#maybe i’ll make a post with my favorite mugs and glasses soon

[giddlygoat]

i went to some vintage and thrift shops today looking for a leather bomber jacket for my launchpad mcquack cosplay. i didn’t find the right jacket, but i did stumble upon these collectible mickey glasses!! i love weird collectible glasses SO much, so these were an instant buy.

also spotted a straight up scrooge jacket at my favorite vintage place LAWL, but it’s too small for me so i left it for someone else.

here’s the items i ended up getting:

spotted this INCREDIBLE shirt at my vintage place. the material is really nice and i adore the colors and patterns. i will definitely be wearing this one to work a lot.

i’m pretty sure this one is a scout’s uniform? the shirt is made of a durable and stiff material and i really like it. the white fastens on the shoulders are too cute! i also nabbed that handkerchief today.

this cropped jacket is REALLY rad. it’s hard to tell because i couldn’t get a good picture in my tiny house but the crop is pretty severe and baggy. it’s actually a size too small on me, so fastening the cuffs are out of the question with my fat wrists, but i absolutely love the way it looks on me. it also kind of gives me della duck vibes.

[lou-struck]

Cat Cafe Comfort

Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

~Cat Cafe

This prompt is a part of my Comfort Milestone Event Thank you guys for the Milestone

Life has been way too stressful lately, normally you are able to keep up a façade of cheerful normalcy that fools everyone around you. Well... everyone except Katsuki Bakugou.

Without a word, he approaches where you are huddled up on the couch and pulls you to your feet.

“Katsuki?” you ask looking at the blond “What are you doing?”

“Get up, we’re going somewhere,” he says grabbing his car keys and leaning up against the front door.

While confused at his antics you still do as he says, and meet him at the door to your apartment. He wordlessly takes you down to the parking lot and into the car. “Hey, Suki, where are we going?” you ask but he doesn't answer his crimson eyes stay focused on the road ahead as his lips are fighting a smirk, the same kind of smirk that he had on his face the other day when he surprised you with a box of your favorite sweets he picked up after patrol the other day. Whatever he has planned is no doubt a surprise for you.

After fifteen or so minutes of watching him try to maintain his terrible poker face, you pull in front of a white brick building that you immediately recognize as the new cat cafe that just opened up last month.

You have been trying to find the time to make it there since opening but haven't been able to find the time.

Being able to socialize with kittens that were in need of adoption while also contributing to their vet bills seems like the best way to enjoy a cup of coffee. Not to mention it would help with your current stress levels. Your heart flutters in anticipation as you take in the wonderful surprise that your boyfriend has given you.

“Are we really going here?” you say happily looking at him. His eyes soften at your happy expression as he looks over at you

“Don’t look at me like that Dummy,” he mumbles trying to hide the blush forming on his cheeks with his arm sleeve. “ You just looked like you needed it,”

You take his other hand and tilt your chin up towards him “Thank you Katsuki”

He turns away and you can see the tips of his ears turning pink from your reaction. You practically skip across the asphalt to the Cat Café, Katsuki steps forward to open the door for you and you walk inside.

The heavy aroma of brewing coffee hits you as you open the door. The Interior looks like any other coffee shop, a large rack of unique glass mugs decorates the shop and a big display case of baked goods separates the customers from the baristas on the other side.

Katsuki slips his credit hand into your hand and pushes you towards the coffee bar, “You go get yourself anything you want, don't go cheap on me now. I’ll get us checked in.”

“Do you want anything Suki?” you ask as he walks away. 

“I’ll order in a bit,” he says walking over to check the two of you in to go to your private room where you can socialize with the kittens.

~

You open the door to dozens of multicolored kittens bounding across the wooden floors mewling happily as they entertain themselves with toys and scratching posts. 

Placing your drink on a table you prepare to give your full attention to the adorable bundles of fur in front of you. As soon as you sit down on the floor they swarm upon you. Their little paws knead into the fabric of your pants as they try to climb you. The action causes you to giggle happily.

“You forgot I saw here didn't ya?” Katsuki scolds from behind you. Turning around you see him leaning back against the door frame with his arms crossed.

“Maybe,” you hum gently scratching behind the ears of an older orange tabby.

The kittens perk up at his voice and begin to creep closer to the blond.

Suddenly a little black one just out to attack the aglet of his shoelace.

The others follow its lead and Katsuki tries his best to scowl down at the creatures with no success.

They only come closer to him playing with his shoes and trying to use their little claws to climb up his pant leg

 “Hey, don't rip it, this stuff is expensive.” he snarls at the little ninja making its way up to his shoulder.

Eventually, he gives in and moves to sit on the floor with a huff grumbling about how they need to learn some manners. 

He riles up the kittens until they make their way over to you. You are so distracted you don't even notice that a little one has climbed up on your lap and fallen asleep its ash-gray chest rising and falling gently amidst the chaos.

“I think they like you,” you whisper gently stroking down the back of the sleeping kitten with the pads of your fingers.

“And why wouldn't they? Even these damn cats know I’m the real deal” he laughs continuing to play with the ones throwing themselves at the Pro Hero’s feet.

If the press saw this side of him, the tough guy persona he has crafted would crumble on the weight of the kitten's adorableness. 

With the kitten in your arms, you move into the armchair so you can rest alittle easier too. As you sick into the plushness your movements are slow. You would hate to ruin the little cat nap that is going on on your lap.

Once you are situated this warm feeling takes over you. You are just so comfortable you can’t help but doze off just a bit.

~

As you snooze Bakugou looks over at your sleeping form with a soft little smile. You look so relaxed he turns to head to the front desk to purchase just a bit more time in the room so you can rest.

While there he spots the pile of adoption papers on the countertop. 

Maybe your home could use a new addition?

[expectingtofly]

What It Means to Love, 3k

established dean/cas, hurt/comfort, post 15x20, human!cas

day 2 of @thiscastielhasflown and i's follower celebration

prompt: hurt/comfort

“Dean, I am perfectly fine, I—” Cas paused, face scrunching up, then he sneezed before he could finish his sentence.

Dean took a step backwards. “Dude, gross! Seriously? Sneeze into your elbow. That’s like preschool 101.”

“Oh, then it’s so great that I went to preschool,” Cas said, managing to sound sarcastic even with his nose stuffed up. Dean winced as he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his trenchcoat. “It’s not like I haven’t been a human for only three months.”

Right. “Yeah, well, guess this is the perfect introduction." How the hell did Cas manage to still look so adorable slumped against the kitchen counter, clothes wrinkled and nose red? “Welcome to humanity, you have a cold. Here, stop that.” He couldn't watch Cas wipe his nose on his sleeve again. They didn’t have tissues in the kitchen, but he grabbed a napkin and handed it to him. Dutifully, Cas took it and blew his nose. “What you need is to get in some comfier clothes, lay down, and get some sleep.”

Violating the few feet he'd put between them to stay clear of the germs, he stepped closer to loosen Cas' tie. Cas let him, saying, "I can still help research—"

"No, no." Cas leveled him with a glare, but it had lost its bite now that Dean knew he couldn't strike him dead with his angel grace. Okay, it was still pretty menacing. "I'm trying to save your ass. Sam will kill you if you sneeze on his laptop or precious books. Come on, take off the coat, you gotta be burning up."

He was helping Cas slip it off when Sam walked into the kitchen. “Ew, gross," he complained, covering his eyes with his hand, and Dean realized he was essentially undressing Cas in front of the kitchen island. "Get a room."

"Grow up," Dean said, draping Cas' coat and tie over his arm. Okay, so maybe they’d given Sam a reason to be on-guard now, but, "It's not what it looks like."

Sam lowered his hand, then frowned at Cas. "Woah. What happened to you?"

"I'm sick," Cas answered, as if that wasn't obvious enough by his glassy eyes and disheveled appearance.

"Well, uh, wash your hands," Sam said, stepping back as Cas started for the door, Dean following. "Don't wanna spread any germs. And try to stay out of the library."

"Told you," Dean whispered to Cas as they went down the hallway. In their room, he gestured for Cas to sit on the bed as he rummaged through their dresser. “T-shirt and sweatpants,” he said, handing them over.

Cas unbuttoned his white button-down which was identical to the dress shirts he always wore as an angel. Apparently old habits died hard—in this case, an affinity for business casual. Actually, maybe Cas getting sick and out of his old clothes was a good thing. Dean didn't know the last time the trenchcoat had been washed.

Collecting Cas' shirt and pants, he said, “I’ll get rid of these disease-ridden clothes.” He thought he caught Cas rolling his eyes as he pulled Dean’s sweatshirt over his head. "You watch TV or something, I’ll go see if we have cold medicine.”

After starting a load of laundry and raiding the medicine cabinets in the bathroom and cabinets in the kitchen, he returned to the room to find Cas sitting cross-legged under the covers of the bed, remote in his hands.

“Here, you go,” Dean said, handing over a warm mug. Ancient Aliens played on the TV; one of Cas' favorite pastimes was refuting every crazy claim and theory the show presented with his own recollections of the ancient times. “Sam said this tea will help. He ran out to get some medicine.”

Eagerly, Cas took the mug from him and took a large gulp, then coughed. "Ow. It's hot."

"Drink it slowly, idiot."

Cas took a more hesitant sip, then squinted up at him. "This tea is incredibly flavorless."

Dean snorted. "’Cause your nose’s clogged up. And you probably burned your tongue. Another joy of being human."

Groaning, Cas dropped his head back on the pillows and stared at the ceiling. "Why is being human so difficult?"

Dean inwardly winced at that. Or thought he did so inwardly, but his expression must've revealed something because Cas glanced over at him, then straightened up, nearly spilling his tea. "Dean, I didn't mean anything by that."

Clearing his throat, Dean shrugged and sat down on the other side of the bed. "No, it's fine. You're right, being human sucks."

"And I wouldn't trade it for the world," Cas said.

"Yeah, yeah. I know."

Cas seemed about to say more, but then he sneezed. Into his elbow this time. Progress.

Ancient Aliens finished, and they got halfway through an episode of UFO Hunters before Cas started to nod off. Dean took the mug from him, and his eyes fluttered open, head jerking up. "I'm fine," he said.

"I know you're tired because you missed them saying aliens created the lost city of Atlantis."

Cas sniffled. "That's ridiculous. Everyone knows Atlantis was formed by—" He was interrupted by a yawn, and Dean made a mental note to return to that subject later.

“Come on, take a nap.”

“I am not a small child, Dean,” Cas protested, but he settled down anyway. Dean couldn’t resist adjusting the covers, essentially tucking him in. He wasn’t trying to baby him, but it was second nature seeing how miserable the guy looked. Turning off the lights, he went to the door. "You good? Need anything else?"

"No." Cas squinted one eye open to look at Dean over the blanket pulled up to his shoulders, and, fuck, if he wasn't still the most beautiful man Dean had ever seen, even sick as a dog. "Thank you."

A tiny alarm went off in Dean's brain about germs, but he returned to the bed to kiss Cas on the forehead anyway. True love, and all that. God, he was getting sappy in his old age.

Cas looked marginally better when he woke up from his nap. If marginally better meant pillow hair and pillow lines on his cheek. Well-rested, at least. He swallowed down the cold medicine Sam had brought home, complaining that he could taste enough to know the flavor was not, quote, "similar to anything occurring organically in nature."

"Whaddya wanna eat?" Dean asked him as he drained his glass of water. "And don't say PB and J," he added before Cas could speak.

Cas set his glass down on the nightstand and slid further down under the covers. "Anything that won't make my throat hurt more."

"My, uh, mom used to make me soup when I was sick."

"That sounds wonderful."

"Whatcha making?" Sam asked, coming into the kitchen. He lifted the lid of the pot on the stove and Dean snapped him with the towel.

"That's for Cas, back off."

"Wow," Sam said, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. "Look at you."

"Look at me what?" Setting aside the pot lid, he scraped the celery he'd been dicing from the cutting board into the pot.

Sam shrugged. "Taking care of Cas, making dinner, you're almost domestic."

Dean turned red and scrambled furiously for a comeback. "Yeah, and you're, you're still a little shit." Nailed it.

Sam laughed. "Wasn't an insult. Just meant, I don't know. Different for you, I guess."

Dean eyed him, stirring the soup. "Don't have much of a choice. Poor guy just turned human and he's already going through it."

"I think he's dealt with worse than a cold before."

"Yeah, well, wish he didn't have to deal with any of it." Any of it meant plenty. Between Dean’s own fuckups, world apocalypses, and near-death and actual death experiences, Cas had been through the ringer several times over. And now he was human—which, by all counts, wasn’t the worst thing he’d been through, but it wasn’t ideal. It’d been a rough transition, anyway.

Cas seemed better recently, though, since getting somewhat used to being human. And things were going well between them. Getting sick was just one tiny wrinkle compared to everything they’d been through, right?

He stared at the soup and startled when Sam straightened off the counter with a comment that Jack was out with friends, he was leaving for Eileen’s, have fun giving Cas a sponge bath. Dean flipped him off as he headed out the door.

When the soup was finished, he ladled a bowl full and returned to the bedroom. Cas looked up from his phone when Dean entered with the bowl of steaming soup. “Hear from Claire?” Dean asked, nudging the door shut with his foot.

“She says she and Kaia have almost closed up the case." He set his phone aside. “They’ll be able to visit soon.”

“You tell her you’re sick?”

“She was incredibly non-sympathetic—thank you." Cas took the bowl from him. “She seemed to find it amusing that I once ruled garrisons and now can’t go five minutes without sneezing.”

Dean tensed, hoping Cas wasn’t hurt by the comparison, but Cas didn’t look offended. “Sounds like her.”

"Yes.” He breathed in the steam coming from the bowl. “This smells incredible.”

"Family recipe," Dean joked, sitting down next to him. "Well, someone's family. Straight from some blog online. Think it's pretty close to what my mom would make." He watched Cas pick up his spoon, and added, "Don't tell Sam." He'd never hear the end of it if Sam knew he was reading mommy blogs.

"Your secret is safe with me."

Dean picked up the remote as Cas ate, wondering if he should give Claire a piece of his mind. Sure, Cas was pretty easy-going about the whole giving up his grace thing, but no need to rub it in his face. Becoming human had to feel pretty pitiful after ages of being an angel.

He was trying to make it better where he could, though. “You wanna watch a movie tonight? I'll let you pick because you're bedridden."

"I am not," Cas protested, though he looked more than a little pleased at the idea of getting to choose. Dean braced himself for whatever ridiculous romance or musical Cas insisted on watching now—to date, he'd been subjected to La La Land , the ending of which had reduced Cas to tears for the rest of the night; Pride and Prejudice, okay not too bad, though he'd never admit it; and You’ve Got Mail, dammit not bad enough for him to hate either.

Instead of suggesting a movie, though, Cas said, "You're very caring, Dean."

"Uh." Dean turned from cycling through the movie options on the TV to look at Cas. He felt himself turn red under the look Cas was giving him, head tilted, that fond almost-smile he got. "Yeah, uh. What I do."

"Yes," Cas agreed. "It is what you do. You're very good at taking care of others."

"Oh, God, don't start that." By that, he meant the long compliments Cas so shamelessly gave him now, like he'd been storing them up for a long time and was finally able to hand them out. It was like the dam had broken that night when Billie and the Empty—

But he didn't want to think about that. Not when all the events since that day had led to Cas now sitting in bed blowing his nose, the trashcan by the bed overflowing with tissues. Poor bastard; he'd gone through one whole Kleenex box already.

"I'm only going to stop because talking hurts too much," Cas told him, tossing a tissue at the trashcan and missing sorely. Dean grimaced.

They nearly got through Mama Mia before Cas dozed off, head resting on Dean’s shoulder. It wasn’t the most comfortable position and Dean’s arm was half-asleep, but he refused to move. The mere fact that they were sitting together in bed, pressed against each other, was still enough to send him into shock anytime he thought about it too much. Cas—a literal former angel—had fallen in love with him. It was almost too good to be true.

But Cas was currently slumped against him, drooling on his shoulder, so he guessed it really was true.

As the credits rolled, he turned off the TV and touched Cas’ forehead with the back of his hand. Not as warm as before. At his touch, Cas blinked awake.

“It’s over already?”

“Whaddya mean, already? I just had to sit through two hours of singing and dancing.” It hadn’t been that torturous, but he couldn’t admit that—he had a reputation to uphold. Straightening, Cas rolled his eyes. “Feel any better?"

Cas’ expression turned thoughtful, as if taking stock of every physical sensation in his body, and Dean had to grin at his seriousness. He nodded. "Yes."

"Great.” He glanced at the time on the clock and realized it was later than he’d expected. “You probably wanna get some rest.”

Cas nodded with a yawn. "You don't have to sleep here if you don't want to."

Dean froze in the middle of pulling back the covers, mind immediately spinning out. "What?" They'd only started sharing a room a month ago, oh God, he'd known it was too good to be true, Cas was sick of him—

"I want you to," Cas said quickly, as if sensing Dean's downward spiraling. "I just don't want you to get sick."

Oh. Oh. Feeling a little sheepish for immediately jumping to the worst conclusions—one of his greatest talents, if he did say so himself—he shook his head. "Nah, I have a great immune system."

Cas' expression turned guilty and Dean narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"About that..." Cas started slowly. Dean gave him a look. "Well, uh... Your immune system isn't quite as healthy as you think. I've been giving it a boost for the past several years, every time you started to get sick."

"What?" Looking back, it was pretty remarkable that he'd never gotten even a common cold with all the other shit they dealt with. "Fuck."

"Sorry."

"No, don't apologize. I should be thanking you. So, uh. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Of course Cas had been taking care of him for years, Dean thought, when they settled in bed and he turned off the lights. Cas told him he was caring, but it was Cas who was the caring one. He’d sacrificed his life for him, for Christ’s sake. Then gave up his grace to return to Earth because he wanted to be with Dean and Jack and Sam and everyone. The guy didn’t have a selfish bone in his body.

The thought should’ve been a comforting one, but instead he felt antsy, unable to stay still, shifting under the blankets.

Turning onto his side, he nudged Cas, whose eyes had fallen shut. With a grunt, Cas opened his eyes and looked over at him.

“You alright?” Dean asked, which wasn’t really what he wanted to say, but he wasn’t sure how to say it.

“I was when I was falling asleep,” Cas grumbled. But he shifted to face Dean. In the faint light coming from the bunker hallway, Dean could see the concern in his eyes. It sent a pang through him. Cas had given up so much, and Dean was doing all he could to make sure he never regretted it, and Cas told him all the time that he was content with his choice, but still the worry sat heavy in his stomach.

"Listen,” he started. “I just wanna let you know that being human isn’t all bad. I swear it won’t be miserable forever. I know you've been introduced to the bad shit first, but—"

"That's not true," Cas interrupted, touching Dean’s hand resting between them. Dean raised an eyebrow. "Dean, being human has been the single most rewarding experience in my entire life second only to raising Jack. It started with you rescuing me from the Empty and revealing my feelings weren't unreciprocated like I thought. I would say that's far from miserable.”

"Yeah, but you had to adjust to living without your grace, and eating food, and getting sick..."

"It's been difficult, yes. I won't lie and say I enjoy bodily functions or sneezing or headaches. But I do enjoy being with you and eating chicken soup and watching absurd TV shows. I wouldn't change this for anything. Whatever happened in our lives, it led us here. And I’m happy with where we are.” He studied Dean for a moment before asking, quieter, “Are you happy?”

“Yes, yeah, of course,” Dean hastened to say, because it was true. Fuck, it couldn’t be truer. “Of course. Just feel bad, I guess. That you gave up your grace and all that. Feel like I’ve hardly done anything.”

Castiel’s expression softened. “You’ve given me more than I could’ve ever dreamt of. And anyway, it’s not a competition, Dean. I take care of you, you take care of me. That’s what love is.”

Throwing that word around, love, still made Dean’s heart skip a beat. But it was true. He loved Cas and he’d do anything for him. The same, he knew, was true on Cas’ end.

Cas said it best, so he settled for lifting Cas’ hand and kissing his knuckles.

“I would kiss you," Cas said, smiling, "but I don’t want to get you sick.”

“Screw it," Dean said, and propped himself up on an elbow to kiss him. Then he shifted, turning over and pulling Cas’ arm to wrap around him. Even if the bastard was sick, Dean was making him be the big spoon.

"For the record,” he said, feeling Cas curl around him. “I wouldn't change anything either."

And he meant it. Even when he woke up the next morning with a sore throat and stuffed up nose. Cas—who seemed to have gotten over the worst of his cold—took only one look at him before declaring it was his turn to play doctor, throwing extra blankets at him and demanding the chicken soup recipe in a flurry of activity.

He’d take care of Cas, and Cas would take care of him. It sounded like a good life, Dean thought, settling back against the pillows with a smile. He wouldn't change a thing.

[seasonschange-butpeopledont]

Everyday Heroes

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x F!Reader

Warnings: A few curse words, an explosion, implied injury, depressed reader, minor character death, grief, and a bit of pining

Word Count: 3,364

Author’s Note: This got out of hand and apparently I only know how to write hopeless pining. Do we agree that Marcus gives off Clark Kent vibes or am I alone in this?

Summary: The three times you discovered Marcus Moreno was a hero. 

Taglist Form - Masterlist

When you’d left the house that morning, the heels you wore had seemed like a great idea. 

You were headed in for your first day at your new job and you wanted to make a good impression by wearing what you perceived to be your most professional outfit. You’d made it to the coffee shop down the street from your apartment with minimal difficulty, though you were certain to have blisters on your feet by the end of the day. Thankfully, your receptionist position meant that you would spend the majority of your day more or less chained to the front desk, answering phones, taking messages, scheduling appointments, and greeting visitors. 

You didn’t know much about Vil-Tech. You’d googled them before your first interview, of course- you weren’t a total idiot and you’d never dare show up unprepared, especially when you needed this job so badly- but your search had yielded only a few results. Most of what you’d found had been articles from the newspaper. The researchers at the lab had, apparently, recently had some success in clean energy technology. Protons, neutrons, particle accelerators, electromagnetic fields… You knew nothing about it, really, but it sounded impressive. And clean energy had to be good, right? When they’d hired you, it hadn’t seemed like a big deal that you knew next to nothing about the company itself. They were only looking for a receptionist, after all, not a scientist. If they’d wanted you to know exactly what was going on in the floors above you, you were sure that they would have let you know. 

With your coffee in hand, you made your way towards the Vil-Tech building. All in all, it seemed like the universe was on your side this morning. You’d woken up early enough to make yourself look decent. Your favorite barista had made your coffee just the way you liked it, and it even looked like you would be early for work. 

And then it all seemed to happen in slow motion. 

The upper half of your body was already moving forward, even as the heel of your shoe remained firmly wedged in the sidewalk crack. You felt the coffee sloshing around in the stainless steel travel mug in your hands, threatening to douse your crisp white blouse in the steaming beverage. You blindly threw your hand out in front of you, bracing yourself to hit the concrete and thinking to yourself that this was just one of those days when this might as well happen. 

But the harsh impact you’d prepared yourself for never came. 

It had taken you a moment to process that someone had caught you. Someone with impeccable reflexes, it seemed, as not only had they rescued you from taking a humiliating fall in the middle of a busy sidewalk, but they also managed to save your coffee without spilling a drop. To say that you were impressed by the feat was an understatement.

But when you looked up at your savior, you were damn near speechless. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, his dark eyes finding yours from beneath his black-framed glasses. And, other than the approximately thirty-seven heart attacks you’d had in the span of 2.5 seconds only moments before, you found yourself nodding in confirmation. 

“I’m fine. I… Thank you,” You breathed out, a warm, tingly feeling spreading out from your chest and right down to your toes. Gods, he had the most beautiful eyes you’d ever seen. He appeared to be somewhere in his mid-forties, and wore a leather jacket with his slacks and tie, a combination you’d never quite seen before, but decided suited him quite well. 

“Are you sure? You look a little dizzy,” He noted. His arm was still around your waist, and you were grateful for it, because you didn’t quite trust the integrity of your knees at the moment.

After a few moments, which had exceeded the socially acceptable amount of time to moon over a stranger while clutching their remarkably toned biceps for dear life by a long-shot, your brain finally seemed to catch up to the rest of you, and promptly flooded your thoughts with embarrassment. You released your death-grip on his arms immediately, trying to maintain your dignity as you yanked your heel from the concrete crevice in a distinctly unladylike manor. All the while, the handsome stranger remained right there, dutifully holding your coffee and trying his best to hide the amusement in his eyes with a polite smile. 

Taking a deep breath and smoothing out your outfit, you nodded at him once again. “I’m fine,” You said in what you hoped was your most composed voice. He promptly handed you your coffee, and you swore you felt electricity when his fingers brushed against yours. 

“Glad to hear it,” He remarked, “That would have been a nasty fall.” 

“Nice save, Clark,” You joked, attempting your most charming smile. Were you flirting? Could you even consider this flirting?

“Clark?” He repeated, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. 

“You know, Clark Kent… with the glasses and... lightning-fast reflexes… saving me from an incredibly embarrassing moment?” You explained weakly. It wasn’t as if you’d never spoken to an attractive man before, but it seemed that the universe was decidedly not on your side this morning after all.

“Superman?” Another smile found its way to his face. He seemed flattered by your comment. “My daughter loves those comics.” At the mention of his daughter, your eyes quickly darted down to his left hand. There was no wedding ring there, but it was clear that there had been one there in the past. 

“Well, your daughter has excellent taste. And we could all use a few more heroes in our lives, right?” You sighed wistfully, before adding, “Thank you, by the way.” 

“It was no big deal,” He assured you. “I’m always happy to help a pretty lady in need.” 

You laughed quietly at the last part, finding the cheesiness of it adorable. You weren’t quite sure why you were still lingering on the street corner, except that you couldn’t quite bring yourself to walk away just yet. He seemed equally as reluctant to part from you, both of you grinning shyly at one another as you soaked in the meet-cute moment. Right up until his eyes fell to the ID badge clipped to your bag, that is. 

“Is that a Vil-Tech badge?”

There was a hint of disappointment in his tone that you couldn’t quite assign a cause for. It wasn’t the question you were expecting. You’d expected him to ask your name, or maybe offer you his, but you could practically see the gears turning in his head by now, so you humored him.

“Yep,” You confirmed. “It's my first day. I’m just a receptionist, though…” 

He nodded slowly, his eyebrows pinching together. He didn’t even try to hide his frown. What was it about Vil-Tech that seemed to bother him so much?

“I’m really sorry, but I’m running late for work,” He said finally, nodding in the direction you had just come from. He turned his attention back to you, his eyes staring into yours as he spoke with the utmost seriousness. “Good luck on your first day, and… Look after yourself, okay? Vil-Tech might not be what you think it is.” 

And with that, he brushed past you, seemingly in quite a hurry as he disappeared into the crowd and left you standing there, disappointment sinking deep into your bones. 

You didn’t even get his name. 

***

You didn’t see him again for a month. 

Not that you often thought about him or his dreamy eyes and ridiculously charming smile or his strong arms around your waist. And definitely not that you sometimes idly wondered where he was and how his day was going while you were grocery shopping or stuck at the laundromat. 

Okay, maybe you did. 

Maybe you went to that same coffee shop every week day, hoping that you might bump into him again. 

And maybe you sometimes imagined those eyes staring into yours and arms around you in situations where you weren’t making a complete fool of yourself. 

You felt silly for being that girl. The one who falls hopelessly in love with strangers you pass on the streets, with anyone who thinks that anyone who so much as holds the door open for you could be your true love. You were a grown up, for goodness sake. You weren’t supposed to believe in that kind of thing anymore. 

But it was those ridiculous daydreams you found yourself caught up in when a team of Heroics stormed into Vil-Tech on a Tuesday afternoon. 

“I apologize, sir, but Dr. Pershing is out of the office today…” You sighed, listening to the supplier ramble on and on about the importance of Dr. Pershing returning his call. You had already scribbled the message down, along with his name and phone number. “Yes, I’ll be sure to give him the message.” It was difficult to hide the exasperation in your tone. 

“That’s what you said the last time,” The man snapped. “Pershing didn’t return my calls for a week. I don’t know why they can’t hire someone who knows how to take a message properly. God knows they’ve got the money for it.” 

You tapped the tip of your pen against the notepad on your desk, feeling a lump beginning to form in your throat. “I apologize, Mr. Wells. I’ll make sure that Dr. Pershing gets your message as soon as he returns.” 

“You’d better,” He grumbled, before the line went dead. 

You let out a slow breath, easing yourself back from the edge of tears. It had been like this all morning. The scientists in the building were off at a conference for the week, leaving you behind to copy down messages and field angry phone calls. 

Stan, the elderly security guard, if you could call him that, offered you a sympathetic smile from his post by the door. You returned it weakly.

Closing your eyes, you tried to think of something else. Brown eyes, charming smile, strong arms. You repeated it like a mantra. Electricity. The feeling of safety. That warm, fluttering feeling in your stomach, and a rush of calm. 

When you opened your eyes again, you found Stan staring slack-jawed as the Heroics sprinted into the building, announcing to you, Stan, and the maintenance staff that you all needed to clear the building immediately. They offered no explanation for their frantic demands, but when a guy in spandex and a cape tells you to go, you go. You were sure that, whatever it was, you’d be able to catch the reason for the strange event on the news later that evening. You’d watched them destroy city hall enough times from the comfort of your living room to be sure that you wanted out of this building as soon as possible. 

But, given that this was your first call-the-Heroics-level emergency, it seems that your idea of immediacy was a bit different from theirs. In the time that it had taken you to grab your jacket, shove your laptop in your purse, and sling the bag over your shoulder, you had already been tackled to the ground by some idiot in a tactical vest. 

You don’t remember much about the explosion. 

You’d later learn that Vil-Tech Labs dealt in more than just technological innovation. The research they’d been conducting while locked away in the uppermost floors of the building, all of that gibberish involving the off-site particle accelerator you’d read about, was both sinister and invaluable. Rather than letting the Heroics get their hands on their files to uncover their plans and stop them from being set in motion, they’d decided to set off an explosion in their own goddamn building. And thanks to that ‘idiot in a tactical vest’, you were one of the only survivors. 

But in the meantime, while you were lying on your back in the middle of the lobby feeling like you’d been hit by a train, you were clueless about the nefarious action of the company you’d spent the last month working for. The only thing you could seem to focus on was the pain in your head from where you’d smacked it against the tile flooring, and the weight of the fully grown man on top of you that was currently restricting your breathing. 

You must have hit your head even harder than you thought, because there was no way in hell the man who’d been starring in all of your daydreams for months was here, now, on top of you, with katanas strapped to his back. You refused to accept that as a reality. Would he even remember you? Why would he? Apparently, the man you’d developed a  stupid little crush on was a superhero. He probably helped people all of the time and you were just another-

“What the fuck?” You finally hissed, gasping for air. The air was smokey and it stung your eyes and nose when you inhaled. 

His breathing hitched slightly when you looked up at him, the look of fear clear on your face. “You okay?” He asked, still hovering above you as he pushed himself up on his elbows, careful to avoid the shattered glass that now seemed to cover every flat surface in sight. 

“I’m… reasonably certain I’m not dead,” You replied, an edge of panic in your voice, which was a bit shakier than you would have liked. “What’s happening? I don’t- I don’t understand- Where is Stan-” You coughed, your lungs burning. 

You idly wondered how long you had before the building started to collapse, its structural integrity surely compromised by the explosion. Of all the ways you could die, being buried alive was up there with the ones you dreaded the most. Your growing panic must have been obvious. 

“Hey, calm down,” He reassured you. “I’m going to get you out of here. You’re going to be just fine.” 

The room was still spinning when you felt yourself being scooped up into his arms, the edges of your vision growing more and more fuzzy with each breath you took. 

“We have got to stop meeting like this, Clark” You murmured. You swear you feel, rather than hear, a laugh rumble in his chest just before the world goes dark. Maybe he did remember you after all. 

***

It’s only a little more than a week later, long after you’ve woken up in the hospital and been discharged, that you find yourself sitting in the coffee shop down the street. It’s a Thursday morning, and you’re staring blankly into your vanilla latte. 

You aren’t sure why you’re up so early. The doctors had ordered you to take it easy, and it’s not like you had a job to go to anymore. You could have slept in, made your own coffee at home, and stayed curled up on your couch watching Netflix and hiding from the rest of the world like you had been for the past week. You felt horrible that you’d been associated with a place like Vil-Tech. You should have known that something was off about the place, but you’d never realized it, never bothered to look into anything when things seemed off. You felt so stupid for it now. Were you just as bad as the rest of them? Sure, all you’d done was answer phones for them, but…

Stan, your only friend at Vil-Tech, the kind man who had shared half of his sandwich at lunch with you more times than you could count and always had a smile for you when he greeted you in the mornings, had never made it out of the building. You supposed that you should consider yourself lucky that the Heroics had saved you, but the loss of your friend and the knowledge that Vil-Tech was certainly not what you thought it was, had shaken you. 

You’d felt different when you woke up this morning. Like, maybe, leaving your apartment and getting some fresh air wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

Your favorite barista had smiled sympathetically when you walked through the doors. You must have looked as bad as you felt. Considering you hadn’t showered since you’d gotten home from the hospital, you were sure that you were quite a sight. 

“Good morning!” She greeted, mustering up her cheeriest demeanor for you. “The usual, right?”

You nodded, not quite making eye contact as you handed her your card to pay. She quickly waved you off. 

“It’s on the house today, hon. And I insist that you take this chocolate chip muffin. I’ll make you feel better.” 

Your heart ached at her kindness, the act almost forcing tears in your eyes once again. That was the thing that you realized over the past few days. The Heroics were great, but there were plenty of everyday heroes out there as well. Sometimes it was Ashely the Barista, who scribbles a smiley face and a compliment on your cup on the mornings that seem particularly rough. Sometimes it was Stan the Security Guard, who offers to teach you sudoku on your lunch breaks. And sometimes it was a stranger you passed on the street, who catches you when you fall. 

You sat down at a table in the corner of the coffee shop, your vanilla latte and chocolate chip muffin sat out in front of you, untouched for the moment. You didn’t usually sit down to have your coffee, but you had nowhere to be today, and you were finding that you appreciated not being alone for a while. 

You heard the bells above the door jingle, signaling that a new customer had entered the shop. You looked up to see a man with dark hair and a familiar leather jacket walking towards the barista to place his order. You listened closely as he gave his name for his order, though you’d heard it plenty of times on the news this week. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips for the first time in over a week.

Marcus Moreno, your own personal Superman. 

You hadn’t meant to stare, but it was undeniably strange to see the man who had saved you not once, but twice, doing something as mundane as making his morning coffee run. After he paid, he turned towards the groupings of tables and chairs, searching for a place to sit while he waited for his drink to be ready. When his eyes landed on you, you raised your hand in a small wave. You were nervous about how he’d react to seeing you here. You had no doubt that he recognized you this time.

You weren’t exactly sure what the protocol was for meeting a real-life superhero again after they had saved your life. Were you supposed to pretend not to know each other? Should you have paid for his coffee? Did you make a public declaration to name your first born child after him?

To your surprise, he simply smiled back at you with the most heart-stopping, breathtaking smile you’d ever seen in your life, and returned your wave. It was as simple as that, you thought. Marcus Moreno, the superhero with katanas at this back and a team of Heroics at his side, the closest thing to Superman you’d ever met, was impressive. But Marcus Moreno, the helpful man with a kind, beautiful smile and warm, friendly eyes, whose mere existence had never failed to cheer you up? He was magnificent. An everyday hero, indeed. 

He made this way through the crowd and over to your table, gesturing to the seat across from you as if to ask for your permission to sit down. You nodded, feeling a sense of warmth blossoming in your chest. The same way you’d felt when you saw him for the first time. The same feeling that you’d been dreaming about for months. 

Hope, you realized. 

“Hi,” He greeted. “I, uh, I never caught your name. I’m Marcus Moreno.” 

As you gave him your name, you decided that maybe you could start by just saying thank you. 

General Taglist: @theravenreads @marshmallowtraver @computeringturtle @adikaofmandalore @pascalisthepunkest

Marcus Moreno Taglist: @xjaywritesx​

[spicykoreantatertots]

Fractured Hearts & Floral Lungs - Part One

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader x Jungkook

Genre: hanahaki, angst, established relationship

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 2400

Warnings: blood, choking, coughing, vomiting, hanahaki disease, relationship issues, fighting, mentions of cheating, mentions of sex, mentions of hospitals

A/N: this is my first fic in a while and i’m happy to finally be able to share something again. i’m determined to finish this series by the end of may and finish my soulmate series this summer. 

thank you to @shadowsremedy​ for this banner and to @thesoftsoobin for beta reading for me.

this was meant to be a gift for @dee-ehn, well it still is a gift, but it should’ve been posted a long time ago. i’m happy to finally be able to present you with this gift, i hope you enjoy part one of Fractured Hearts & Floral Lungs!

~~~~~~~

[Thursday Night]

Tonight isn’t the first night that you’ve shown up at Jin’s door sobbing. At this rate, it probably won’t be the last. He still hasn’t read your texts about needing a place to stay, so he’s probably asleep. 

You knock loudly a few times, careful not to disturb the floral wreath hanging on the center of the door. And after a few moments you can hear some footsteps inside the apartment. There’s some more silence and then you can hear hushed whispers. 

The door creaks open and Jin’s boyfriend Namjoon is standing before you. 

“Y/N, what are you doing here?” Namjoon sighs sleepily. 

“You scared us! I even got my old tennis racquet out of the closet!” Jin complains before he pokes his head around Namjoon’s broad shoulders. The tear stains and redness of your face instantly catch his attention. “Oh no, what happened?” 

For a moment, you can’t say anything. Your chest fills with emotions. Pain, frustration, sadness, heartbreak. The words can’t get past your trembling lips, and soon you feel Jin’s arms envelop you, his sweater absorbing your burning tears. 

Somehow, through all your blubbering, Jin has been able to understand what happened with Yoongi. He’s rubbing soothing circles on your back, guiding you to the couch that will be your bed for the next few nights. Namjoon has brought over a pillow, blanket, and a glass of water for you. 

“Why don’t you lay down and try to sleep now? This isn’t going to be resolved tonight, unfortunately,” Namjoon interrupts Jin’s comforting whispers. 

“He’s right, Y/N, I can tell you’re exhausted. Try to get some rest.” Jin helps you get settled in bed before following Namjoon into their bedroom. 

Jin was right. You are completely exhausted, emotionally drained. But every time you attempt to close your eyes, all you can see is him, the flowers, and the blood.

~~~~~~~

[Thursday Evening]

Something is off. He’s been coming home late everyday for the past few weeks. You hoped that today, of all days, he would make an effort. But here you are, alone, surrounded by a table full of his favorite foods. From the moment you got home from work, you’d been on your feet cooking. As if your job waiting tables wasn’t strenuous enough. 

Lately it feels like you’re the only one making an effort in this relationship. He leaves for work before you wake up, returns after you’ve gotten into bed for the night. He doesn’t even take the lunches you pack for him to work anymore. You never would have suspected Yoongi of cheating on you, but his behavior is making you question everything you thought you knew. 

Today will be the final straw, you told yourself. If he didn’t make it home in time for dinner on your three year anniversary, it would be time to confront him. But as six turns into seven and seven into eight, you decide to pack the meal into tupperware. 

You expected tears to come, but they didn’t. Your cheeks are bone dry while you pile the rice into a slightly warped plastic container. You’re in disbelief, or perhaps you just expected this all along. The containers of untouched anniversary dinner stack neatly in the refrigerator. 

The sound of keys jingling against the door signals his arrival before he opens the door. You lean yourself against the kitchen counter, grounding yourself. 

“Hey babe, happy anniversary!” Yoongi’s smile shines, like it always does, but his eyes aren’t as bright. He’s carrying a bouquet of small sunflowers. 

“Happy anniversary.” A faint smile crosses your face as he hands you the bouquet. He looks a little puzzled by your lack of gratitude. But then he notices the pile of dishes in the sink. 

“Oh, did you make dinner?” You nod silently as Yoongi shuffles the pots and pans around in the sink. “I made us reservations at The Table. Did you eat already?” Your eyebrows shoot up.

“No!” You try again, this time suppressing the surprise in your voice. “No, I haven’t. That sounds really good.” Maybe things aren’t as bleak as they seem; at least he didn’t completely forget.

The ride to the restaurant is nearly silent, some tacky radio advertisements playing quietly. He’s holding your hand, but you’re looking out the window, focused on everything but the uncomfortable quiet. Yoongi breaks the silence and mentions something about the project he’s working on at the studio. 

The studio, you think to yourself. Of course that’s all he can talk about. His passion has always been music. You were both thrilled when he got an entry level job at a music studio, and at the beginning things were good. But Yoongi always strives to be the best, and he moved up the ladder to Assistant Producer in less than a year.

Whatever album he’s working on now has kept him away from you for far too long.

“So when is that album releasing anyway?”

“Later this summer, but our work on it is almost done.” He says, and you breathe a sigh of relief. 

“So you’ll be back home at normal times?” 

“Well...” Yoongi glances over at you. “Jungkook wants me to work on another project with him when this one’s over.” 

“I’m glad your boss likes your work, but hasn’t he ever heard of a work-life balance?”

“Jungkook is NOT my boss. He's-” Yoongi starts.

“Well he’s not your girlfriend either!” You shout. “You’re never home anymore Yoongi.” Your hand slips from his and you cross your arms.

“This is my career.” Something catches in his throat, he coughs a little. You knew he loved his job, but you never heard him get emotional about it.

“So I just need to accept that I’ll never get to see you again?” Yoongi pulls up to the front of the restaurant, in line for valet parking. 

“Do you want to go home and keep fighting or do you want to get dinner?” He asks, still trying to clear his throat.

The restaurant is very nice: a robust wine selection, a pianist playing in one corner, and a sleek menu. The other tables are talking in quiet voices to retain the romantic ambiance of the place. You and Yoongi are doing your part by not speaking at all. 

He’s making it tough though; he keeps coughing. You hope he’s not getting sick.

“Are you okay?” You ask, passing him a tissue from your purse, trying your best not to sound angry.

“Yeah I’ve just got something stuck in my throat, excuse me.” Yoongi snatches the tissue from your hand before walking toward the restroom. 

When he returns, he looks a little worse for the wear. His skin looks paler, his hair mussed, and a wet spot on his shirt. 

“Are you getting sick?” You have to ask him now. “What’s that?” You point to the wet spot just below his collar. 

“I got some spit on my shirt. I do think I’m coming down with something, but I’ll be fine.” Something doesn’t seem right. He looks more than sick, almost paranoid. 

Through the rest of the night he coughs here and there, but he seems to regain his composure. His long dark locks get tucked behind his ear, and for a moment you can forget how hard things have been lately. He asks about your work friends and hobbies and seems to listen intently. The curve of his smile draws a smile out of you too. 

Between dinner and dessert, Yoongi reaches across the smooth table cloth to take your hand in his. His thumb gently strokes your fingers. 

“You know that I love you, right?” He asks, his smile faded to a straight line. You squeeze his hand. 

“You’re going to have to do a better job of showing it.”

~~~~~~~

You’re not sure if it’s the best move, but you want to show him that you haven’t given up yet. When you step out of the bathroom, wearing a revealing chemise, Yoongi is sitting on his side of the bed, facing away from you. 

“How are you feeling?” You ask, climbing onto the bed. He sighs, and you reach for his shoulders. You begin rubbing his shoulder muscles, feeling the tension in them slowly releasing. Kneading his back muscles with your fingers, you lean forward to lay kisses along his broad shoulders. 

“Baby, can we not tonight?” You freeze, not sure you heard him correctly. “I know it’s our anniversary, I just don’t feel good.” You remove your hands from his body.

“Yeah, of course. There’s some cough medicine and painkillers in the bathroom if it will help.” You reply, leaning back against the headboard, scrolling through your twitter feed so you can hide your embarrassment.

“I’m going to take a shower. You don’t have to wait up for me.” He gets up from the bed and enters the bathroom without glancing your way. You settle into the blankets and try to relax.

You can hear him coughing again once the shower turns on. You turn over in bed, his sudden cold demeanor reminding you of the trouble your relationship is really in. It’s hard to fall asleep to the sound of your boyfriend coughing violently, but you manage to drift away.

~~~~~~~

[Friday Morning]

The sound of Namjoon leaving the apartment wakes you. It must be around 7:30 or so. Jin is in the kitchen quietly making coffee, still in his pajamas. 

“Jin, are you not going to work today?” You say in a half-whisper, not wanting to startle him. 

“I called in sick. I wanted to stay with you today,” Jin explains, walking over to the couch with two mugs of coffee. He made yours just the way you like it, almond milk and a little bit of sugar. The warmth of the drink momentarily soothes your sleepy body. 

Jin reaches across the coffee table and picks up the tv remote. He turns on a morning talk show, some washed-up celebrity talking to slightly less washed-up celebrities about what projects or life events they have going on. 

“And later on in the show we will be joined by Jackson Wang, who will share his story of heartbreak and unrequited love that ultimately lead to the creation of his latest single, 100 ways.” The audience cheers for a moment before Jin switches the channel. 

“Sorry.” He sighs. 

“I don’t think that’s what the song is about...” You joke, sarcasm seeping through the pain in your chest.

Jin chuckles at your remark, but he sits uncomfortably at the end of the couch picking at his fingernails. 

“Listen I wanted to say something...” He starts. 

“Jin, do you think I could shower before we get into anything? I just need a minute to wake up and I feel kind of gross.” The mascara stains from the night before are beginning to irritate your skin, and a hot shower could do wonders for you. But truthfully, you just aren’t ready to talk about it yet.

“Sure, I’ll grab some sweats you can borrow.” Jin sighs, getting up from his seat.

 The hot water melts away the tension in your muscles, but the tension in your mind remains. It’s difficult to keep the images of Yoongi coughing up dozens and dozens of yellow and orange petals from flooding your mind. The drops of blood on the petals and the floor just showed you how far the disease had progressed. How long he’s been in love with someone else.

The floral scent of Jin’s lavender body wash is a little too reminiscent of the smell from the night before. Sickly sweet flowers with a hint of acidic bile and metallic blood. The clean water rinses the suds but the scent remains on your skin.

When you close your eyes to rinse shampoo from your hair, the scene from the night before plays out in vivid detail.

~~~~~~~

[Thursday Night]

You had been awakened by the sounds of Yoongi retching in the bathroom. You called out for him, but he didn’t answer, so you let yourself in. 

He is doubled over the toilet. A dozen or so brightly colored petals scattered around him, some smeared with watery blood. The moment you burst in, he tried to hide the extent of it, tried not to let you see but he knew it was useless. He let himself lean against the wall in defeat. 

The violent episode he was experiencing seemed to come to a halt.

“Are you...” You pause, there are too many questions to ask, but you know there is only one you can ask in the moment. “Are you okay?” He closes his eyes and nods slowly. You take a moment to examine his face. It’s red, and there are tear streaks clear down his chin. There’s drops of blood and sweat on his bare chest. His heavy breathing is slowing back to normal. 

And then you have to leave. You can’t stay and look at him and his flower petals any longer. It looks like he’ll be okay for the night, so you grab your purse and phone and walk straight through the door.

~~~~~~~

[Friday Morning]

Bumps rise across your skin as you exit the shower and step onto the cold floor tiles. You wrap a towel around your body and sit on the edge of the bathtub. Your phone, face down on the counter, buzzes again, and you decide to face the messages you ignored last night. 

You scroll through the usual email and social media notifications to get to the dozens of texts and missed calls from Yoongi, still unsure if you should even hear him out. How can he still be in love with you when he’s been growing flowers for someone else?

A phone call interrupts your thinking. The number has a local area code. A sudden feeling of nausea tells you that something is wrong. 

“Hello?” Your voice echos against the tiled walls.

“Hello we are trying to reach Ms. Y/L/N Y/N.”

“This is her.”

“You are listed as an emergency contact for Mr. Min Yoongi. He has been admitted to the ICU at Grace Regional Medical Center, how quickly can you get here?”

~~~~~~~

A/N: thank you so much for reading. check out my master list here, and check back in for part two. it will be posted by the end of april 2021!

[gryffindors-weasley]

Paperbacks and Love Letters

Ron Weasley x Reader

Summary: On a gloomy day, you and Ron keep up your tradition at the bookstore in town.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: brief mentions of injury, fluff, kissing, a little bit of swearing

Square Filled: Bookstore AU

A/N: This is one of my fics on my bingo card for @band--psycho bingo writing challenge!!

The weather was chilly as you walked together, the layers of puffy gray clouds offering no warmth from the sun but you suppose that’s just how you like it on a day like this. Ron’s hand had enveloped yours, the warmth of his palm serving as just enough heat to keep you from shivering too much despite your jacket and sweater. The birds chirped regardless of the gloominess and the little town you lived on the very edge of had still been very much frequented, people filtering in and out of bakeries and cafes before morning turned to afternoon. It was a sweet little place, comfortable and just right for the two of you.

You took the leap and moved there just two years prior, in love with the normalcy and the peace it radiated. Of course, magic was confined to just your home considering it was not commonplace or even imagined to be real there, but you hadn’t minded it. Though you must admit, the adjustment was one not easily made, especially for Ron. On more than one occasion he found himself levitating sugar packets from a nearby table at the cafe when there weren’t any at yours, his eyes going wide and your laughter stifled upon realization. Or the time he’d fixed a broken street lamp with a murmur and a flick of his finger on your walk home one night, his cheeks burning red when it caught the attention of an elderly couple as he hid his amusement by kissing your temple, laughing into your hair.

Regardless of the mishaps and the feeling of homesickness in the beginning, it was absolutely perfect and more than you could ever ask for. With the moss and vines on the walls of old stone homes, and the wildflowers sprouting up from cracks in the sidewalk. Or the lanterns on buildings glowing warmly and the way no two houses will ever look like another. The rolling hills around you were far more beautiful than one could imagine, especially now as the fog from the inclement weather settles and blankets them. Everybody there had known each other and while the two of you had yet to get there, had yet to branch out from your own little world, everyone there had been kind and welcoming.

You found yourself stopping your stride in front of a familiar shop window, far too distracted by the scarf on display just on the other side of the glass. You were tugged only slightly when Ron hadn’t expected the sudden stop, your arm outstretched until he came back closer to your side. You looked in the little boutique curiously for a few moments, Ron standing patiently by your side as he looked at you. He knew you’d been eyeing that scarf, your eyes wandered to it each and every time you passed by that little place whether you were aware of it or not. He was going to get it for you one of these times, it made you far too happy not to.

“Sorry,” you laugh softly, cheeks tinging pink as you lean up to press a kiss on his cheek. His smile was instant as he squeezed your hand, your journey to the little bookstore just around the corner continuing.

He nearly tripped over his own two feet being so caught up in staring at you fondly, his cheek tingling from the kiss you’d pressed there seconds before.

“You think they’ll have anything new?” He asks, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a teasing smile as he squints against the breeze. “Considering we were just there last week.”

You tilt your head and bite the inside of your cheek to hide your smile in favor of trying to look annoyed at his statement. But, your efforts proved to futile the more you looked at him, your nose scrunching in a last ditch effort to be so displeased, one completely dissolved as he kissed your cheek and laughed softly against your skin.

“Yes, Ron, they always have something new,” you sigh, “besides, it’s tradition after all.”

It was true. Each and every time there was a gloomy day such as this, the bookstore in your little town was always paid a visit should your schedules allow. The two of you would pick out one book each for the other, and should there be two rainy days in a row, you would go for the sake of browsing with a mug of their hot chocolate.

The two of you had met in a bookstore actually— Flourish and Blotts to be exact. It was the summer before fourth year, Diagon Alley bustling with students both new and experienced. The imperfect and cozy shop was crowded with children and their parents, so much so you’d think there’d have been a book signing of some sort. You couldn’t hardly go five steps without knocking elbows with someone, and that someone was Ron.

He’d bumped into you, the books into your hand sent tumbling to the ground unceremoniously. All you’d seen was a mess of red hair at first as he dipped down to help retrieve both his books and yours, a flustered apology leaving his lips. Then he’d looked up at you through pale ginger lashes, eyes blue and apologetic and cheeks a shade to rival his hair. First he’d given you his own books on accident, realizing his mistake and handing you yours with a nervous laugh and yet another apology. At the time, all you could do was laugh and even more so now when you thought back to it.

He claimed he hadn’t even wanted to be there, that his mother always made him and his siblings go each and every year since he’d been eleven. But the two books he clutched in his hand, one on the history of magic and the other on the art of quidditch had told you that maybe he hadn’t been as displeased as he let on.

Your conversation wasn’t terribly long when a boisterous and matronly voice had called out to him from the first floor, deepening the shade in his cheeks. He found he hadn’t wanted to stop talking to you for whatever reason that may have been, he wasn’t quite sure at the time. What he was sure of was the way he’d tripped over his shoelace, sending one of his books to tumble over the railing and bonk his brother on the head, leaving him to bid you goodbye in a trail of flustered embarrassment.

Needless to say, that hadn’t been the last time you’d seen Ron Weasley, it was the start of something more meaningful than you could have imagined it to be.

You turned the corner to find the ever familiar shop nestled cozily between the bakery and the post office. The door wasn’t propped open as it normally would have been due to the expected rain, Ron having held it open for you instead. Immediately you’d been hit with the familiar smell of hot chocolate and the forever imprinted scent of old books, the pages of a few books propped open on display flittering and crinkling with the gust of the breeze that had blown in from outside. The crooked shelves had been packed with books both used and brand new, some having been so full that the very wood beneath them had been permanently bowed under the constant weight and wear and tear.

Stacks of books that hadn’t fit had sat on the floor, even more residing in cardboard boxes as labels of their genre are scribbled into torn pieces of paper, taped to their respective shelves.

“Looks the same to me,” Ron teased, if only to get under your skin just to see you smile.

You huff out a sigh and swat his arm, the smile he so longed to see making its reappearance as he laughed softly in the quiet space. Unbeknownst to you, there had already been a book he’d had his sights on the very last time you were there barely six days ago. There was no need for him to linger and search, he knew it to be his book of choice for you.

“It absolutely doesn’t and you know it,” You murmur quietly, and he gives your hand a gentle squeeze.

He took a moment to look at you fondly; he always found himself doing that but he doesn’t quite know how anyone couldn’t. To him, that was simply impossible. “I’ll be right back, love, okay?”

You nod with a smile and it was then that you parted reluctantly, a sweet kiss pressed to your cheek once more and your fingertips brushing as your hands let go of the other. The familiar warmth in your palm was noticeably absent now as he disappeared down another aisle and under a door frame lined with books overhead, and your attention soon focused on the book you’d hoped was still there for him.

You wander down your treasured aisle of choice, the old wooden floorboards creaking under your foot falls as you navigate the shop. A smile graces your lips upon seeing the sign, tattered and torn, ‘History’ scrawled on it in blue ink. There was a shelf unseen by most, if not all the people who frequented this place. It was tucked behind a shelf of books on the art and history of literature, almost intentionally hidden. Unbeknownst to just anyone but the two of you, the owner of the shop herself had been just as magically gifted as you, so she’d saved all the books on real magic just for you both to revel in should you wish to.

Scooting the other books away, you’d spotted it in a heartbeat, plucking it from its shelf. ‘The Intricacies and Defense Against Dark Magic’ was printed across the cover in curled golden letters, and it was just the one you’d been looking for. Granted, it wasn’t necessarily a book one would read simply for leisure more so than to learn from it. But it was always of interest to Ron, history of magic as a whole for that matter. Defense Against the Dark Arts always held the leading title as his favorite course at Hogwarts.

He was quick to reappear the same way he’d left just minutes earlier, already knowing just what he’d wanted, his smile beaming when he found you as a paper bag with your book inside was clutched in his hand. It was only when you smiled at him that he was utterly spellbound, something so utterly enamoring that he’d tipped over the stack of extra books sitting on the floor. They toppled over and clattered in the otherwise quiet shop, his cheeks flushing a rosy pink as you fight your soft laughter.

“Bloody hell,” he murmurs as he drops to his knees and gathers them up quickly, stacking them almost the way they’d been before his clumsy lovestruck encounter. The sight alone reminded you of that very first day you met ten years before.

The amusement was clear on your face the moment he stood to his feet again, his hair falling over his eyes briefly before he swept it away again. He pursed his lips at your expression, his own grin breaking through just as quickly. You simply shook your head, leaning on your toes to greet him with a kiss.

“Hey,” he murmured against your lips with a laugh, noses bumping lightly.

“Hey,” you smile, “‘m almost done.”

He nods as your gaze averts back to the shelf, his hand slipping into yours. With his book tucked under your arm and out of his view, you continued to look at the selection curiously. You found books on healing potions and spells, and of course numerous books on herbology to pair with them. Healing always seemed to be your strong suit, Ron didn’t give you much choice with his quidditch matches—he’d always get bumps and bruises somehow no matter how smoothly they went.

There were books that focused more extensively on magical creatures and how to care for them, more than could ever possibly be covered at Hogwarts. A few other potions books sat stacked next to those, it’s letters glowing and swirling on the spines of each one. And the very last were divination books. That had always been amongst your favorites, though only if the questions were all in good fun. You were blissfully content to keep your future unknown both then and now, though when Luna nearly told you of Ron’s feelings that year he grew cherry red. You hadn’t known what was wrong with him at the time but you suppose it all made sense now.

With a quiet sigh you look to your right, spotting Ron trace the tip of his finger along the spines of the books in front of him curiously, plucking one out to look at it before putting it back. You smiled softly as you admired him for a moment before turning back to pull the cover over the shelf.

“You ready?” You ask, and he grins at you with a nod.

“‘M ready.”

With that, you pay at the counter after he’d promised not to look, making your leave to go back home.

—

The rain had come that evening as expected, having held out long enough for you to get home before it fell in a downpour. It was constant as it pelted against you little cottage, the wind whipping and the occasional flash of lightning illuminating briefly. It was the kind of weather you wouldn’t want to be caught in, but still proving to be cozy when you had the luxury of tucking yourself away and listening to it.

You’d since exchanged your books with one another just moments ago, your paper bag having yet to be opened as it sat there at the foot of the bed. Ron had been somewhere about the house, you weren’t quite sure where as you pulled a shirt of his over your head, slipping on the fuzziest socks you could find in your shared dresser drawer.

It was then that you finally grabbed the bag, the paper crinkling in your hands as you unfolded it and peered inside. Excitement bloomed within you at the sight of the cover, the book quickly in your hands as you tossed the bag to the side without care for where it’d landed in that moment. It was a paperback book, the very fantasy novel you’d been wanting for quite some time. It’s spine was worn and cracked and the cover creased with wear and tear, the pages yellowed with its age. Just inside, a name had been crossed out with a permanent marker; the name of the previous and perhaps only other owner you assumed. Used or not, it did not matter to you the condition, though the aging it wore was something you felt added to its very charm.

Your smile was endless at that point, the tattered book clutched in your hands as you admired it for a few fleeting moments. It was when you opened it, when you flipped through the pages that there was something more to it than just that. Your heart skipped a beat when a torn slip of paper fluttered out, floating to the bed. At first you’d thought it’d been something left behind within it, it’d been a used book after all so that wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. But upon taking it in your hand and flipping it over you knew exactly what it was, how could you not?

The handwriting of the love of your life was one you could pick out amongst thousands with ease; it was a tad messy and curved, it was Ron’s.

On it, it read—

“Hey love. I’ve had this book on my mind for the last six days ever since I saw it, and I knew I had to get it. I know how much you’ve been wanting it. There was even a flower pressed between the pages, I’ve saved that one for you.

Anyways, I love you so much. Like, really, you’re the love of my life. I fall in love with you each time you smile at me. Even after all these years, you still have me dropping my books. Before I run out of room, just wanted to say that I love our tradition, and I love you.”

It felt as though your cheeks could start hurting from your constant smiling that day as you held the note fondly to your chest, heart beating wildly as if it’s the first time he’d ever told you of such things. Every time he said them felt like the first.

With your note and book grasped in your hand, you rush down the hall as his words replayed in your mind. You descended the stairs as fast as your fluffy socks would allow, hopping down the last wooden step in a matter of moments. Your smile beaming and bright as you spotted your lover in the chair at the very corner of the living room. His striped shirt was gone and his pajama pants on, his reading glasses sitting cutely on the bridge of his freckled nose. It took him all but a second or two to notice your presence and your smile, his own tugging at the corners of his mouth immediately to form an equally bright grin.

You held up the ripped piece of paper, your smile turning giddy as you thought to the words written so tenderly on it once more.

“When did you write this?” You ask, your smile more than apparent in your voice as you fight to stifle your giggle. He sits up a bit more now, the corner of his mouth quirking up a bit higher at the sight of it.

“When did you write this?” He counters with a raised brow, holding up his own ripped piece torn from the same sheet of paper, sweet words of your own affections scribbled onto it. So that’s why there was a lone and torn page on the nightstand. It all clicked now. You bit your lip to keep from grinning like an absolute fool but your valiant attempts rapidly betrayed you as you knew they would.

His smile widened as your laughter mingled in the space and you’re quick to cross the room and pad over to him, to dip down and kiss him as your hand settles gently on his cheek. It was fleeting and sweet and followed by another before you pulled away, his hand grabbing your own and pulling you to his lap. The squeal his sudden action elicited was just as quickly silenced with another kiss, the glasses he wore now falling lower.

“For being tradition, we’re quite unpredictable, aren’t we?” He murmurs, smiling against your lips. Your laughter is warm against his own, another kiss expected by that point.

“I guess not,” you laugh softly, pushing his glasses back up from the tip of his nose. Your giggles continued, however, leading him to the fair conclusion that something else had been on your mind.

“What is it?” He asks.

You grin up at him, brushing his hair from his eyes. “I find it funny how you’ve needed glasses to read since you were seventeen and it took until we’re twenty-four for you to tell me.”

He tips his head back at your words, letting it fall against the headrest of the recliner. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Nope,” you said, laughter in your tone as he looks at you once more. You adjust the frames with contentment, your thumb brushing over his cheek.

Things fall silent for a few moments, your once teasing grin turning to that of an adoring one as you twirl a chunk of his hair around your finger softly, the glow of the lamp making it seem near golden. His hand came up and enveloped overtop of yours, fingers intertwining.

“Thank you for my book,” you whisper, eyes crinkling from your excited smile at the mere thought of it. “I love it and I love you.”

His thumb brushes over your palm as his cheeks stain a soft pink, the grin playing on his lips the softest it could ever be. “Thank you for mine, darling. I love it and I love you.”

You lean up and kiss him once more, tender and loving as every ounce of love you held for one another is shared in that very moment. One more kiss before you tucked yourself against him, your tattered flannel blanket settled over the both of you as he snags the beloved book from your hand gingerly. With a kiss pressed to your forehead he opens to the first page, your fingers dancing across each and every freckle smattered on his chest as he read aloud. In that moment you knew this was your forever. As his arm looped around you and his cheek pressed to the top of your head, as the rain trickled down the windows and the way he stopped every now and then to see if you’d fallen asleep. It was your forever.

It was your tradition, paperbacks and love letters.

—

Tags: @vogueweasley @anchoeritic @ch0colatefr0gs @amourtentiaa @hahee154hq @snitches-at-dawn @dracosathenaeum @lupinsclassroom @harrysweasleys @awritingtree @writeroutoftime

[everybodyscupoftea]

can’t help falling in love with you

college isaac  x reader

christmas movies and cuddles with a hint of falling in love along the way

okay so the timeline is like they met in the fall, got together the next spring, and this is the christmas after. so like they’ve been dating 9-10 months

it’s 5 a.m. hahaha fuck. it’s a 4+1 format though!

(warnings: cursing, drinking, zero editing)

You had two problems.

The first was something you noticed early on. It was Isaac’s tendency to make himself small. Maybe not physically, but it was like he hated being too needy. You weren’t sure if it was because he thought it would bother you or if it was just a habit of trying to not take up much space, but you wanted to get to the root of it.

It took you a few weeks to figure out how to bring it up, and you really only did because of his reaction to a goodbye hug. You squeezed him tight when he left, and he full body shivered. Pulling away quickly, you gave him a concerned look, “Everything okay, did I hurt you?”

He smiled wryly and shook his head, “I’m good. Just needed a hug more than I realized.”

You’d had suspicions that physical touch was pretty high up on his preferred love languages, but he’d never said anything about it, and he kept his personal space relatively well, so you’d pushed the thought away. Maybe you should’ve just pressed it anyway.

That afternoon you promised yourself that you were going to be better. If he was too scared to ask, you wouldn’t make him, you’d just look for it more. Luckily, it was pretty obvious when he needed it.

The second was Isaac’s lack of experience with holiday movies. One afternoon, the two of you met for lunch between your classes. It was almost finals week and you’d started listening to Christmas music for the serotonin boost.

“You know,” you started when he sat down across from you, “Carol of the Bells hits so nice when you’re speed walking across campus. Reminds me of Home Alone and I feel like I can do anything.”

He hummed thoughtfully, nodding along, “Yeah, I bet.”

“You know what I’m talking about right?”

Isaac shrugged, “No, but I believe you.”

Your jaw dropped, “You’ve never seen Home Alone?”

“I never really watched Christmas movies growing up. We didn’t really do much of anything for the holidays. My dad worked a lot and my mom wasn’t there either.”

He avoided your eyes, and your heart sank. Over the months of dating, he’d pointedly avoided talking about his family. You weren’t really upset, it was his business and you figured he’d tell you when he felt comfortable, but the little references made you sad when he made them.

“We should watch some this year. It’s like a family tradition at my house to watch a bunch leading up to Christmas.”

You couldn’t help but notice his face soften a bit at the word family, and you were determined to make this first Christmas together great.

One: Klaus

Isaac cooked dinner, spaghetti and meatballs, with little to no help from you. Your greatest contribution was easily keeping his wine glass topped off. He was beautiful, face flushed from the heat coming off the stove and from the alcohol, and you couldn’t help but poke his cheek, giggling at the disgruntled face gave you.

“Cute,” you told him, pinching his cheek gently.

“Stop distracting me and put the garlic bread in the oven.”

“Yes sir.”

Rolling his eyes at your reply, Isaac turned the eye under the pasta off and took the pot off to drain it over the sink. Before pouring, he took a clean mug out of the dish drainer and scooped out some of the water.

“What’s that for?”

“Always save pasta water for your sauce,” he answered, pouring the rest out. 

Steam billowed up in his face and you laughed, “Nice facial I bet.”

“Felt great,” he deadpanned, turning back with the strainer full of spaghetti noodles.

Nodding enthusiastically, “I was gonna suggest face masks for tonight, but you might be fine without.”

“No,” he was quick to correct, “I still want a mask.”

Chuckling, you held your hands up, “Fine with me. We can put them on before the movie.”

“Thought we were going to eat while the movie is on.”

“No, I haven’t seen this one before so I want to give it my full focus.”

Isaac shrugged, used to your weird requests, and went back to focusing on the food. You hoped he would hurry, you were hungry and you didn’t want to drink anymore until you had some food in your system.

After what felt like forever, he flipped the stove off and pulled the garlic bread out of the oven. He handed you a plate, “Want to fix yours first?”

“No, you cooked, I’ll go second.”

Bending down, he pressed a kiss to your temple, and stepped away to start piling food onto his plate. You filled yours after and followed him over to the couch where he was sitting, waiting on you to start eating. 

“You could’ve started.”

“Wanted to wait, it’s polite.”

You rolled your eyes, “Guess chivalry isn’t dead.”

“Damn straight.”

-

“Okay but you really do need moisturizer,” you told him after he dried his face post-mask.

“Skin feels fine,” he told you, stroking his cheek a few times.

You sighed, knocking his hand away, and rubbed moisturizer in, ignoring the face he made in response. When you finished, you grabbed the hand you’d knocked away and pulled him back to the couch to start the movie.

“Dishes?” Isaac asked, sounding a little worried.

“Later, I’m ready for the movie.”

“You’re going to fall asleep, wine makes you tired,” he warned.

“Never.”

You pushed him down first and tried to position him the way you wanted. After a few seconds, and some amused looks from Isaac, you sat down on the couch, leaning your back against his chest, both of you’s legs stretched out across the couch.

Isaac always ran warm, and you tilted your head, pressing the side of your face into his chest to see the TV. He huffed out a laugh, “Comfy?”

“Very. Can you hit play, pretty please?”

He did and the movie started. It wasn’t noticeable how tense he’d been when you first laid down, but as time ticked on and he got more into the movie, Isaac relaxed. One of his arms wrapped around your waist, fingers pushing your shirt up and stroking rhythmically over the exposed stripe of skin on your hip.

You couldn’t stop the shiver and his chest rumbled with a laugh. Grabbing the hem of his shirt, you tugged gently, wrinkling your nose at the image on screen, “Bet those fish smell bad.”

“Bet she smells bad.”

Pausing for a second to think, you said, “You know, that whole town gives onion vibes.”

“Onion vibes?”

“I feel like it reeks. Bad vibes equals onion smell.”

Isaac laughed, tilting his head down to brush a kiss across your hairline, “Can’t argue with that logic.”

“Furthermore,” you held a finger up to emphasize your point, and he snorted, “it feels musty right? Like I bet it feels damp.”

“Well it is covered in snow.”

“But like, humid almost. Dank, maybe?”

Humming, he answered, “I think I know what you mean.”

You watched as the main character convinced the kids to pay him to send their letters with a frown, “I’m not sure how...ethical that is.”

“The evils of a capitalist society,” he said, and you nodded, chin hitting his collarbone.

“Ouch,” you muttered, rubbing it. Isaac brushed over your chin gently as if to soothe the pain before he brought it back down to your hip.

His warmth combined with the blanket covering the two of you, the wine you’d drank, and the movie playing quietly in the background lulled you to sleep, just like Isaac predicted. The music startled you awake once, eyes fluttering as you watched the sleigh almost teeter off the edge of a cliff, but his rhythmic breathing knocked you back out.

It didn’t seem like much longer later when Isaac squeezed your hip playfully, waking you back up fully.

“Gotta do the dishes, sweetheart, let me up.”

Yawning, you reluctantly sat up, stretching, “I’ll help.”

“You can go to bed, I’ll be there in twenty.”

“No, you cooked, I’ll help.”

He chuckled as you stumbled, reaching for his hand in your half asleep state. The kitchen light woke you up fully when he flipped it on, and you blinked a few times, bumping your hip playfully into his when he took up all the space in front of the sink.

“I’ll wash, you dry,” he told you, handing over a dish towel.

“Fine.”

It took less than 20 minutes with both of you working, and he held his hands out for you to grab after turning the water off. You took them and let him pull you through the living room to your bedroom. 

Pulling the covers back, both of you climbed into bed. He brushed some hair out of your face and kissed you gently, trailing his lips across your cheek to your forehead where he moved back to whisper, “Goodnight, lovely.”

Two: A Christmas Story

The weather was miserable and you felt so bad for dragging Isaac out in it. It wasn’t quite cold enough for snow, an unusual “warm” snap, but it was cold enough for the rain to leave a deep chill in your bones.

“Fuck,” he muttered, shivering, “we should get some coffee on the way home.”

“Yeah, something warm sounds fantastic right now.”

He drove to the nearest drive-thru near your apartment, and you cradled the latte to your chest as he drove the rest of the way home. The rain picked up as soon as he parked and you sighed, “Wanna run for it?”

Isaac nodded, “I guess. We can always change.”

Unfortunately, there were no close spots near your building, so both of you ran, splashing through puddles carelessly, just wanting to get out of the rain as fast as possible. He laughed at your disgruntled face, and you wrinkled your nose, “Gonna be miserable for the rest of the day.”

“You won’t. We’ll crank the heat up and watch a movie. Didn’t you have a list?”

“I do,” you brightened considerably, “we should watch A Christmas Story. It’s my dad’s favorite.”

“Deal.”

The inside of your apartment was dark and cold, and you flipped on a lamp, shivering. He walked to the thermostat, and you went to your room to dig through the drawers for clothes. Isaac walked in soon after you and you handed him a pair of his sweatpants and a sweater.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, starting to struggle with his wet jeans. 

You snorted at his frustrated face, “Told you to just wear sweats.”

“Never,” he swore, “only in the comfort of my home.”

“Oh,” you teased, “you consider this home?”

“Of course,” he answered, eyes looking slightly watery, “you’re home.”

Your smile softened and you held your arms open for him to walk into. Squeezing you in a tight hug, Isaac buried his face into your hair. You mumbled, “Good, because you’re my home too.”

He pulled back and started shimmying out of his jeans again. You were finished changing way before he was and sat on the edge of your bed to wait. There was a furrow between his eyebrows as he finally kicked his jeans off, and you stood to grab the pile of wet clothes to wash.

“Start up my laptop and we can watch the movie,” you told him, pulling the door shut behind you in case your roommate was home.

You started the laundry and walked back to your room, sipping the latte you’d left in the kitchen on your way in. Isaac was scrolling through your movies when you walked back in the room, propped up against your pillows, blanket over his lap.

The rain had picked up again outside, beating against the window near your bed, and you sat down next to Isaac, his arm coming up to wrap around your shoulder.

“Ready?” he asked, hovering over the movie title.

“Born ready.”

Isaac hit play and you rested your head on his shoulder, legs crossed in front of you. You couldn’t drink your coffee at the angle your head was tilted against his shoulder, but you liked feeling him laugh too much to care if it was going cold.

His arm around your shoulder went limp as he fully relaxed into the movie. At the tire changing scene, Isaac snorted, “Well isn’t this relatable.”

Biting your lip, you winced, “Sorry.”

“All good, hon. Not upset, a little funny even.”

Taking a deep breath, you nodded, “If you say so.”

Isaac’s other hand dropped to hold yours that was closest to him, and you smiled as he brought it up to his face to kiss the back of it. You squeezed his hand and laced your fingers together.

“You know,” you interrupted, “hand holding is the most underrated way to show affection.”

He hummed, “I think I agree.”

“You like holding my hand?” you asked, cheeky smile on your face.

“I do.”

“Good. Now you’re obligated to keep holding my hand forever.”

“Forever, huh? You sure you want to keep me around that long?”

Untangling your hand from his, you held out your pinky, “Promise, bub.”

He linked his pinky with yours and shook it. Before you could say anything else, he tapped your nose, “Now hush, I’m trying to watch the movie.”

Scrunching your nose, you grabbed his hand again, “Don’t shush me.”

“I thought you wanted me to watch this.”

“I do.”

“You’re distracting me.”

You huffed, “Fine. Just rewind.”

Isaac snorted and did as you asked, leaning back against the pillows when he finished. Cuddling back into his side, you couldn’t help the little sigh of happiness that escaped.

Three: Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer

Isaac had apparently been having trouble sleeping. It took you a few days to notice, but he came over for dinner one night and the bags under his eyes were incredibly pronounced. 

“Hey, everything okay?”

He sighed, “Scott and Stiles went home so the apartment has been lonesome to say the least.”

“Bad dreams?” asking was a tossup, you were unsure whether he’d actually be forthcoming with the details he was usually so tight-lipped about.

You were unsure if it was because of the lack of sleep or he just decided to let you in, with a hum, he answered, “Yeah, this time of year isn’t the greatest. Everyone’s with their family and I’m just alone.”

Nodding, you held a hand out for him to take, “You know, one of my comfort movies is on the list of holiday movies, if you want to try it out.”

“I’d like that. I like learning about your comfort things, makes me feel closer to you.”

You smiled, “I’d like to learn more about yours someday.”

“You will,” he said so matter of factly that you believed him.

He let you pull him over to the couch and sat down normally, legs out in front of him. You put the movie in the DVD player and sat next to him, stretching your legs across his lap. 

“You know,” you told him as the snowman started talking, “I kinda forgot what the fuck happens in this movie.”

“I thought it was your comfort movie.”

“It is. I watched it a lot as a kid with my sister.”

Looking thoughtful, he went quiet and started watching again. 

“The island of misfit toys,” he said, chin resting on his hand, elbow propped on your shin, “kind of dark for a kids movie.”

You laughed, “Just wait.”

Not too much longer later, he flinched as Yukon fell over the cliff, “The fuck?!”

“It’s alright, Isaac,” you told him, reaching up to ruffle his hair.

Pouting, he slumped forward fully on your legs and pressed his head into your hand. You took the hint and started running your hand through it, scratching his scalp gently. His chin stayed resting on your shin as he finished the movie out.

“I can see why it’s your comfort movie. Happy ending, familiar tale, and a little bit of romance.”

“Yeah. My mom used to play it while we decorated the Christmas tree.”

“You’re a big traditions person, huh?”

“Definitely,” you confirmed, “something to look forward to.”

“My dad wasn’t around much,” Isaac confided, “and when he was, he was mean. I wish I had siblings, but my mom left before she could have another one.”

“Have you talked to your dad much since moving?”

His laugh was humorless, “Fortunately, no. I moved and I left for good. I have no interest in going back to Beacon Hills.”

“So that’s why you decided to stay, huh?”

“Rather stay here with you than go someplace to see people not worth my time.”

“Do you ever talk to your family members?”

“No. I don’t think I’ve ever really forgiven my mom for abandoning me, and my dad is a lost cause. I lived with a guy named Argent for a while after my dad kicked me out, but he’s been abroad since I left for school.”

“How’d you know him?”

“His daughter Allison was my good friend. She’s at school abroad.”

You paused your scratching and cradled his chin, turning his face to look at you, “So you’d go if they were still in Beacon Hills?”

Isaac frowned, “Maybe.”

“Family is important, no matter if it’s blood or not.”

“I guess that’s kind of a moral in Rudolph isn’t it.”

You laughed, “Yeah, I guess it is.”

He sat up and leaned forward to kiss you. When he pulled away, Isaac smiled, “Thanks for listening to me.”

“Thanks for opening up.”

Four: Elf

“Okay but how often do they have free drive-in,” you pleaded, “and it’s a Christmas movie, and they’re giving out eggnog.”

“Personally, not a huge fan of eggnog.”

“Hot chocolate too.”

He paused, “You might get me with the hot chocolate.”

You snorted, “Well, you don’t have much time to decide because it starts in two hours.”

Inhaling sharply, he stood, “Let’s go.”

“Yes!” you cheered, grabbing two blankets off the couch to bring for when he turned the car off.

“It’s going to be cold, sweetheart,” he warned, looking at your leggings and hoodie.

“Yeah, don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“Mhmm,” he raised his eyebrows, “we’ll see if you say so in an hour.”

-

It was cold, and part of you didn’t want to admit how cold you were, but eventually the shivers won out and you smiled sheepishly at Isaac, “Can you turn the car on?”

“Nope,” he popped the p, “I did warn you.”

You pouted and he rolled his eyes, an amused look on his face. After a few seconds, he lifted the console up and slid across the seat, arm out for you to squeeze close.

“Thanks, bud,” you told him gratefully as the movie started.

“I think I have a sweater in the back seat,” he offered.

“Nah, it’ll be cold anyway.”

He nodded and wrapped the blanket around you, “Offer’s open.”

Isaac was a movie talker, not that you ever minded, you were too, but you could tell he really liked Elf because he barely spoke the whole time.

Leaning into his side warmed you up, and you watched silently, aimlessly playing with his hoodie strings.

“I know it’s not the most prominent theme in these holiday movies,” he said, “it seems that shit dads are pretty common. Like, Merry Christmas to you and all your daddy issues.”

“Oh my god,” you snorted, “I guess you’re not wrong. You elbowed him, “Merry Christmas to you and all your daddy issues.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he told you, kissing your cheek, “I’d rather be here with daddy issues than be in Beacon Hills with a dad.”

Clapping a hand over your mouth, you laughed loudly, “I’m not sure if that’s the truth, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

“It’s true. You do mean the most to me.”

Your eyes widened, “Wow, I love you too.”

Isaac’s cheeks turned red and he jumped in surprise at the sudden yelling on screen. You pinched his cheek, and the best way you could describe the look in his eyes was fond. He sighed, “I don’t-”

“Don’t worry,” you reassured, “I know.”

“You’re too good to me.”

“Too good? Nah. You deserve all the good things.”

“So,” he trailed off mischievously, “if I deserve good things, does that mean we can eat only from the four main food groups for the rest of the break?”

“What?” you were lost.

“Candy, candy canes, candy corn, and syrup.”

“Fuck no. I know that you’re joking because I think the lack of cooking would do you in, but I still can’t stand the thought.”

Isaac laughed, “No, I wouldn’t, but I do really like this one.”

“Good. More found family content.”

“It is a theme.”

“The best theme.”

“I know you aren’t the most fond of reading, but I have some books really heavy on found families that I think you’d really like.”

It wasn’t the first time Isaac had recommended you books before, and you hadn’t ever taken them, but you’d thought, with all the opening up he’d been doing, the least you could do was take a suggestion.

“Give me a list, I’ll check some out.”

He smiled softly at you and squeezed your hand, “I will.”

Plus One: Home Alone

Isaac stumbled out of the Uber, and waited for you to climb out, “Come on, babe,” he slurred when you took a few seconds.

“Coming, can’t find my phone,” you told him, patting around the backseat.

“I’ve got it in my pocket,” he told you.

“Oh, shit, okay.”

He threw an arm around you and the two of you walked toward his apartment, “Fucking hell, they spiked the fuck out of that cider.”

You giggled, “To be fair, we both had a lot.”

“We did.” Isaac fumbled with the keys and managed to get his door unlocked after a minute of missing the keyhole. He grinned proudly, “Let’s fucking go.”

“Wow, a genius,” you mocked and he rolled his eyes.

“Just go change so we can watch a movie.”

Luckily, you and Isaac were both floor people when drunk. You went into his bathroom to take off all your makeup and change, and by the time you finished, he was flipping through TV channels and laying on a pile of blankets and pillows on the floor.

“ABC Family probably has a movie on.”

And when he managed to find the channel, Home Alone was playing. Isaac squinted at it, “I think I’ve seen this one.”

“It’s my favorite,” you gushed.

“We’ll watch it then. Lemme go change.”

Isaac left and you slumped back on the blankets, eyes shutting a few times as a wave of tiredness hit you. On screen Kevin screamed, and you jumped, waking up fully as Isaac flopped down next to you.

He laughed, “Comfy?”

“Could be better,” you answered, pulling at him until you could lay your head on his chest. He laughed and you tossed a leg over his. When you finally stopped squirming, you poked his chest, “Now I’m good.”

“What if I’m not comfy?”

“Tough.”

Isaac snorted, “I guess I’ll just deal.”

“Thanks for your service, bro.”

He focused on the screen, “How are these assholes not dead?”

You blinked a few times, trying to focus, “I don’t know actually. Like I would’ve just wanted to die after a certain amount of pain, right?”

“Head on fire? I’m noping right out of that. Fuck the houses.”

“Absolutely, hit me on the head with an iron and I’m gone.”

Isaac laughed, “Weak pain tolerance for the win.”

He picked up his hand and held it up limply, you picked yours up to high five him. It was sloppy and you missed most of his hand, but he grabbed it and refused to let it go. Kissing it sloppily, you smiled at him.

“Sap,” you teased.

“Only for you, of course.”

“Of course, I’d hope so.”

He fell asleep pretty soon after, and you took a minute to reflect. For a while into your relationship, Isaac refused to sleep over. You weren’t sure why, and it kind of hurt your feelings at the start. Eventually he did, but he always waited until you fell asleep first.

Home Alone played in the background softly as he slept, eyelashes fluttering, and you smiled at him. You traced over his cheekbones and across his brow bone, pausing when he made a face before tapping his nose.

“Stop,” he mumbled.

“No.”

You pulled him closer and entwined your legs with his. He huffed, “What if I have to pee.”

“Hold it, I’m trapping you here.”

“You can’t trap me, I’m bigger than you.”

“You can carry me if you must.”

He hummed, “Fine. Hopefully I don’t drop you.”

“You won’t,” you told him, confidently.

“Oh yeah, you trust me that much?”

“Mhmm, obviously,” you tapped his lip.

Nipping at your fingers, he laughed, “Why?”

“Because you love me, you wouldn’t hurt me.”

He froze under your fingertips, and you stayed quiet to let him work through it. Tracing mindlessly, you smiled at him, his brows furrowed.

“I do,” he spoke eventually, “I do love you.”

Your eyes filled up and you bit your lip, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, because I love you too.”

“Good.”

~

day five of @obxmermaid​‘s holiday challenge: holiday movies

[editorofeverything]

Day 6? of going through my drafts I never finished or posted because ✧Low Self-Esteem✧

Except I started going through my fanfic folder... and getting really into the plotlines I had going on there... and I may have started completing them all of a sudden?? I won’t question it because I’m afraid the will to write will suddenly go away so here is my now complete first part of my Daminette fic I wrote like a year ago?

So, without further ado, here is four times the Ladybug magic teleported Marinette to where she would be safest, and the one time she was already there—Part One.

~

When Tim Drake started his nightly shift in the Batcave with a pot of coffee in hand and a research project in the works, he didn’t expect a magical portal to spit out a ladybug themed superhero at the Batmobile with a cut off scream.

He froze as the swirling red portal disappeared and the hero that made a dent in the Batmobile stopped moving. He reached over and pushed the SOS button that would alert the others that something was wrong before grabbing his coffee mug as a weapon and heading over towards the girl.

She was small, was his first discovery. Probably shorter and younger than Damian, and yet she was wearing a bright red suit over her curled body and a mask over her closed eyes. She was hurt, and Tim didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t slept in over a week and the brain cells that were left were combusting at the sight of a child crumbled on the floor after playing the hero game.

He sucked in a breath and froze at the puddle of blood starting to pool under her head. The crashing of glass broke him out of his stupor and he barely noticed his favorite mug broken on the floor beside him before he threw himself at the girl’s side and eased her onto her back so he could look her over. All he could do was breathe a sigh of relief when he could feel her pulse beating weakly. He tried her mask first, and, after discovering that it wouldn’t budge from her skin, he realized that whatever magic she possessed would prevent him from checking her for injuries.

He brushed her hair out of her face and saw the bruises and scrapes all over before he checked her head. Her lips parted in a small cry when he touched a tender spot and he cursed at his red coated fingers when he pulled away.

“What the hell is it now, Drake? Do you even know what time it is?” Jason walked over with Alfred on his tail and rested his hand on Tim’s shoulder, startling him. “What’s up-? Who the fuck is that?”

“She teleported here. She’s… Jay, she’s hurt really bad and she’s some type of magic so I don’t even know how hurt she is and-” A beep interrupted his rant and they both looked for the source on her.

“Alfred, get the first aid kit and get the others in here.”

“Of course, Master Jason.”

~

“All I’m saying, Father, is that maybe if we put him through a rehab system, these ridiculous late night emergencies would decrease.”

“They’re not all hallucinations, Damian. We haven’t had an incident since last month.”

“Until now,” Damian huffed as he and his father ran into Alfred who was carrying a first aid kit, some blankets, and some towels.

“Was Tim injured, Alfred?”

“No, Master Bruce. There seems to be an intruder in the Batcave. I believe Master Tim and Master Jason are currently trying to assess her for injuries, but it seems she is of the magical variety and her suit is giving them some trouble.”

Damian was already sprinting to the cave while Bruce grabbed some of the items from Alfred and walked with him to the group of his kids kneeling around a small figure on the ground.

Damian saw the dent in the Batmobile before he saw the girl and actually stopped in surprise. “She did that?”

Bruce followed behind him and made a surprised noise as well before moving towards Tim and Jason’s side. “What happened?”

“A portal opened up and she was thrown into the Batmobile. She’s been unconscious the whole time. Her head is bleeding and I wouldn’t be surprised if she has a concussion. I can tell she’s hurt more, but we can’t take off her suit to check.”

Jason placed a towel under her head and she moaned at the movement, her eyes fluttering.

“She has these earrings that have been beeping for the past three minutes. I think they might be where she gets her powers from. They seem to be timing out.”

A final beeping noise echoed throughout the cave before a bright pink shine encased her body, revealing a small girl. She had blackish-blue hair tied in falling pigtails, pale skin that was speckled with bruises and lacerations. Her clothes looked impeccable, though the blood from her wounds was starting to soak into her red sundress.

“What the actual fuck is that?” Jason spotted a round, red figure moving on the girls collarbone.

The bat family took in the little red bug as it sat up and shook its head before seeming to notice the girl she was on.

“Marinette!” the thing spoke and Tim clutched Damian’s arm with an urgency that startled him.

“Please tell me you heard that thing talk.” Damian patted Tim’s hand lightly.

“You are not alone in hearing the kwami talk, Master Tim.” Alfred straightened up at the sight of the mystical being fretting over her charge’s unresponsive body.

“Kwami?” Bruce muttered under his breath, looking to Alfred for answers.

“Tikki, Goddess of Creation,” Alfred pressed his fist into his hand and bowed towards her, “how may we assist you?”

Tikki turned her wide eyes to Alfred and floated up to him. “Please help her! She’s more hurt than I can heal, and the fight is still waging on! Without Ladybug, the entire team will fail!”

Bruce straightened up at that and turned to his sons. “Jason, Tim, keep pressure on her head wound and wrap up any minor lacerations. She’s lost too much blood. Damian, come with me so we can get some more supplies for Miss Marinette.”

“Father, a word, please?” Bruce paused as soon as they exited the cave and were heading for the kitchen with a list of things Alfred told them to grab like water, cookies, and something light for Marinette when she would wake up. Damian had gotten better with being open and calm with his family for a while, but it still took time to unlearn years of life being taught one way for so long.

“What is it, Damian?”

“I… I know everyone’s concerned about the girl—I am too—but has anyone thought of what will happen if she wakes up? Will she recognize the Batcave? Will we reveal our identities to her, especially since she’s been forcefully revealed to us? What if she doesn’t wake up? How will we explain how a foreign girl ended up in Gotham?”

“These are all good questions, Damian, and I’m glad you’re able to share your concerns with me. In this matter, though… I believe we’ll just take Alfred’s que for right now. If at any point you feel uncomfortable with your identity being discovered when Miss Marinette wakes up, then you can leave and we’ll fill you in later.”

Damien’s silence carried into the kitchen as Bruce started handing things to him to take back.

“I’ll go back,” Damien finally said as Bruce pulled the cookie jar off the cabinet, planning on taking the whole thing. Who knew how much those kwamis could eat? Bruce certaintly didn’t, and the fact they were magic too didn’t help him any. “I think… Alfred usually knows best, and I trust his judgement… As well as the rest of the family’s. I want to make sure the girl is okay firsthand, and we can go from there.”

Bruce felt a wave of affection and pride towards his son, and wished Damian would look him in the eyes, but he would settle with placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Then, let’s go give them a hand, son.”

~

Bruce and Damian joined the group quickly enough to arrive just as Tikki and Alfred were starting their own conversation while Jason and Tim assisted the girl. Damian stood with his father, both with their guard up in case someone could possibly track Marinette and Tikki down. Magic, they agreed before they entered the room, is a fickle thing, and they didn’t want to take any chances of their family, or their sudden patient, to be caught off guard.

“You were a previous Miraculous holder, weren’t you? I can sense your bright soul. Who was your chosen?” Tikki asked, hovering just over Marinette’s collarbone. Alfred didn’t know if it was because she was protective of the girl or injured herself, but he felt it too rude to ask directly of the tiny god.

“Duusu, the Peafowl Miraculous of Emotion. We were separated after a year of us working together, and I never knew what happened to him or Nooroo, who was taken as well.” Alfred could tell Master Bruce and the boysr were listening intently on their conversation, but wouldn’t interrupt. Detectives they might be, but Alfred raised Master Bruce, and they, in turn, raised the boys to have manners. He could sense their questions piling up, but was confident they would save them for after they delt with Marinette’s most pressing wounds.

“Unfortunately, they ended up in the wrong hands. It’s why Ladybug and Chat Noir were called together in the first place. Marinette has made excellent work in finding and defeating Hawkmoth, but there has been too many obstacles in her way lately. She’s been through a lot…” Tikki turned on to face Marinette and Alfred was overcome at the overwhelming sense of sadness emanating from Tikki.

“We will do all we can for her,” he choked out, and shook his head at Jason and Tim, who paused at the catch in Alfred’s voice. “For such a young child to be a holder though…” Tikki sat on Alfred’s shoulder as Tim and Jason started wrapping Marinette’s head gently and patched up some larger cuts she had on her side. Her ribs were likely broken if the mottled bruised running down her side were anything to go by, and her ankle seemed to be sprained, if not broken as well.

“The previous Guardian made a rushed decision on who to choose for the Miraculous. It just so happens that Marinette is the one soul in this lifetime that resonates with mine. Despite her age, she has become one of the best Ladybugs I’ve had the honor of assisting, and she is now the Guardian of the Miraculous Box as well.”

“Guardian? She’s a Guardian as well? How could that be?”

“The previous Guardian’s identity was compromised by Hawkmoth, the villain with the butterfly miraculous. He’s been terrorizing Paris for almost three years now. Marinette had to step in as Guardian or the Miraculous Box would be lost.”

“Tikki…” The girl winced away from Jason and Tim’s hands and she whimpered.

“Tikki…” Bruce began in a steely tone, “how old is Miss Marinette?”

“She’s turning eighteen in a few months. I know she’s young, and I hate to put so much on her shoulders, but she’s the only one who can be Ladybug, and competent enough to be Guardian. She’s intelligent, strong emotionally and physically, and her heart is pure. She is the embodiment of what Ladybug is supposed to be.” After that speech, Damian took a breath and knelt down between Todd and Drake to assist. They still didn’t know everything, which could be dangerous for them, but Damian felt that if he were to take a chance on anyone, it would be this girl that was worthy of so much power and responsibility.

As soon as Damian brushed his fingers against her wrist to check for a break, however, the girl suddenly seized up and Damian jolted his hand away. Tikki gave him a strange look before floating over to her chosen.

“Tikki!” Marinette shot up, instantly collapsing with her head pressed into her knees with a groan. Tikki nudged Marinette cheek with her head reassuringly.

“It’s ok, Marinette. We’re safe for now. Please lie down or you’ll hurt yourself more.”

“Safe…? But where are we? School?”

“I believe that a Ladybug power was activated when Mayura cornered you. It teleported you to where you would be safest in the world.”

“Safest?” Marinette looked around and seemed to panic at the group of men surrounding her. “Oh my god, who are these people?! Did they see me transform? Tikki, you’re supposed to stay hidden!”

“Excuse me, Miss Marinette, but you can rest assured that you and Tikki are safe here.” Alfred rested a gentle hand on her arm, and she immediately relaxed. “I know first-hand the challenges of being a Miraculous holder, and we will do everything in our power to assist you if need be.”

For a moment, Marinette seemed paralyzed. She was looking at Alfred unfocusedly, as if she was seeing right through him. Suddenly, she met his eyes and started speaking a language only the three could understand.

“You have the soul of emotion and light. Touched by one who has been stolen and corrupted. You have my trust and thanks for your assistance, young Peafowl.” Marinette stated in an ancient, unfamiliar language before blinking out of her haze and nearly falling to one side if Damian hadn’t grabbed her and kept her propped up.

“Sorry,” she blinked slowly and focused on Alfred again, “I’m still getting used to that.”

“Your trust in me is an honor, my lady Guardian, but I doubt I can be considered very young anymore,” Alfred said with some humor in his voice. Marinette smiled warmly at him and, with the help of Damian, Jason, and Tim, eased back onto a few blankets and some towels to cushion her beating head.

“Damian, pass some water over,” Tim asked, still checking over Marinette’s head. Damian did so, being uncharacteristically silent during the entire conversation.

“My head is fine,” Marinette said in a thick accent. “I believe I hit it after I have been teleported, not during the battle.”

“You speak English very well, Miss,” Bruce praised, leading to Jason cooing at her blush.

“Ah, well, it’s important to be able to communicate with tourist during akuma attacks. I’m afraid I haven’t had much practice, though. And it’s definitely not as good as your French.” Marinette gave a shy, kind smile to Alfred.

“What did I hit my head on, anyways? I’ve been thrown before, but I’ve never hit anything so hard that I’ve passed out and detransformed.”

The resounding silence echoed throughout the room and Marinette took a breath before sitting up properly and keeping her gaze steady at the ground.

“Whatever it is, I don’t want to know. Don’t even tell me your names.”

“Miss?”

“I’m a superhero fighting an evil villain with magic jewelry, I know the awkward ‘I have a secret I can’t tell you’ silence. I haven’t exactly been on this side of the conversation much though. I understand. Just let me catch my breath and I’ll be out of your hair.”

“’Catch your breath?’ You have a concussion! And broken ribs! You can’t fight like this!” Jason was getting too worked up, but this was a child.

“Yes, I can. Just give me a minute. I’ve fought in worse conditions, and I’ll be better once I can reverse the damage.”

“Reverse the damage?” Damian said, and was almost disappointed when Marinette didn’t look at him directly. She wasn’t looking at any of them, except for Alfred, in the face. Deniability, most likely, but definitely not what he was initially expecting when he decided to stay with his family despite the chances of being recognized.

“Tikki?” Marinette said, and rested her head against the Batmobile while she started poking at her wounds.

“I give Marinette many powers. One of which is the power of the Miraculous Ladybug. It reverts ay damage done by a kwami instantaneously. In fact, the dent in your motorized vehicle should be back to normal as well once the battle is won.”

“Tikki, I need to know how the fight is going. Be stealthy and take a look, and grab Khalki. I’ll need him to teleport back to Paris. I don’t want to risk using whatever power got me here in the first place.”

“I’ll be right back!” Tikki turned towards Alfred and patted him gently on the cheek. “I leave my chosen in your hands, Alfred. Look after her, please.”

“Of course, Tikki.”

“Thank you, young Peafowl.” Alfred returned her smile instantly before Tikki disappeared through the floor.

~

“So, let’s play ‘Do I Have a Concussion 20 Questions!’” Jason announced after he and Tim propped her up between them, leaning against the dent in the Batmobile.

Damian sat in front of them while Bruce and Alfred had moved over to the Batcomputer to try and do some research into the Miraculous themselves.

Marinette giggled and focused herself from closing her eyes by chipping at her black nail polish.

“So question number one: what is your name?” Tim was holding the broken handle of his coffee mug in his fist and was talking into it like it was a microphone.

“Marinette, but you already knew that,” Marinette said in a teasing tone.

“True, but this is if you know your name, not for us, little lady,” Jason bumped her shoulder with his gently and she giggled again.

They went through a few questions that were vague enough not to uncover her identity completely, but still show that she had her wits about her. Where are you from? Paris, of course. Do you go to public, private, or home school? Public! I hate homeschooling. Do you live with your parents? Yeah… oh I left my phone with my stuff at school. They’re probably worried sick. Do you have a job?

“Oh!” Marinette suddenly exclaimed, jolting where she sat. “Maman and Papa are going to be so disappointed if I can’t get home in time to watch the bakery! They’re going on a date tonight, and we have three orders to fill… I wonder if I can get Chloe to push their reservation…”

Jason shared an apologetic look with Tim when they realized how much she just let out. Damian was alarmed. She didn’t even seem to notice how much she just gave away about herself during her rambling.

“Why are you telling us all of this?” Damian finally asked after a moment of silence. He didn’t understand this girl. She was in a strange place, surrounded by strangers, and willing to avoid looking at them or around to keep them comfortable with their secrets, and the she goes and basically tells them where she lives.

“I know it might not makes sense, but as Ladybug and Guardian, I can sense things most people can’t, and I’ve learned to trust myself above all. My powers brought me here because I’m safe, and I can sense that you all have pure souls. You two even have souls saturated in Destruction energy… The Black Cat’s energy. It balances my own soul out well… How did you come across a Lazurus pit?”

Jason and Damian jolt and look at each other. Bruce was at Damian’s side in the next moment. “How do you know about the Lazurus pits?” He asked in a cautious tone, though Marinette didn’t seem to notice. She was still picking at her nail polish and Damian had a moment of irritation at the flaky mess until he realized she was probably doing it to keep her focus off of them.

“I am Guardian, and Tikki’s chosen. I know everything there is to know about the Miraculous, though I only recall the information when I needs to be used. When the Ladybug and Cat’s miraculous are combined, the holder may make a wish. One of those wishes was to be immortal. The Lazurus pits were created out of that wish, but the price was heavy. To manipulate a soul into bearing life after one should die… it leaves a mark—mentally, physically, emotionally… Most of the Lazurus pits were destroyed to restore balance, but some still remain in this world to keep the balance of what was already taken as its price. If they were all to be destroyed, something else in the world would have to be as well to keep balance.”

The resounding silence in the room felt suffocating, but Marinette just smiled reassuringly and brushed her dress down. Damian suddenly noticed that he felt… calmer in her presence than he usually would with someone he met barely twenty minutes ago.

Marinette’s voice brought him out of his thoughts once more. “Tikki is coming back.”

The kwami suddenly appeared a moment later with another one right behind her. Marinette smile and held out her hand.

“Hello, Khalki.”

“My Lady,” Khalki purred, floating around her hand.

“The fight is still going, Marinette. Chat Noir and Queen Bee are playing decoy and distraction. I informed them that you had been transported away for your safety and that we would be present for the fight soon. Hawkmoth and Mayura can’t end the fight and get what they want without Ladybug present, and Chat Noir and Queen Bee are smart enough not to let them leave or capture them while you’re gone. Both sides are playing it safe and waiting for your return.” During Tikki’s rundown, Marinette slowly but surely began to stand on her own, leaning against the Batmobile.

“Well, let’s give them an entrance they won’t forget. Are they all still at the Tower?”

“Yes. Chat Noir has followed your direction to keep them centered there well.”

“Good. Tikki, spots on. Khalki, Tikki, merge.” The family all stood and watched in amazement and shock as Marinette glowed that same pink hue before the red and black spotted heroine stood before them.

“Your injuries are still there.” Damian broke the silence to his family’s surprise. “You should be careful and finish your battle quickly to minimize your injuries until you can heal.”

Marinette seemed surprised, focusing on his shirt, the closest she’s gotten to looking his in the eyes the entire time she had been there. He almost… wanted her to. He wanted to look directly into her bright blue eyes and let her see him as he saw her… He shook himself out of that embarrassing train of thought just as Ladybug said something that caused a portal to appear.

“Thank you for your help…” Marinette nodded to them and looked one last time at Alfred. “I hope we meet again, young Peafowl.”

“As do I, my lady Guardian,” he bowed.

Ladybug turned and was suddenly gone. The only evidence of her being there was the broken remains of Tim’s broken mug and the huge dent in the Batmobile.

“Well, I’m going to sleep,” Tim announced to the room. “Someone else can take night shift tonight and someone can also tell me this wasn’t all some fever dream in the morning.”

Half an hour later, Damian, who had volunteered to stay up and finish the nightly watch in order to gather more information of the Miraculous and Marinette, noticed Tim’s mug appear sitting perfectly on the floor half full of the sludge he must’ve been drinking before it had broken and the dent in the Batmobile disappear in a wave of ladybugs.

Damian smirked at the knowledge that she and her team had won their battle, and that, if these items were fixed, then so were Marinette’s injuries. He ignored the part of him that felt… proud at the knowledge of her win, and happy knowing she was healed.

Damian grabbed the mug off the floor and took it with him to drop off in the kitchen while he searched for a snack. All his searching through all the bakeries in Paris was starting to make him hungry, especially the one he left on the Batcomputer. He would have to see if the Dupain-Cheng Bakery catered internationally, or if the woman posing with her husband in the owner’s bio passed down her black-blue hair to any daughters his age.

~

UPDATE: Here’s the link to the next part and the AO3 link for anyone who wants to continue!

Next - AO3 Link

[arse-crack-thistle]

gifts

rwrb and the five love languages | part two

in which june struggles to have a nice valentine’s date with nora

June never expected to care this much about a stupid holiday like Valentine’s Day, but here she is, practically renovating the apartment to give her girlfriend a perfect night. She strings LED lights around the entire living room ceiling and uses Command hooks to drape the sheer, white Ikea curtains she bought on sale months ago in preparation for this. The lights glow pink through the curtains, making the usually neutral-toned living room appear like Aphrodite’s palace. June’s moved the coffee table into her room and replaced it with a fluffy blanket and a picnic set-up to rival TikTok lesbians.  All she needs now is Nora, if only she weren’t stuck at school.

The texts say, Will be late! Data mining for the gods! [Monet X Change gif] I want to be home with you though. Will bring noodles! And chocolate! Scratch that, I ate the chocolate. Sorry.

June knows she shouldn’t be annoyed because Nora has no idea what she’s coming home to. She also knows who she got into a relationship with—a brilliant mind that’s constantly moving parsecs a minute and has a hard time communicating her feelings. June has to remind herself that Nora loves her even if she doesn’t always show it.

That’s what tonight is for. It’ll give them time to slow down and just be together. Break the routine. Talk or not talk. She doesn’t expect it to be mushy or obnoxious—June isn’t a super, flowery romantic herself—but she does want another sentimental moment to hold onto forever.

Like the night of the 2020 election over a year ago. After Alex and Henry slipped away and everyone else was celebrating in their own groups, Nora pulled June into a storage closet at the venue and kissed her point blank, leaving no questions in her mind that their dabbles the months before meant something more than spectacular.

Or like six months ago when Nora asked her if she wanted to move in with her. She didn’t do anything particularly special, but she slammed her laptop shut while June was throwing on one of her sweatshirts and asked her to stay—to take the second bedroom because Nora needs space sometimes—but to stay with her because she was her favorite person. June answered with a happy “yes,” and Nora got up and kissed her. They didn’t talk much more about it; June just packed up her room at the White House and let the world think they were very best friends.

June pours a glass of wine and waits on the couch, flipping through social media. A few hours ago, her brother posted a picture from the Valentine’s gala he and Henry threw for the London queer youth center. Alex, Henry, Bea, Catherine, and even Philip and Martha hold champagne flutes with cheeky smiles on their faces. The POTUS account has a sweet yet posed picture of her mother and Leo. She likes everything she sees, from the various celebrities she follows to the photos she’s tagged in by fans. The time on her phone reminds her Nora’s now over an hour late.

She texts her, Home soon?

Ten minutes later her phone dings. Need more time. Almost done!

You are aware it’s Valentine’s, yes? And that we had plans?

Yes!!!! But flexible plans, right? Not like we can’t eat noodles and make out later. Will leave soon though. Promise.

I got food covered. Just get home please.

June sighs. She thought she made it clear this morning that they deserved a night with no distractions. God, they need to talk; she’s afraid to, but nothing will get better if she doesn’t say anything and if they don’t try.

The charcuterie board spread she copied off of Pinterest has been sitting out for a while so she moves it from the floor to the fridge. “Soon” for Nora could mean an hour. Empty coffee mugs line the sink. An open pack of weed gummies sits on the counter, hardening. Binders of paperwork and schoolwork collect on the kitchen table. There’s so much Nora in here. June redecorated the living room and kitchen when she moved in, but Nora’s managed to touch everything.

She smiles. If this were Alex, she’d be pissed at the mess, but it’s Nora. The beautiful, erratic mess that is Nora. The girl who can have four different shows on at once and can still get shit done. The girl who always burns pancakes when she tries to cook breakfast for June. The girl who never fails to kiss her first.

June won’t lose her. So she sits down on the floor, runs her fingers over the fleece, and waits. And drinks more wine.

Sometime later, when a key turns in the lock, she downs the last sip in her glass and sets it down. Some old love songs play from her phone, the ones she and Nora love to make fun of. She hears her girlfriend curse when her key gets stuck, and then she bursts through the door and catches herself before she could slip on the hardwood.

“I know you said you got food covered, but I got noodles any—Whoa! You did all of this?” Nora walks into the living room with takeout bags in her hands and stares, mesmerized, at the ceiling. Her contacts must’ve been bothering her because she has on her back-up glasses.

“Hi. Happy Valentine’s Day,” June says and reaches for Nora’s hand to pull her down.

“I’m sorry, June. I had no idea. I thought we both hated this holiday, so tonight wasn’t that big of a deal. But this—this is beautiful,” Nora says, having a hard time meeting June’s eyes.

“Thanks.” June rubs Nora’s hand with her thumb. “And this isn’t really about the holiday. I just wanted to give something nice to you—to us—just us. With no distractions.”

The strings from “At Last” by Etta James play from the phone. The curtains billow from the air blowing out the vent. As much as she hates to ruin the moment, June has to start the conversation.

But Nora takes a deep breath and talks first. “I know I’m a bit all over the place but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I just have a lot going on.”

“I know, but sometimes it feels like you don’t care about us as much as I do. It feels like an afterthought to you,” June says.

“That’s not true, June! Come on! You know me.” She grabs June’s other hand and squeezes.

She squeezes back. “You don’t act with feelings in mind, but I know you have them. And I know it’s hard for you, but I need you to share them with me more. I need a reminder that you care every once in a while.”

Nora’s quiet. She uses her arm to wipe her eyes, knocking her glasses off.  “I—I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do.”

June’s chest collapses. She wraps Nora up in her arms. “I’m sorry, Nor. I don’t mean you’re not enough for me. I love you so much. I—”

“No, I understand. I just—I need help with that. I need you to tell me when you need more—maybe not after the fact like now but—”

June laughs and pulls away. “You’re right. I have a stewing problem. I just assume you’ll eventually get it.”

“Yeah, don’t assume that.” Nora laughs too—the big kind that shows all of her teeth. “Reign me in when I’ve been off for too long. And know it’s not on purpose. I’m seriously spiraling in my own head the majority of the time.”

“Ha! And a hot head it is too.”

They both pause and look into each other’s eyes. And bust out into laughing fits. June makes a fart sound with her mouth, and Nora tackles her. They rumble around on the blanket for about forty seconds before June’s wine glass tips over and surprisingly bounces instead of shattering.

The girls take that as an opportunity to stop and pour some more glasses of wine. Nora preps the takeout while June brings the charcuterie board back to the indoor picnic. Nora changes the music to some weird techno shit, but June snatches the phone. They compromise with One Direction, which makes no sense since 1. June only knows their last album and 2. Nora definitely remembers the story of June turning down the advances of one Niall Horan when she did the daytime talk show circuit after her book deal was announced.

Either way, they stuff their faces and end up cuddled on the floor.

Nora interrupts the moment. “Before we get to sexy time—"

“Jesus Christ.”

“I just wanted to give you something. I would’ve saved it for your birthday, but I can get you something else.” She pops up from the floor and jogs to her bedroom. When she reemerges, she’s carrying a bunched-up blanket. “I didn’t have time to properly wrap it because—you know, you weren’t going to get it yet—although, it probably wouldn’t’ve been wrapped later either—but anyways, happy Valentine’s Day.”

She crouches down and hands over the present. She smiles and bops up and down in anticipation. June unwraps the blanket and sees a book.

It’s one of those photobooks you can get at Walgreens, and on the cover, it reads, “Catalina June Claremont-Diaz and Nora Elizabeth Holleran are NOT good friends…” June flips it over. “They’re fucking GIRLFRIENDS!” Inside is page after page of pictures as early as the day they first met and as recent as New Year’s Eve a month ago. A lot of candid pics they take of each other—Nora’s favorites. A lot of sleepy, cuddle pics—June’s favorites. It’s so perfect.

“Nora—this is—wow.” She feels the tears coming. No one has given her anything like this before.

“I’ll be better—”

“So will I.”

“No matter where my head’s at, I’m always thinking of you—just 50 million other things as well,” Nora says and cups her chin.

June leans in. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Nora kisses her, and everything wound up in June relaxes. Her body is so warm. “Best Song Ever” starts playing.

Cue sexy time.

check out the rest of my rwrb and the five love languages series: part one, part three, part four, and part five. (links to come as they’re released)

so this could be for quality time or gifts, but i decided to go with gifts since i had no other ideas for it! it’s definitely not my love language (quality time for the win!) but i had to write something lol. so i made it sapphic bc everything gay is better! <3

rwrb romance week | @rwrb-fests

[something-fanfiction-ie]

Rough Drafts

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: Explicit descriptions of a murder scene, argument, angst, and cursing.

A/N: Okay, so I know I said I was gonna publish this yesterday but I got Cassandra Clare’s newest book and I couldn’t put it down. I seriously love that lady. Omg. Anyways, it’s here now! And it’s angsty! And there’s gonna be a fourth part soon I promise! For real. Don’t forget to reblog, comment, send me an ask or a message and overall just adore me so that I may continue to feel good about myself. As always thank you for supporting me and I hope you enjoy!!!

[ Part One | Part Two ]

___

An incredulous laugh bursts from your lips, your nails cutting crescent moons into the palms of your hands as you try and convince yourself that this isn’t actually happening.

“Do you have alibis for your whereabouts on Monday, June eighth, Saturday, June thirteenth, and Thursday, June eighteenth?” Spencer can see your leg bouncing rapidly under the table, your eyes flying over the pictures and the expression of Emily Prentiss. You seem genuine, but he can’t trust himself to get an accurate read of you anymore.

“I, uhm, I- I wouldn’t know off the top of my head. I keep a planner, I’ll forget things otherwise.” The burst of iron in your mouth is not something you’re unused to, having chewed your cheek so badly that the skin there has broken under your teeth.

“We’ll need to see that.” Emily isn’t sure whether or not she believes that you’re guilty, watching the way you seem to unravel before her. When you look at the crime scene photos, it isn't with any pleasure, but with disgust. Your nose wrinkles a little at the bridge and you keep looking away as the blood from your face starts to drain. 

Either you’re a really good actress or you aren’t the unsub.

Emily says as much as she flips through the small teal planner that you’d willingly given them. Due dates for chapters, publishing events, book signings and days for book tours fill most of the pages in your most neat handwriting. Dates you plan to go visit your mother, grocery shop, doctor’s appointments, even plans to go somewhere and write.

Everything is explicitly stated, that way you’re never unsure of what you meant to tell yourself. That is, until around three weeks ago when a handful of days are notated with an ‘S,’ followed by a random doodle. Sometimes it’s a tiny heart drawn absentmindedly while you discuss the plans over the phone, other times it’s a cartoon bunny or a top hat.

Garcia is the first to take notice of it, her fingers faltering in their constant thrum against the keyboard in front of her. She glances out of the side of her glasses, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

“Looks like lonely girl found herself a boo.” 

“That makes sense,” JJ says from the chair she’s pulled into Penelope’s office from the bullpen. A pen is stretched between her hands, her posture relaxed into the curve of the stiff, government-issued rolly chair.

All the girls have gathered into the tech analyst’s room while the men take turns interrogating you. Well, all except Spencer. He just stands behind that window watching your every move with eyes like a hawk. “What doesn’t make sense is why she keeps it secret even in her personal planner.”

“Maybe she has a stalker? That could be who is doing all this?” 

“Then she wouldn’t keep careful notation of everything else going on in her life. A stalker would follow her every move, not just her romantic interests. Even if he is in love with her.”

“A partner, maybe? Like the days they planned the murders or days they were acted out?”

“None of the days line up with the crimes, save for this one,” Emily leans the book toward the two women with her finger just underneath June fifth, the day Alison Crane was abducted from outside her campus dorm room. It’s the third ‘S’ scribbled into the corner of a day in the entire book.

“And there is nothing else written in relation to this ‘S’ character?” JJ shakes her head, looking for any clues that could be nestled among the loops and curls of your writing. Reid would be better at this, he was the graphology expert among them. So why wasn’t he back here helping?

“Then I guess we better try and get her to talk about it. Meanwhile Garcia, we’ll get Rossi and Reid to head over to her apartment and you can hack into her computer?” Penelope spins the chair, a flash of bright colors and blond hair. She clicks her tongue in response, throwing up a fingers gun and winking.

“Whatever you need me to do, I’m on it like sexy on Derek Morgan stepping out of the shower in a towel.”

After some arguing, and maybe just a little bit of pleading, they manage to convince Reid to join Rossi on a trip to your apartment. He can’t help but feel a little uncomfortable, standing in your living room. Not because he’d been here before, but because he’d never been here before.

The empty mugs that litter every surface, smelling of old coffee and your favorite coffee creamer (he only knows it’s your favorite because you explicitly ask for that creamer at every coffee shop the two of you have ever gone to), is unfamiliar to him. He’s invited you to his apartment at least three times. How come he had never been to yours?

Small pages and notebooks of scribbled ideas and dialogues cover just as many areas as the coffee cups do, your handwriting messy and cramped in every note. It’s almost like you couldn’t get the idea out of your head fast enough.

The bed in your room is meticulously made without a wrinkle in sight, but that could be because of the obvious bed you’ve made yourself along the salmon pink couch that stretches out in front of your TV. A multicolored crochet blanket is thrown haphazardly over the back, a pillow still slightly squished against the arm.

On the coffee table is a half opened laptop, a notebook with red and black ink scribbled in the lines, and a still full cup of coffee. Rossi makes quick work of calling Garcia and helping her get patched into your computer. It’s strange, watching her move the mouse on your screen from miles away.

Reid never stops moving, walking the length of your studio apartment with his eyes peeled for any kind of information he could find. It’s obvious that you spend most of your time in the main room, which houses the kitchen, a small dining area, and the living room. A door leading into your room branches off to a small bathroom which is just as disorganized as everything else in your house.

Hair products, skin washes, and all kinds of makeup are scattered across the sink and back of your toilet. It’s funny because every time he’s ever met up with you, you’re bare faced and your hair is still drying from the shower you took before leaving your house. The tube of lipstick he picks up makes him think he doesn’t really know you at all.

On the nightstand in your room is a bottle of water with the label ripped off and the two Rossi books you’d bought that fateful day in the bookstore. The label from the water bottle is stuck between the middle pages of one of the books. The passages in question don’t lend anything to connecting you as a homicidal maniac, let alone a serial killer.

Back in the living room, Garcia is snooping through every aspect of your computer.

“I don’t know whether or not the be freaked out by her web history. There’s a lot of murder-y questions here. ‘Signs of a post mortem amputation,’ ‘How much blood can you lose and still live?,’ ‘Most brutal ways to be killed.’ It’s creepy.” Rossi is flicking through the notebook from the table, his eyes squinted as he tried to make sense of the abbreviations and scribblings of another writer.

“She writes crime novels so it isn’t entirely strange for her to be looking at those types of things.” Thankfully, the defense of your web search history comes from the older man who looks up as Garcia delves deeper and deeper. Spencer had thought it first, but hadn’t said anything to avoid suspicion. He’s smart enough to know that the truth has to come out eventually, but he wants to be sure of your innocence (or guilt, he reminds himself a bit glumly) before he reveals your link to him.

“I’m not seeing anything she could be using to contact a partner unless her partner is one of the publishing people she’s constantly messaging via email.” At this Spencer stops, leaning against the back of the couch with his weight resting on the heels of his hands. The stance appears relaxed. He is anything but.

“Why do we assume she has a partner?” Reid asks, impatiently pushing a stray curl away from his face. Rossi glances at him curiously, otherwise undistracted from the shake the movement gives the couch.

“Oh, Prentiss, JJ, and I were looking through her little teal book earlier and the only thing not explicitly stated was just the letter ‘S.’ It’s why they came back to interrogate and they sent you guys to her house. I thought they told you.”

Spencer wants to beat his head against the wall.

“That isn’t a lead, Garcia. You have to tell them that ‘S’ isn’t her partner.” The mouse on the computer screen falters, several saved documents for different rough drafts of books or drabbles are pulled up the way you might have papers scattered about in front of you.

“What is it? Do you know who ‘S’ is?” Rossi is turned sideways on the couch, looking over the back and up at the distressed man in front of him. It doesn’t take him long to connect the dots when they make eye contact. Penelope impatiently whines over the phone.

“I’m ‘S,’ I’ve been seeing her for the last three weeks. I’m sure if you tell me the dates then every single one of them will be days that we’ve had plans together.”

“I’m sorry, what?!” Before anyone has the chance to say anything else, the door to Garcia’s office opens and a second voice filters through Rossi’s phone speaker. It’s JJ.

“Let Reid and Rossi know there’s just been another murder.”

This time it’s a fifteen year old girl. Her hair is black and wet, her lips are as blue as the sky, and she’s naked. Water droplets from her skin have soaked into the sheet of paper that was layed over her chest. The bathtub she’s in is completely empty, but it doesn’t take a genius to know that she was drowned there. The bruises on her shoulders from the force the unsub used to pin her down are dark against the contrast of her already pale skin.

...The man leaned over the tub, his eyes squinted in thought and his lips skewed a little to the side. Ryder stayed focused on the crime scene, for the most part. But even detectives of her caliber, and higher, could easily get lost in the eyes that look up at her from beneath long golden-brown lashes.

“Detective?” She blinks the distraction away, looking back at the girl, her black hair wet and spiraling like the snakes on Medusa’s head against the ivory siding of the drained tub. Ryder can’t help but wish the girl had been lucky enough to turn her killer to stone. Maybe it would have saved her.

“Agent.” She crosses her arms, looking anywhere but at the man across from her, pretending to look for any useful clues. Ryder had gotten to the crime scene fourty-five minutes before the pair of FBI Agents had walked in. The man, who had introduced himself as Supervisory Special Agent Matthew Gray, had decided to join her in the second floor bathroom. His partner, a woman named Katherine Swift, had taken to looking for clues through the rest of the house.

Agent Gray is beautiful. It’s the only adjective that seems to stick to him with certainty, every other aspect of his personality just as elusive as the exact color of those eyes. Even as short as his hair is, the golden brown tendrils are unkempt and curl every which way. Ryder has to force her hand to stay at her side and not reach up to smooth an alfalfa that does nothing for the serious expression on his face.

She keeps imagining what it would feel like if he reached out to kiss her, curling his fingers into her hair and bringing her unworthy lips up to meet his. He’s tall so she would probably have to stretch a little, but she wouldn’t mind. Not when his hands are tangled in her hair and he’s giving her the kiss she’s been silently begging for since the moment he flashed that crooked grin at her.

The imagination is so vivid that she jumps when her own partner, Detective Russo, comes around the corner of the hallway and straight into the bathroom...

The paper crinkles in the evidence bag as Morgan places it on the table, trying to ignore the daggers being glared into him on the other side of the mirror.

Nobody on the team had been very happy with Spencer when they heard the news about your relationship, Hotch had nearly snatched him by the scruff of his neck when he made to go into the interrogation room. But after several minutes of thoroughly explaining himself, Hotch had sent Morgan in. To say Spencer was infuriated was an understatement.

“Do you know what this is, (Y/N)?” You look down at it, twisting the evidence bag so that you could read the Times New Roman font you always wrote in when writing in Microsoft Word. The words cover the front and back of the copy paper, but you don’t have to read it through all the way before you know what it is.

“It’s a page from my newest book.” The bag scratches against the tabletop as you push it away from you, crossing your arms over your chest. Your face is stoplight red with embarrassment at the thought of Spencer reading this page, mostly because you had pulled so heavily from your own thoughts when first meeting Spencer to write Ryder and Gray’s first meeting. You created Matthew Gray to write about Spencer Reid in a way that felt less ‘high school diary entry.’

“More specifically, it’s from the book you just started working on about a month ago. The one that only you and your agent have access to.” Finally, Morgan sits. Before, he’d just been pacing around you the way a lioness might stalk around her prey before she launches an attack. It made you uneasy, but that was the whole point, wasn’t it?

“Do you know where we found it, (Y/N)?” His muscles bulge against his shirtsleeves when he leans them up on the table. Derek Morgan is a very attractive man, you’ll give him that, but if making you uneasy and putting you in the room with a attractive man to fluster you was their strategy then they should have sent in Spencer.

“My computer.”

“We found it on the body of a dead girl.” Another picture joins the ones already shuffled around the table. You can barely look at it, nausea and tears building in your throat at the sight of another person dying the same way you’d written in a story. When you don’t respond, Morgan continues.

“‘She was found at the bottom of an empty bathtub, a pale leg hooked over the edge of the porcelain siding, and her arms pinned to her sides in death. Bruises discolored the skin at her shoulders, and Ryder knew at first glance that her cause of death would be asphyxiation by drowning.’” He drops the paper back to the table, having picked it up to read the passage from the end of the page.

“That’s wrong,” You say, leaning back over the table to look at the paper again. Derek looks down, like the words might have changed in the moment he looked away, but the text stays exactly the same as before.

“That’s exactly what is written here.” You shake your head, pulling the bag back to you and wrinkling your forehead in thought.

“I don’t doubt that is what you read, Agent Morgan,” Your eyes fly over the page, reading the end of the excerpt with overwhelming relief. The bag sticks a little to the pad of your index finger as you tap over the paragraph in question. “But I rewrote this scene only two nights ago. It’s on my computer, I’m sure your tech analyst can confirm my claim. This girl, Bella, she doesn’t die from drowning anymore. Her hands are tied above her head to the faucet and she’s strangled. I couldn’t decide if I wanted it to be by her sister or her girlfriend.”

JJ rushes back to Penelope’s office, on a mission to confirm your statement just as you had suggested. Meanwhile, Morgan’s mind is rushing to figure out the mess he is currently sat in. You lean back in your chair now, unsure if the dizziness you feel is from lack of food or the sudden realization that they couldn’t pin this to you anymore.

“I’m not your bad guy. If I was doing this to prove to my mother that my writing is good, that I chose the right career, as your profile says, I wouldn’t change the scene in my book and not change the murder.” In Morgan’s earpiece, Hotch tells him that you were telling the truth about editing the scene two nights ago.

“Unless you planned it to throw us off track. We know about your relationship with Spencer, you’ve probably found out all kinds of things to do to keep us from catching you.”

You clench your teeth, straightening into your chair and pinning Derek down with a look you’d learned from your mother. It makes him think of his mom, your eyes narrowed and your gaze so cold that it could cause frostbite. He watches curiosily as you tilt your chin up a little, trying to hide the pricks behind your eyes and the wobble of your lip. Derek notices them, the entire team notices. They’re trained to notice.

“I want a lawyer.” You say simply, you voice is sharp and quiet but it does the job of slicing through the tension already building in the room.

“Come on, you don’t need a lawyer.”

“That’s where you’re wrong again, Agent Morgan. I do need a lawyer. Because even though I have full-heartedly trusted the justice system since I was in diapers, and even though I came to these offices willing to help your team in any way that I could, you are still trying to use me as a scapegoat instead of actually doing your fucking job and finding the bastard who is killing people in my name.

“A study from criminal law bulletin says that 10,000 people are wrongfully convicted of serious crimes every year. One in every twenty-five people sentenced to death are innocent, Agent Morgan. Just since 1973, more than 160 people were exonerated from the death penalty. That’s not even counting the people who were killed. But you sure as hell aren’t about to make me apart of that statistic because you want to waste your time trying to piece an investigation around me. That’s not how you’re supposed to do your job. So until you can remember how to do it correctly, I do need a lawyer. Thank you.”

By the time you finish you’ve leaned over the table, your index finger jammed into the wood to make your point. It feels like your chest is on fire as you slam back into your seat and cross your arms, determined to keep your silence for the rest of the time you were forced to sit here.

Everyone on the opposite side of the mirror is stunned into silence, their eyes focused on you even as Derek gathers all the things from the desk and walks out looking a little flustered himself. If Spencer was totally honest, your outburst was actually kind of hot. He has to remind himself that you may have killed eight people in cold blood.

Your lawyer makes it to the BAU in record time, his red hair expertly gelled back from his face. His icy blue eyes only cracking when he sees you sitting by yourself in the interrogation room. Spencer can tell by the way that he lowers himself on the balls of his feet to talk to you, reaching out to touch the hand that sits on your thigh, that he knows you personally. He likes you, actually. Spencer tried to tell himself that it doesn’t make him glad when you pull your hand out of his and awkwardly pat his arm.

He’s been lying to himself a lot today.

Hotch is the one to go back in the room, he was the best at dealing with lawyers. Unfortunately his best wasn’t enough to keep you in custody and soon your lawyer, who Spencer learned was named Jeremy, was walking you out of the room for the first time in six hours.

Your back cracks when you stand, your shoulders rolling back to try and ease some of the stress you’d been holding there since this morning. The sound of the door swinging open for you is almost heavenly, the feel of the air outside of the room is damn near enough to make you cry.

When you look to the side, ready to leave out the second door that leads into the hallway and away from this mess, you meet eyes with the only profiler of the BAU that you hadn’t seen that day. Spencer looks back at you with an expression that you find hard to put into words.

He almost looks sorry, the regret evident in the slight widening of his eyes, but at the same time his chin is tilted up like he is facing an enemy he has vowed to take down no matter the cost. His shoulders are squared, but his arms are uncrossed and his palms are open.

And even though you knew you wouldn’t be there without him knowing, the reassurance that Spencer knew and even suspected you is like a blow to the chest and stomach. It robs you of air, causing you to stumble.

Jeremy reaches to steady you. You shake him off, pulling your eyes from the young doctor and focusing all of your attention on the door knob.

“I’m fine, Jeremy.” Your tone of voice is more harsh than you intended but you’re still struggling to collect oxygen, even when you slide into your car by yourself, it feels like you can’t get enough air. The walk from the BAU offices to the parking lot had passed in a blur. Jeremy’s talk about staying at home and keeping your head low had gone by even faster, and now that you have time to truly be by yourself, everything hits like a ton of bricks thrown at you from a speeding train.

In the midst of your panic attack, gasping for air into the palms of your shaking hands, questioning everything about yourself and your career, you don’t register the shuffle of movement in your backseat. You’re so deep in your mind that you almost don’t notice the cool press of a gun barrel against the back of your neck until a familiar voice lifts your head from your hands.

“Drive.”

[all1e23]

Between the Stars [Pt. 1]

Pairings: Past!Steve x Reader, Bucky x  Reader

Summary:  Struggling with the death of your husband, you find comfort in someone unexpected.

Series warnings: CHARACTER DEATH. Grief. Overall sadness. Depression. It’s pretty angsty if I’m being honest. Things mellow out as the series goes on. TW: Military/Spouse death 

A/N:  It’s a military AU with the loss of a spouse. This was the only WIP of mine I was really upset to discontinue. Which is why it’s the only one I left up. After some love from my @moonbeambucky​,​ I’m posting the first chapter and we will see how it goes. No, I do not have a posting schedule nor do I know when the next part will be up. No Bucky yet but the next chapter is nothing but Bucky.  It’s still very heavy in the angst but hang tight. It gets better once Bucky comes home. If you like it write a book report, sing me a song or come scream at me.

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam, though! Thanks!****

“Sweetheart,” Steve’s breath warmed your skin, making you shiver. “It’s time to wake up, my sweetheart.” 

You pulled the cover over your head, hiding the grin on your face and blocking out the sun along with your husband. Steve’s chuckle made your smile widen enough to make your cheeks hurt. There was a gentle tug to the blanket, and you knew Steve was attempting to tenderly coax you out of bed. You slowly lowered the quilt down to your nose, only letting your eyes peek out, and you find your husband’s gorgeous smile beaming down at you, making your heart flutters from the sight. 

“It’s Saturday, Steven.” 

“Steven?” Steve chuckled and tried to pull the covers off your face yet again. “I’m in that much trouble?” 

You narrowed your eyes and tightened your grip on your blanket. 

“Yes, Steven, you are.” 

Steve settled himself on top of you, leaving the blanket wedged between you, but he pulled it down far enough to see your whole face. He placed a kiss to the tip of your crinkled up nose and smiled at the exaggerated pout you put on. 

“We have brunch with everyone, or did you forget that it was your idea?” 

“I did forget,” You whined quietly. “You know better than to let me plan things when I’m excited, and I’ve had more than two glasses of wine.” 

He only grinned wider at that. Didn’t say a word, and you started to fidget from your own self-consciousness. You hated and loved it when he looked at you like that. It made you fear the day he would stop. Eight years in, and it was still there despite fights over how to load the dishwasher, silly tiffs about money and arguments over what way the toilet paper goes on the holder. 

“What are you going to do when our kids come running in here to wake you up? Are you going to send our sweet babies away?” 

He just had to go there. Steve just had to go and mention sweet moments of babies and cuddles -- Your weakness.  

You relented and finally wrapped your arms around his neck, dipping your fingers into his longer than usual hair. He would have to cut it soon.  Couldn’t be a soldier and have hair long enough to tuck behind his ears. You liked when he let it get long, though. It made him your Steve again. Which sounded ridiculous. He didn’t have long hair and beard when you met, or the night he kissed you for the first time, but it didn’t matter how silly it was. This version was your Steve, and the short-haired, clean-shaven one belonged to the Army. 

“Well, if they are running up here to wake me up because their daddy made me breakfast, I could be convinced to get out bed for some kisses and cuddles.” 

Steve’s sweet laugh made your skin prickle. You wondered if he would let you record it before he left this time or if that was going too far. Probably not. Steve would do just about anything you asked of him, so you couldn’t imagine he would ever tell you no for something that would put your heart at ease while he was gone. 

“Maybe we skip brunch and get started on those babies, hm?” 

You grinned. 

Steve always knew exactly what to say.

“God, I love you, Rogers.” 

Steve’s right hand slipped under the sheet and under the white cotton shirt of his that you were currently using as a pajama, his fingers dug into your ribs making you squirm, and he dipped his head down, barely brushing over your parted lips, he whispered, “And, I love you, baby.” 

Your eyes opened, and you weren’t met with the sight of your husband. It was the same ugly white ceiling you’ve stared at for the past month, the past thirteen months, really.  It’s been a month since everything was finalized. By someone’s good fortune that was not your own, Steve had insisted you buy your house off base so at least you could keep the home you built together. It hadn’t made this last month any easier. Thirty-six days since you got the news and thirty days since you laid Steve to rest. You were supposed to be improving, or so the books and all your friends and family said. You didn’t know how anyone expected you to get better. You could barely put one foot in front of the other, let alone think about moving on with what little bit of a life you had left. 

The sun was hitting the full-length mirror hanging on the far wall at the perfect angle, and you knew it was nearly seven, judging by the position of the glare coming off the glass. You could spend the rest of the day in bed, and you would have every right to. No one would let you get away with wallowing today you had a feeling. Besides, you had to stop by Sarah’s and make sure she was okay. It has been far too long since you checked in on her, and that wasn’t fair to her. She was grieving just as much as you were. So, you forced yourself out of bed, stood on shaky legs, and made the short, dreadfully long walk to your closet.

The red flannel you pulled out of black felt-lined hanger still smelled like Steve. All of his things did, and his scent hung heavy in your room. You pulled it on over your tank top and brought the collar up to your nose, taking in a deep breath. That earthy citrus smell still made your knees a little weak. Eventually, you were going to have to wash his things. You glanced at your bed, the pile of crumpled sheets you would typically insist on making before your day started. What was the point in making them now? No one would see them but you. No one would know if you made your bed or left it a wreck for days on end. 

You should wash them, a voice in your head nagged. 

No, you shouldn’t. 

His pillow is still his pillow, so long as you don’t wash it. Maybe next month. You haven’t been sleeping much as it is, and when you do, you usually fall asleep on the couch so the sheets could stand to go a while longer.

The house was eerily quiet in the mornings. Steve was always the first one up and the last one down. The quiet made those times harder. It was the heavy reminder he was gone, and the weight of that on your chest left you unable to rest. Landing at the bottom of the stairs, you found Sam still fast asleep on the couch with no signs of waking any time soon. He had shown up last night claiming he needed to see you, but you knew Sam was there to check up on you. It had nothing to do with his own grief. Sam became your shadow the moment the funeral ended, and part of you wished he would just go away. 

You wanted everyone to go away and let you grieve in the only way you knew how. 

The coffee pot was empty, and it glared at you the moment you entered the kitchen. As it has been for the last year. Another reminder that Steve was gone and never coming back. When he was home, Steve would set the timer before his run, so by the time you woke up and made your way downstairs, there was always a fresh pot waiting for you. You’ve been making your own coffee since he deployed, and not one morning had it come out right. 

You should have known then something was wrong. 

A large, calloused hand slipped around your waist from behind, and gentle kisses landed on your neck. He shouldn’t be here, and yet, he was. He was late for PT and was surely going to get yelled at the second he arrived. Steve didn’t seem bothered by the thought, or maybe kissing you was really worth it like he claimed.

“I believe you're wearing my favorite shirt,” Steve’s voice rumbled against your skin, and you tried to suppress the shudder it sent through you. 

“What’s yours is mine, Husband.” 

Steve chuckled. 

“How many cups of coffee does that make for you, Wife?” 

“Two,” You said with shaky confidence and a scrunched nose that said you weren’t being entirely truthful.

Steve nuzzled his nose along your jaw, and he roughly whispered in your ear, “Liar. Wanna try that again?” 

“Fine,” you conceded with an eye roll. “This is cup three, but I’m not having any more for the day because you’re here stealing the rest.” Steve smiled fondly and took his travel mug from its spot next to yours. 

“No more until you have some water. You’re going to give yourself a heart attack.” Steve cupped your jaw with his free hand and tilted your head back to rest on his shoulder. He pressed a tender kiss to your lips and one to your nose. 

“I’ll see you tonight beautiful.” 

“Y/n… Hey…”

“Do you promise?” 

“I promise, baby. When do I ever break my promises to you?” 

“Hey, Y/n.” Sam tried again, more forceful his time. “Are you okay?”

You blinked, finding Sam standing in front of you with a look of concern drawing his brows together. You looked down at the counter where two cups were resting, full of black steaming coffee. You had only meant to pour one cup. Or had you? Sam realized the mistake before you did. The cup was for Steve. He quickly leaned forward and slid the mug towards him. 

"Mind if I get a cup? Didn't sleep great last night." 

A breath of relief.

You nodded and slipped the carafe back where it rested, avoiding Sam’s watchful eyes. 

"...How are you sleeping?" 

"Fine." 

Sam raised a brow. 

"Decent." You reluctantly confessed. "Enough that I can make it through the day."

"And what are you doing... to make it through the day? Have you tried to play?" 

Your eyes shifted to the piano that sat in the den, and you quickly looked away. There was no point in beating around the bush with that one. Someone was coming to look at it at the end of the week, and you were hopeful by the weekend to have it sold. There were some things that you wouldn’t be able to pick back up again, and falling in love and playing the piano was on the top of the list.  There was no reason to pretend. 

"No. I don't--" You shook your head. "It's as if my fingers can't remember the keys. I don't know. Nothing feels right anymore." 

That was normal. Everything you were feeling was perfectly normal, and Sam wanted to tell you that. You knew he did, but he didn’t, and you let out a breath you hadn’t known you were holding. This was hard enough without feeling like your closest friend was counseling you. 

“It’s not fair.” 

“No, it’s not--” 

“I haven’t washed his pillowcase yet.” You blurted without thinking. “I, uh, I’m scared if I do it will lose his scent, and it won’t be his anymore. Which is stupid. He hasn’t slept on it in over a year. I could easily spray more cologne on the cover like I have been since he left, and it would be the same. It feels different now. Final. Am I going crazy? Because it feels like I am losing it, Sam.” 

“That’s all normal. You’re grieving. It’s normal to not be rational--”

No. That was not what you wanted. 

“I don’t want therapy Sam right now,” You snapped. “I want Sam. My Sam.” 

Sam leaned back against the backing of the barstool and stared at you. Your gaze didn’t waver. You picked at your nails, and your bottom lip was trembling, but you held your gaze steady. Sam knew when to push and when not to. Right now, you were right. You didn’t need him to baby you, to walk on eggshells, and repeat well-rehearsed phrases meant to aid in your recovery like everyone else was doing. You just needed him to listen and tell you your life wasn’t over.” 

“Okay.” 

Sam reached across the counter and cupped a large hand over yours. There weren’t many people you would let see like this, or at all. Since the funeral, you haven’t been getting out much. You were sure Wanda called Sam and tattled on you after your meltdown in the market yesterday. It wasn’t a big deal. Yes, you cried over an apple pie. It was not the first time someone has gotten upset over baked goods. It happened every day, you were sure of that, and no one made a fuss until it happened to a widow. 

Widow. You really hated that word. It was a stupid word, and you refused to use it. However, the incident in the market didn’t help the way people were looking at you, widow, or not. You had thought things would be slightly easier once you talked to Bucky. He’s always had a way of calming you and putting your restless soul at ease. You waited on a call from Bucky, but none came. He hasn’t even sent a letter. That might have been part of the reason for pie-gate 2020. 

At first, you were angry. He was ignoring you? After everything? You lost your husband, the man’s best friend, and Bucky couldn’t be bothered to pick up the damn phone and make sure you were okay? But you realized he was grieving, too. It was different from yours, but it didn’t make it any less real, and he had a right to do it in his own way. Besides, Bucky probably didn’t know what to say. You wouldn’t if it was you because there was nothing anyone could say or do to make this okay. That was when your anger turned to tears, and that moment just happened to be in the bakery, in front of twenty or so people. 

It wasn’t like there was some guidebook on how you should grieve and move on with your life. You wished there was, but there wasn’t a ‘right way’ to navigate this. You had to take one day at a time and handle each moment as it came along. 

“I’ve loved him for most of my life am I supposed to just stop now?”

“No one expects you to stop loving Steve.”  

“It feels that way sometimes,” You mumbled weakly. 

Sam gave your hand a gentle squeeze, but he didn’t say anything else. You needed to sort through what you were feeling on your own, so he was letting you decide what you needed; from him and yourself.  When you finally looked back up, he could tell by the murky waters in your eyes, you were still just as lost as the day Steve left you. Only now, there were expectations for improvement and time limits on how long you were allowed to stay floating in the dark. Even though it had only been thirty-six days, eight hours, and forty-three minutes, everyone was tired. Your friends and family wanted to move on. After all, they didn’t lose their other half. They were tired of being sad, and you were tired of pretending it was okay. 

“How am I supposed to move on without him, and what? Just start over?”

Sam gave you a small smile and tightened his grip on your hand. “I don’t know, but we are all here to help you figure it out.” 

“Not everyone is here,” you grumbled petulantly. 

Bucky didn’t have a choice, but he did. He could have been the one to come home, and while you were not upset with him for sending Sam in his stay, it still hurt. The three of you had been close, and once upon a time, you were closer to Bucky than you were Steve. He was the first person to talk to you when you moved to town, and if it wasn't for Bucky, you never would have met Steve. 

“He will be home at the end of the month and from what he said last night. I think he’s hoping it would be okay for him to stay here.” 

On the one hand, you were relieved to know Bucky was coming home. You needed to see him, to hear his voice tell you that Steve would want you to move on and be happy. On the other, Bucky hadn’t called you. He called Sam instead. That stung. 

“Why?” You slowly pulled your hand back and crossed your arms over your chest, shielding yourself from Bucky’s reasoning and maybe a little bit from Sam, too. “Why does he want to stay here?”

“Well, he didn’t re-enlist, so I think he’s trying to figure out what his next step is and what he’s going to do with the rest of his life and… I think he wants to be close to Steve and maybe to keep an eye on you. You could help each other, you know?”

“Right,” you snorted. 

As if anyone could help you, let alone the friend that left you in the lurch when you needed him most. You didn’t know what Sam was putting in his morning coffee, but Bucky didn’t want to help you do anything. He has made that very clear from the moment Steve died.  

“I doubt he wants to be here with me, and what exactly are we going to help each other do?” 

Sam sighed and shook his head, “Grieve, Y/n. Grieve and move forward.” 

That would be easier said than done.

Previous // Next 

[vennilavee]

the soul of a flame - ch 1

the spark

pairing: levi x reader of color

summary: levi follows his squad to a new bar called the silver sapphire and finds you, a pretty girl with a knack for making drinks.

warnings: alcohol, cursing

word count: 2022

a/n: reader is a reader of color because that's how it's going to be. if i feel like i cant relate with some of the fics posted here/ao3 bc of obvious physical attributes assigned to reader, then im sure many others feel the same as well. ENJOY

***

Levi suspects that his squad is getting shitfaced. Again. It’s only the end of a grueling few weeks after they’ve been appointed to his squad and had to go through a stricter, more regimented version of Cadet training.

It was Levi’s version of training.

He had them training from early hours into the heat of the mid afternoon until the sun began to dip into the sky. They never outwardly complained, not to him at least. They knew better.

Levi had granted them an early evening, to which all four of them had been surprised by-

“What? You four earned it,” Levi says with his arms crossed, “Don’t look so surprised. I’m not a tyrant.”

“Of course not, Captain Levi,” Petra chirps, an always sweet smile on her face.

Oluo elbows her, telling her to stop being such a kiss ass and Petra gapes at him.

“Me? Look at your hair! You can’t even pull off bangs the way Captain Levi can,” She scoffs, arms crossed over her chest.

Levi rolls his eyes, not bothering to conceal the fondness he has for his team.

“Get outta here,” He says not unkindly.

He didn’t think they would end up finding their way to a bar for two nights in a row. They’re getting ready for their third night at the same bar and Levi has to know.

What the hell has gotten into his team?

“Which one of you four idiots is gonna tell me where you’ve been sneaking off to?” Levi asks, appearing suddenly in front of Oluo and Gunther.

“We told you Captain! There’s a bar not too far from here,” Eld says enthusiastically, “There’s a rumor that they make their own alcohol with gold there.”

“Right,” Levi scoffs, “That has to be the only reason why you four come back shitfaced every night. Because of gold.”

“Not me, sir!” Petra protests, earning herself a glare from Oluo.

“Who are you lying to, Petra?” Oluo says, “And it’s not gold, Eld. I hear it’s diamonds and rubies. Sapphires, too.”

“How the fuck do you make alcohol out of diamonds, rubies and sapphires? Do you hear yourselves?” Levi says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“That’s what it tastes like, Levi. That’s what her alcohol tastes like,” Gunther says dreamily. 

“So which is it? You like the alcohol or you like her?” Levi says, a faint, uncharacteristic teasing in his tone.

“Doesn’t help that she’s very pretty, sir,” Petra says thoughtfully, tapping her chin.

“I’m sure it doesn’t,” Levi rolls his eyes, turning his back on his team, “Enjoy. You’re expected to be ready for training at dawn.”

“Yes, sir,” They all chorus while saluting. 

“Levi,” Gunther says, “You should come later, if you want. Hange and Mike will be coming later.”

“Tch,” Levi waves him off without another word and Gunther shrugs.

He has better things to do than drink shitty alcohol from a shitty bar with his friends and fellow soldiers. 

***

It turns out that Levi in fact, does not have better things to do than drink shitty alcohol from a shitty bar with his friends and fellow soldiers. Hange had convinced him to join them. And her version of convincing had been blackmailing him into holding his most favorite tea leaves hostage and loudly telling him that he needed to get out more often otherwise he’d turn shrivel up and turn into a grump-

“If we hurry and go, we can reverse the process before it’s too late.”

Which is how he found himself walking to the bar that Hange coerced him into going to. It’s called the Silver Sapphire, and honestly, he can’t think of a shittier name for a bar. Sapphires aren’t even silver.

Levi hates any amount of attention on him, and the way the bar goes silent for a moment when all eyes land on him makes his skin crawl. He sits at his own table, away from the ruckus of the other squad leaders and his own team as the noise around him resumes. He fully expects his team to see him and surround him soon.

At least none of the shitty kids were here.

“Captain Levi! You caaaame,” Oluo says, as Petra sits across from him. 

“Came to see what all the fuss was about,” Levi shrugs, “And Shitty Glasses decided to hold my tea leaves hostage if I didn’t show up.”

“Orrrr Captain Levi wants to see the pretty bartender,” Petra says in a singsong voice, eyeing him curiously.

Levi lets her have her fun. It puts a smile on her face, so he lets her have it. 

“Try some of my earthwater, Captain,” Oluo says, pushing his glass towards Levi.

“I’d rather die by the hands of my own blades than drink anything you’ve put your shitty tongue in, Oluo,” Levi says tonelessly, “Earthwater? What the hell is that?”

“The stuff made of diamonds,” Hange appears from around the corner and sits next to Petra, “You were right, Oluo.”

“Hange,” Levi says curtly, crossing his arms over his chest. Hange lets out a peal of delighted laughter at his irritation. 

“Shorty’s upset with me because I told him to get out of his office for the first time all week,” Hange whispers to Petra.

Levi rolls his eyes so far back he’s certain he sees his own skull.

Suddenly, Petra elbows Hange, discreetly looking at the bar and whispering to her with a tipsy giggle. Levi hears Gunther and Oluo sigh like lovestruck fools, even Petra and before he can ask them whether they are soldiers of the Survey Corps or whether they’re idiots in high school-

He sees you making your way to them from behind the bar and can kind of understand why they have hearts in their eyes, and why they’re behaving the way that they are. His own throat is a little dry but he clears it subtly, eyes not leaving you.

“Third night, huh? To what do I owe this pleasure?” You murmur, all smiles and warm, dark eyes. You have a notebook and a pen in your hand to take their orders.

Levi is aware of the intensity of his gaze over you. Your dark green silk shirt is neatly tucked into your black pants that hug your hips and your legs. It’s loose and yet sits on your torso like it was made for you. The dark green is a shade or two darker than the Survey Corps capes, but you wear the color much better than anyone in the Corps ever could. Levi catches a glint of gold at the base of your throat attached to a thread of gold wrapping around the column of your neck. The top two buttons of your shirt unbuttoned carelessly, allowing him a peek of your deep skin glowing with the lights of the bar.

He swallows.

“These four idiots have been raving about your drink, what is it dirtwater?” Levi says tonelessly, “Must be pretty shitty if it’s called dirtwater.”

“It’s called earthwater, actually,” You reply easily but Levi catches the bite in your tone, “You should have one. On the house. It’s my own recipe and maybe it’ll loosen the stick up Captain Levi’s ass a little bit.”

His teammates, all traitors apparently, snicker at your comment.

“Fine,” Levi scoffs, “I’ll have your shitty drink. And what happens when I decide that I don’t like it?”

“That won’t happen,” You wave him away with a smirk across your painted lips, “After all. I made it.”

And with that, you saunter away with the rest of their orders and Levi sinks into his seat imperceptibly.

You look over your shoulder and toss him a reckless wink and a rogue smile. It takes a second for Levi to realize that you’re looking in his direction. He turns his gaze away from you, ignoring the heat creeping up in his neck.

***

The minute you see Levi of the Survey Corps walk into your bar, you know you had to see him up close. You’ve only heard stories about him, rumors mostly. That he’s a well oiled Titan killing machine. That he’d climbed the ranks of the Corps quickly, too quickly. You’ve heard that he’s an Underground kid, and that has your interest piqued.

The entire bar goes silent when he pushes the doors open. Clearly, Captain Levi doesn’t just walk into bars very often. Your eyes immediately shift to the rest of the Corps, in a separate corner of the bar.

He looks disinterested as he observes the bar around him. You have an eye on him, as you do with all your new and high profile customers. You notice how he relaxes in his seat, but he has a watchful eye on his surroundings, too.

Maybe it comes from being from the Underground. Always trying to be five steps ahead of any perceived threats. Maybe it comes from his Corps training. Maybe both.

You can’t help your eyes from wandering as you watch him subtly from the bar. He’s handsome, somehow both rough and effortless at the same time. The planes of his face are lined with cues of life and loss and you wonder how close you can get to him to see more.

You prepare five mugs of earthwater, adding a little extra mint to their drinks to spruce it up. You strive to impress, and Captain Levi is no exception. Carrying all five drinks on a tray with one hand, you head back over to their table, ignoring the hollering of your patrons around you. You turn your head towards them while you’re still walking, and flash them a gratuitous wink to quell them. They sigh happily and you roll your eyes fondly.

They’re just drunk and happy.

“I’m back,” You announce, “One earthwater for each of you.”

You hand a mug to each of them, careful not to slosh the liquid over the rim. Levi eyes the mugs impassively- they’re made of shiny brass and have a thin handle on the side. And they’re clean, he realizes as he inspects the mug.

“I’m curious to hear your thoughts, Captain,” You say with a smile, your right hand on the table and your left hand on your hip. You lean on your right hand and Levi tries to ignore the way the collar of your shirt slips to the side, the hollow between your neck and shoulder exposed. He catches the glint of something shiny on your left hand before taking a sip in front of six pairs of waiting eyes.

They all lean in close to hear the verdict.

“It’s not shitty,” Levi says, pleasantly surprised. Not that you’d be able to tell. It’s a little sweet but not overwhelmingly so. He can taste richness in the aftertaste of the drink and the combination of it with mint is unlike anything he’s ever tasted. What exactly is in this drink? No wonder Oluo says it’s filled with diamonds and sapphires.

“Ha! I’ll take it,” You say triumphantly, “Well, enjoy. You know where to find me.”

Your dark eyes linger on Levi for a second longer, searching for the hidden roughness that only an Underground kid can have. But he’s no kid, and he hides it well.

So do you.

Levi is no stranger to pretty women, and he knows beauty when he sees it. At first glance, you look like you’ve been born and raised inside of Wall Rose. Your brown skin glows despite the absence of sun, you smile so boldly that your cheeks must hurt, your eyes are mischievous.

And yet. It only takes one sweeping glance at you, at your confidence and the twinkle in his eyes for Levi to see how much of yourself you’ve given to be here. To have something called your own. Your hands were rough when you had handed him his mug and he saw faint, old scars on your forehead and your neck when you had leaned in.

He can admire from afar, can’t he? No harm, no foul. It’s not like he’ll be coming back here anyway, right? He’ll probably be dead before he can.

[robinrunsfiction]

The Moment I Knew

Pairing: Gerard Way x Female Reader Rating: Teen (mentions of violence) Requested By: None Word Count: ~1,700 Author’s Note: Part two of my Taylor Swift inspiration series. This has a hefty dose of angst, but I hope it’s enjoyable. Also the ending is weak, I know it, but I want to post this and I’m not sure what else I can do with it. Oh and this is set in 2005.

(YN) glanced around the room again, wondering if she’d missed him coming in. The room was full of people she liked, but she didn't even want a big birthday party this year. She just wanted to spend the night with a few of her favorite people, but her friend Christine had decided otherwise, opting instead to throw her a party in the back room of their favorite restaurant. And now the one person she most wanted to spend the night with was very late.

“Happy birthday (YN)!” a familiar voice said behind her.

“Hey Mikey, thank you,” she smiled when she turned around, but her smile faltered when she saw he was alone. “Oh, Gerard isn’t with you?”

“No, he said he’d meet me here. He's not here yet?”

(YN) shook her head. “No, I haven’t seen or heard from him.” A thought nagged at the back of her mind, a thought she didn’t want to verbalize to anyone, but especially not to her boyfriend’s brother.

“I’m sure he’ll get here soon,” Mikey shrugged.

“Yea, I’m sure,” she nodded as Mikey made his way over to get himself a drink.

(YN) sat down by herself at a table where she could watch the door for when Gerard finally arrived. The way her friends were mingling and having a wonderful time at her party was in stark contrast to how she felt; sitting alone, her heart breaking more and more each moment that passed without him there. “He said he’d be here,” (YN) murmured to herself as she checked the time again.

From across the room, cheers went up and she jumped to her feet, wondering what the commotion was all about. That’s when she saw Christine walking in carrying a birthday cake, glowing with candles and sparklers. Everyone followed her across the room to (YN), singing Happy Birthday along the way. (YN) forced a smile, looking around at all the happy faces wishing her well, but they had no idea how her world was crumbling. 

As she blew out the candles, she wished silently 'I just want to know if he still loves me.'

The cake was cut and passed out to all the guests. Once the attention of the crowd was off her again, (YN) rushed to the bathroom.

“(YN), (YN) wait!” She heard Christine calling after her, but she didn’t slow down her stride, she couldn’t or else she’d be breaking down within earshot of all her guests. “(YN) what’s going on?”

“Gerard said he’d be here, and he isn’t!” (YN) sobbed as her friend pulled her into a hug.

“Maybe he got busy with something?”

“Something more important than me on my birthday?! Maybe he’s got some other girl he’d rather be with! Or maybe he’s drinking, or using again, and couldn’t get himself together to be here!”

Christine stepped back, looking at her friend horrified. “(YN), why would you say that?”

“I don’t know!” (YN) exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “My brain goes to these worst case scenarios because he’s been acting strange lately. Maybe this is him saying ‘I don’t love you’ ya know? Like he wants me to break up with him?”

“Do you want to break up with Gee?”

“No! I just wanna know why he couldn’t make it to my birthday party when he said he’d be here,” (YN) answered before breaking down again.

Christine let her cry on her shoulder for a while before stepping out to tell the guests that were still there that (YN) wasn’t feeling well and the party was basically over. When (YN) finally emerged from the bathroom, she had to let go of the last shred of hope that Gerard would be there.

~

Frank and Christine gave her a ride home, and asked if she wanted them to stick around, or to try to get a hold of Gerard for her, but (YN) insisted she didn’t need anyone to come up with her. She just wanted to go to bed and be as alone as she felt. 

Walking into her cold, dark apartment, she tossed her bag on the table. She glanced at the answering machine and saw no new messages. Shaking her head, she trudged into her room and was just about to unzip her party dress when her phone rang. 

"Hello?" She sighed.

"(YN) you gotta get down here to St Joseph's," Mikey answered in a panicked voice.

"Mikey? Do you mean the hospital? Wha-what's going on?"

"Gee, he was mugged, he's in surgery," Mikey replied, clearly on the verge of tears.

"Oh my god, yea, I'm on my way!"

When she burst through the entrance to the emergency department, she saw Mikey pacing, looking scared.

"Mikey! What happened? Is he ok?"

"I haven't heard anything more since I called you," he shook his head, pulling off glasses and wiping his eyes. "I’d left your party and was on my way to my girlfriend’s house when the police called me, someone found him on the street, they think he got mugged and the robber stabbed him."

(YN) sank into a chair, stunned as tears began to roll down her cheeks silently. It felt like all she'd done that night was cry. Mikey sat down next to her, putting an arm around her comfortingly.

"Michael Way?"

Both of them lifted their heads to look at the doctor that had walked in. "Yea, that's me," Mikey said, getting up and (YN) followed.

"Gerard is out of surgery. He lost a lot of blood, but he is expected to make a full recovery."

(YN) started crying all over again, this time tears of relief. “Oh my god,” she murmured, a shaking hand covering her mouth.

"If you want to go back and see him you can, family only."

"I'm his girlfriend," you whimpered.

"Then you'll have to wait," the doctor said sternly.

"I'll tell him you’re here, he’ll be glad to know you came," Mikey nodded.

(YN) conceded and retreated back to her seat. As she picked at the hem of her party dress every thought she had over course of the evening came rushing back. She thought he hadn't come to her birthday  because he had started drinking again or worse. She been worried he had been cheating. And all the while he was almost dying on a street. She felt so guilty for doubting him for a second. (YN) felt someone watching her and she glanced up. A nurse was looking at her with pity in her eyes.

“I like your dress,” the nurse said.

“Thanks. It’s my birthday,” she sighed. “And my boyfriend almost died.”

The nurse shook her head sadly and turned back to her work.

~

(YN) didn't even feel herself fall asleep until she was woken up by Mikey shaking her shoulder gently. "They said you can go back now."

(YN) nodded and followed him back. She felt foggy, exhausted both emotionally and physically, and suddenly very anxious. 

"I'm gonna run and get some things from his place since they think it will be a few days before they release him," Mikey said. She nodded again and cautiously opened the door.

"Hey," Gerard said weakly as she walked in. His black hair stark against the white pillows, he looked so pale.

"Gee," (YN) whispered as she slowly crossed the room.

"Sorry I missed your birthday, sugar."

She shook her head hard, tears welling up in her eyes again. "Nooo, no don't say that, don't feel sorry. Oh my god Gee."

"Come 'ere," he patted the space next to him. She sat down carefully, afraid she might break him.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so so sorry.”

"You don't have anything to be sorry 'bout," he smiled softly.

She shook her head. Now wasn't the time to tell him all the doubts she had when he wasn't there. All that mattered now was he was alive. "What happened?"

"I stopped to get some cigarettes and when I left the store, some asshole held me up. He grabbed my wallet, but shanked me anyway," Gerard grumbled.

"Where?"

"Here," he motioned to his lower abdomen. 

"Oh my god.”

"All I could think of was how bad I wanted to see you, and tell you how much you mean to me, and give you your present."

"No, don’t worry about that, it can wait until you're better," (YN) shook her head.

"But I don't wanna wait anymore (YN). I know the last few years have been crazy, but the fact that you stayed by my side, even during my lowest point with the alcohol and drugs,” he shook his head. “I know I broke your trust before, but the fact that you never gave up on us means more to me than you'll ever know and I just hope I can repay that to you somehow. I love you so much," he said before reaching under his pillow. "And I'm really glad the mugger didn't go for my jacket pocket," he laughed lightly as he pulled out a small box.

(YN)’s eyes went wide. "Gerard," she gasped as he opened it.

"I'm sorry I can't get down on one knee, but will you marry me?"

She was rendered speechless. The whole night had been such an emotional roller coaster she could barely process what he had said. "Yes!" she finally squeaked out, nodding emphatically. 

Gerard grinned and pulled her down to kiss him. "You aren't just saying that cause I almost died, right?" He laughed when they pulled back.

"No, no no, I- oh my god, I would say yes if you asked me anywhere, anytime!"

Gerard finally took the ring out and placed it on her finger before she leaned in again, kissing him hard.

When Mikey returned a few hours later, he found (YN) and Gerard asleep, curled up together on the hospital bed. He spotted the ring on (YN)’s finger and smiled, quietly taking out his phone and snapping a photo of the pair.

"Welcome to the family," he whispered as he set down Gerard's things and exiting the room quietly.

[pastpatientlywaitingforimagines]

Platonithon Day 1: Polaroid | Spencer Reid x Reader Platonic

WC: 3913

A/N: Happy Platonithon! I promise not all fics will be this long and I won’t only be writing for CM. That being said, I 100% wrote this fic because I wanted to express my feelings about Spencer’s sweater vest in 7x01 and I was also intrigued by Angry!Spencer in 7x02. 

Warnings: angst (although this fic is mostly fluff)

“Hey (y/n), it’s me, Spencer. I’m being coerced to go out for drinks with the team. If you get out of class and want to join us, it would make Garcia’s day. It would, uh, make my day too. Things were kind of rough this week, I missed you. Stay safe, love you.”

You were able to listen to the message once your last student left the classroom, relieved to hear Spencer’s voice after it’s absence for four days. You put on your sweater and drove to the bar the team frequented, crossing the busy room to the table they were all sitting at. Garcia’s face lit up when she saw you.

“Hey Garcia. Hi everyone,” you sat down next to Penelope, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“(y/n), you beautiful, sweater-clad, angel of normalcy,” Garcia bubbled, leaning into your embrace.

“I think you’re the only group of people I can be compared to and called normal,” your quip was met with dulled laughter, cluing you in that Spencer had understated the weight of the week in his voicemail, “where’s Spencer?”

“Morgan’s helping him ‘talk to girls’,” Emily smirked, gesturing over to where the two men were standing. You rolled your eyes, “ugh, doesn’t Derek know Spence is insufferable when he talks to girls?”

“And here I thought (y/n) was the only one who didn’t find Reid annoying every now and then. How long have you lived together?”

“Long enough to know that I hate his stupid puppy-dog eyes that he gets whenever he’s talking to a new girl. It’s disgusting. I love him enough that I’m not about to move out, but I shouldn’t have to suffer because he’s irresistible. Hey, I have some extra tomato plants at the lab, would any of you want them?”

“Aren’t you using them for genetic testing?” JJ’s question was tentative, the suspicion evident in all 3 women’s faces.

“Oh! No, not these ones. I had to test for growing conditions so I didn’t waste time accidentally killing the ones I do mess with the genetics of. I would never offer genetically weird tomatoes to my favorite god-nephew.”

“Is Henry your god-nephew because because Spencer considers you his sister or because I’m your best friend?” Penelope’s question was smug.

“Both, that makes me a double god-aunt,” you shrugged.

“So if something happens to Will and I, and Garcia and Spence, then sure, (y/n) would be next to take care of Henry.”

“Taking care of a kid is just like taking care of plants, right?” you grinned as the other women shook their heads.

“(y/n), you’re here! How was your class?” Spencer bounced over with nervous energy to your side, not acting at all like he just spent a week hunting a serial killer.

“As good as it can be when you’re teaching college kids how to extract DNA from strawberries,” you rolled your eyes with a smile, reaching up to fix his slightly askew tie, “how’s it going with the ladies?”

Spencer got visibly flustered, stumbling over his words as he tried to explain how his night was going, “did you, um, want a drink? I’ll go get you one,” he finally said, rushing off towards the bar. You snickered, watching him walk away.

“So who’s going to tell me what happened to him?” you asked, casually addressing the bruising that was on your best friend’s face as you turned back to the agents you were sitting with.

“Fight with an unsub. It wasn’t as bad as it looks,” JJ said.

“Oh good. As insufferable as googly-eye Spencer is, I’d prefer that over him suffering from night terrors,” you glanced over to where he was standing, showing a girl at the bar a magic trick while he waited for your drink, “if I didn’t feel so bad I’d go over there and ask him if he wanted to go home with me, really throw him for a loop.”

“You say he’s insufferable, what does he think about living with you?” JJ asked with a smirk.

“I’m the biggest delight in his life, he’s lucky to have me,” your sarcasm was evident.

“I sure am,” Spencer slid your drink onto the table in front of you and sat down by your side.

“Giving up on the ladies?” your eyebrows raised in question.

“Yeah, I prefer to spend time with botanists who like to teach and grow plants in our apartment.”

You sipped your drink, “I might know someone like that.”

You stayed with the team and watched them start to relax after their week of work. When it finally got too late, Spencer asked for your keys.

“I’m telling you, plants are good for the soul. Our apartment is much more lively since I started bringing plants home,” you told him pointedly as you walked down the sidewalk towards where you had parked your car.

“You know, for a scientist you believe pretty strongly in feelings,” he opened your door and helped you in, then went around to the driver’s side. He didn’t like driving in the city, which was why he usually took the Metro, but if it meant getting you home safely he would do it without a second thought.

“For a doctor you don’t do much doctoring,” you stuck your tongue out at him, “besides, I still believe in science. I only bring home plants that I’m not using for research and when they’re dying so that your music can heal them. They like classical,” Spencer was quiet for a minute, so you spoke again, “I missed you too, by the way.”

He glanced over at you, confused.

“You said you missed me in your message. I missed you too.”

Before Spencer could respond, you had fallen asleep slouched in the seat next to him. He reached for the radio, turning the volume knob up slightly. He smirked when he heard the notes of Beethoven, you referred to it as ‘his music’ but he had always had a suspicion that you liked classical too.

“Spence,” you leaned into his side as he walked you through the door of your apartment, “I’m happy you’re home.”

He stopped at your bedroom door and pulled you into a hug, “I’m happy I’m home too.”

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the raging headache you were sporting. The second thing you noticed was the glass of water on your nightstand.

You slurped the water gratuitously before standing. You knew you shouldn’t have been this hungover, you only had a couple of drinks but between teaching and your research you didn’t get to go out very often. You padded out to the kitchen to refill the glass, becoming aware of your roommate’s open door and lack of presence in the small apartment. A post-it note on the counter with Spencer’s chicken scratch handwriting confirmed your suspicion; he had gotten called in unexpectedly.

You made some coffee and put on a nature documentary, then started puttering around the house watering the plants you had across the various surfaces of your home. You had started bringing a new plant home every time Spencer traveled years ago, a few months after you had moved in with the doctor. It had started with just one, you had brought it home to give it extra attention, but when Spencer came home he commented on how he liked it so it stayed on your kitchen windowsill. Your small apartment was now crowded with as many plants as it had books.

As soon as the plants were watered you went back to the kitchen and made some food. You hoped Spencer wouldn’t be gone for too long, though there was no predicting what he got called in for. You spent the rest of the day curled up on the couch, watching a wide range of documentaries. When you were getting ready for bed you sent Spencer a text, just a simple ‘hope you’re ok’ before you settled under your blankets and fell asleep.

When you woke up, you were pleased to hear a commotion in the kitchen. You always felt more at ease when your favorite doctor was safely under the roof of your apartment. You wrapped yourself in a fuzzy blanket, opening your door in hopes that Spencer had started making coffee. Instead of your lanky roommate you were greeted by a shorter woman who turned around as soon as she heard your door open, her hand retracting quickly from the photo that was hanging on your refrigerator door.

She wasn’t anyone who you recognized, which confused you. Spencer usually told you when people were coming over, ‘people’ always being his coworkers and never strangers. You didn’t know what you wanted to say to this girl who was still standing in your kitchen. She ended up speaking first, though you weren’t sure if it was fortunate or unfortunate for you, “Spencer had to go into work, he said it was ok if I made some coffee before I left too.”

“Are you… um… a coworker of his?” You already knew the answer to your question, but you couldn’t think of any other way to figure out who this girl was.

“No, we met a few months ago. I have to run, maybe I’ll see you around. Toodles!” You watched in awe as she walked out of the apartment, taking one of your coffee mugs with her. After standing shocked for a few minutes, you finally gathered yourself. First, you dumped the pot of coffee she had made and started a fresh one. Considering how your day had begun, there was no way you were getting through it without coffee.

Once you finally had some caffeine in your system, you went back to your room and started putting yourself together for the day. There was something about the woman Spencer had brought home that you couldn’t shake. You got increasingly frustrated as you started your normal plant care routine, how could Spencer bring home somebody that he had known for a few months and not have the decency to tell you he was seeing her at all, let alone bringing her into your apartment?

This wasn’t the first time he had hidden something- or someone from you. Considering his aversion to talking about work, there was a lot about the doctor that you didn’t know. Usually you didn’t mind, his personal life was his just as much as your personal life was yours, but this was a whole new level of secrecy. As you spiraled your eyes lingered on the Polaroid the woman had been looking at when you had entered the kitchen earlier.

Penelope had taken it the previous fall, on a team outing to the local pumpkin patch. While the rest of the squad had brought their families, Spencer had invited you. Between Spencer’s genius brain, your affinity for plants, and your shared love of Halloween the afternoon was more than perfect. You and Spencer had been crouched down to eye level with Henry next to a pumpkin that was almost as tall as the little boy, teaching him all there was to know about the plant when the photo was taken. It was one of your favorites, beautifully encapsulating the genuine love you felt for both boys.  

The way Spencer’s guest was looking at the picture felt like an invasion of your privacy, an invasion of this life that you had worked so hard to find. With all of his brain power, Spencer must have known that, right?

You couldn’t take it anymore, so you grabbed your keys and the closest sweater before getting into your car and driving to Quantico. You called Spencer’s cell on the way, but it rang out and went to voicemail. You tossed your phone into the passenger seat, mildly annoyed that he didn’t pick up so that you could at least warn him you were going to yell at him as soon as you had the chance.

You had visited Spencer and the rest of your friends at work enough times to breeze through the security clearance and make it up to the sixth floor. You saw the team meeting at the round table, so you perched on Spencer’s desk and waited. Your roommate was the first out of the conference room, followed by Hotch and Rossi, a pleased smile on his face when he saw you sitting in the bullpen.

“(y/n)! I’m sorry I didn’t see you at all yesterday. Did you have a good day?” His tone was soft and very Spencer-like, you almost felt bad for the berating he was about to get.

“Yeah, I didn’t do much yesterday, it was nice. What about you?”

“We got called in for this consult, that’s what we were just finishing up today. Sorry I didn’t leave a note, I was in a bit of a hurry. How did you know I was here?”

“You did leave something for me, that’s how I knew. Or… someone I should say,” you watched the confusion in Spencer’s face, followed by the wave of realization.

“Sarah was still there?”

“Yep, she made coffee and everything, real cheery for 8:00 AM. Were you going to tell me you had a girlfriend or was this your plan the whole time?”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he started fidgeting.

“So… you brought a random girl into our house…?” You really wanted to understand the genius logic he had, but he wasn’t making it easy.

“She’s not random- look, when did my personal life become your business?” he started getting defensive. You stood from his desk, facing him in the mostly empty bullpen.

“It became my business when we moved in together. I don’t need to know everything but come on, if you’re bringing a girl home I should at least get a warning.”

“It was last minute, ok? I figured you were asleep, I can call next time if you want.”

“Is there going to be a next time? No offense, Spence, but she didn’t really seem like your type.”

“My type?”

You gave him a pointed look, “she said ‘toodles’ when she left. That only happens in bad movies. I thought you were into smarter girls. How did you even meet her?”

“It doesn’t matter how I met her. I can spend time with people other than you, you know.”

“I’m not saying you can’t. I’m just saying as your roommate I should at least get a heads up, or not be put in the situation at all. It was a dick move, Spencer. If you’re going to hook up with a girl you can at least take two minutes to see her out before you leave.”

“We didn’t sleep together, ok? Why are you always so nosy?”

“Since when have I been nosy? You’re one to talk, Mr. Profiler. If I can’t hide things neither can you.”

“It’s Doctor,” he spit back at you quickly, a knee-jerk reaction, “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” he picked up a stack of folders from his desk but you grabbed his wrist before he could go anywhere. You and Spencer had never had an argument like this, and while you knew you were responsible for starting it he was escalating it unnecessarily- and unlike himself.

“You’re really walking away from this right now? You don’t just get to call me nosy and then leave. What else do you have to say?”

“Would you rather me air all of my grievances out like dirty laundry? I can do that, I have a list and I have the time,” he started raising his voice.

You let go of his wrist to cross your arms defensively, “enlighten me, Doctor Reid. I’d love to hear all of it.”

“You get water all over the apartment when you water the plants, you- you never put my books back in the same order I put them in, and you never leave a note when you go to the lab. Someone could abduct you and I wouldn’t know.”

“You would know, because you’re a genius and you remind me about it every five seconds. And I could say the same thing about yourself, would it kill you to call me and let me know when you’re coming home from a case? Also, you drink all of the coffee before I even have a chance to have some, and keep way too many secrets for someone I consider my best friend.”

The list went on and on, both of you heatedly arguing about quirks that were trivial in the grand scheme of things. You were so engaged in your squabble, however, that you missed the conversation happening in the conference room behind you.

Morgan was standing next to Garcia with his arms crossed, “bets on how long they keep going like this?”

“Reid’s brain is… infinite, I don’t think he could stop if he wanted to,” Emily decided from Morgan’s other side.

“(y/n) won’t give in that easily, she’s a tough cookie,” Penelope defended.

“Twenty bucks says Pretty Boy ends the argument. Kid must have something that she won’t have a response to.”

“My money is on Reid apologizing first. You’re on, hot stuff.”

“Should we say something? They can’t keep going like this forever,” JJ was worried for both of you.

“Do you want to get in the middle of that?” Morgan asked, “they’ll settle down eventually. They’ve lived together for how long? Even an argument like this won’t break them.”

“What’s happening out there?” Rossi stepped into the room and eyed the other agents.

“Nothing good, they’ve been at it for twenty minutes now.”

“I’ve never seen them fight like this before…” Penelope gaped.

“A lover’s quarrel?”

“No, this is deeper than that. A sibling squabble?” Emily suggested.

“I should have known,” the older man smirked.

“You’re not going to stop them?” JJ questioned, still worried. Rossi shook his head.

“Sometimes you just have to let them fight it out. Reid and (y/n) are good communicators, they’ll figure it out. Aaron won’t share that sentiment though.” Sure enough, the agents watched as Hotch entered the bullpen moments later.

“Reid,” Hotch commanded attention from you and Spencer, “that’s enough. We have work to do. (y/n), it would probably be best if you went home.”

You knew his suggestion was not optional. There was a beat of tension as Hotch walked away.

“And for the record, I hate that stupid vest,” you hissed, jabbing your finger at the patterned sweater vest on Spencer’s chest. Turning on your heel and stalking out of the building, you didn’t see the other agents holding back laughter and Spencer gaping after you.

Instead of going home, you went to your lab. The clean environment was stark compared to the cozy clutter of your apartment, and it was the perfect place to cool down after your argument. You first checked on the plants you were growing, noting any changes. Then you checked your equipment, making sure everything was working properly. Though the routine was a welcome distraction, you couldn’t keep your thoughts from Spencer. The first time you had met your roommate was in this building, two floors up.

You had been searching the chemistry floor for a specific piece of equipment that you needed for your project. Spencer had been poking around the chemistry labs and instead found you shoulders-deep in a closet. After helping you find what you were looking for he asked what you were working on. You had looked at him with a wicked grin and said “solving the world hunger crisis.” You could see the curiosity on his face, as well as the reeling of his brain when you brought him back to your lab, this lab.

That was years ago and the room was much fuller now. Your research was progressing, it was slow but still there. You pulled an extra special plant off of the counter and moved it to the table next to your microscope. You shrugged on the sweater you had brought before your hands went on autopilot, preparing a slide and looking at the green cells underneath the lens.

Your phone ringing startled you from your mostly meaningless observations, “hey Pen.”

“(y/n), my sweet summer child, how are you?”

“I’m fine, you don’t need to worry about me. I’m safe, too. I’m not putting myself in danger,” you rolled your eyes.

“I never said you were, sweetness. Just checking in, you don’t fight with him often,” her voice softened.

“I know. Like I said, I’m fine.”

“Ok, do you need to crash on my couch? I can see if Emily and JJ are available to have a girl’s night if you want.”

“No, thanks. I’m just going to go home late, sneak in behind a large leaf or something,” you joked half heartedly.

“There’s my girl. Call me if you need anything, ok?”

“Ok, thanks Penelope,” when she hung up, you went back to your microscope. You stayed there staring at the same cluster of plant cells unable to really focus until there was a knock on your door. When you looked up your favorite slender genius was leaning on the doorframe.

“For the record, you’re wearing my sweater,” your eyebrows knitted together for a second until you saw the timid smile playing on his lips.

“How did you know I was here?”

“Garcia tracked your phone. I didn’t ask her to but she told me where you were anyways. I’m… uh… I’m sorry for what I said.”

“Me too, except about that vest. I really do hate it and will willingly burn it for you anytime. All you have to do is ask,” Spencer laughed quietly.

“And, uh, I’m sorry about Sarah. She, um…” he trailed off.

“Spence, I don’t need an explanation. It’s ok,” you chewed on your lower lip, “I’m sorry I stormed into your workplace just to start an argument. There were definitely better ways I could have handled that.”

“Are we ok?”

“You tell me, genius,” your eyes locked with his, eyebrows raised, “I think we’re ok, do you?”

“Yeah, we’re ok. What are you working on?” He strode over to your side, gently touching the plant in front of you.

“This is for you, actually,” you told him, “I was working on genetically modifying fruit size, so I bought some giant pumpkin seeds to make an… extra giant pumpkin, just for fun. I thought we could carve it for Halloween, I was going to bring it home for you.”

“How did you plan on getting a giant pumpkin through our front door?” he laughed.

“I was going to bring it home before it started fruiting. Honestly it’s going to have to be soon, I  need to do some serious repotting to accommodate this vine,” your fingers brushed the stems gingerly, “you know you can tell me anything, right?” Spencer pulled over a chair so he could better look into the microscope.

“I know,” he paused, pulling back from the lens, “you can tell me anything, too.”

“I’m sorry, sir, this is a cop-out free lab. If that’s the best you can do you’re going to have to leave,” you deadpanned.

“Shut up, I mean it,” he shook his head. You leaned into his side gently, your shoulder pressing into his.

“Love you, Spence.”

“I love you too.”

[somethinginthewayiam]

Processing

(This is a continuation of Dark Alley)

Pairing: Henry x plus-size reader

Warnings: angst, mentions of violence, fluff

Words: 1573

Summary: The day after you attack, you and Henry have a few things to work through...

a/n: Due to popular demand, here is a follow up to Dark Alley

tag list:

@being-worthy @scorpionchild81​  @moderapoppins​  @orthotrex   @maggiemoo1982

Henry’s cheek was scratched by your bandage when he moved his head and it woke him up. As soon as his eyes fluttered open and he saw your wounded, sleeping face in front of him, everything from last night came flooding back.

He felt his heart starting to race and like a heavy weight was placed on his chest. He scooted away from you, careful not to wake you, and got up. He grabbed a shirt on his way down and made himself some coffee in the kitchen.

It was still very early in the morning as he sat down at the dinner table, the cup between his hands. He rested his weight on his lower arms as he just stared at the surface of the table in front of him.

So many thoughts were running through his mind. Although it was silent in the house, he felt like he was being screamed at.

If he hadn’t been away filming, you wouldn’t have worked so late and they would have missed you. And if he had been here, he could have stopped you from making those comments. He looked up as he realized he didn’t even know what you have written.

He got up to get his phone from the charger in the hallway. He went to your Instagram profile while he walked back to sit at the table. He didn’t like it that it was a public profile, you argued about it on a weekly basis. He told you many times that you should just set it to private, but you always argued that you didn’t want to feel restricted with your social media.

He pulled up your latest post which was almost a week old by now and scrolled through the comments. He normally didn’t do that as he didn’t want to read the harsh things that people wrote to you and be reminded what you had to go through every day just because you’re dating him. He felt responsible for the comments you received because they came from so-called fans of his.

His grip on the phone got tighter with every hurtful comment he read. It took him a while to find your reply.

@h-cavs-maniac I bet your mom is ashamed of having such a fat and gross slut for a daughter and even she wants better for henry

           @Y/I/N Oh, just shut the fuck up, you bitch! He wouldn’t even look at your ugly-ass face!!

Henry sighed. He now understood why you went off in your comment. Both of you were very tight with your mothers and he knew if anyone would say something about his mother, he would go off even harder.

He let the phone fall onto the table and ran his hands through his thick hair. Your comment was bad, but not even close to what the other account wrote to you and on top of that, she waited for you in a dark alley and attacked you with two friends. Three against one. Henry clenched his fists in frustration.

“Morning”, he heard you say as you came into the kitchen. Due to the open kitchen, he could watch your every move from where he was sitting at. His jaw tensed up again as he saw you limping.

You grabbed your favorite mug from the sink and rinsed it. “I should call into work and tell them that I won’t be coming in today. I’ll probably also need two days off”, you spoke while preparing your morning coffee. You opened an overhead cabinet, reaching for the sugar with your right hand as always and winced as the stinging pain that shot from your ribs through your whole body. You even got nauseous for a moment. Your other hand came over and held your side. “Ouch! Okay, no sugar for me today”, you joked, more to yourself.

“The hospital wants me to come in for a check up on my ribs and my head this afternoon. Maybe you can drive me…”, you kept on talking until you heard a sob coming from the dining room area. When you turned around, you found Henry covering his face with his hands, his upper body shaking.

“Henry, baby”, you called out and limped over as quickly as you could to sit down in the chair next to him. You pulled him into your arms. He rested his head in the crook of your neck and you could feel your skin getting wet by his tears. “Shh, baby, it’s alright”, you said and gently stroked the back of his head. Seeing him this way brought tears to your eyes as well.

“No, it’s not! I should have been protecting you. I should have been there for you”, he said as he pulled back, angry at himself. “But you were. When I came home you were there”, you reassured him and rubbed his upper arm.

“But that’s it, I WAS home. Just because I wanted to surprise you, I didn’t say anything. You might would have come home earlier or I could have picked you up”, Henry raged on. It felt like there was no way of calming him down.

“Hey, no, don’t say that”, you said and grabbed his chin to make him look at you. “It happened and neither you or me can change that, nobody can. Yes, it’s awful that it happened and yes, it was the scariest thing I have ever been through”, you told him with a stern voice. Henry’s mouth opened to say something, but you shook your head and shut him up.

“We both have to process what happened, work through it. But we can do that together”, you continued with a softer voice. Another tear escaped his eye and he rubbed it away with a stern look on his face.

“You’re right, but I’m angry”, he said after a few moments of silence. “Me too”, you mentioned and took his hand in his, squeezed it reassuringly.

“Let me take a look at your ribs”, he said. “Why? So you could get angry again?”, you asked him with a crooked eyebrow, testing the waters. He looked at you and you could see in his face that he was having an internal fight with himself.

“I just want to check on you”, he replied with a soft voice now, looking at you with pleading eyes. You huffed and turned to your side. Henry took a deep breath before he grabbed the hem of your sleeping shirt and lifted it up.

The bruise had changed its color into black and dark blue. You could hear how Henry took another deep breath. You glanced down at your skin, not able to bend too much. “Well, now it looks at least as bad as it feels”, you joked with a half-smile on your lips. Henry shot you a look like “this is not funny”.

“Are you in pain?”, he asked and put the shirt back down again. “Yes”, you nodded. “I’ll get your pain meds”, he said and got up to collect them from the bedroom.

When he came back down, he grabbed a glass of water and also your still full mug of coffee and brought everything over to you

“You said, you pressed charges, right?”, he asked and you nodded as you put the pills in your mouth and washed them down with water. “But against anonymous. I don’t know who they were”, you said when you had swallowed.

“You can report her username, hand it over to the police. I’m sure they can make Instagram tell them who is behind it”, Henry suggested. “Yeah, maybe”, you shrugged your shoulders. You already felt like it was too much for you. You were in pain, you were tired and you were shaken by how strong Henry’s reaction was. And it made you love him even more. If there had been any doubt that he loved you, they would have been washed away completely now.

“No, not maybe. We’re gonna do this first thing after your check-up”, Henry said and grabbed his phone, wanting to check the name of the account again.

You got up and took the phone out of his hand and put it on the table behind you. “Yes, we’ll do that. But right now, I’m in a lot of pain and those pain meds always make me sleeps. If you have nothing better to do then please come upstairs and lay down with me”, you said your hand ran up and down his arm.

“Of course I have nothing better to do”, he said, cupped your face and kissed you gently on the lips. Then he leaned up a bit and kissed the bandage on your head. “Better?”, he asked and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Way better”, you said and closed your eyes as you gave him another kiss.

 Like you had planned, you and Henry reported the profile of the woman who attacked you to the police. Just a few days later, the police were able to identify the person and her accomplices. All three of them were charged with aggravated battery and had to pay you pain and suffering money. After covering your hospital bills, you donated the rest to Durrell as you thought of it as dirty money and wanted it to do something good.

And Henry finally got you to turn your Instagram profile private.

[cauliflowercounty]

Weasley vs Weasley Pt. I (Draco Malfoy x fem!Reader) [Tumblr Remaster]

Blood Status:  Half-Blood or Pureblood 

House: Gryffindor

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N:  Weasley vs. Weasley was a series of imagines I originally posted on my Wattpad.  It’s one of my favorite series of imagines I’ve made, but I wrote it years ago; I wanted to make an updated version with a few new twists and in second person instead of third.  I’ll be releasing it in multiple parts :)  Enjoy!

You are the Molly and Arthur Weasley’s adopted daughter and in the same year as Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

Not proofread, it’s 1:30am when I’m writing this!  Woohoo! Enjoy!

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The compartment sways gently side to side as the Hogwarts Express barrels down the Scottish countryside train rack.  You sit silently in the train car scrunched in between Harry and the wall. Ron and Hermione sit across from you.  Hermione, of course, has her nose in a book while Ron sits awkwardly, thinking of how to make conversation since the initial excitement of getting on the train has worn off.  As you feel the train turn the corner, the twins knock gently on the glass of the door and slide it open, giving everyone a wave while shoving themselves in between Hermione and Ron.  Ron lets out an audible grumble as Fred pushes his brother into the window.

“Hello, everyone,” Fred and George say in unison.  

“Lee’s off trying to persuade some second years to be our test subjects for some prototype sweets,” Fred says, smirking.

“Yeah, our initial line was brilliant, but we’re expanding our offerings. It’s what the student body deserves,” George adds on.

“We’re also thinking of firecrackers,” Fred continues.  “We’ll charm them to make shapes.  Maybe a Chinese Fireball?  What do you say, y/n?”

“That sounds brilliant, Freddie.  You should write it down before you forget,” you smile, knowing their products have been a much-anticipated aspect of their lives lately.  “You wouldn’t want to deprive the public of some much-needed mayhem causing items.”

“While we love mayhem, we’re also thinking of selling some seriously useful items.  We’re thinking of importing some items from Peru that will help with being sneaky.  Maybe also some muggle magic that people can use casually.  We also want to be practical.  Not everything will explode,” George smiles, thinking of how all their products and dreams will be soon realized.  

“But wouldn’t that be brilliant if everything did explode?” Fred laughs. “Also love potions will be sold at our shops.”

“Did I hear someone say love potions?” Ginny says, poking her head in through the door.  “Is that one of the products you two are cooking up?”

“Well, dear sister, we’re not brewing them.  We’ll buy them from someone who’s gotten into N.E.W.T. level potions unlike us two,” Fred chuckles.  “We don’t want to be liable for disastrous love potions because I’m sure they’ll be popular.”

“Our sisters won’t need them, though.  It’s for the more desperate general public.  They’ll have no problem finding a special someone,” George says encouragingly, shooting his two younger sisters a smile. With his words, your chest tenses, the someone you’d like to have as your special someone coming to mind. Fred and George notice your reaction immediately. They look over to you and notices how you’re clutching the hem of your jacket roughly.

“What’s with that reaction, y/n?” Ron asks, picking up on what the twins are noticing.  Internally, your nerves jump. Hopefully they can’t tell who you’re thinking of.  

“Nothing, Ronald,” you say almost too quickly. “I was just thinking of a dream I had about school the other night.  I failed all my O.W.L.s.  I’m just suffering from residual anxiety.”

“I find that hard to believe, y/n,” Fred smiles.  “You don’t have stress dreams like that and you suddenly got tense when we started talking about love and special someones.”

“Do you have someone you’re hiding?” George asks, leaning in to look you in the eye with Fred.  They bore into your eyes, inquisitive and intense.  

“... or got anyone you fancy?” they say in synchronicity. “Come on… Tell us.” 

Hermione and Harry look up from what they were doing, now completely invested in the new development.

“N-no…,” you trail off.  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.  You’d think badly of me.”

“We could never,” Ron butts in.  They all lean closer to you, putting on the peer pressure. Fred and George suddenly tackle you, starting to clobber and tickle you.  Hedwig and Pigwidgeon both hoot in protest at the sudden disturbance to their mostly peaceful journey.  You struggle against the twins’ grips.

“Fred!  George!  Come on!” you shout protest, half laughing.  You try to dash between them, but they’re too fast and lock you between them in a tight full-body hold.  You squirm in their grasp but to no avail.  “Fred.  George.  Let go.  Please?”

“Not until you tell us,” they say in a sing-songy voice. You sigh.  This is what you get when you have so many siblings: inescapable, coercive hugs.  

“You’ll regret asking once I tell you,” you say.  They shake their heads.

“Not a chance,” they say back.

“It’s…,” you start, hesitating.  This’ll ruin you. You open your mouth and whisper, “it’s… Malfoy...”

“DID YOU JUST SAY ‘MALFOY?’” everyone in the compartment gasps in unison as the twins drop you. 

“I told you you’d regret it,” you grumble to everyone. “Happy?”

“Not really,” Fred responds cheekily.

“Why?” Ron asks, feeling bewildered and utterly betrayed. 

“I-I don’t know… I just know he it’s what he seems. I saw him one time a while ago… His owl was hurt and he was bandaging its foot. He seemed to care for it so much. There have been a lot of little things,” you explain, realizing it’s sort of hopeless as everyone stares at you, disgusted.

“Little things count for nothing,” Ron scoffs, roiling usinehes and propping his head up on a clenched fist

“It just grew. I don’t have a good reason. I’m sure it’ll fade,” you defend, “but I think that in the end, Malfoy may not be as bad as everyone makes him out to be. I’m sure we’d all have turned out like Malfoy if we had Lucius as a father.”

“But everything he stands for is so vile,” Harry says, infuriated. “I can’t believe it…”

“And what about all the stuff he’s done to Hermione?” Ron adds on.

“Come on. Now you’re ridiculing me. You walked into this one,” you quip back. “I didn’t want to say anything, but you absolutely had to know.”

“Dad’s head is going to blow off,” Fred comments, taking a seat once again.

“Percy’s also going to be furious… You know how protective he is over y/n...,” George adds, everyone nodding in agreement. Ginny, flustered, turns around and leaves the compartment in a huff. 

“Is it okay if we don’t talk about this again?” you ask shyly. “I’m sure it’ll pass. This Malfoy thing is temporary. It’s stupid.”

Hermione and Harry nod in agreement, but Fred and George notice a look in your eye as you gaze out the window. They know you. They know that you lied just now. It’s not temporary.

~

As soon as it came, autumn went and turned into soft blankets of snow. You smile as you look out of your dorm room in Gryffindor tower, the icicles hanging down in front of the panes of glass. It’s been months since the awkward mishap in the Hogwarts Express. Nobody’s said a word since and things have been normal for the most part, but Ginny hasn’t looked at you the same and you’ve noticed the twins whispering to each other in low voices and suddenly stopping once they notice you. Each time, you’ve shrugged it off, assuming it’s about a prank, but a prank never came. 

Today, you head out of Gryffindor tower with plans to go get a book from the library to read at breakfast and then go to Hogsmeade for a butterbeer. After getting dressed, you slip through the portrait hole and head towards the library. As you round the corner on your way, you crash into someone else.

“Oh!” you exclaim. “Sorry. I didn’t- I wasn’t looking where I was going…”

Looking up, you realize you just walked staring into Draco Malfoy, and your throat goes dry with nervousness and embarrassment. 

“Uhh… Sorry, Malfoy,” you say lowly, attempting to duck to the side of him and forget that even happened. You weren’t in the mood for a nasty one on one confrontation with Draco Malfoy today.

“Wait!” you hear him say from behind you. You turn around to look at him as he walks closer.

“What are you doing? Are you going to insult me for being a clumsy lowlife?” you ask, your heart sinking. He’d never say anything nice, not in a million years no matter how much you wanted him to. “That’s what my siblings and I are used to.  I wouldn’t be surprised. After all, poor people like us don’t have manners. We weren’t raised right.”

“Is that really what you think of me?” Draco asks a bit too softly, his steely grey eyes looking right into yours. You back up a step, not expecting him to look at you directly and not be shouting in your face. This is new and unexpected, but it’s what you’ve wanted for a long time.

“Well… I’ve come to anticipate it,” you reply honestly. 

“That’s too bad,” Draco replies. “I’ve got a lot to learn I guess…”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I’ll tell you if you come to Hogsmeade with me,” Draco smiles. “Will you come with me?”

“Now?” you ask. “I’ven’t had breakfast yet.”

“We can get it there,” he shrugs. 

“Why do you want to take me to Hogsmeade?  You’re Draco Malfoy. I’m y/n Weasley.”

“All your questions will be answered there, y/n. I just want to talk to you. Do you trust me?”

Hesitantly, you nod. He holds out his arm and you take it. He leads you down to the courtyard and towards the carriages to Hogsmeade. None of them have left yet, and you both climb into the first one and then you’re off.

You both hop off in the village and go striaight to the Three Broomsticks. Draco holds the door for you and lets you sit down in the booth and get comfortable first. Madam Rosmerta comes and takes your order: two butterbeers and some food for breakfast. He smiles at you from across the table as you take a sip of the mug of butterbeer, thanking him quietly for paying. He clears his throat.

“So…” he smiles.

“So…” you say back. “Will you answer my questions?”

“Of course,” Draco replies. “I got a small note in my bag the other day. I don’t know who it’s from. It just appeared all of a sudden. It just said ‘Tell y/n the truth. Go for it, Malfoy.’ That’s all. You’re probably wondering why that brings us here. Truth is… I’ve liked you for a while now, y/n.  I just needed some encouragement to say something.  I’ve been so caught up with what my father wants for me for the past few years that I forgot to think about what I want to do with my life. I’ve fancied you for a while. I reckon it wasn’t obvious because of how I’ve treated you. I was just so, so obsessed with being like my father and I was confused. I needed to sort out my priorities. I’ve done some thinking lately and it’s time to make a change. That’s why I said ‘I have a lot to learn’ because I do. I just wanted to tell you the truth. I’m done being so unpleasant toward you and your family.”

Your mouth hangs completely wide open. You didn’t expect this. This might even be a dream. Draco Malfoy saying he was confused? And he’s making a change? No. You always thought that Draco would be cold and indifferent towards you for the rest of your years at Hogwarts, you’d graduate and then forget about him, settling for another person, but no. He just confessed to fancying you. 

“Y/n? Please say something? I’m going out on a limb here. I’ve never been this vulnerable in my life… I know it’ll take a long time to unlearn my bad habits, and I know that not all people are willing to be that patient with someone, but I’ve known you for years. We’ve been in the same classes. You’re kind and considerate and easygoing with people. You’re compassionate and when you laugh you make me want to smile. I understand if history is against me and it’s alright if you reject me here and now, but… I just wanted to say ‘I’m sorry. Will you give me a chance?’” he pleads, reaching over the table his hand hovering over yours, scared to grab your hand and have you pull away. Still flabbergasted, you look off to the side and see nobody’s come into the Three Broomsticks yet.

“Wow… Draco… I don’t know what to say… This is so sudden,” you gasp. “I’m completely taken aback. I had no idea that you liked me… Nothing you’ve done in the past would have hinted at it. Nothing.”

“You’re right, y/n,” Draco sighs, ready to admit defeat, thinking this is hopeless.

“Are you serious about this? Your confession?” you ask. “ Tell me the truth.”

“Absolutely.” His reply is sound. His eyes look into yours warmly. With remorse. You begin to smile softly at him. 

“Okay, Malfoy. I’ll give you a chance,” you decide with a nod.  With your words, Draco explodes with glee, slapping the table with excitement.

“Thank you, y/n!” he blurts out. “You will not regret this.”

“I sure hope I don’t,” you smile. “Now, how about we finish eating and walk around a bit?”

Draco grins like a kid who’s just sneaked five handfuls of cookies from the cupboard and nods, taking a sip from his drink. As you two sit across from each other, you share pleasant conversation, laughing about family and school. You laugh about how you’re both almost complete opposites. He’s a Slytherin; you’re a Gryffindor. You have seven siblings; he has none. You’re adopted; he’s not. You laugh and joke. You share stories from your past and your heart warms, enjoying having someone new to talk to who makes you feel unlike you ever had before.  You can’t remember a day that you smiled this much.

After you’re done in the Three Broomsticks, you both walk around the village, going into Honeydukes and Zonko’s. The day comes to a close and you both agree to do it again sometime. As you both go your separate ways you both fail to notice Fred, George, and Ginny spying on you from around the corner.

“That’s what I call a success,” Fred smirks to his siblings. Ginny scowls in your direction as you disappear down the hallway towards Gryffindor tower. 

“I’m glad the note worked. The three months of spying on Malfoy to see if he fancied her was exhausting. We had to use Omnioculars to see him writing in his paper his initials and y/n’s with a heart in his notebook from above,” George sighs, exhausted. He looks over to his sister, whose grumbling to herself under her breath.  “What’s gotten into you, Gin?”

“Why’d you two go to all this trouble for someone so toxic?” Ginny asks.  “This will only end in disaster.  Y/n and Draco Malfoy together can only end in a dumpster fire. He’s not a good influence.”

“You sound like Mum, Ginny,” Fred retorts.  “Y/n seemed to be satisfied with today and that’s enough. I haven’t seen her smile so much in a long time. Last time she smiled like that was when Georgie and my products first arrived.”

“Why are you going to so much trouble for her?” Ginny asks glumly.  “She was perfectly happy before.”

“Well… Georgie and I talked about it.  Y/n’s always felt a little bit alone and in the middle of things.  Even though we love y/n and she loves us, she’s self-conscious about being adopted sometimes. When we’re all together, she can be quiet sometimes.  She gets lonely and doesn’t feel like she belongs even though she completely does.  She’s a Weasley, after all, but she feels like the other Weasley.  We’ve noticed her feeling like that lately and we wanted to make her happy.  Someone she can maybe identify with on a personal level other than us,” Fred explains, careful of his wording.

“What’s there do identify with when it comes to Malfoy?”  Ginny grumbles, refusing to believe that y/n could possbly relate to someone as vile and cruel as Draco Malfoy

“Maybe not identify with.  Maybe just to have around.  Having that other person that you enjoy the company of,”  George adds.  

“Why did it have to be Malfoy?”

“Relationships can stem from the most unlikely of places,” George reasons.

“This is trouble, you two.  Y/n doesn’t need him. She has her family.  How can she feel lonely in our family when there’s so many of us.  You’re meddling with y/n’s emotions because you don’t think ahead.  This needs to be fixed,” Ginny decided, turning on her heels while trying to compile her course of action.  The twins look at each other with a worried expression.  What is Ginny thinking of doing?

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Read Part II!