one was admitting he loved her anyway.

The timer on her phone beeped for medication. She dropped his hand to go for the foyer, where her pills waited on display in the hallway.

Robbe stopped her with a whisper. “I don’t want him to go through what you did.”

“You remember that blood sausage recipe?” she asked. It seemed off-topic, enough to derail Robbe’s train of thought.

“Of course,” he said.

“You and your father had such a great time making it for Christmas every year. I thought maybe—” Robbe’s mother pulled something from her pants pocket, an index card with loopy cursive handwriting.

Robbe looked down at the card, back up at his mother, back down at the card again. He didn’t know what to say, so he said the first thing that popped into his head. “You don’t ruin things. I don’t know why I—”

“Youruin plenty,” Robbe’s mother said. “We don’t need to start coddling each other now.” She motioned him back to his bedroom with a wink. In some bizarre way, they’d reached a tentative understanding.

***

Robbe expected for Sander to be asleep when he returned to bed. In the grand scheme of things, it was still quite early. But Sander was awake, combing the room, searching for his shirt and pants among the chaos of Robbe’s floor. His hair stuck out in all different directions, and Robbe let himself wonder at the warmth it spread through his chest. He’d never felt this way about anyone before. Of course it would be Sander that did it.

“Going somewhere?” he asked, more to be conversational.

“Hogwarts,” said Sander.

Okay, not what Robbe wanted to hear. “What?”

“I’m going back to Hogwarts. Supposed to be there for the holidays.”

It hit Robbe again: the possibility that everything was as fake as their original relationship. Mania, or something. Mania didn’t normally work like that, but— “I thought we had to talk,” Robbe said.

Sander shrugged. “You made it clear you didn’t want to.”

“How?”

“Well, we didn’t.”

“You kissed me,” said Robbe.

Sander abandoned the search for his own shirt and pulled one of Robbe’s threadbare sweatshirts over his head. The bottom skimmed up at his hips, and the sleeves were a little short at the wrists. A moment later, he recovered his jeans. Robbe couldn’t stop him from getting dressed without feeling dirty, so he blocked the doorway as much as someone with his stature could.

“You talked to Jens?” he asked.

“Said you’d be here,” Sander said. “It was a stupid idea. I don’t know why I came. Nothing changed.”

Everything changed. Robbe bit his lip. He wasn’t sure how to articulate the things he was feeling anymore, not in the chaos of all this new information at once.

“I don’t want you to go.” He reached out to hold Sander’s wrist.

Sander shook his hand away. “No, I’m going to ruin everything. That’s why they want me there, that’s why you want me there.”

“I don’t want you there. I want you here.”

They stood at a faceoff, and Robbe dropped Sander’s wrist to make a barrier across the doorframe. Such a motion felt childish. If Sander pushed at his arm, Robbe decided, he’d let Sander through, because he wasn’t here to keep Sander in places Sander didn’t want to be.

No movement. Sander took a deep breath and sat back on the bed. “Even this,” he said. “I feel fine, but it was crazy to come here. Sometimes I do things and they’re crazy and I don’t realize. I don’t want you to hate me.”

Robbe thought about his own mother. She wasn’t crazy. She was sick. He couldn’t promise to feel like he loved her one hundred percent of the time, but he loved her just the same. Never had he hated her.

“I won’t,” he said. “I can’t.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“Then I’ll do my very best.”

The paper that Britt gave Robbe in the astronomy tower shot up from its dejected place on the ground, its requirements fulfilled. The writing shifted from overlapping words, to cursive, to a legible, block print. Robbe would read it to completion later:

Robbe:

I’m not an expert. These are things that have worked in the past. He should tell you more than this.

1. Be there. That’s the big one. Sometimes he’ll ask you to be close to him, other times he’ll want you to leave him alone, and that’s fine. Just be there.

2. Talk to him. It’s his illness and he knows more about his experience than anyone else.

3. He’s not stupid so don’t treat him like he is. I know I do sometimes. Don’t be me for him.

4. Not everything is an episode. It’s going to feel like a lot of stuff is. I don’t know how to get around it.

5. Ask for help when you need it. It doesn’t do anyone any good if you pretend you can take care of everything by yourself.

Britt

But for now, Robbe let it flutter downward once more. He thought back across their time together thus far. Kissing Sander in the Quidditch stands, making out in the upper corner of a classroom, sharing breakfast in the Great Hall. This started as a way to keep Noor off his back, of course, but somehow, it blossomed into a long joyride of self-discovery and love. Love. The word hit him just as hard as it had on their first date by the Great Lake. Sander looked at Robbe like that, and Robbe knew he needed more than a fake relationship. Here it was. All he had to do was show Sander the same.

Robbe couldn’t go anywhere if he tried.

“It was easier when you thought we were pretending,” he said, pushing aside all doubts. No more disclaimers. No more stepping back and letting Sander walk in the other direction. He knew what he wanted. “When it was fake, you didn’t have to worry about me leaving.”

Sander shrugged. “Low stakes. Like a game.”

“Alright then, let’s play a game.” Robbe’s confidence built as he found his stride. He took a step away from the doorway and grabbed Sander’s hands in his own, the smooth skin he’d imagined against his every night this week. Sander let him. “It’s called Robbe and Sander, minute by minute. How you play it is you only worry about the next minute. You and I together. If you could pretend it was real, how is it different when it’s real?”

The gap between them closed in an aching kiss, teeth tugging on the edge of lips, fingers dancing over goosebumped shoulders. Robbe hoped Sander could taste the sincerity on his tongue. Each kiss bled into the next, peaceful, a request for more. Robbe was asking, again and again, and Sander was replying in the same vein. Yes, I want this with you. If you’ll take me, I want this with you.

“I’m going to mess up,” Sander whimpered, pulling away an inch.

“Okay,” said Robbe.

“What if you regret this in the future?”

“Okay.”

“Robbe, what if it was better off fake, what if—” He cut off as Robbe leaned in for yet another kiss. Melted into the sensation. The muffliato charm might be a nice investment.

“What you and I have,” Robbe whispered into Sander’s lips, “has always been real.”

Tomorrow, Jens and Moyo would call to see how the night went. They gave Sander directions to the house in accordance with article XII, section VIII of Operation Sobbe. Robbe, Sander, and his mother would make blood sausage and cry laughing when Sander took the first bite. Robbe would return to Hogwarts after break with Sander’s hand clasped in his own. But tonight, if Robbe could do wordless magic, the world would freeze in this moment forever.

And afterward, the view from his bedroom window beat that of the astronomy tower, because it reflected their faces back.

#sobbe #hogwarts au #sander driesen #robbe ijzermans #robbe x sander #fake dating #requested fic #my writing

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pa-panda-heroes · 4 years

Note

How’s about hugging the LoV!! or or OR LoV with a cuddly s/o (・∀・)

Anoni, you sent this over a month ago ;;n;; I’m so sorry!! I haven’t even touched tumblr lately OTL

So, how’s about hugging the LOV because I want to hug them and tell them everything’s gonna be okay :’> and because I need someone to hug me and tell me everything’s gonna okay

~🐼

Hugging the LOV!

Tomura:

First off, you can’t tell me this boy isn’t touch- and affection-starved.

If you try to hug him outright when you join the League, he’ll straight up decay your ass.

But if you wait a bit and he starts to coddle up to you... he’ll only threaten to decay you and grumble while you’re wrapped around him.

Also he’s super bony.

He’s pretty thin-statured anyway, right, but when you hug him, it almost feels like you can feel every bone in his body. So sometimes he’ll kinda push you off because surely, that’s not comfortable!

He’s afraid of touching you or returning your hugs most of the time because of his quirk. Which kinda eats him alive. You get to coo and coddle him like the sweet thing you are, and he can’t return the favor. What the hell?!

You’re too good for him, he thinks, so romancing him is no easy deal and has to be done entirely through physical affection (when he allows it) and following him as leader. You gotta trust him with everything you have before he’ll trust (or touch) you.

Most of your hugging happens when no one else is around. He’s the leader, he has to retain respect, after all. But like I said, he’s touch-starved, so he secretly can’t get enough of your hugs and will revel in them.

When he’s feeling down and lonely, you’re the first to know. It doesn’t matter what kind of relationship you have. He’ll show up to your room at 4 in the morning and pound on your door to wake you up, he doesn’t care. Hug him and give him attention, damn it! Love him.

Loves it when you pat his head while you’re hugging him. Treasures it. If you stop suddenly and bring your hand down or something, this man will literally grab your wrist with his thumb and middle finger and plop your hand back on his head.

And if you run your fingers through his hair? He is mush and he will not hesitate to shove his face into your chest to hide the blush.

Mr. Compress

So, this is probably odd, but I can see Mr. Compress being the “dad” of the group I’m sorry Twice but you’re the mom, bud. I really don’t know why

So, if you hug him outright upon meeting him, he won’t exactly like it, but he won’t try to kill you like Tomura. Maybe he’ll give a little pat on your shoulder and an awkward comment to try to get you leave him be.

He is an entertainer, though, so if you hug because you enjoyed one of his tricks? Well, he won’t mind at all and have no fear, dear, he has more up his sleeve!

Definitely gives the kind of hugs where he gives a good pat on your back with one hand and if he’s close to you, cradles your head in the other!

He’s the only member of the LoV who wears a hat, so you gotta be careful not to knock it off his head. If you do, he’ll probably just laugh it off and spin it on his finger or some other neat trick! If he really likes you he’ll plop it on your head!

One of his favorite things to do while he’s hugging you is plop stuff in your hair or in your clothes (like pockets, etc.) to see how long it takes you - or the other members - to notice. Or, he’ll pull stuff from said areas and show it off to you.

Probably the most open out of the whole league to hugging you when you’re feeling bad. You’ll have to go up to him, though, and give some sort of signal that you want a hug.

For some reason, I see Compress as being the only League member to actually wear cologne, so be prepared to smell it! It probably won’t be anything expensive, but it’ll be there.

Thinks it absolutely adorable if you wrap your arms around his neck from his side and just... hang there. That’s one of the quickest ways to get him to fall for ya!

Himiko:

Suuuper huggy herself, although she’d be very confused if you hug her outright while meeting her. Might try to stab you if you do.

But once she warms up to you? She’s constantly hanging off you in a hug. It doesn’t matter what kind of background or relationship with her you have. She’s pretty much always touching you in some way.

If you’re taller, she absolutely will wrap her arms around your neck and lift her feet off the ground, keeping her knees at a 90 degree angle and hanging there. If you’re shorter, though, she’ll definitely try picking you up and lifting you!

Himiko will pout and huff if you deny her a hug, and is not past begging! She’ll give you puppy dog eyes and all! Might even fake cry if she’s particularly clingy...

She loves to rub her cheek against yours (almost like a cat) when you hug, as a sign that she likes you and enjoys your attention. She’s really needy in that aspect.

It’s pretty easy to make her jealous if you hug someone else, but you can easily make it up to her by giving her a big ole hug immediately after. Maybe even head pats. Definitely head pats.

If you’re out on a mission and almost (or actually) get seriously hurt, she’ll rush to you when it’s safe and nearly tackle you in a hug! She literally jumps off the ground to pounce on you.

If you manage to catch this girl’s eye in a romantic way, you best be prepared for allll the hugs and cuddles. And if she sees you hugging someone she doesn’t know, well, you have to physically hold her back from trying to kill the poor sod. Which doesn’t do much. Because they usually end up either dead or hospitalized the next day, depending on your relationship with them.

Because she loves hugs so much, she doesn’t really have a favorite type of hug. But she loves to tickle you unexpectedly while you’re in a consensual armlock!

On a good day, hug her and you’ll smell cherry blossom perfume and fruits. On a bad day, well... we don’t have to talk about that.

Loves to run her arms up and down your back, almost frantically, for some reason.

Twice:

So, I think it’s safe to say Twice will go back and forth between giving out hugs all the time and not at all.

At heart he loves them, but oftentimes when he’s dealing with his trauma especially badly, it just isn’t something he can handle or really wants to do because it takes all of his energy to keep calm and not split.

Would just kinda lean away awkwardly patting your back if you latched onto him early in your career in the League. He doesn’t wanna be rude but- get offa him, you creep!

But it doesn’t take him long to warm up to you, especially if your personality is bright and cheery.

He thinks the League needs someone like that and welcomes you with open arms.

Honestly doesn’t know his own strength and about 87.99% of his hugs are almost bone crushing but bone crushing with a good heart so you honestly can’t hold it against him especially when he pulls up his lower lip in a pout of apology

Do you like getting tossed into the air and spun around like a rag doll when getting a hug? Because hugging Twice is how you get tossed into the air and spun around like a rag doll when getting a hug.

Although, his favorite hugs are the ones from behind.

When he’s feeling particularly down, a quiet hug is the best way to pick him up!

Deadass he would measure you with the false idea of “just in case” he ever needs to make a clone of you for combat reasons, but it’s actually for when he wants a hug from you and you’re not around because he’s just kinda bashful like that sometimes.

If you’re really close, even dating, I think he’d rarely let you see him without his mask. He’s just afraid, it’s not that he doesn’t trust you in some way.

But if you manage to convince him to take it off and actually help him cope even a little, he’ll never let you go. You’d mean too much to him by then.

Dabi:

Absolutely do not try hugging him so early in your joining the League. He won’t threaten to set you on fire, he’ll actually fuckin’ do it.

Even if you banter sarcastically and bitch at one another and you’re overall his type to get along with, it will take him a long time to even get to the point of letting you put a finger on him.

So firstly, you have to ease him into the idea of hugging. Start with something small like standing closer to him than normal, then move to affectionately squeezing his arm. He won’t like it and might nag at you, but he won’t try to barbecue you for it! That’s too small of an interaction and he honestly is too lazy to do anything about it.

Besides, even if he doesn’t know it right then, he doesn’t entirely mind it. He’s gonna keep you at arms’ length, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to, literally.

When you finally upgrade to full-on hugs, he loves it when you bury your nose into his neck. It doesn’t always feel great because of his sensitive skin there, but it’s a cute gesture, he thinks.

Of course, he will ruin it with a snarky or suggestive comment accompanied by a smirk. The horndog.

And god help you if you manage to romance him.

Every time you hug him, he’ll slip his hands into your back pockets if you have any, and if you don’t? They go straight underneath whatever you’re wearing and directly to your underwear - or, if he’s particularly frisky, your plump ass.

When you’re pulling away? He’ll give your ass a nice little pat. That’s loud. Always loud.

But, his favorite hugs are the ones where you’re straddling his lap and he gets to rest his chin on your shoulder. If you have long hair, he usually keeps his distance from it because staples but he loves to smell it, too.

When he’s feeling down, he’s the polar opposite of clingy. Good luck getting him to even tell you - in one word - what emotion he’s feeling, let alone allow you to dote on him.

He really doesn’t love seeing you hugging anyone else, so oftentimes he’ll march over and hug you from behind or something to kind of show who’s boss!

Edit: OH MY GOD I FORGOT SPINNER 😱 I am too sleep-deprived omg how could i??? @meefal thank you for reminding me 😭 I hope I made up for it

Spinner:

Spinner is awkward with hugs! He’s not really used to people hugging him because they’re either afraid his scales will hurt them, or the friction will hurt him.

So when you hug him for the first time, he’s totally awkward and shy but tries to put up a big scary front, mumbling and sputtering something about carrying on the legacy of the Hero Killer: Stain. It pretty much fails. Miserably.

Because it flusters him and he can’t really hide it! But he wants to be all tough and mighty! He’s a villain, now, after all. But he doesn’t entirely mind your hugs at first.

When he’s used to it, though, it’s the best part of his day. You hug him pretty much every time you greet him, and he loves not only your touch but the opportunity to act tough.

He absolute adores it when you cling to his arm! It makes him feel tough and gives him the feeling that he could definitely protect you - and that you trust him to do so.

Oh oh oh but don’t mess up his scarf! He’s a bit sensitive about that, and you can figure why. But otherwise, he doesn’t exactly mind it if you tease him by messing his hair or clothing. Obviously he’s gonna (fake) gripe at you for it.

I’d imagine his body temperature is lower than normal, so he’d be really cool to the touch.

If you manage to romance him, like Dabi, he’d be pretty possessive and love showing you off by letting you like onto him at any given chance.

Like I said before, he loves it when you cling to his arm, but he also loves it when you hug him from behind. It makes him feel sheltered and loved, for some reason.

When he’s feeling low or weak, he’ll definitely rest his forehead on your shoulder, arms hanging at his sides, trying to coax you into cradling him and just holding him.

#mha #mha headcanons #mha x reader #shigaraki tomura #mr compress #toga himiko #twice #dabi #spinner #shigaraki x reader #mr compress x reader #toga x reader #twice x reader #dabi x reader #spinner x reader #comfort / fluff #h/c #sfw

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fragileizywriting · 3 years

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The sun is so bright.

The sun is bright, he is warm and content, and he is happy enough to stay exactly where he is for the rest of time. It takes him a couple of blinks to register that he can see the beautiful blue sky above him, instead of a ceiling, and he shoots up into a sitting position before he can even realize he’s doing it. The sky is blue enough to match the ocean that Luka is from— almost as blue as Marinette’s eyes when she’s casting spells— almost as blue is his mom’s eyes.

There are no clouds. Just a beating, bright, beautiful sun. It’s bright— and relenting— but he doesn’t sweat underneath its gaze. The heat caresses his skin so softly like a warm hug— he’s tempted to purr just on sheer instinct, feeling coddled under the nice warmth.

His gaze moves down to his surroundings.

He’s in an open field that stretches for kilometers in all directions— coated in a sea of orange and red. There’s a sweetened honey scent in the air, something that he can’t place— but so familiar that it tickles the back of his mind. His ears twitch at the light breeze that carries through the field, listening to the way it whistles through his hair and the field.

When did he get here? He has no memory of this. He remembers holding Marinette tight as she cried, tucking her cheek against his chest, letting the seal at his chest burn and singe as his witch cried for a wish he couldn’t immediately satisfy. He remembers watching the flames at the fireplace as she cried— and coincidentally, fall asleep— before he’d closed his eyes as well.

He looks down to his sleep clothes— stained with dirt, of course, because it’s just his luck to be wearing white while laying down in a patch of… in a patch… of…

“Fire lilies.” He breathes out.

Of course, of course.

It’s been a long time since he’s been here, but now that he remembers— how could he have forgotten in the first place? He pulls his hands up from the earth, making sure his claws are as far away from any of the flowers as much as possible. He’s certain that he’s crushed however many are currently underneath him, but he doesn’t have the capability to feel upset at it, focusing on something else.

Where is she? She’s always close by whenever he shows up here.

He scans the horizon, finally recognizing where he is, no longer disoriented. She’s around here somewhere. Somewhere. It just sucks that her hair practically blends in with the flowers— red upon a fiery red always made it nearly impossible to discern between flower and curl whenever she wore thick crowns of them— and with the amount of the lily scent in the air, it’ll be impossible to scent her.

“Mom?” He turns in his seat to look behind him. There she is. His heart aches to see her after so much time.

Beautiful blonde and golden hair, just like his— braided to the side with a thick straw hat to keep her pale shoulders from burning. Sweet Emilie. She’s so susceptible to burning always— he remembers her laughter during the times where she would somehow get burned through her clothes when they’d go out to the fields together, when he was just a child.

He was so happy then— simply just spending time with his mother. Every moment with his mother was his favorite thing— the most important thing to him as a young boy. Nothing else mattered. The simplicity of his life was always so refreshing.

He knows that when he approaches her, she’ll turn and smile with her glittering green eyes up at him, maybe even pull back her hat just a bit so she can see him well. He’s tall now. Much taller than the last time she saw him. She’ll ask him if his nap was good, squeeze his hand in that familiar way she always did— if he wants a fruit that she no doubt has in the basket that rests at her side.

He stands up, tries to dust himself off from the dirt and pollen that’s caked onto his backside, and carefully makes his way over to her, wading through the flowers that go up to his knees. He doesn’t want to disturb the fire lilies— beautiful as they are, and dangerous as he is, they don’t deserve him trampling over them. He’s better than that.

“Mom— where’s dad—” He blinks.

“Oh! Chat Noir!” Beautiful blue eyes blink up at him from under the hat.

What?

Was he making a thought somewhere? Had he imagined someone? His brain feels fuzzy, trying to piece together the thought he’d made about his mother.

No… that’s right— his mother has blue eyes, not green. Where had the confusion come from? His mom has always had blue eyes.

She’s freckled all over her face and shoulders— she’s a peach tone, warm instead of that cool and unblemished skin he’d first imagined— with an absolute mane of red locks so dense and so thick that it is a crown of curls that goes down her back and shoulders when she doesn’t pin it in place.

Never in his lifetime would he ever imagine his mother having blonde hair. It doesn’t suit her.

His mother doesn’t burn in the sun, either— his mother lives under it. Fiery, beautiful, appreciative of the sky and all they give and have provided to humans— it’s no wonder that a Chat Noir stole fire from it. He doesn’t blame that past Chat Noir in the slightest.

Who… was the blonde woman? Her name’s dissolved on his tongue entirely.

Did she even have one?

Or did he make it up?

Why had his heart ached at the chance to see her turn around?

“Dearest?” Tikki tilts her head.

“Hey, mom.” He smiles down at her, trying to blink the memories away.

“Is everything alright?”

“I’m— I’m a little disoriented.” He sighs. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been here. I thought for a second I saw someone else.”

“Someone else, dearest?” There’s a frown on her face. It makes her look older. “Other than the flowers, and the charms, I’m the only one that is ever here. Who did you think you saw?”

“A woman?” He sounds weak with argument. “A— a blonde woman? For a second I thought— I thought this woman was my mother.”

“How peculiar,” Tikki looks him over, flitting her blue eyes over him in a way that’s reminiscent of Marinette. No doubt she’s checking for signs of fatigue— why else would he be hallucinating? “You’re not having migraines again, are you?”

He blinks slowly in the beating sun. “What does— my migraines? What does that have to do with what I saw?”

“Well, when you’d first shown up with signs of your head hurting, and those days when you could do nothing but cry, terrified of portals opening up and of that man that hurt you,” She lowers her gaze down enough so that he can’t see her face anymore because of the brim of her hat. “You also would ask for someone to show hold you. I don’t remember her name— but you kept saying she was your mother.”

“Why would I—”

“I suppose you’d have to ask your father on that one, my dear,” There’s nothing short of a smile on her smile when she looks back up. “He’ll have better answers for you. Afterall, he is the one who mostly took care of the migraines since I was so busy.”

He deflates. Well, there’s no point in worrying about it if he can just ask his dad about it later. “Oh, mom. I’m so disoriented— I didn’t even recognize where I was.”

“I’ll say. You almost gave me a fright when I heard your voice, it’s just been so long since you’ve shown up— but I’m so glad you’re here. How I’ve missed my little star.” She looks to him with awe, the lines on the sides of her eyes so familiar and so comforting. He doesn’t feel as confused as he did a few moments ago, thank goodness. She looks down at his clothes— to the white linen night shirt and pants— taking in the darkened smudges with a quirk of her expressive lips. “My dearest, you are covered in dirt.”

He probably looks like he’s been wrestling in gold-colored mud. And lost. “Marinette says I’m a magnet to it.”

“She may have a point.” Her laugh is short and sweet.

“Oh— I— also, I think I crushed some of your flowers when I showed up,” He gestures behind him. He can somewhat make out a small divet in the swaying field of lilies as the wind combs through them— he feels apologetic enough to flatten his ears at the sight. “I’m sorry.”

He always does this. Why does he always do this? He sags his shoulders on sheer instinct, flattening his ears harder against his head.

“Oh, dear, don’t apologize! I know you’re always upset when it happens, but remember, a flower can simply just grow back— besides, I’d much rather have you here, dearest, even if you’re only here via a dream.” She reaches for him in order to pull him closer and sit with her. He sits down with her, more comfortable and at ease being able to look at his mom at the correct height. He’s not used to looking down at her— she’s taller than him when she stands up. His mom will always and forever be taller than him. “You’ve always been our greatest gift, after all— you know I would trade all of the fire lilies in the world if it means to see you one more time.”

“Don’t call me a gift like that,” He laughs as his face steams red. His ears flick at the wind, breathing in heavy at the honey scent, watching his mother coddle and care for the thousands of flowers she cultivates each year. She snips a fire lily’s stem— the bulb is swollen with a blossom so large that it has the same diameter as the size of his whole head. It’s huge. Absolutely beautiful.

“I speak the truth, my dear.”

“Mom,” He rolls his eyes.

Her laughter is always sweet, but especially so when she places the flower into his hair. It’ll never sit well, given that he doesn’t have human ears like her— he has cat ears, just like his dad— but the flower stays as well as it can. “Your father would agree.”

“That doesn’t count. Dad will agree with anything you say.”

“It’s only because I’m right.”

“‘Greatest gift’,” He huffs, “Come on, mom. You can’t say things like that and expect me to keep a straight face.”

“You used to love to be told that,” There is so much humor in her smile that he can’t maintain eye contact with her. She snips another flower stem, letting her cutter rest in her lap so she can inhale the sweet honey scent of the petals. “What changed? Now that you’re twenty one, you’re acting so much more of an adult, my dear— where is my little star that couldn’t bear to see me leave without crying into his father’s robes?”

Only nine years of his memory intact. He is twenty one, but only nine of those years are real and unblemished. Sure, they’re full of headaches and dizzy spells and days where he’d lock himself in his room in the pitch dark trying to get the pain to go away, but they’re all he remembers of his younger teen years. He doesn’t know how to feel.

“Still here, don’t worry. You know I hate seeing you leave— I don’t feel comfortable with it. I have such an attachment to you.”

“I know, my dearest. You’ve always been a momma’s boy,” Tikki laughs, petting his softly on the cheek with a freckled thumb. “Ever since the first day we met, a crying and squirming little thing, only wrapped in bedsheets— always asking for your mother.”

He wishes he remembered even just a smidge of his childhood. All his memories start at the age of twelve. All his memories start with him curling into his mother’s arms, begging to be comforted from pain and fear of a man strangling him like something out of a nightmare. All his memories start with his mother looking at him like he’s her greatest miracle she’s ever performed.

“Hey, what does ‘greatest gift’ even mean, anyway?” He snorts, trying to focus on their conversation. “How am I a gift? All I am is a Chat Noir. You both have known Chat Noir’s for thousands of years— how am I any different?”

Her hands are just slightly bigger than his. Even with her giant height— he knows that it’s because they’re gods, and only because she is a goddess, she is taller than average— her fingers are proportionately small for her size. Delicate, slim— but her hands are definitely smaller than normal. She pauses with her fingers running against the petals of the lily she’s cut, her thick brows pinching closer in a way that her freckles shift on her skin in a mesmerizing way.

“It’s true that we’ve known many iterations of our champions,” She starts, “countless Ladybugs. Countless different species of earthen creatures— sometimes demons, too. Each more selfless than the last— always willing to give up so much of themselves for others.”

He tries not to think of Marinette, willing to give up her entire soul, just to bring back the one boy she couldn’t save.

“Plagg has had many Chat Noirs in the past, too— not all of them were demons. Many humans, like my Ladybugs— or many other creatures on earth. Nagas, for example— we’ve each had champions from all sorts. I’ve seen Plagg pick prodigies in the most unlikely of places— it makes sense, of course. Chat Noir is as Chaos personified— it wouldn’t do for it to be the same every time. While I always pick the most selfless, Plagg has always picked the most— uhm— impulsive.”

Impulsive? Or does she mean selfish?

How selfish is he really, for wanting to save Marinette’s soul from himself? He flattens his ears on his head with a simple: “Oh.”

She gestures to the field around them. “If we were to condense every Chat Noir into a flower for just an analogy, I’m sure in your eyes it would look much like this field. All the flowers look the same in the end, don’t they? A sea of orange?”

He shrugs, agreeing easily. “Sad but true.”

“But you haven’t been here to see how much care I put into each individual flower. Combined, it is a sea of mirrored and identical petals, but each flower I have cared for individually. I know the personalities of each and every flower— and I do actually mean Ladybug, in this analogy, just so that we’re clear. I listened to their prayers, nurtured them in all the ways I could. I watched them blossom under my care and protection— I watched each individual petal open up to reveal a gorgeous fire lily anyone would be proud of.”

“But we’re all the same in the end. We’re just a collection of fire lilies for you.”

“Our champions are never just a collection, my sweet.” She turns to him, holding the cut fire lily in her hand, cradling it like it’s the most precious one out of all. “They are reflections of ourselves. Extensions of us, in a way. It is just like a knight that works for a king and queen— it is commendable that they all wear the same crest— but not every knight is an equal. Each have wants, wishes, gains and conquests that they themselves did. We call you champions and prodigies because you are someone that we think of always. Every Ladybug has had a trait that I’ve prioritized— each Chat Noir has had something that Plagg has admired.”

“But what does—”

“You’re the first Chat Noir we’ve ever had as ours.” Tikki smoothes out her stola— a browned fabric over her tunic that keeps her from getting dirt while she works. “That in and of itself is a gift, my dear. You will never know how much work and attention Plagg gave to every one, that is true— and it may feel like you are just the same as all the others— but you will always be our son. No other Chat Noir can claim that title— never will be able to, either. You were a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The chance, afterall, quite literally had deposited itself onto our lap.”

He tilts his head, feeling a smile starting to spread on his face at her words. “Does that mean I’m your Chat Noir, too?”

“You always have been,” She smiles back— so reminiscent of Marinette, she really is a perfect fit for his mother— and reaches over to give him a combover with her hands in his hair. He purrs at her touch, even if she ends up pushing the fire lily off where she’d placed it in between his wild mane. She laughs softly when he tilts his head so she prioritizes petting at his ears, squeezing lightly with a thumb and a forefinger against the cup of his ear. “The moment you popped into our world, you were ours to take care of. You know I wouldn’t let Plagg have you by himself— I’d become much too smitten with you the moment we met. Beautiful and bright like a little star— somehow the fire that burned in the sun that had been stolen from me by a previous Chat Noir had come back to become my own child. Funny how luck works out in the end, no?”

“I guess so.” Chat agrees, picking a stray petal off of her basket. His blackened fingers stain orange from contact with the pollen that sticks to the petal like glue. “I’m sorry for feeling self conscious, mom.”

“It’s natural to ask questions about your place in everything. I would find it more concerning if you hadn’t questioned it at some point. I’m just glad I got to you before Plagg did— your father would no doubt try to convince you to burn something to feel better.” She turns her head slightly away to snip at another stem, placing the first into the basket. Each flower glistens with a dew so thin that Chat’s sure he’s imagining it. He groans when he realizes his tail is stained with pollen, too. “You know, my sweet, it’s good fortune to be blemished by a lily.”

“I don’t think it’s good fortune to have it stain your butt. I’m glad I’m not actually here— Marinette would kill me if I woke up to all these stains in my clothes.”

Tikki laughs. “It’s a shame you can only visit my realm through dreams, but I know it’s for the best. Your hellfire would be burned to the quick of your nails if you were actually here. It’s a shame your father can never see my land— though it’s not like he’d ever leave his throne, the spoiled king he is. Speaking of, how is my darling Ladybug?”

His mom is making conversation— she doesn’t need to ask about Marinette. She’s always checking up on her little worker, making sure that she’s okay. Marinette has absolutely no idea that every prayer she whispers under her breath is absolutely heard by his mother— he just wishes he could say that about all the prayers he gives to his father. Rude.

“She’s okay. Hardworking.” He feels a little silly answering a question about her own champion. “Preparing spells for the town for spring and summer. And for the town next over. And for anyone she comes across.”

“Oh, sweet and darling Marinette. She works too hard. She’ll miss all the festivities if she works herself this brutishly.”

“I’ve told her that already. She just works harder to spite me. She keeps telling me that she needs to counteract everything she knows I’m going to end up accidentally doing during the festivals, so she’s trying to make good luck charms for the entire village so that they can negate me.”

“Splitting image of me and your father,” His mother’s lips widen to the point where he can see the dimples pressing into her cheeks. “How adorable.”

He steams red. “Don’t— don’t you dare.”

“Dare what, dearest?”

“I’ve known you my whole life, mom, don’t try to pretend that I can’t read what you’re thinking. You’re trying to get your hopes up to a daughter-in-law, or whatever, but it’s not going to happen.” He huffs, attempting to hide his face in his hands but ending up having to sneeze from the pollen on his claws.

“Why not? It’s not uncommon for a Ladybug and a Chat Noir to fall in love. It’s happened countless of times already— Marinette is a perfect Ladybug for our Chat Noir.”

He burns redder. “Mom— I— how does that even work, anyway? Isn’t Chat Noir known to be a rogue?”

“Not always. You’re already proof enough of that, aren’t you? You’ve spent only a year with her and my little star has become smitten. Sometimes all it takes is a gentle guidance in the right direction and you two end up meeting and falling in love.”

Chat startles, crossing his arms, trying to keep a pout off of his face. “Wait a minute. This has nothing to do with my dad shoving me through the portal when she opened it on accident in the throne room, does it?”

“I know of nothing about this,” Her smile tells him all he needs to know. “Perhaps you should bring it up to your father instead.”

“It won’t work. I’m telling you, both of you are wasting your time— there’s no need to play matchmaker. She’s in love with someone else, you know.”

Tikki raises a brow in his direction, snipping another fire lily. “Oh, is she? No doubt the same boy she’s trying to save with the miraculous cure?”

“I’m going to be honest, you don’t sound that impressed. Isn’t this spell supposed to be the hardest one? Needing a Ladybug and a Chat Noir?”

“That’s true. And not to worry, I am most definitely impressed,” She’s full of humor as she runs her hands along the petals. “But I suppose you’re old enough to know that your father is a helpless romantic, although I’m sure you’ve already realized. He’s the one who created that spell, you know. I’m credited with a lot of things— but I’m not the one who started with spells. Your father is a genius when it comes to magic— the miraculous cure was unsurprisingly a spell he’d created, not me.”

“Okay. Sure. I know you’re right about my dad being lovesick. But what does helpless romantic have to do with—”

She tips her head down enough so that he isn’t able to see her face from the brim of her hat. “Well, you need a Ladybug and a Chat Noir together in the same place and at the same time in order to perform it. Having neither, or just one, and trying to perform it never gets you the results you need.”

“You’re joking. Please, tell me you’re joking.” He whines into his hands, ignorant to the pollen that sticks to his fingers and stains his eyelids as he wipes. Of course. Of course. “The most powerful spell in the world was made just for you two to continue trying to match-make Chat Noirs and Ladybugs together.”

Tikki snorts out a laugh so youthful and clean— so reminiscent of Marinette— he can barely stand it, blushing into his hands. “We’re only gods, my dear. There is only so much entertainment in our lives before the mundane gets mundaner. While we do not force any connection between any one of our champions, we do give them the opportunity to meet sometimes. If your father had his way, however, we would be giving opportunities to every single one of our champions.”

Chat sits there, absolutely steaming into his hands, letting his thoughts wander. She doesn’t like him that way. She doesn’t.

After all, even if there’s a chance that she does, there’s still Adrien.

He tries changing the topic just a smidge. “You know, I told her that you know that we’re going to try the miraculous cure—”

“—Let me guess, she didn’t take it well, I assume?”

“She took is as well as you can when you get told that a divine being knows your every move,” He quirks his lips, feeling exasperated, pulling his hands away from his face. “I’m just worried about the results. And her. And the boy we’re saving.”

And me, he wants to add. My heart.

“Everything will work out correctly and properly in the end, my dear.” Tikki’s eyes sparkle with stars. “After all, you’ve brought me and your father nothing but happiness. You’ll never bring me pain in any sense of the word.”

“I’m not going to lie, that’s really cryptic— what does that mean, mom?”

“It means that I don’t have any time to explain, unfortunately. It’s time to wake up, dearest little star.”

“What? Already? But I just got here—”

“You slept a little too late last night, it seems like.”

“I was keeping Marinette company,” He argues. “She cried herself to sleep in my arms tonight.”

This startles Tikki enough that she turns to face him completely. “Whatever for?”

“She’s been having nightmares,” His ears flatten, remembering the fear in her eyes. “Really bad nightmares about not being able to save this boy we’re performing the spell for.”

“Interesting. I hadn’t picked up on that— I don’t think she’s been praying to me about those.” Tikki makes a humming noise. “I’ll make sure to pay extra attention on her for the following nights to see if I can do anything.”

“Just don’t mention it to her that I told you. She’ll probably freak.”

“Of course.” She wraps an arm around his shoulder, pressing his ear to her heart. She hands him the fire lily, never afraid of his blackened claws, kissing him so softly against his hair and ears he barely feels it. He is warm, and loved, and comforted— all wonderful things that Tikki does best. “I love you so dearly, my little star. Give this to Marinette, won’t you? I’m sure she’ll love to see it. Until we cross paths, my sweet.”

“I love you too.” The scent of honey consumes him, his eyes slipping shut, sagging against her as if he’s falling asleep— gripping her tight on her robes, never wanting to let go. “Until… we cross paths… Mom.”

- * -

His eyes snap open to look at the ceiling. There’s a headache in the back of his mind as his vision tries to right itself, but it’s a familiar headache. Going to his mother’s dream world always makes him dehydrated— most likely his body’s attempt to warn him not to do it often. She wasn’t lying when she said that his body wouldn’t be able to handle it if he went there in real life— the hellfire that burns around his soul like a protective shield would absolutely extinguish.

There’s a weight on his chest.

Not just his chest, his entire body— he glances down to see it. It’s not an extremely heavy weight— it’s definitely doable.

Marinette.

He stiffens when he registers the black inkspill of her hair— long, coating the two of them like a sheet of ribbon. She’s plastered onto him, still fisting his shirt, her hips slotted against his. Even through their clothes, he can feel her warmth up against him— her arms around him, her chest against his, her calves up against his knees— he really does his best not to panic.

He tries to take a small moment to memorize how she feels up against him, knowing that he won’t have this forever. It’s unlikely that he’ll have this ever again— knowing that if Marinette were to wake up now, she’d never want him anywhere near her during sleep from how embarrassed she’d get. He cherishes her slow and gradual breathing— her cheek pressed into his chest where the seal is.

He cherishes her warmth with a lazy turn of his head to look at her long eyelashes that peek from underneath her bangs. She’s a beautiful little witch, with her excess of freckles that dot below her eyes and cross her nose bridge. A beautiful, lovely, selfless witch.

He reaches with one of his hands over to one of her shoulders so he can try slipping out from underneath her, knowing that she’ll be incredibly uncomfortable if she woke up to find herself on top of him like a blanket.

There’s a fire lily in his hand.

Right. Right. He’d seen his mother in a dream.

He’s apprehensive to continue holding the flower— the red petals never look redder than when they do when they’re in his blackened hands and claws— but he can’t place it down because the low table with his plate from last night is too far away.

But if he tries to get out from underneath her, he’ll most definitely crush the flower in his hands.

His mother has cursed him to stay here, the conniving goddess.

“Stop playing matchmaker, it won’t work.” He whispers softly to the flower, as if she can hear him through it. He frowns at the flower for good measure, narrowing his eyes towards the offending lily. She doesn’t like him that way. She doesn’t.

“What?” Marinette startles awake. “What is— what are you—”

Her face is so close to his— they’re almost knocking foreheads with each other— all he can do is look at her eyes and offer a weak: “Oh. I’m—”

“—I,” She looks down to where her hands are on his chest. The seal burns a warm and comforting temperature underneath her palm, he tries not to let his heart rate speed up just in case she feels it. Her face flames red as her hair finally falls over her shoulders, obscuring the sides of their vision with a black curtain. “Oh, Tikki!”

Tikki indeed. Oh boy.

“Marinette—”

“I am so sorry!”

“It’s okay—”

“How embarrassing— did we sleep the entire night like this? Oh my goodness, how improper of me— how could I—” She pulls away from him, almost launching herself off the couch entirely.

The only way to get out of this is to just push through, so, he smiles as wide as he can and brings his hand with the flower closer to her. “Here. This is for you.”

“A— a fire lily?” She stops her internal raving just to blink at his hand with confusion. “That’s my favorite flower, but I’ve never seen one so large and so— oh, heavens, it’s beautiful. How did you get this, Chat?”

“I thought maybe you’d want it,” He’s only half lying by not exactly answering her question, and tries not to blush when her small hands come to clasp his larger one. “It reminds me of you.”

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#ohhh god i am so behind on posting these on here #so sorry so sorry #steadily uploading all the available chapters onto this blog please excuse me #marichatmay2021 #marichat may #marichat #marinette dupain cheng #chat noir #fire lily au #fragileizyadrienette

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the-hopeless-haze · 4 years

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Somebody Hurt Me Too Deep (Being Alive Ch 14)

Previous Chapter

A/N: I AM BACK omg ok like I’ve been through it in the last month..... yeah. This was of course based on “Being Alive” but also “champagne problems”... thank Taylor Swift for any emotional distress I cause :)

CW: talks of mental illness, brief mentions of past trauma and car accidents

Taglist (thank u all for reading ily): @caked-crusader @thatesqcrush @law-nerd105 @blackeyedangel9805 @moon-river-drifter @the-baby-bookworm @dianilaws @xecq @lv7867 @arabellathorne @teddybluesclues @averyhotchner @houseofthirst

“Carino? I’m home,” Rafael says as he steps through the apartment door, placing his briefcase down on the recliner. It was only 3pm, early for him to be finished with work for the day, but he had been getting out earlier recently to accompany you to physical therapy appointments. You were doing well, at least physically. It had been a long six weeks, but today might be the appointment that cleared you to go back to work full-time and maybe get out from behind the desk a little.

Mentally, though, it was a mixed bag. Some days were easier than others, and that was to be expected, but it was hard to tell the squad you were doing better when you couldn’t even bring yourself to text them back. Still, he pleaded otherwise, said every day was a new day and carried on even if they didn’t believe him.

Today, though, today was the turning point, he could feel it. You were doing so well, and eventually, your brain would have to catch up with your body. So tonight, he booked a reservation at a restaurant… not any restaurant, but the Cuban restaurant he took you to the night you asked him out and he barely used your first name and he swore he hated you with nearly every fiber of his being.

Right. As if he hated you even then.

You’re in a good mood, albeit not as elated as he hoped, but the physical therapist approves you for work but to “take it easy” and you’re laughing at his wry remarks and squeezing his hand in the back of the taxi on the way to the restaurant. His nerves almost dissipate, but they don’t. And maybe that should’ve been his first sign that tonight was not going to go as planned.

Rafael was never a superstitious man, but you order the same dish you ordered the first time he took you out, and he can’t help but think this is a sign to push forward.

“Oh, fuck it,” Rafael murmurs, a surge of anxiety overcoming him. “I was going to wait until after dinner… but…. I have something I want to ask you.”

And just like that, your face falls, but Rafael can barely take that in, he just keeps talking, his mouth moving faster than the neurons in his brain that tell him to stop, now isn’t a good time.

“I love you so much, (y/n), and I know these past few months have been so hard, and this isn’t the way either of us have wanted this year to start, but… we got through it together. I never thought I’d be in a position in my life, with someone who I love… that I’d be willing to do this, but… (Y/n)... will you marry me?”

You don’t say anything for a few seconds, but it feels like hours, days, months. “Can you get up off the floor, Rafael? You’re embarrassing us,” you finally say hollowly, and it’s true, the whole restaurant is stopped in their tracks staring at the two of you. Rafael couldn’t possibly care less, though, he couldn’t comprehend anything that was going on - he was just thinking “well, she hasn’t said no…” and then you’re getting up, throwing your napkin on the table, shaking your head, saying “I can’t do this.”

Rafael gains some of his senses back, enough to follow you outside into the tempering late February air. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, Rafael, I don't,” you say stiffly without turning around to face him. “I’ll get my stuff in the morning. I need to be alone right now.”

“I just… I didn’t know you weren’t happy,” Rafael says, his voice breaking, and that gives you enough impetus to turn around.

“You didn’t know I wasn’t happy? Goddamn, Rafael, do you even live with me? I’ve been unhappy for months.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why didn’t you know?”

“Jesus, (y/n), maybe because I’m not a fucking mind reader?”

“Right. You honestly thought we were in a good enough place to propose tonight?”

“Obviously! Or I wouldn’t have done it!” he snaps. “You honestly think we’re in a bad enough place that you couldn’t say yes?”

“Obviously! Or I would have done it!” you throw his words back at him, and god do they sting.

“You never told me anything. You just withdrew.”

“Yeah. Maybe that should’ve been a sign. Look. I’m moving back home. I was going to tell you tonight.”

“What? Is that all it was? (Y/n), if you want to move back, I could work something out--”

“No. No, you can’t, Rafael. You’ve never been able to work anything out in your life because you’re too scared to! You just operate on fear - and this is no exception. You thought I was going to die six weeks ago and that’s the only reason you’ve been acting this way, and I’ve been slipping away recently and you’ve just been trying to consistently deny it so you just get on one knee and think that’s going to solve everything, think that’s going to make me stay. That’s not how it works! I’m not happy. I need to go home.”

“Oh no. You know what it is? You’re afraid. Don’t try to put this on me. You’re the one who’s walking away. You’re the one who’s running back home.”

“Fuck you, Rafael. Your family is all here. Mine isn’t. My brother’s getting a job for the first time, my mom just got on disability, I miss my dad… I’ve spent too long here. I’ve spent too long with you.”

“What happened? What the fuck happened?”

“What the fuck happened every other time, Rafael? You’ve gone through this plenty of times before.”

Rafael scoffs, shakes his head, leans against the outside of the restaurant. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m fucking sick, Rafael!” you’re screaming now, your cheeks turning red, your eyes leaking angry tears. “All this time, since the accident, I’ve been fucking drowning and you didn’t even notice!”

“Sick?”

“Depressed, Rafael. Anxious. Liv wanted me screened before I came back and the therapist said so. AGain. For the fucking umpteenth time in my life. But this time, I thought I had someone who cared--”

“How the fuck was I supposed to know if you didn’t tell me?”

“Couldn’t you see?”

Rafael shakes his head slowly, but now it comes back to him, all these subtle signs, the days you wouldn’t make it out of bed until 3 pm, all the days and nights you spent staring listlessly at the walls, the inability of anything he said or did to make you feel better. But it came and went, and Rafael just took it as you being upset sometimes at the limitations placed on you by your injured leg. Never did he think there was something more serious going on. Or maybe he just didn’t want to think that, and he ignored every signal.

“I’m sorry, (y/n),” he whispers, but he knows that’s too little, too late. Both of you were at fault - that was clear to him now - but was it clear to you? “I really didn’t know.”

“Evidently,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest.

“But you can get help. We can work this out.”

“I just… Rafael. I’m not ready. You of all people should have some sympathy for that.”

Ouch. You were going for the jugular now, hurting him where only you could, rejecting his proposal, leaving him crestfallen on one knee in the middle of a restaurant, but somehow your words hurt worse. Anyone could reject a proposal. Only you could psychoanalyze him and hurl the worst remarks his way, things no one else would be able to come up with.

“Then okay,” he sighs. “We won’t get married yet, or ever, if that’s what you want. But you really want to throw this away entirely?”

“I don’t know, Rafael. I don’t. Look, I’m sorry too. I just… I can’t deal with this right now.”

“Do you think… do you think maybe--”

“I don’t know,” you say firmly. “I don’t even know if I really want to go back home. I just know I don’t want to live like this anymore, just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“But it isn’t going to drop. I just fucking proposed. I’m in this for the long haul. And fuck it, if you want to go back home, I’ll work it out.”

“This fake optimism isn’t you.”

“This lack of optimism entirely isn’t you! What happened to the woman who got through some of the worst shit imaginable and landed on her own two feet? You got into a car accident, (y/n). You lived! You should be thankful, not sitting here sulking like your world’s gone to shit.” Again, his mouth moves too fast to register the look on your face as it falls, and tears start to stream down your face. He can’t stop but push it further, hurt you in retaliation.

“Seriously, Rafael, how insensitive can you be? I tell you I’m struggling and you invalidate my feelings? Fuck off.”

“I didn’t mean--”

“Why’d you say it then? You know what, I’m done. Goodbye, Rafael.”

“But--”

“No. Give me space. You owe me that.”

He does. And god, it hurts to watch you walk away, his abuelita’s ring burning a hole in his pocket when it should be on your finger. But maybe.... maybe this isn't the end. Maybe all you need is space.

Maybe Rafael's wishing on a pipe dream. He doesn't know anymore. All he knows is the sting of this pain.

-----

You walk alone in the dark, your leg still aching slightly, and you just feel like utter shit. You can’t remember ever feeling quite this low, but you can’t remember feeling rage like this, either. No one’s hurt you like Rafael.

But that’s because you loved him enough to let him.

You still love him even now, but spending day in and day out with him coddling you, you couldn’t handle it. And maybe you should’ve acted like an adult and told him and stopped pretending everything was fine when you knew it wasn’t. If only you weren’t so fucked in the head, right? Just how it always went, your life, cycles of feeling fine and cycles of feeling like you’re scraping at the bottom of a barrel for a will to go on. And yeah, sometimes even you would question why you were taking this so hard - so what, it’s a car accident, you were lucky to have lived - but Rafael didn’t understand and you didn’t know how to make him. How were you going to get in a passengers seat again without having a panic attack? Would your leg ever fully heal? You’d wasted six weeks staring at the walls of Rafael’s apartment, doing menial paperwork for Olivia that anyone could have done. How could you not feel entirely worthless? And then for Rafael to make it seem like you were overexaggerating like you should just get over this… you hated him.

But you didn’t, really. You know deep down he’s just angry the night didn’t go the way he wanted it to, with you promising to be his for the rest of your life. Still, rage is a truth serum of sorts, like cheap wine, and it makes you wonder how deep that resentment runs. How could he not notice you were upset, though? That’s a hell of a blind eye to turn.

At least back home you had Ben if nothing else.

But here, you had everything else. The squad, your career, Rafael… You couldn’t even begin to think about marriage right now - Lord knows Rafael isn’t ready either - but did you really want to throw in the towel? How do couples move past a rejected proposal, though? Hadn’t you hurt him deeper than anyone else could have? And would he ever figure out how to propose again?

Maybe to someone else, you think, someone who didn’t have all these fucking issues.

Before you know it, you have a cigarette in your mouth and a lighter in hand and you’re leaning against the side of a convenience store, watching girls walk by in stilettos hanging on to their men or giggling with their group of friends, the taxis blurring past. Then you realize you broke the first promise you made to Rafael: you bought cigarettes in New York.

Had he really wanted to collect on that promise? It wasn’t like you were addicted, it was just a stupid habit you started in high school to take the edge off, but you supposed some people had the inclination to start and never stop, but you always could when you wanted to.

Your vice wasn’t cigarettes, no, it was love. You gave all you could to whoever would take it because you were so used to people wanting nothing to do with you since you isolated yourself due to your past trauma. Once you got to college, you refused to hide in the background, and you took chances you weren’t used to taking and loved in color, you loved until it made you blue when the boys would cheat or your so-called friends would find different cliques.

You were still like that, albeit in so much a desperate way, and you had been loved in return, now, not just by Rafael but by the squad too - even if you had your squabbles. You loved them to death and back.

But friends were easier to keep than lovers.

Maybe it is scary to think Rafael was going to be the end. That he’d be the last man you ever kissed in love or passion. That you’d be the last woman standing in his long list of ex-lovers - the only one who didn’t get crossed off.

How do you love someone that much? You always said you wanted that, but the thought always terrified you anyway, and maybe it’s why you did push people away when they felt too close because you felt like you didn’t deserve it, like you were still atoning for some sin you didn’t remember committing but you still feel guilty for all the same. You wonder if Rafael feels just as guilty.

You inhale the smoke, feeling the familiar, carcinogenic burn in your throat, causing yourself pain to cause Rafael pain only to cause you pain in return; an endless cycle of hurt.

With ambivalence, you put your cigarette out and hail a cab, and tell him to drive you to your apartment which you haven’t seen in weeks. There’s dust on every surface, it’s freezing as hell, and you don’t know how you’re going to sleep tonight, alone, so you light up another cigarette, sitting solitary with your nerves running haywire underneath your skin. What the hell were you going to do now?

#rafael barba x reader #rafael barba x you #rafael barba

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