#the way he wanted to save her even after all this SICK

[phantoms-planet]

Barred Protection Chapter Five

This one is short, I am sick of writing in this chapter and just want to get to the next part so I'm saving us all a several months long writers block and posting it "unfinished" instead. It's also unedited. This chapter is the definition of Started Making It, Had a Breakdown, Bon Appetite. Hope it's enjoyable anyway.

No tw besides medical settings.

Ao3

First | Previous | Next

---

Tim didn’t like being used as a prop to get Bruce into Ameliorate, he didn’t like being poked and prodded for over an hour by Percy Daelus while Bruce sweet talked the man, and he most definitely didn’t like the results from the analysis that he had just finished on the medication he’d been prescribed.

Most of the contents made sense but there was one chemical that wasn’t like anything in their system. And they had a lot of chemicals in their system.

“Tim?” He flipped around to see Duke trotting to him. “We got the stuff you asked for.”

Tim took the bag he offered with a short nod before turning back to the table and riffling through it. When he realized there was an unknown ingredient, he asked Duke and Damian to get him different medicines and cure-alls from the company, any they could get their hands on. If this strange chemical was in one of them, it very well could have been in more.

He tried to ignore Duke hovering as he prepared the machine for another round. Damian had taken perch on a chair to the side. “Tt, are you certain there is an unknown-?”

“Yes.” Tim snapped. “I tested it six times.”

“Maybe the machine is wrong?” Duke sounded hesitant to suggest it. Tim stopped what he was doing to turn to him with an unimpressed, flat expression. “Or…you know, maybe not.”

---

Daelus listened carefully to the child’s heart, struggling to hear it past the labored breathing. Thankfully it seemed healthy. When he pulled away and slid the stethoscope back around his neck the young boy’s mother was watching him closely.

He offered her a gentle smile. “Don’t worry, the cold is minor. It’s nothing we can’t handle for sure.” The relief that washed over her face was more rewarding than anything else in the world. “I’ll have the nurse prepare your first dose, and then you can pick up the rest of the medication at the front pharmacy, alright?”

“Thank you.” The mother slumped back in her chair. He understood why she would be so scared for her baby. Not even a year old and the poor thing was sick as a dog.

He left the room as quietly as possible while flagging down his current nurse. Once she had been filled in Daelus made his way to his personal office.

Normally on clinic days he would spend the whole ten or so hours seeing as many patients as possible but today was a special case; he had another meeting with Bruce Wayne. After meeting Tim (who was remarkably healthy for missing a spleen, if quite sleep deprived) Mr. Wayne seemed much more comfortable with Daelus.

That in and of itself was a massive relief. With one of the world’s favorite billionaires on its side, Amiliorite could finally start stage three of operations. Moving global would be hard without support from a well-liked celebrity, and Daelus much preferred when things ran smoothly.

There wasn’t much time to clean up before one of his front desk workers opened the door. Daelus went to greet Bruce with a smile. One that didn’t get returned.

“I have concerns.”

Daelus furrowed his brows. “Is there an issue with Tim’s medicine? I was certain we’d prescribed-“

Bruce, normally jovial and frankly ditzy, was looking far more serious than Daelus was familiar with. “I had my scientists look at your medications. There’s something in them that they can’t identify.”

In giving Bruce permission to test the medications Daelus knew there was a chance that subject P’s tears could be isolated. He simply hadn’t thought it would happen. Inwardly he cursed himself for not expecting the Wayne Enterprises scientists to be able to figure it out.

“Oh that,” Daelus tried another smile. “That’s nothing to worry about. My people did rigorous testing to ensure-“

“What is it?”

“What is the substance?” Daelus asked.

“Yes.” Bruce said, tone sharp and cold.

“Ah, well we refer to it as Healosol.” He pronounced the word like ‘heal us all’, slow and deliberate, hoping the name would ease some of Bruce’s worries. “My scientists synthesized it themselves. It took years to develop and years more to test. We’ve ensured that it is entirely safe for human consumption. Not just safe, actually, but wholly beneficial!”

Unfortunately Bruce didn’t seem quite as comforted as Daelus had hoped. His coldness was replaced with a thoughtful edge that made him more than a little nervous. If Bruce vocally opposed the company, it would be disastrous.

It had taken most of his adult life to get the company up off the ground and especially in Gotham the process was nowhere near easy.

Dealus had forgone personal relationships to further Ameliorate. His physical health would be tanked if it weren’t for the medicines that he made for his own use. He slept in one of his offices practically every night, barely entering his own apartment. Everything he had was thrown into making it work. If it didn’t work-

Anxiety tangled through his ribcage. They had helped so many people in Gotham and the neighboring cities already but he didn’t want to stop there. How many people in the world were sick, dying, wallowing?

They could save so much more. Subject P was producing enough to help entire countries! But no one would want their aid if one of the most influential men in the world scorned their product.

Before he could calm the storm of frantic thoughts Dealus blurted out, “What if I gave you a tour of the synthesizing facility?”

His heart jack knifed but he couldn’t take the words back. That facility was where Subject P was held! If the tour went in the wrong area-

“I would like that. Would I be able to speak with your scientists?” Bruce’s demeanor had softened significantly, even with the tension still in his shoulders.

Mr. Wayne was known to take in young children in dire situations. With subject P’s chosen form he would pull at anyone’s hearts who didn’t understand what was happening.

“Of course! I’ll have them prepare material for you to look over. So long as it doesn’t get spread everywhere, of course. I trust you not to steal our company secrets.” The last sentence sounded more hesitant. Daelus nearly flinched. It was supposed to have sounded like a jest.

Bruce finally smiled again. “Of course not. But if what I see is good, I hope a partnership might be on the table?”

A partnership? With Wayne Enterprises?! All of Dealus’s anxieties washed away. With THE Wayne Enterprises on their side they could take the world by storm, faster than just having Bruce endorse the product himself.

“That would be fantastic, Mr. Wayne! Shall we have the tour this Saturday? I can arrange transportation for you.”

After getting all the details hashed out, Daelus led Bruce back to the front desk. A warm goodbye later and he was back in his office making a call.

“Sir?”

“Carter, we need to make preparations. Mr. Wayne will be touring Facility Zero on Saturday.”

There was a pregnant pause. “Are you sure that’s a good idea, sir?”

“Of course I am.” Daelus grabbed a pen from his cup and started clicking it open and closed. “Think about the doors this will open!”

“But if he finds the subject this whole thing is going to get shut down.”

Daelus knew he should feel concerned about that, but he couldn’t quite find it in himself to worry when the chance of a lifetime was sitting right in his lap. “He won’t find it, and you are going to help make sure of that.”

A tired sigh came through the speaker. “Yes sir. What do you need me to do?”

[veromdraws]

"let's... not talk about it..."

[theostrophywife]

chicken noodle soup.

pairing: mattheo riddle x reader

song inspiration: is it really so strange? by the smiths

author's note: just a soft fluffy comfort fic cause i've been thinking about matty lately and i needed cheering up after the end of kwaf. let's all laugh at the fact that i set a 1k limit on this fic only to fail miserably lmao 😭

Mattheo Riddle was not a fan of Mondays. 

Most of the time, Mattheo spent the first day of the week nursing a hangover and getting higher than a hippogriff at the Astronomy Tower with his friends to achieve equilibrium. The only thing he looked forward to every week was the prospect of riling you up in class. To be fair, it didn’t take much to get under your skin. Being himself seemed to do the trick. 

As he walked through the castle halls, Mattheo smiled to himself as he plotted out all the different ways he could provoke you on this dreadful day. For some sick and twisted reason, he reveled in the fact that only he could manage to rouse such a violent reaction out of you. There was something satisfying about the way your eyes blazed, your rosy cheeks tinged with heat as you told him off.

Maybe he'd flirt with you today. Tell you how good you looked in your short little skirt. Watch as you turned as red as the tie around your neck. His pretty little Gryffindor good girl. In Mattheo's mind, you were his to tease and taunt.

With his usual swagger, Mattheo sauntered into Advanced Transfiguration fully prepared to test out his new tactics on his nemesis, but you were nowhere to be found. 

At first, he figured that you were just running late. Throughout the duration of your rivalry, Mattheo had never once witnessed you skip class. He would’ve bet his entire cigarette supply that you’ve had perfect attendance since first year. When Professor McGonagall started the lesson and you were still missing in action, Mattheo was understandably concerned. 

The uneasy feeling in his stomach didn’t mean that he was worried about you though. This was purely about mutual benefit. Mattheo couldn’t very well have his Transfigurations partner skipping out on lessons. Even though he regularly did so himself. But still, that was different. Everyone knew he was a delinquent. You, on the other hand, were anything but. Until today, you’ve probably never missed a class in your life. 

Mattheo waited. Surprisingly, the two of you had the majority of your classes together. All of which dragged more than usual since you weren’t there to yell at him for dicking around. When you still hadn't turned up for Charms or Herbology, he became convinced that something was horribly wrong. Missing one lesson was alarming, but three in a row? That was entirely out of character for you. 

When Professor Sprout finally dismissed the class, Mattheo sauntered over to Granger’s desk. As always, she was surrounded by her two dimwit friends who immediately tensed the second he loomed near. Potter and Weasley shot him matching menacing glares, but Mattheo ignored them entirely. 

“Granger,” he drawled, leaning against the wooden desk. “Care to tell me where my partner’s been all day?” 

The Gryffindor girl appeared a bit perturbed by the question. “Why do you want to know where Y/N is?” 

Mattheo sighed in exasperation and produced the set of notes he’d taken during class. A first for him. He couldn’t remember the last time he actually listened to an entire lesson, let alone take notes, but he knew that you would have a million questions for him when you returned. The notes were his way of saving himself from your relentless interrogation. 

“Figured the little know-it-all would want my notes.” 

“Y/N is feeling a bit under the weather,” Hermione said cautiously. “I can take the notes to her if you’d like.” 

“No.” Mattheo declared rather suddenly. He cleared his throat and attempted to smooth over the sharp response. “No, McGonagall tasked me with it. I don’t want her docking points from my house when she finds out that you did my dirty work for me.”

Hermione raised a brow. “Sure.” The quirk of her mouth told Mattheo that she wasn’t convinced by his excuse. “Well, Y/N is resting up in the tower if you fancy a visit.” 

After a quick detour to the kitchens, Mattheo made his way over to Gryffindor tower. It was surprisingly easy to gain access to the lion’s den. He simply threatened a third year to let him in and got on with it. They truly needed to upgrade their security measures. One glare was all it took for Creevey to crumble and cave. 

With a satisfied smirk, Mattheo walked past the gaudy common room. For Salazar's sake, hadn't the Gryffindors ever heard of subtlety? The decor consisted solely of crimson and gold and the furnishings looked like something out of that muggle show his nan loved to watch—Antiques Roadshow. Antique was right. The worn out couch that he passed looked older than him.

Merlin, now he was starting to sound like Malfoy. Mattheo hurried along before he caught the urge to fold origami notes and chuck it at Potter's head. Fortunately for him, the place was devoid of the Chosen One or anyone for that matter.

By now, his fellow classmates were all in the Great Hall eating dinner, which he was thankful for. It was no secret that Mattheo’s presence wouldn’t be welcome here and he wasn’t really in the mood to fight his way through the Gryffindors just to deliver a note from the kindness of his black heart. Thank Salazar that there wasn’t a single soul in the tower to bicker with. Until he reached your dorm, of course. 

The relationship between the two of you was volatile to say the least. Despite Mattheo’s reputation, you weren’t shy about telling him off. When you were first assigned as partners, Mattheo had fully intended to let you do all the work while he skipped class to smoke, but he quickly realized that this would not be the case. You hunted him down at his hideout in the Astronomy Tower and discovered him blissfully sharing some premium grade mirthroot with Theo and Draco. When you found him, you were so angry that you dragged him by the ear all the way to the library, much to the amusement of his friends. Needless to say, Mattheo never missed a study session again. 

In a way, Mattheo admired you for it. Aside from his friends, everyone in the castle feared him. It was sort of refreshing to have someone call him out on his shit. Especially if that someone was a funny, feisty, ferocious Gryffindor who he enjoyed pestering every chance that he got. Mattheo always did have a penchant for girls with an attitude problem. 

Even as he knocked on your door, the Slytherin boy couldn’t help but chuckle to himself when he heard you grumbling from the other side. 

“Oh, for Godric’s fucking sake, what is it now?” 

The door swung open, revealing a very pissed off Y/N. Clad in striped pajamas and fuzzy bunny slippers, you placed a hand on your hip and frowned. Even in the throes of sickness, you still somehow managed to inject venom in your glare. Mattheo grinned like an idiot. 

“Nice slippers, princess.” 

You huffed, crossing your arms. “What do you want, Riddle?” 

“To make sure my partner doesn’t slack.” He waved his set of notes around. “Don’t think your sickness excuses you from studying.”

“This is payback for making you revise with me after you fell off your broom and broke your arm, isn’t it?” 

Mattheo cringed as he recalled the quidditch accident that sent him to the infirmary for a week. In true Y/N fashion, you were sitting by his bedside with a stack of books in your lap the second he woke up. Madam Pomfrey hadn't even put his arm in a sling yet before you were drilling him on proper spell enunciation and wand movements.

“You terrorized the infirmary with your mnemonics,” Mattheo said with a dramatic sigh. “It’s my turn now. This is sweet revenge, Y/N.” 

You squinted at his barely legible handwriting. “I’m just surprised you took your head out of your arse long enough to take notes.” 

“Glad to see that illness hasn’t lessened your bite. If anything, those teeth seem a little sharper than usual.” He leaned against the doorframe and smiled down at you. “Feeling a bit feral, princess?” 

“Why don’t you come a little closer and find out?” you quipped, baring your teeth at the aggravating boy. 

The gesture appeared intimidating for a full second until you sniffled and launched into a coughing fit, which made Mattheo frown. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Of course I am. I regularly cough my lungs out on nosy Slytherins whose sole purpose of existence is to make my life a living hell.”

He pressed the back of his hand against your forehead. The way his brow furrowed strangely resembled concern. Mattheo trained his chocolate brown eyes on you, examining the rosiness of your cheeks and the slight pinch of discomfort in your features.

"You're burning up." Mattheo's hand dropped from your forehead to the side of your neck. He pressed his fingers against your pulse point, feeling the erratic beating of your heart underneath his touch. It was strangely intimate. "You have an elevated heart rate."

You flushed and swatted his hand away. "Well, yes. That usually happens when one is ill."

"Come on, you should sit down."

"Don't tell me what to do, Riddle."

Mattheo rolled his eyes before dragging you by the elbow. Your protests fell on deaf ears as he barged his way into your dorm and walked you over to the bed. You watched as he pulled up a chair next to you before rifling through the contents of his backpack. Out of the sordid mess of his belongings, Mattheo produced a small container of soup. With a flick of his wand, he conjured a spoon. 

“Here, have some of this. It should help.”

As soon as he pried the lid open, the heavenly smell of chicken noodle soup filled your senses. Mattheo scooped up an equal amount of soup and noodle and blew on it to cool it down before tilting it towards you. The sight of him offering you food like you were some helpless toddler was only slightly insulting. You swore to Godric that if Mattheo started making airplane sounds, you’d strangle the bloody twat.

 “I can feed myself, you know.” 

“Just eat the damn soup, Y/N.” 

You rolled your eyes in return, but obliged nonetheless. Despite the source, you could never resist comfort food.

“Chicken noodle soup?” 

As soon as you tasted it, you knew that it wasn’t just soup. It was your favorite soup. The very same one that Winky made every third Wednesday of the month. You knew because you looked forward to it every time. It was even marked on your calendar. That’s how much you liked it. 

Mattheo nodded absentmindedly. “Yeah, I know it’s your favorite so I bribed Winky to make some.” 

You furrowed your brows in confusion. “How do you know it’s my favorite?” 

For once in his life, Mattheo looked utterly uncomfortable. He averted his gaze and busied himself by stirring through the carrots and celery. “You, uh, mentioned it in class once.” 

You couldn’t help but smile. Maybe it was the fever talking, but you thought that was sweet. “You remembered that?” 

Mattheo looked up, a stray curl kissing the tops of his cheekbones as he met your gaze. The shy smile on his face was alarmingly endearing. Sometimes when you looked at those angelic curls and stupid big, brown eyes, you forgot that you were supposed to loathe him. “Of course. It’s my favorite too.” 

You chuckled, sniffling a little. “It’s like a hug in a cup, right?” 

The curly headed boy nodded. “It totally is.” 

After you finished the soup, you expected Mattheo to take his leave. Instead, he inspected the vials of potions laying out on your night stand. He read through every label, frowning a little. 

“You should really have some pepperup potion in here.” Mattheo remarked as he arranged the vials one by one. “Are you sure this dose is potent enough? Maybe you should ask them to brew something stronger.” 

“Pomfrey prescribed them herself. No offense, but I think I’ll take her years of healing experience over your expert opinion.” Mattheo gasped rather dramatically, which made you chuckle. “As much as I appreciate the notes and the soup, I don't think it's wise for you to stick around. I’m feeling a bit better, but I might still be contagious.” 

Mattheo shrugged. “It’s alright, I’m not scared of a little cold. Besides, I still have to go over the Transfiguration assignment with you.” 

“Aren’t you worried that I’ll get you sick?” 

“Not really,” he said, waving off your concern. “I know you’re going to pester me about everything you missed in class, so I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone.” 

To your surprise, Mattheo’s notes were extremely detailed.  It was a bit hard to read given his boyish scrawl, but with a little help in translation, you were making great progress in becoming fluent in Riddle. The more Mattheo explained the concepts and ideas that were discussed in each class, the more baffled you were. You've always known that he was smarter than he let on, but this was borderline impressive.

“How do you know all of that?” 

“I asked.”

“You asked?” Mattheo stared blankly at your surprised expression. “You never ask questions in class.” 

“I never had to since you're always there interrogating the professor like the little know-it-all that you are. Thanks to your absence, I had to fill your role in class today.”

You grinned. It grew wider and wider, spreading until your cheeks hurt. Mattheo glared at your joyous expression. “What? What’s that shit eating little grin for?” 

“You missed me.”

Color flooded Mattheo’s cheeks. You were surprised to find how well crimson suited him. It was almost the exact shade of your house colors. “Don’t be ridiculous—”

“Riddle, you asked questions in class. You took notes for me. You brought me chicken noodle soup." Mattheo flushed as you pointed out the obvious. "You totally missed me.” 

“If you tell anyone, I’ll hex you.” 

“Admit it, Mattheo. Your day was utterly dull without me.” 

Mattheo rolled his eyes, sighing in defeat. “Fine, you’ve got me. I was bored out of my mind without you around. How else am I supposed to pass the time if you’re not there for me to argue with?” 

“There’s plenty of other people in the castle that you could bicker with.”

“Yeah, but they’re not you.” 

He seemed a little shocked by his own statement, but he didn't try to retract it. In fact, Mattheo almost seemed resigned to it.

“Careful, Riddle. It almost sounds like you have a crush on me.” 

“I’d have to be a bloody idiot to fall for a girl who absolutely despises me.” 

“That wasn’t a denial, you know.” 

He pinched the bridge of his nose like the very idea of it vexed him, but you caught the little smile he hid beneath his fingers. Mattheo snatched the notes from your hands. “Focus on the lesson, will you?” He grimaced as soon as the words left his mouth. “I can’t believe I’ve just said that. Look at what you’re doing to me, Y/N.” 

“You’ll live, Riddle.” You poked a section of his notes that you hadn’t quite deciphered. “Now what in the bloody hell is the Gobstopper Ruffian?” 

“The Goblin Rebellion. Merlin, my handwriting isn't that bad.” 

“Are you kidding? A kindergartner writes more legibly than this.” 

The hours passed while you bickered and bantered. You hated to admit it, but you missed arguing with him too. Laying in bed all day had you positively bored, but yet time passed within the blink of an eye as you went back and forth with Mattheo. Somewhere between discussing the possibility of Longbottom running an underground exotic plant ring and arguing over the best Smiths song, the sun had set over the horizon. Mattheo rubbed his eyes and yawned. 

“You look knackered, Riddle,” you teased, patting the spot beside you. “Do you want to lie down for a bit?”

Chocolate brown eyes widened at you. “Lie down? With you? On your bed?” 

“Yes, that’s typically how people do it.” You smirked as he shot you an apprehensive look. “Unless you’re too scared.”’

Never one to back down from a challenge, Mattheo lifted the covers and gestured for you to make room. “Scoot over, then.” 

The jest seemed to have backfired on you because now Mattheo was crawling into bed and making himself completely at home. All the apprehension from earlier melted as he pulled you against him, his chest pressed against your back as he nuzzled into the crook of your shoulder. You stifled a giggle as Mattheo released a satisfied little sigh. 

Mattheo wrapped his arms around you until you were covered in the scent of amber, cinnamon, and leather. You never expected to unearth the fact that Mattheo Riddle was a great cuddler, but yet here you were, reaping the benefits of this newfound revelation. He slipped his fingers through yours and nuzzled closer. 

"Who would've known that Mattheo Riddle was such a great cuddler?"

"If you tell anyone—"

"You'll hex me. Put a curse on my family. Set my possessions on fire. Yes, I know, Riddle. You keep threatening me, but you never follow through. I'm starting to think that you're losing your touch."

Mattheo squeezed your hip before twining your legs together. "I wouldn't test me, Y/N. You're in a very vulnerable position right now."

You chuckled as he scooted even closer. "Maybe, but you won't do anything."

"Why's that, princess?"

"You like me too much," you retorted, chuckling as Mattheo buried his face in your hair. "One day without me and you're already a needy mess."

"You infuriate me," Mattheo whispered against your ear. "But you're also the best part of my day. I couldn't imagine fighting with anyone else but you, my dear nemesis."

"I totally loathe you, Mattheo Riddle."

He chuckled as you snuggled into him. "I loathe you too, Y/N Y/L/N."

The irony of the statement contrasted with how tangled up you were wasn't lost on you. For two people who supposedly hated each other, cuddling with your enemy had never felt so right. The steady beat of Mattheo's heart lulled you towards sleep. You were slowly succumbing to its hypnotic lullaby until Mattheo's voice broke through the silence.

“Y/N?” He murmured against your hair.

You shifted, your eyes feeling heavy as his warmth enveloped you. “Hmm?” 

Mattheo’s voice was low and gravelly, flowing like honey in your ears. “This is nice.” 

You smiled against the pillow, staring at your intertwined fingers. “Better than chicken noodle soup?” 

You felt him grin against your skin before he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss on your temple. “Way better than soup.” 

TAGLIST

@annaisabookworm @bubybubsters @criesinlies @niktwazny303 @therealallisonspear @athenalikethegoddess @clairesjointshurt @vixzwrites @elle4404

[pawnshopbleus]

The Songbird

Young!Coriolanus Snow x Fem!Plinth!Reader

Summary - Lucy Gray Baird was the talk of this year's Hunger Games. She had the beauty and the voice to charm her way through the games, but what happens when rumors spark up around the Capitol that her mentor and your boyfriend, Coriolanus Snow, have shared a kiss?

Warnings - Mild angst, Speculations of cheating, Smut (Coriolanus Snow eats you out), Bad communication, it gets sort of better at the ends so just trust me, Very mild Lucy Grey slander (Rachel Zegler they could never make me hate you.), let’s pretend that Snow has the capacity to love, Not beta read.

Being a Plinth meant two things: people hated you because you paid your way to the top, and people loved you because you had enough money to do it. Getting used to life in the capital was hard, but it got easier when you had a boyfriend who cared for you. Your brother, Sejanus, disapproved of his best friend dating his twin sister, but the two of you could care less. 

You met Coriolanus at the Academy. You were charmed by his white hair and the way he carried himself. He also wasn’t as stuck up and snobby as your other classmates. He was easy to talk to and even easier on the eyes. He must have noticed the way you were entranced by him when he asked you out. After many dates and your father's approval, he asked you to be his girlfriend.

Now, you were sitting in the lunch room, picking at the sandwich that was in front of you. It was no secret that Coriolanus’s tribute was the favorite of the capitol. She was beautiful and swept everyone off of their feet with that sweet voice of hers. Your tribute on the other hand was nothing more than a throwaway tribute from District Nine. To be frank, he was short and skinny. There was nothing much you could do for him. Maybe he could be good at hiding, but he wouldn’t last long in the arena. 

“Are you going to eat?” Coriolanus asked as he eyed your sandwich. “You need to eat, dove.”

“I’m not hungry,” you grumbled as you took a sip of your water. 

“Can I have it then?”

You nod your head and hand him the sandwich. You watched as he put it in a napkin and placed it in his coat pocket. 

You tilted your head in confusion. Was he saving that for later? “Coryo, if you, Grandma'am, and Tigris need something to eat, you can come over. You know my home is always open to you and your family.” 

He smirked and shook his head. “No, I’m saving it for Lucy Gray.” 

“Oh.” That was all you could say. Of course, he was saving that for his Lucy Gray. Him feeding his tribute would fuel the rumors that Coriolanus Snow and Lucy Gray Baird were developing a budding relationship. People were already invested in them after his stunt at the Capitol Zoo. 

You grabbed your tray from the table and left without saying another word. You couldn’t find it in you to confront him about what people were saying. Maybe you were being a bad girlfriend, but your jealousy got the best of you.    As the sun set and the moon rose, you lie in your room, hoping that Lucy Gray wouldn’t accept the sandwich. You wanted her to throw it back at him, scaring him so much that he would never visit her again. But this isn’t about what you want. This is about Coriolanus and his mission to get his tribute to win. 

The next morning, you couldn’t eat. You were physically and mentally sick with jealousy. You were meant to meet with your tribute to discuss a game strategy. In your peripheral, you could see Coriolanus with Lucy Gray. He was so alert when he talked with her. He once talked to you like that, but after the first time he saw Lucy Gray on the screen, he’s become distant. He was always talking about her, visiting her, thinking about her. Part of you wanted her to die in the arena, but your wishes fell upon deaf ears. 

For the first time, you were faced to face with your tribute. He was even skinnier in person. Your heart burned for him. You were so lucky that your parents got you out of the District when they could or else that could have been you on the other side of the table. 

“Okay, Finn, I’m going to be honest, you aren’t the person people root for, but I can make sure that you live as long as possible.” What you said was harsh, but true. You could get your father and his friends to sponsor him. With enough sponsors, he could get food, water, and medicine. That’s as good as it’s going to get. 

“We all know that Lucy Grey’s going to win. Her mentor has been visiting her every night. He brought her half of a sandwich last night. I saw them by the gates. I could see them talking. They were close, real close. I could have sworn I saw them kiss, but-” The rest of Finn’s sentence was drowned out by the sound of static ringing through your ears. 

— — — — 

Your knuckles rapped against the door of the Snow residence. It was later in the day, your tribute was thankful that you somewhat believed in him, but both of you knew that he wasn’t going to make it out alive. If anyone killed the Capitols songbird they would surely live a life of shame. 

Tigris opened the door and smiled when she saw you standing there, but her smile faded as she saw the tears streaming down your face. She opened her arms and trapped you in them, letting your tears stain her dress. “What’s wrong?” she asked. Her voice was soft and almost whisper quiet. She was a gentle soul and you trusted her with your darkest secrets. 

“My tribute said that Coriolanus and Lucy Gray kissed,” you said through tears. 

Tigris gasped and looked at you in the eyes, searching for something to say. “I’m-I don’t know what to say. That doesn’t sound like Coryo. He loves you too much to do that.” 

“Really? Lately Lucy Grey is all he can talk about. It’s like she’s his girlfriend and not me.”  “Because he wants to win the prize money. We need to pay rent and we don’t have enough.” Tigris said as she wiped away your tears. 

“It doesn’t help that the capitol likes them together. He might as well date her instead of me. I mean, she’s pretty and she can sing like none other. I just-” You were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and closing. In less than twenty seconds Coriolanus was at your side. 

His hands find their place on your shoulders as he pulls you away from Tigris’s grasp. His eyebrows are furrowed in confusion. “What’s wrong, dove? Did someone hurt you?” 

You wipe your nose with your sleeve. Your mother would kill you if she found out you did something so unclassy in front of a man, but right now you could care less about class. Your eyes looked around everywhere, trying not to make eye contact with his. You knew that you would cry again if you looked into his eyes. The eyes that got you hooked on him in the first place. The eyes that Lucy Grey saw flutter close before they kissed. 

Your shoulders wiggled out of his grasp. His hands fell to his sides and you could have sworn you saw his hands ball up in fists, stopping themselves from coming in contact with your soft skin. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat and said, “My tribute, Finn. He said that you and Lucy Gray kissed last night at the zoo.” It came out more as a whisper. You hated how pathetic you sounded right at that moment. 

You could see Coriolanus search for the memories of what happened last night. He then sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “We didn’t kiss,” he began, “but I can see why the other tributes would think that. We were close, but it was only because I wanted to tell her more game strategies and I didn’t want the other tributes to hear.” 

You felt stupid. You felt really stupid to assume that your boyfriend of two years would cheat on you. “But I-I heard people in the shop the other day say that they wanted you and Lucy Gray to get together. They said that the two of you had so much chemistry.”

“First of all, that’s illegal, and second of all, I love you. And only you.” His hand tilted your chin up and wiped the tears that were still falling on your face. Tigris had retired to her room a long time ago. 

Coriolanus leads you to his room. The window that overlooked the Capitol was open, letting in the cold. “Let me show you how much I love you,” he whispered, inches away from your lips. 

“Yes,” was the only thing you managed to say before he kissed you. The kiss started off soft and slow, but as his hands found their home on your waist, the kiss got harder. Your lips found a good rhythm as they got familiar with one another. His tongue skittered across your bottom lip, begging for permission to enter. Your tongues danced with one another before Coriolanus broke the kiss. 

His lips pressed light kisses along your neck. He nipped at your skin causing you to jump a bit. He smiled into your skin and laid you down on his bed. His hand slid down to the bottom of your dress. You had changed after you got home from the visit with your tribute. You wanted to get that stupid uniform off before it suffocated you. 

“Do you want this?” he asked as his fingers inched the bottom of your dress up inch by inch until the only thing that was left covering your bottom half was your underwear. They were already soaked through. He began placing soft kisses on the skin of your things, but he wouldn’t go any further until he got your permission. The last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable. After all, this was supposed to be about you. 

You nodded your head and Snow nipped your inner thigh. “Words, dove.” 

“Yes, Coryo.” 

“Good girl.” He breathed before his fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear. He slowly took them off of you, dragging this on as long as he could before you went mad. Your chest rose and fell as you focused on the man in between your legs. 

Right now, the games were the least of your worries. The people who started the rumors of Coriolanus and Lucy Grey could go to hell for all you cared. You finally had the truth. Coriolanus loved you, and no District Twelve songbird could change that. 

Coriolanus nuzzles his nose against your clit as his tongue prods against your entrance. Your hand clamped over your mouth as you tried your best to muffle your moans. You would just die if Grandma'am or Tigris heard what their beloved Coriolanus was doing to you. 

Seconds later, his mouth hungrily sucked on your clit. Your eyes went wide and you let out a silent moan. Overwhelmed with pleasure, your thighs clamp around his head, but instead of pushing them back, he keeps them there. He looks up at you and his beautiful blue eyes flutter close, enjoying the way you taste. 

His fingers trace along your wet hole, gathering your slick. First, he inserts his index finger and then his middle one. His fingers are long and skinny, but they feel oh so fucking good. His fingers fuck in and out of you, stroking along your G-spot. 

You can’t hold on much longer. He can tell by the way your pussy clenches around his fingers. He hungrily laps at your clit, drawing small and tight circles with his tongue. Coriolanus loves this part. The part when your back arches off his bed, when your pussy spasms around him, and when your thighs shake as you let out the prettiest moan. Chills run down your body as you shiver with pleasure. You come off your high as he takes his fingers out of you. They’re soaked with your release and he grins down at them. He licks his fingers clean of your slick and kisses the skin right above your hips. 

“That better?” he asked, lying next to you on the bed. 

You nod your head. You weren’t able to form words right at the moment.

“I’m sorry for making you believe that I would ever cheat on you. I really do love you, my dove.” 

Your heart sank to the bottom of your stomach. You let oxygen fill your lungs before you exhale and turn it into carbon dioxide. “Coryo, I’m sorry for being jealous. I know how much this annual Hunger Games means to you. You know that my father would be more than happy to pay your rent. He knows how much you mean to me.” 

Coriolanus shook his head. “That’s not what this is about. Dove, I don’t want you to feel like I’m using you for your father.” 

You got up and straddled his lap, your bare pussy was just inches away from his hard cock. Coriolanus gulps, his Adam's apple bobbing. Your hands wipe away some hair from his face. “Then what is this about? Please, let me know. I want to help.” 

He hides his face in the crook of your neck. “I want to show the Dean that I can win. I want to show him that Snow lands on top,” Coriolanus mumbles against your skin. 

“Figuratively and literally,” you whisper. 

Coriolanus spent the rest of the night showing you exactly what he meant by ‘Snow lands on top.’

[luveline]

I am so incredibly sick rn and desperately craving some Hotch comfort—maybe bau!gf who desperately tries to hide the fact that she’s sick even when she’s burning up and can’t keep her eyes open, and Hotch who just wants to take care of her!!

thank you for your request! i hope you feel better soon. —hotch fights to take care of you when you hide a fever. fem!reader, 1.4k

Spencer knows you're sick, but he's the only one who's figured it out so far. Everybody else is too busy. 

He pushes your coffee toward him and exchanges it for a cup of water without saying anything. You're relieved to find it's ice cold, fighting to drink it without spilling it, or worse, pressing it to your furnace of a forehead. 

"Just go home," he says. 

"I like it here," you say lightly.

"You're fatigued, obviously running a fever, and probably disoriented if your eyes are anything to go off of." 

"Are they?" you ask, eyes fluttering closed. 

You prop yourself on your hand. Having a desk right next to Spencer has its ups and downs. Ups including physics magic, surprise trinkets, and all the donuts you can eat. Downs include this —he's too good at his job but bad at taking a hint, so while he's realised that you're sick and tired and should probably head home, he hasn't stopped to think you might be keeping it a secret for a reason. 

If you take more sick leave already after your week long bout of food poisoning only a fortnight ago, it will look like you're trying to take advantage of Hotch. You don't want the team thinking you're cheating and you don't want Hotch to think this is how it’s going to be. You’d never use him like that, but it’s so early into the relationship that there’s no way for him to know that for sure. 

You take a measured breath. You're the kind of sick that yearns for bed, head heavy, a pounding pain behind your eyebrows and a nose you can't breathe through. Your lips are chapped despite the thick layer of balm you applied that morning. The weight of a bowling ball rests in your sinuses. Your head begins to list forward. 

"Y/N?" 

You look up, rubbing your forehead as nonchalantly as you can manage. Hotch stands with a hand on the railing of his half-platform, eyebrows pulled together as they tend to be. 

You like the sound of your name on his lips, even if it's said with question. 

"Yeah?" you ask. 

Before, it would've been, Yes, sir? But Hotch told you (while in boyfriend mode, assumedly) that it makes him hot around the collar (though he'd said it more delicately), so now you save it for special occasions, like when you want to get your way, and when he looks especially perturbed.

"Something wrong?" he asks. 

He can't like the way you say, "I'm fine," maybe he spots the far-away look in your eyes, your poorly concealed wince as your head throbs, maybe he just knows you. He gives you a look bordering reproachful and turns away. 

"My office," he says.  

Spencer sends you a pointed look. When he realises you aren't awake enough to glare back, he nudges you encouragingly. "Be honest," Spencer says. 

You almost fall up the short steps to the landing in front of Hotch's office. You don't knock before entering, and later you'll realise how odd this is. Hotch hasn't even sat down, instead straightening a paper from the wrong side of the desk. 

"What's wrong? Another migraine?" he asks. 

"No. I'm alright, did you want something?" 

He turns around fully. You like seeing him after hours without his suit, arms behind his tired neck and eyes half-lidded, but this look is just as good on him: furrowed brows, a hand twitching toward you but not touching. He tries not to cross the line here at work because when it starts it never ends. Your evaluations have to be cross examined and approved by a higher up, you are not permitted to room together on cases, and you have to report to HR every three to six weeks to reaffirm that Hotch isn't being coercive. It's odd and invasive at times, but these are things you have to do to be together. You'd do worse. 

"Did I want something?" he asks. It's more patient than incredulous, but the incredulity is definitely there. 

"From me?" 

"I want lots of things from you." He breaks eye contact with you and turns back to his things, shuffling papers into a manila folder. You blink dozily, wanting a hug and needing him to let you go back to your desk lest you give in and lean against his broad chest. "Like for you to take care of yourself." 

"I'm fine." 

"Forgive me if this is something I shouldn't say, but you don't look okay. You look sick." 

You summon your most convincing smile even while his back is turned and enthuse your tone with some practised pep. "Well, it's not the most romantic thing in the world." 

He ties the cord on his manilla envelope and clicks open his briefcase. It's a testament to how sick you are that you didn't notice it there, nor his coat thrown over the edge of the desk. 

"You going somewhere?" you ask curiously. 

"I'm taking you home, honey." 

You shake your head. "No, you're not. I'm fine." 

Hotch puts his coat on regardless. Briefcase closed and in hand, he walks the short distance to you and scans your expression for any give. "Let's go home." 

"Hotch–" 

"Home," he says, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "No more 'Hotch'." 

You take a step back but not one more than that, startled by his readiness to leave, and his reluctance to believe you. You're a bad actor and he's trained in the art of untangling deception —it isn't going to work. You give it a valiant effort. 

"You don't have the resources to give me the day off. You definitely don't have the resources to take a day off with me, and that's fine because I'm not sick." You rub your face clean, dust off your work blouse. "I have a headache, it's not so bad." 

Hotch actually smiles, then. You worked for him for three months before you realised he could. It isn't what you're expecting. It disarms you.

"Liar," he says, ducking down to give you a kiss. He sounds amused and sorry at once, an impossible combination marked by his small smile and his protective hand at your elbow. 

Every kiss is like a shock. Not because Hotch is particularly abrasive to the senses, the opposite —it feels right. 

"I'm not lying," you say.

"Take the day off with me, then." 

He knows he's being a bit of a bastard, evidenced by his smile, but he sobers for your sake. "You're lying to me, but that's not what matters. I can feel your head like a flame and I'm not even touching it. And you've kept your secret well, honey, but Reid's a good friend." 

"What did he tell you?" you murmur. 

"You fell asleep for sixteen seconds." 

"When?" you ask in disbelief.

"A couple of minutes before I called for you." Hotch squeezes your arm. 

"If we go home you'll have so much work to do when we come back," you lament. 

"It'll be the same as any other day," he says. He's slipped into his most dulcet tone, the kind he uses with family. "I am… desperate, to take care of you. I can't do that here. Please oblige me and let me do it at home." 

"Oblige you?" you ask. 

"Being your boyfriend isn't working. I thought I would try boss instead." 

You relent, finally. You genuinely can't abstain from him anymore, not when he's being as ridiculously charming and gentle as he is, his hand steadying at your elbow. Plus, your brain is probably gonna explode inside of your skull any second now if your headache is anything to go by. You drop your face into his chest and sigh, relieved when his hand moves to your shoulder, and his cheek presses to the top of your head. 

"This is inappropriate," you mumble. 

"You're really not well, hm?" he asks, just as quietly. "I'd be negligent if I didn't take notice. Doubly negligent if I didn't take you home." 

"Human resources…" You mean to say more. He's solid, he wants to hug you, and he smells like his expensive cologne. Hotch has a presence about him that's automatically comforting once you overcome the intimidating. Sometimes, even, the intimidating helps it along. You feel sheltered by his arms. Totally safe. It's probably why you nearly pass out in his embrace right there and then. 

"Okay," he says, rubbing your back. "Alright. I'll let human resources know your complaint, honey, don't worry. Let's get you to the car." 

[in-som-niyah]

GirlDad!Jason who supports you all throughout your pregnancy; holding your hair when you get sick, rubbing your sore feet and ankles, holding you through cramps/braxton hicks, buying you everything you craved etc.

GirlDad!Jason who cried for hours after she was born. His little girl, just as beautiful as you, all bundled up in soft blankets. He never believed he could love someone so much, it was like his entire body was burning with love and compassion for this little bean in his arms. For once, the world stopped, just for him.

GirlDad!Jason drives the most carefully he ever has in his life when coming back from the hospital. Despite your incessant giggling about how you've never seen him so scared, he drove like a damn senior citizen. He was carrying the most precious cargo, could you blame him?

GirlDad!Jason who changes diapers, feeds, bathes and plays with your daughter. He never leaves her for more than 5 minutes, and is involved to the point of mild annoyance. You would put your daughter down for 5 seconds and return to her gone, and in his arms. It's the most adorable thing though, you wouldn't trade it for the world.

GirlDad!Jason who can't stand to see your daughter upset. It's a trait he developed when she got to the toddler age, always fussing about everything she can't have and Jason giving in. Every time.

GirlDad!Jason who cries on her first day of kindergarten. Would never admit it though, but he hates seeing her grow up. He dreaded the day she learned how to tie her shoes and zip up her coat independently. It makes him feel like she doesn't need him anymore :(

GirlDad!Jason who will, without fail, play princesses, hair salon, tea party and barbies with his daughter. It doesn't matter if the world needs saving or if Bruce is up his ass, his daughter comes second to nothing. Even if it's to kiss a minor booboo she got while running around the house.

GirlDad!Jason who always brings back little trinkets and toys for his daughter. Her bedroom will be cluttered with stuffed animals and shiny things that caught his eye or reminded him of her. She would anticipate his key in the door which meant daddy brought home something for her. No matter how old she gets, he won't stop.

GirlDad!Jason who absolutely fucks up bullies. Be it in kindergarten or in college, Jason will make sure she and her friends are never bothered again. I cannot disclose his methods for legal reasons.

GirlDad!Jason who doesn't freak out about periods. He's so loving and supportive and doesn't ever make her feel ashamed about it. He'll bring her tea, hot chocolate, hot water bottles, painkillers, heating pads and rub her back if she's in a lot of pain. He'll take the day off to stay with her, and never force her to go to school on those days.

GirlDad!Jason who absolutely spoils his daughter shamelessly. Mom said no more sweets? Well dad sure isn't going to place a bag of candy under her pillow the next day. She wants a car for her 16th birthday? His baby gets a pink Porsche with a bow on top. She's obsessed with X artist? All the merch in the world miraculously ends up in her room.

GirlDad!Jason who will tower menacingly over her first partner. It doesn't matter how much you or your daughter like them, Jason's imagining a thousand ways to hide their dismembered body.

GirlDad!Jason who needs to be talked down from killing said partner when he finds his daughter balled up in a crying mess on her bed when they break up. Nobody makes his precious girl sad. He'll definitely egg their house without your knowledge. He buys her everything she could ever ask for to make her feel better, no matter how stupidly expensive.

GirlDad!Jason who's always up to a conversation. No matter how embarrassing or personal, he'll listen and give honest advice. Because he's so open, your daughter almost never hides anything from him.

GirlDad!Jason who bawls after dropping her off at university. Again, would never admit it, but sleeps on the floor of her bedroom for the first month she's away. He can't help but miss his little (adult) girl. He also flips through pictures and videos on his phone of when your daughter was little and sheds a few tears. Honestly it only makes you love him more.

GirlDad!Jason who still doesn't like your daughter's college partner. He's better this time around, but still. Don't put murder past him. Yet.

GirlDad!Jason who cries when your daughter shows him her shiny new engagement ring. He's so excited yet terrified. His baby girl is all grown up now.

GirlDad!Jason who walks your daughter down the isle with the brightest smile on his face. He slowly comes around to liking her fiancé(é) and honestly wishes them well.

GirlDad!Jason who meets your daughter at the hospital, ready to meet his new granddaughter for the first time. He holds her in his arms, just like he did his daughter, and gleams knowing the cycle is repeating itself. He couldn't be more excited.

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

a/n: sequel to this post i guess??? i needed something cute with jason and his daughter bc..... well..... we don't talk about my own father :D

night night guys

[deadsetobsessions]

Okay, so maybe Tim has no business being in Bludhaven. Tim maintains that since his parents fail at parenting, he can do whatever he wants.

Besides, it's for a good cause. Like, not letting Tarantula get her dirty hands on his big brother in another time line. Tarantula had popped up in the Bludhaven servers - by that, Tim means the endless amounts of threads and underground fronts for criminal activity that he stalks on a regular basis- by being seen with Nightwing. Tim had immediately booked a ride to Bludhaven and bought another burner. He'd try to take care of her himself, but if worse comes to worse, he'd call Deathstroke. He's totally aware of the weird tension Deathstroke has with Nightwing and Tim's kind of banking on that.

Dick's been back in Blud for two months now, Jason having assuaged his mother hen tendencies enough for Dick to get sick of the Manor. Tim hadn't meant to follow since he had plenty of projects to work on now that "SAVE JASON" wasn't blaring at the top of his head.

But then Tarantula appeared and Tim saw red, remembering the way Dick spoke about her and what she did to him.

He bids the driver goodbye. The driver doesn't question his being on his lonesome mainly because 1) Gothamites mind their own busines, 2) Tim gave him a $500 tip to make sure he remains a "good" Gothamite cabbie, and 3) Tim made sure he was dropped off in the swankiest, most ostentatious hotel Bludhaven had to offer.

"Rich people," the cab driver had muttered as Tim closed the door. Perfect.

Tim got his keycard, having checked in under Alvin Draper over the phone. Normally, they'd require an in person visit, but money talks. And people listened when Tim had a lot of things to say.

Tim even feels like he's trained enough to go out! Lady Shiva's training was ingrained into his memory, and Tim's built enough muscle to make use of some of it. He is still nine, after all. He's so much stealthier this time around. Plus, he's got almost his full tool set back. Sure, some of the tech is ancient, but he managed to finagle it to make grappling guns and smoke pellets more along the quality that he's used to.

Tim waits until nightfall, looping the surveillance around his window to mask his exit. Tim adjusts his domino, eyes scanning the city skyline as his handheld computer (god, he can't believe he has to invent wrist computers) tracked reports of Nightwing through Tweetings.

Ah. He's around Seventh. Tim grimaces as his untested joints adjusts to the grappling guns. His dark clothes make him hard to spot, to his advantage as he tracks down Nightwing.

Tim watches, perched on an adjacent roof as Nightwing takes down a crowd of goons with the flips Tim remembered watching from afar and up close in another timeline.

"Blockbuster'll kill everyone you love, Nightwing!"

Tim winces at the rather brutal crunch that followed, Nightwing having punched the guy and knocked him out in one move. He watches Dick sigh, tugging at his hair in stress.

Tim could... no, no. He shouldn't think of murder as a first option. Well, no, he shouldn't think of Deathstroke as a first option. But he'll need to take Blockbuster out before anything happens. And he needs to threaten the new Tarantula before anything happens. He won't allow her to even get close to Dick.

Maybe it's unfair to punish her for a crime she hasn't done, but unlike murder, rape can never be defended. Catalina Flores is a dead woman walking.

Tim stalks his big brother back home and then broke off to begin his short reign of terror over Bludhaven's underground. If he can't get Dick to take a break (and Tim's tried, a lot, over the years) then he'll make sure that the next month is as gentle as possible on his older brother.

Step 1. Murder Take care of Blockbuster

Step 2. Threaten Catalina Flores and her brother.

No. Wait. Tim has a better idea. He's got dirt on them, on top of the murder thing. He'll fabricate Catalina's tax returns, embezzle a shit ton of money from the IRS, and get her and her corrupt brother (because getting your sister out from murder charges is considered corrupt) arrested and locked away. And he'll make sure they stay locked away with some good old blackmail on Amanda Waller.

Tim grins, tranquilizing the building with an ungodly amount of knock out gas pellets, to riffle through the police precinct's files.

Step 2. Threaten Catalina Flores and her brother.

Step 2. Cripple Catalina Flores and her brother with blackmail and the IRS.

In three hours, Tim has everything he needs to begin a temporary hostile takeover. He's got the names of local mob bosses, the big players, and the names of practically every police officer that takes bribes and their... sponsors.

He'll have to cut off Blockbuster's lines of supplies first. Then, blacklist him from local suppliers, mobilize the police precinct against him (by imitating his M.O. perfectly- Tim's not a fucking amateur- and pretending to rob the precinct blind), and then break his knees.

Step 3. Profit

Tim takes out his shiny new burner phone, enjoying the loud sounds of the police squawking through his planted bugs. He lounges on the building next to it, keeping an eye out for Nightwing just in case the man decides to respond to the crisis.

[Unknown: It's RR.]

[Deathstroke: New phone?]

[RR: Who dis?]

[Deathstroke: What?]

[RR: Nevermind. I'll give you forty thousand to shoot someone's knees out.]

[Deathstroke:... That's it? Who?]

[RR: Blockbuster. Bludhaven. Extra twenty thousand if you tell him he's got the spine of a sea slug, kick him in the balls, and post it on Tweeting.]

[Deathstroke: What did he do to you? Deal.]

Tim ignored Deathstroke's question.

[RR: Half sent. Confirm?]

[Deathstroke: Confirmed. Timeline?]

[RR: Three weeks. 21 days.]

[Deathstroke: Confirmed.]

----

Tim grins ferally, all teeth as Catalina Flores looked on in horror at her computer screen.

"Get out of Bludhaven, and don't come back. If you even think of going near Nightwing, I will rip what's left of your pathetic, sniveling swine of a brother apart. You will not enjoy the consequences."

Tim clicks off, watching Catalina and her brother launch themselves into mad packing. He tapped out a short message to Amanda Waller for her and her team to intercept them at the state lines. They'll never get away from Tim's fury. Never.

[Waller: It's done.]

[Waller: I will find you.]

[RR: You can definitely try, Waller. Good doing business with you.]

Tim can see the blood vessel the woman popped after he sent that last message. He laughs.

He saves Deathstroke's video from Tweeting onto his actual, spoofed phone. He destroys the burner phone, less shiny now that he's dragged it through two and a half weeks of breaking heads and terrorizing the Bludhaven Underground. Nightwing hadn't even gotten a whiff of his activities, this Dick being far less experienced and known in this version of Blud.

One more week and Tim can continue his other projects.

----

Nightwing, going about his vigilante business: wow it sure is peaceful

Feral Tim Drake, Nightwing's scary dog privilege: try me, bitch

[rosipuree]

snow on the beach.

This was a short drabble, super sorry if it's bad. I've been sick and I wanted to write something!

+ angst

"It's snowing!" Utahime runs outside, her long hair jumping with every pounce. "Wait for me." Shoko walks with hands in her pockets making sure she follows closely behind Utahime.

You turn around to see Suguru walk out of the boys dorm. Haibara running out excitedly with Kento following behind. "Morning y/n!" Haibara waves before throwing himself in the snow. It was a morning to remember.

But all you could do was watch. Today was a morning to remember, but the night before was a nightmare. "He went on a run this morning." Suguru stood next to you interrupting yourself from thinking about last night. "...good for him." You look up at Suguru and awkwardly smile.

"Maybe it's best if we see other people?" Satoru says watching every muscle on your face soften as your eyes got watery. You loved him and he loved you, but never were you expecting him to say those words. But everything happens for a reason?

"If that's what you want..."

"Shoko told me that you think he has another chick?" You sigh and sit on the front step of the girls dorm, Suguru taking a seat right next to you. "A man only says that if he already has another women Sugu..." You fidget with your gloves, the cold wind caused the tip of your nose to get red. "You are both very important to me, but I have no clue of Satoru being with another-"

The nerve, Satoru Gojo had to break up with you the night after and bring the women he left you for back to the campus. His bright smile shining as he throws snowballs at the brunette. She was gorgeous, her laugh, her smile, her looks. Straight off the cover of vogue.

"Hey guys, this is my friend...Miyu." He introduces her to the group playing in the snow. Not bothering to come near you or Suguru. You scoffed looking over at Suguru who was just as shocked as you. "Y/n I'm sorry I really don't know why he'd-" Your eyes getting all watery again, God you hated being such a cry baby. "Don't apologize for him Sugu." You get up walking back to your room.

Satoru spots Suguru sitting, quickly making his way towards him. "Hey why aren't you playing in the snow with the rest?" Satoru takes a seat right next to Suguru. Did anyone think this would happen? Knowing Satoru it was a slim chance but he loved you. Everyone saw it? So why was he already introducing all his friends to another women. "What's the purpose of this...of her?" Suguru points at the brunette who was laughing with Haibara.

"She has a name...listen people move on and they-" Satoru starts giving some lame ass excuse. "Save it for someone more gullible." Suguru scoffed walking in to check on you. Not caring if he'd get punished for walking into the girls dorm.

Your blankets wrapping around your body, the tiny window cracked open letting the cold air enter the room, the vanilla scented candle burning. Lastly, the small sniffles coming out of you. "Y/n...?" It was Suguru, how could you not give in to Suguru. Engulfing him in a huge hug as soon as you feel his weight on the feet of your bed.

The painful cries get louder and each filled with hurt and betrayal. You really loved Satoru, if he'd hurt you this much. Then again it's only been a day since you two have officially ended. Your crying slowed down as you laid with Suguru in the bed. His hand softly petting your head as your arms tightly wrapped around him. "I told you." You mumbled, finally gathering the courage to speak again.

But Suguru didn't even know what to say. Still shocked as to why Satoru would even leave you. Suguru watched you softly drift back to sleep before leaving your room. Everyone was now sitting in the snow sipping on some hot chocolate. "Why hasn't y/n come out!" Utahime asked, watching Suguru leaving the girls dorm. "She doesn't feel good."

How pathetic. Not even bothering to check on you knowing how heartbroken you were and still are. What kind of friends were they? Watching them all sit and laugh as if you weren't hurting.

-

Hours passed, "Want to come get hotpot with us?"

No, Suguru didn't. He hated hotpot, only because you hated it. He loved hotpot. "I'm gonna pass." Satoru sighed before attempting to close the door to Suguru's room..."You got what you wanted, stop moping around."

"I wanted her happy." Suguru sighed looking up at his blue eyed friend. "...And she was the happiest with you." Suguru scrolls on his phone again waiting for Satoru to close the door. Which he thankfully did, not picking a fight.

The door slightly creaked to your room, not a word was said nor could you hear footsteps. Just a sigh and the door closing again. Maybe Sugu checking on you.

-

"Where did everyone go?" You asked walking into Suguru's room. Sitting on the rolling chair to his desk. "Hotpot." He turned his phone off taking all his attention to you. "You didn't go?" Why would he? Why would he leave you here all alone?

"No, wanna go grab something else to eat?" He suggested seeing the soft smile on your face, food never disappointed you. "Let me go bundle up." You rush back to your room.

"You look...warm." Suguru fought the urge to say beautiful. It felt wrong to go after you in the state you were in. He didn't want to feel like he was taking advantage of you. "I am." You smile.

-

"I would 10/10 go back." You give Suguru a thumbs up while rubbing your belly. Your eyes trail off to the side to see the beach. This was a new sight, Snow on the beach? "Can we go down?" You tap Suguru and point. "It's dangerous don't you thin-" before he could even finish his sentence you grabbed his hand and dragged him to the set of stairs. You knew he'd say something like that. So you wasted no time.

Reaching the bottom step, you slip. Your butt hitting the fluffy snow while Suguru fell right on top. You couldn't help but laugh. "What did I-" You threw a snowball at his face to escape from him. running along the snowy white shore. "I'm gonna get you for that!" Suguru giggled running toward you, which he failed due to tripping over his own foot.

You sigh taking a seat next to Suguru. Watching the steady water. "Sugu...Do you like me?" You look at him, waiting for an answer. Embarrassing if he'd say no....

"If I said yes?"

-

"Look how cute they look! I want to do that too, imagine me and you just sitting on the snowy beach?" The brunette clutched onto Satoru's arm. When all Satoru could think about Suguru's words..."She was the happiest with you."

The awful imagine in his head of you wrapped around in your blanket, the same candle Suguru saw was now dead when Satoru walked in. It was something Satoru never imagine. But Miyu made him happy, you made him happy too but he just had more stuff in common with Miyu.

"Miyu, Do you think when two people are too different, it would be hard to work the relationship?" Miyu looked away from the two on the beach. "No...I think if you truly love them, difference is what makes the bond stronger. You learn new stuff about them and they learn new stuff about you." Miyu smiled leaning her head into Satoru's chest.

ouch.

-

"If you said yes...I don't know actually." You lean your head onto Suguru's shoulder. "I love you Suguru don't get me wrong, and I appreciate everything you've been doing for me ever since...you know."

"But..." Suguru looked up at the stars getting ready for you reject him. He couldn't possibly hate you if you rejected him though. No matter what he'd still love you. Like always...."I'm not ready, but you know that."

"Give me a couple weeks, or months..." You grab his hand. "I'd wait for eternity for you y/n....I promise." He squeezes your hand, securing his promise.

-

You two are now making your way back to the dorms. It was darker and quieter. More peaceful. Satoru was sitting out in the front of the girls dorm as if he were waiting. "Clear things up with him..." Suguru whispers. How could you? He hurt you...

You walk towards the dorms, watching Satoru lift his head up at the sound of the snow crunching. "Y/n...." You stop and sat right next to him. "She's beautiful." You look up at the sky, the cold crispy wind hitting your face. "I'm just surprised that..."

"I still love you y/n...and you just won't leave my head. I think and you just keep coming in my head. Seeing you with Suguru drives me crazy and I can't see you just drift away so easily from me."

You look over to see the blue teary eyed, "You should've thought about that before you decided to end things with me Satoru." You were right. You were always right. That's what Satoru loved about you the most. The words you would mutter out would always have a strong righteous meaning.

"And you look happier with her." You wipe the tear from your face. It was true he looked happier, he felt happier too. But seeing you slip so easily ruined the happiness for him. "Maybe next time introduce me, I want to meet her." You smile getting up. Satoru also stood up hovering over you, swallowing you up in a big up. Which surprised you...by a lot.

"I'm so fucking sorry..."

-

"A wedding on the beach...not a fan of the beach but this is too cute." Shoko drops the dead cigarette on the sand, Utahime following her behind amazed at the decor. "They outdid it. I love it!" Utahime jumps up and grabs Shoko's arm.

"This was definitely all planned by y/n." Kento picks up the littered trash from Shoko and throws it in the nearest trash. "No, Suguru would never overbear her with all this work." Satoru sighed.

Much older now...Satoru understands how it felt to lose such a prized possession. The way you read your vows to Suguru and how much love and time you took with yours. He knew Suguru's had to be longer and just as beautifully written as yours. "So she was your ex?" Megumi whispered. That's the only label he had to you. "No wonder she left you for Suguru, you're so weird." Megumi disses the white haired man in the bind fold.

He sighed, "I left her...rookie mistake."

[bleedingoptimism]

College dropout Steve Harrington with two years of business school under his belt, works, invests, saves, and manages his time and money until he has enough to open up his own little hair-dressing salon.

His parents didn’t approve of Steve’s “dream” at first but ended up warming up to the idea when the place didn’t crash and burn after a year. Now, two years in the running “Hair of Town” is doing numbers and Steve is ecstatic that he’s able to afford to hire an assistant.

Especially because Robin is the other half of his soul he didn’t know he was missing. She’s funny, brass, and sweet in her own way. She’s also incredibly intelligent, she’s working part-time with him and brawling her way through a major in linguistics in two different languages at the same time.

But, burnout it’s a thing and the reason why she called in sick last minute monday morning leaving Steve to manage the salon alone that tuesday.

He had just finished with a client and was thinking about how he hadn’t missed being alone in the shop at all when a girl with long wavy red hair comes in.

He smiles at her, looking at the door to see if someone else walks in after because the girl doesn’t look old enough to be walking around alone yet, “Good Da-”

“I want to cut my hair” she interrupts him. He suppresses a chuckle at the business-like attitude and smiles at her,

“Oka-”

“But I’m not cutting my hair unless my dad cuts his first” She interrupts him again and this time Steve does chuckle and looks up when the bell by the door rings as someone else walks into the shop.

A man, a gorgeous man with long curly hair walks in a little out of breath, “There you are!” he says and then looks up at Steve and his eyebrows shoot up and he visibly swallows and stumbles a little, “Oh! Hi…”

The little redhead points at the man and her eyebrows raise too, “See?” she says and Steve laughs again, “I see” he tells her and then smiles at the man.

Who takes that as his cue to come closer, “I see she’s already told you her conditions…” he says with a cheeky smile and then he leans in and whispers, “I don’t really want to cut my hair. I’ve been growing it for years” 

Steve gets momentarily distracted by big chocolate brown eyes but then he clears his throat and looks at the man’s hair, “May I?” he asks as he moves his hand closer to the strands framing the man’s face.

He blushes and nods before Steve touches it lightly, “Mmm, the ends are a little dry, we could fix that. Cut just a little,” and because the guy’s really pretty and he’s blushing a lot Steve can’t resist himself when he looks at him in the eye and smiles crookedly, “Just the tip?” 

Chocolate-eyes blushes even harder and blinks at him a few times before nodding slowly. 

“You’ll do it?” Redhead asks excitedly and for a second Steve forgot she was there. He turns and smiles at her and then moves and gestures them over to the couch, “Ok, who is going first?” 

“Him.” She answers immediately.

Chocolate-eyes sighs and Steve smirks at him, “Right this way, sr.” he says and takes them to the back to wash his hair.

He notices the little girl follows them and that the dad’s about to say something about it so he touches his shoulder lightly as he sits down, “It’s okay,” he assures him.

He can tell this girl is a handful but Steve already kind of adores her attitude. She’s obviously scared or nervous about getting a haircut and acting up tough seems to be her go-to and Steve finds that very relatable. 

“What are you doing?” She asks as Steve turns the water on and her dad gets comfortable in the chair. Steve beckons her closer as he explains, “I’m washing his hair,”

She crunches up her nose and giggles, “Is it dirty?” 

“Not at all, but it will let me see better what hairs I need to cut” he answers and as he starts touching the man’s hair, he closes his eyes and sighs contentedly in his chair.

Redhead nods like that makes perfect sense to her and then as Steve’s pouring shampoo in his hands she asks, “What’s that?”

“Shampoo” Steve tells her and offers his hand for her to smell the scent. She does and then nods again, she seems very satisfied with being involved in the process. 

As Steve massages the man’s head she stays beside him, watching attentively, and then perks up again when Steve grabs another bottle, “What’s that?” 

“Conditioner, to make his hair softer and easier to comb through” Steve answers and she taps her chin, “Of course,” she says and Steve chuckles making her frown, “What?” she prods.

“You are just very lovely” he says and boops her nose leaving a small dollop of foam behind. Redhead’s frown depends but when she notices the foam she giggles and swaps it off.

When he’s done washing the man’s hair, Redhead runs to the front of the shop and sits on the couch as Steve carefully wraps a towel around Chocolate-eyes head.

He can feel the man’s eyes boring into him so he looks at him and smiles and he blushes again, “You are really good with her,” he tells Steve.

Steve's smile grows wider and he looks down bashfully.

Once he’s sat, Redhead walks up closer to Steve and inspects what he’s doing, Steve grabs his scissors from his apron and moves them without touching yet through the length of the man’s hair.

Stopping at different heights he asks his little assistant where he should cut and gets an exasperated “Please don’t” from the man when he stops close to his neckline. Steve smiles and winks at him through the mirror and he blushes again.

Redhead seems very amused by the whole thing and when he finally gets to work, she just stands close to them watching quietly. And Steve keeps true to his word and only cuts the dried-up ends.

After he’s done he partially dries the hair and uses a hair lotion to work his curls and let it dry naturally. He gets the feeling this guy likes having his hair long but doesn’t take care of it at all and it makes his hands itch with the need to take care of it for him.

“What do you think?” he asks Redhead looking at their reflection in the mirror to include Chocolate-eyes in the answer.

The girl comes closer and her dad picks her up as she touches his hair, “Soft, pretty” she says and Chocolate-eyes smiles at her and kisses her cheek loudly.

“Your turn now!” he tells her and she visibly hesitates. 

Steve crouches until he’s at eye level with her, “I forgot to ask, are you the princess type? Maybe a knight? Perhaps the dragon?” he asks her, and she tilts her head and really thinks about it.

“A knight!” she declares and he smiles at her, 

“Ok! Sir Knight! This will be your throne” he tells her and points to the washing chair.

“Knights don’t have thrones” She frowns at him but goes to sit anyway.

“They do in my kingdom” he answers easily.

“So, are you the king of Hair of Town?” Chocolate-eyes asks with a smile and Steve smirks,

“Sure, but if I’m the king and she’s the knight, what are you?”

“The princess!” Redhead answers excitedly and tries to lift her head where Steve is washing it but he touches her forehead softly and she stills and looks up at him, “‘cause his hair is soft and pretty like a princess's hair now!”

He smiles and nods at her, “You are right,” and then he looks back at the man after placing Redhead with a towel wrapped around her hair on the cutting chair, “Would the princess like something to drink while he waits?” he asks flirtingly and gets the prettiest blush yet and a little fumbling in return before he takes pity on the man and makes his smile a little more friendly, “A coffee maybe?” 

But Princess seems to be of the mind that two can play this game, because he recovers easily and smiles at Steve, “Maybe some other time” he jokes.

Steve raises an eyebrow and smiles at him before turning his attention back to his Knight, “So, how would you like me to cut it?” he asks her, combing his fingers through her long hair softly.

“I can choose?” she asks excitedly and Steve looks briefly back at Princess who nods before smiling at her, “Of course”

She looks back at her dad and then at Steve and seems to think about it for a second before she says, “I want it short, like yours” 

Steve looks at her surprised, “Are you sure?” 

She nods decidedly, “Yes, I want it to look just like yours” 

Steve glances back at her father one last time just to make sure and he’s already smiling brightly back at him when he does. He nods once more and Steve gets his scissors out feeling silly for feeling so touched and flattered by the girl's request.

But just when he’s about to start his phone rings, and since it’s working hours and it’s probably someone wanting to make an appointment, he excuses himself for a second,

“Take care of the kingdom while I'm gone, ok?” he tells his Knight and she nods and sits up straighter on the chair.

He moves to the small side room where he keeps the coffee machine to answer but it ends up being a telemarketer so he quickly tells them he’s working right now and hangs up. And just as he’s about to open the door he hears Redhead talking with her dad,

“...But the princess can marry the king, right?” she’s saying, and Princess groans,

“Max, please don’t give your daddy ideas,” he tells her and Steve needs to take a moment before going back out there because his mind immediately conjures up stupid and beautiful images of a wedding, a white suit, and a black one, a cute flower girl with red hair, a happy family of three but also, way in the back of his mind, the man’s voice referring to himself as ‘daddy’ might have awakened something in him.

Huffing and plastering on a smile he walks out and sees the man blush again but he focuses on his red Knight, “Excellent job, I knew my kingdom was in good hands, you ready to start?”

Max nods going back to her stiff posture and Steve goes to work on her head, making sure she relaxes into a more comfortable position as he goes.

Soon, the hair is done, so he blow-dries it before styling it just like his own since that's what she had asked.

“What do you think?” he asks her just like before and she looks at him through the mirror and shakes her head, giggling when it moves easily with the shorter length, “I love it!” she says and then she gets off the chair and vows at him, “Thank you, King,” she says.

And Steve theatrically vows back at her, grabbing the edges of his apron as if it were a dress. “You are very welcome my brave Knight”

She giggles again and runs to her father, hugging his legs as he stands up.

Steve smiles and moves to the front desk to charge for the service but after Princess pays, he lingers and an awkward silence comes over them.

Steve chuckles and subtly pushes the small box with his business cards on it and the man smiles and takes one, “Well… I-”

“That's my personal number,” Steve says suddenly, nodding at the card, “If you… maybe, If- Just in case” he finishes lamely.

The fear of not seeing him, or Max again suddenly makes him stumble.

But Princess smiles at him, “Max, say goodbye to Your Majesty” he says vowing his head and keeping his eyes locked on Steve the whole time.

Max waves goodbye still shaking her head and messing up with her hair excitedly and then they are gone.

Steve smiles and sighs hoping that isn't the last time he sees them.

It’s 20 minutes later as he’s working on another customer that he feels his phone vibrate with a message and then another, and another, and a few more after that.

He checks his phone once the customer is gone and there’s a bunch of texts from an unknown number.

‘hey its eddie’

‘wondering when youd like to drink that coffee???’

‘i just realized i never told u my name’

‘i was there earlier’

‘for a haircut?????’

‘jesus christ im butchering this’

‘...............i was the princess’

‘really hoping you find this endearing and not pathetic’

He chuckles delighted at his phone as he takes a screenshot and sends it to Robin but not before answering back:

‘I’d love to have coffee with you, princess.’

☕🥐💕

[gglitch1dd]

"Best husband in the world" award goes to Izuku Midoriya. I head cannon that he NEVER leaves the honeymoon phase, even after having kids!

Wifey is treated like royalty, Always gets gifts, he dresses up for dates bc his wife LOVES it, shows her off in gala's (one red-eyed hero is pissed) even the boys are so sick of seeing the random smooches Izu steals from his wife 😂

Bet Toshi would say "Don't you have enough kids already?" -_-

The poor boy is TIRED

Honestly, I believe in every single syllable that just came out of your mouth.

He never leaves the honeymoon phase. That man is in love from the moment he meets you to the moment he dies.

If there was one thing that Midoriya Izuku knew that he couldn't get enough of, it was you. His beautiful wife of seventeen years. Everyday, waking up next to you was like a dream and he didn't want to be woken up.

He's enraptured by you and your very being. Even after five boys and you not getting any younger, he's still obsessed with you like you were newly weds.

He keeps every sticky note that you leave on his bento boxes for lunch and has boxes upon boxes of them saved from the years that have gone by. He would never deny anything you made him because it was made by you, his amazing wife, by your loving and gentle hands that he kisses daily.

Izuku honestly still doubts he's that good of a father or a perfect husband either, but he knows he's as good as he can be with you at his side.

You gave him everything that is his world. You made the apartment you both had in the beginning feel like a home. Coming home to your waiting arms and loving expression was what kept his feet moving everyday.

When he was a prohero he often wondered what he was missing in his life. Even though becoming Number One at such a young age and achieving his goal of being the next predecessor of All Might, of owning his own hero agency, millions at his disposal, he only ever felt truly complete when he met you.

You...

Oh dear God, he loved you.

The day he married you was the best day of his life. He had cried the moment he saw you in that beautiful white dress and he had cried when you had both signed the marriage certificate, and he had cried when he had his first dance with you too.

He knew from the first day he met you that he wanted to marry you. He didn't believe in just dating for funsies and wasting your time. No, he wanted you in a sort of way he didn't know how to explain.

He wanted you in way that was to have and to old, in sickness and in health, in life and in death. Knowing that when he looked down at you on your wedding night, when he had you in his arms, your breath heavy and your eyes half lidded, when you stared up at him with such blown out love in your eyes. When he sunk deep inside of you, he knew that your souls would become one and he would never depart from you.

Where you went, he went.

Where you stayed, he would stay.

It's not true what they say about heroes, least not for Izuku. For Izuku would watch the world burn and have you by his side.

"Dad!"

"Hm?" Izuku straightened up as he was lost in thought. Toshinori waved his hand over his face, making sure that his father was still alright. He raised a green eyebrow as he looked up at his father. "Are you alright? You spaced out for a second there."

Izuku looked down at his oldest son. Midoriya Toshinori.

Wow, even just the thought of him having a son still shook him till this day. The thought that he, a man that grew up without a father, who at one point believed he wasn't worth anything more than what other people said he was worth, could have a son.

A son, you gave him.

He could still remember the day you told him that you were pregnant with Toshinori. Izuku had gone to sleep with you in his arms, a hand over your stomach still unbelieving but he was sure he had soaked his pillow because of the tears that left his eyes.

You had blessed him with a gift that he could never even begin to comprehend how uniquely special it was.

"I'm alright." Izuku laughed as he went down the final step of the staircase, having just freshened up. "Have you finished your homework?"

Toshinori nodded his head as he put his hands in his pockets. "Yah but honestly, all that math had me going cross-eyed. I'm having Asahi look at it." He motioned to his younger brother, but a mere eleven.

Asahi adjusted his glasses as he scribbled down on the tablet with a stylus. He scoffed as he lifted his head to look up at his father. "Honestly dad, Toshinori just needs a prayers. Only Jesus can help him now."

"HEY!" Toshinori let out offended as he walked over to where his younger brother was sitting at the table.

Asahi motioned to the tablet. "This is basic maths!"

Toshinori's eyebrows furrowed. "How the hell is this basic maths?! It's grade nine level algebra!"

"As I said, basic maths!"

"Alright Einstein!" Toshinori taunted his younger brother with a look on his face and hands on his hips that reminded Izuku so much of you. "You do it!" He pointed to the screen.

Asahi rolled his eyes as he flipped the screen so that Toshinori could see. "Do you need my glasses, cause I already did!"

His second son, Midoriya Asahi. Honestly, Izuku was sure that in Asahi he saw himself. He saw himself in that kid everyday and he loved every second of it. His second son.

That you gave him.

He was so smart and so bright. A genuine child genius. Although quirkless, he was beyond his years. Izuku loved to sit down with him and watched as his mind thought at the speed of light at a pace that only Izuku could understand because he did that too.

Nothing beat having Asahi on his shoulders as he took him to the Hero Support labs in his Hero Agency. The way that kids eyes widened in awe is something Izuku would treasure forever. Having him interact and ask questions that not even Izuku could understand but was happy to participate regardless.

To think he could ever have such a kid.

"Asahi." He chuckled as he walked over to his second son, putting a hand on his head of green curls. "Be patient with him, remember not everyone learns as fast as you."

Asahi huffed, his cheeks that had light freckles on them puffed but he nodded his head. "Okay." He groaned.

"What are we doing?" Hero asked as he peaked his head over to see the tablet that was on the table. He took one look at the tablet and his face scrunched up. "Ew maths." His reaction made Izuku laugh as he decided to leave his two eldest be. "Dad catch!"

It was a fast throw but Izuku caught it nonetheless. The rugby ball in his hand was firm and in perfect condition, considering he got it for Hero three weeks ago. The kid went through equipment faster than Izuku could break a bone.

Midoriya Hero, although being eight years old, he was entranced with sports and was pretty good at them too, specifically field sports. Izuku felt like somewhere inside himself he was healing the little boy inside of him that never got to play sports with someone, not like the way him and Asahi would play around with a ball in the garden.

Something so precious yet so simple.

Something that was only possible because of you.

Izuku chuckled. "Nice throw. You're getting better, but remember..." He tossed him back the ball, it landing in his arms. "Not playing around inside with the ball."

"Okay." He nodded as he left to go to the sitting room.

"And did you do your homework?" Izuku called back after him.

"Yah! Asahi looked at it."

Izuku turned to his second oldest who shot him a thumbs up, showing that Hero was telling the truth. He hummed with a smile as he moved towards the kitchen where the smell of dinner was spilling out from.

"Daddy!" Running out of the kitchen was his fourth son, Shoyo. He had the brightest little smile on his face as he lifted up a crayon picture for him to see. "Daddy look! I drew you something."

Izuku chuckled as he picked up the little boy. He was the happiest out of all your children together. Even when he cried, he would try to smile. He was like the sun and always filled with giggles. It was why you called him Shoyo, because he smiled even as a newborn.

Izuku knew that such joy in his life could have only been given through you.

"Really? let me see?" He carried the young boy on his hip as he looked down at the drawing. It was a crayon drawing of what he assumed was him in his hero uniform. That or it could be a bunny with a cape.

Shoyo was never really gifted with artistic talent but he tried anyways. And Izuku loved them all.

"Aww, it looks great buddy." He placed a kiss to Shoyo's face. "I love it. Why don't you go put it in my office for me? I can put it right on my desk."

Shoyo's smile grew even wider as he nodded his bushy hair of green curls. "Okay!" Once set down, he went trotting away towards the staircase.

Izuku entered the kitchen and sitting on your hip was Koda, the final sprout in your little garden that was your family. He was a rather shy thing and clung to you like a baby koala, but he sure was the sweetest. He smiled at his father tiredly with a wave of his hand.

He often fell sick easily, but he was such a strong trooper.

He put a hand to his head as he carefully moved the young three year old to be held in his arms instead, allowing you free reign over the kitchen.

Your heavenly voice reached his ears, instantly taking his attention. You smiled as you turned to look up at him. "How was your day, my love?"

His shoulders eased as he moved to step behind you. He rested his head against you briefly, your body just fitting into his perfectly. "I can't complain when I come back home to this everyday." He stated, moving down to kiss your cheek.

You chuckled as you lifted up the spoon for him to taste part of dinner. He opened his mouth, allowing you to feed him to taste. He let out a groan as he nodded his head. You laughed at your husband's antics. "Ready?"

"Definitely." He informed you with a nod of his head. He looked you over as you stood in an apron and fitted sweatpants. He hadn't seen you in those pants in ages and yet they clung to you like a deadly weopon and Izuku was a wounded soldier. His eyes looked you over with shameless obviousness. "Damn, where did these come from?" He asked as he moved to turn you to face him, a hand moving to your ass shamelessly.

You shot up with a heated expression with a squeak. You swatted his chest with little to no intent to actually drive him away. "Izuku! I'm cooking."

"Can't I appreciate my beautiful wife?" He asked with a rested grin on his face as he leaned down closer to you. A soft peck to your lips. "You look gorgeous, honey." His lips met yours again for a longer kiss.

You couldn't help but giggle as you let him kiss you, moving a hand to wrap around him. He always managed to give you butterflies, even now.

Years of being together, of mapping out each other's bodies and memorising everything new and old, and you never got tired of it. Even after five pregnancies and the effect that had on your body, Izuku just craved you more and more. He never asked you to change, and always loved you as you were.

How couldn't he?

You were the reason that he was happy, that he had everything that made him feel like a man.

You made him a husband.

You made him a father.

You made him happy.

Izuku couldn't even begin to think of where to thank you, but he would do so for the rest of his life.

"EW! Dad! Get off of mom!" Toshinori shouted from the table with a scrunched up face.

Hero scrunched up his own face. "That's disgusting."

"Right over our dinner." Asahi shook his head in sheer disappointment.

You separated from you husband with a giggle as he looked to his sons with half annoyance. You turned to grab a serving spoon but Izuku adjusted poor Koda who was resting in his arms as Izuku pointed to his sons. "Hey! This is my wife, okay. I get to kiss her."

"Yah." Toshinori acknowledged. "But she's our mom."

Asahi and Hero nodded their heads in agreement with their older brother.

Izuku frowned before he turned to you. "Y/N, the kids are being mean to me." He complained as he pointed to your three eldest siblings.

You shook your head in a chuckle as you motioned to your sprouts. "Boys, get your homework off the table and set it for dinner please."

"Yes mom."

"And you, mister." You turned to your husband with a pointed look but smiled as you had your hand rest over his chest. You smiled as you reached up and kissed his cheek. "Get Shoyo for me, won't you? And sit down, dinner is ready." You let out softly.

Izuku looked down at you with blown out pupils. "I love you." He whispered down to you.

You giggled. "I love you too, Izuku."

"No, Y/N, I... I love you."

-Glitch1d

[stevesbipanic]

For the lovely @withacapitalp happy birthday Liam hope you have the best day today!!!!

Steve had been pacing around the apartment all morning. Well, pacing wasn't really the right word, Eddie would describe it more like having the same zoomies their cat Toothpaste has at 3am.

You see today was–"It's Robin Day, Eds!" As his lovely boyfriend had practically screamed in his ear at 5am. "And it will still be Robin day when you return from your job at a normal waking hour, babe."

Eddie had hoped the jog would've gotten some of the energy out of Steve's system but he seemed more hyper on his return, at least he'd brought Eddie coffee.

"Love, Robin isn't even on the plane yet."

"I know, but it's today, Eds."

Steve looked so bright it made all of Eddie's sleepiness fade away. It had been hard, living away from Robin. They'd all shared an apartment when she went away for college but by the time she got a job in New York, Steve and Eddie were not only dating finally but settled into Chicago life.

They spoke every day of course, Robin and Steve never missed a nightly catch up of the day's events, Eddie didn't even know what they'd talk about once they were in the same state again. Eddie knew Robin would always be Steve's number one and he loved that about him.

There was one other thing about today though. "Sweetheart, you know it's not just Robin Day, right?"

Steve looked confused at his boyfriend, kind of like the way a puppy looks when you move his toy.

"What could be more important about today than that."

Eddie began humming a specific tune wrapping his arms around Steve's waist. "Oh, right, my birthday, 24 isn't exactly a big deal Eds," Steve said rolling his eyes.

Eddie laughed, "Your birthday is the reason Robin's coming, sunshine, plus after the number of times we've both almost died I think every birthday is a big deal."

Steve nodded his head and returned the embrace Eddie had been giving him, "True, you think you're gonna have a quarter life crisis in August, Mr 25?"

Eddie grinned, "Oh yeah, I think imma buy a guitar and start a band." Steve laughed, while Corroded Coffin never got famous they got relatively well known in the local scene, Tuesdays were now a regular gig at The Squire downtown.

"Four hours til she lands," Steve said kissing Eddie's cheek and running upstairs to make sure the guest room was ready for the tenth time. "Still not on the plane yet!" Eddie called up laughing.

Four and a half hours later their loving room was filled with laughter and joy once more. "And then the guy asked the flight attendant for another ginger ale and Steve this man was looking green and you know how I don't deal with sick people well I'm surprised I survived the flight at all," Robin rambled filling Steve in on her flight from hell.

"Honestly, you should just move back here, save yourself the flight," Steve joked. Robin glanced at Eddie, one little birthday surprise they hadn't told Steve yet.

"Actually, my contract is ending in two weeks, and um, they offered to extend it at...their Chicago office."

Steve was frozen, if Eddie didn't know better he'd think Vecna had returned from the dead to finish them off after all these years. Then the screaming started.

"YOU'RE MOVING BACK TO CHICAGO!"

"I'M MOVING BACK TO CHICAGO!"

Pretty soon everyday would be Robin Day and with his boy looking that happy Eddie wouldn't want it any other way.

[hardlyinteresting]

Love, Guilt and Other Wounds

Aaron Hotchner x female reader

When Aaron and his partner are taken hostage, he has to break her heart to save her life.

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, a little bit of domestic fluff, mention of blood, injury (non-graphic), hostage situation, knives, cannon-compliant themes of violence, non-detailed discussion about religion (Christianity), themes of childhood abuse, please let me know if you want me to add anything else.

Word count: (less than I expected, sorry) 3.7k  Request here! | Masterlist

"Of course, I’ll hurt you. Of course, you’ll hurt me. Of course, we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence". - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Aaron isn't sure if he believes in a God or a higher power. He was taught to read scripture; and spent Sunday mornings perfecting his posture in church pews-- starched shirts and neckties pulled too tight. The preacher's sermons left him wanting-- wondering how this man of God could stand over his congregation preaching every week, and not see all the lies they were holding back. How could he not see the secrets Aaron seemed to read so clearly? At just fourteen Aaron knew who was having an affair and with whom. He could see which children feared their fathers. Every pew had another story, another family growing together, or falling apart. The hypocrisy of it all drove him mad, and he imagined standing from his seat to shout it, overwhelmed as he realized he had unintentionally become the keeper of everyone's secrets. He learned that everyone in that church was a liar in their own right, and he hated it. But, when he left for college, his mother called to ask if he was still going to church on Sundays, and he lied and said yes. 

He should have paid more attention. Maybe then he'd understand how he ended up here. Perhaps it's some sick retribution. A cosmic evening of the scales; his penance for his sins. He just wishes you weren't here with him. How dare he think he could love someone when all he's ever done is punish those who love him? His hands are stained with blood; he taints everything he touches. 

Very early on in his career, Aaron learned he couldn’t take cases personally. As devastating as it was to have another victim show up while hunting a killer, it wasn’t a personal failure. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. He repeated the process again and again. Logically he knows that he is not responsible for the actions of the aggressive sociopath who is now holding the two of you hostage; but, he blames himself for not keeping you safer, for bringing you with him, and for putting you in harm's way. He knows he will not recover if you don’t make it out of here. He won’t forgive himself. 

The profile said this man would be anti-social. Physically, he’d be small in stature. It was clear he’d been sneaking up on his victims. He had been taking couples, knocking out the men with a blow to the back of the head, and then the women. It’s a method that the team had seen before, common for UNSUBs without the social ability to lure their victims, or the physical strength or confidence to attack head-on. But they had not profiled that he would escalate to taking out his targets with a taser. 

After six days in San Diego, the team finally had a lead on two rental properties in the UNSUB’s comfort zone. One was an old tyre factory, listed as a multipurpose warehouse and storage space; the other was a large storage facility in an industrial neighbourhood. Both units had been paid for in cash, both offered the privacy and space required to hold and torture two people for days at a time. The team split up, Hotch and you arranged to meet the owner of the factory space to find out more about who the renter was and gain access to the property. With no response from the owner of the second property, Morgan, Prentiss, and Rossi headed over to check it out. 

The two of you had only been on the property for five minutes before Aaron had been incapacitated and taken out. He had foolishly made his way into the building while you ran back to the SUV to grab your jacket. Out cold, there was nothing Aaron could do to stop you from meeting the same fate. 

It’s not his fault. But he feels like it is as he watches you shiver from across the room. He can’t be certain how much time has passed, but it feels like hours. He can only hope that you’re being kept in the building you were attacked in, that the team will connect the dots and come and get you, but until then you’re stuck. He watches, nauseated as your eyes flutter open, and then shut again. You’re concussed, he doesn’t need to be a doctor to know that. His ears are ringing, and he’s sure the blow he took to the head has at the very least temporarily worsened his hearing. 

“Doesn’t the FBI have rules against fraternization?” The UNSUB wonders out loud, waving a knife around as he walks towards you. 

“What makes you think we’re a couple?” Hotch asks, as he tries to work his hands free from the rope that binds them behind his back, “She’s just a colleague”. 

It’s a lie. But it needs to be said. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. Buy time, shift the UNSUB’s interest away from the two of you. Ruin the fantasy.

“I think I’ve been doing this long enough to know a couple when I see a couple, Aaron,” the man taunts, obviously proud of himself. He’s feeling emboldened having taken two FBI agents, but that works in your favour. He’s getting cocky, too full of himself. It’s a level of confidence he isn’t used to having, it just gives him a higher height to fall from. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. “I think it’s time we wake your girlfriend up,” the man says, his hand gripping tightly at your hair, your head tugged back without remorse. 

Aaron resists the urge to cringe as he hears you groan, your face twisted with obvious pain as you’re rudely awakened. “She’s pretty. What’s she doing with you?” 

“I told you. She’s a colleague”. 

Your eyes are unfocused, scanning the room trying to make sense of what is going on. 

The man raises the knife, holding it to your throat. This time Aaron blinks, desperate to control his expressions and micro-expressions. In this scenario, the less he cares about you, the safer you are. 

It’s the burden of being tied to him. Time after time his love destroys people. 

The blade presses closer to your throat. Aaron controls his breathing. 

“Impressive agent Hotchner. But I’m still not convinced,” the UNSUB moves the blade but pulls your head back further. Your eyes meet Aaron’s, “Do what you’re going to do, he doesn’t care,” you say. You’re speaking to the man with the knife in his hand as much as you’re speaking to Aaron. He weighs his options, his heart pounding as he watches you hold your breath, willing the tears to leave your eyes. It’s the permission he needs but doesn’t want.  Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. He knows you’re doing the same, telling him to break your heart to save your life. 

“Please, Hotc--”. 

He doesn’t let you finish, “Just shut up for once. Please,” he thinks the words cut through him more than they cut through you. Knowing his cruelty is a lie does little to soften the blow, and it breaks his heart to be the one throwing it. 

But this is all he’s good for, isn’t it? Letting people down. Surely it’s not just coincidence that so many of those who have dared to love him end up damaged. One way or another he destroys people. Who is he to say that he’s the one who is suffering when it’s he who does all the damage? 

Even as a child, he couldn’t help it. He thinks perhaps he inherited his sharpened tongue and lack of patience from his mother. She loved him in her own way but could never show it without first tearing him apart. Her biting words, and regular beatings. Prentiss had been right when she once said he was distrustful of women-- unfairly so. Not all women carry the hateful, spiteful heart his mother had. Very few had ever turned their rage at the world and their shortcomings into a personal and violent rage against him. He grew weary nonetheless. Better safe than sorry.

 At a young age, it became clear to him that there were few things, if anything, as important to his mother than appearances. On Sundays, she fussed over his clothes and his posture. She lectured him on table manners from the moment he could hold a fork. His room had to be spotless. His grades had to surpass average. Long before his brother was ever born, he learned how to live up to her expectations. But still, there was always something she could find him lacking in, an excuse to take her open fist or wooden spoon to his skin, a reason to send him to bed without dinner. He remembers crashing into the china cabinet trying to escape her one night. She was mortified on Monday when he had to walk into school on Monday with a cast around his arm. “Make sure they know this was your fault,” she told him. Perhaps I was built to fail, he had thought. She loves me and I embarrass her. I will only ever let her down. God, how disappointed she would be to see him now.  

Seconds feel like hours as the UNSUB leers expectantly. The man's mouth twists into a smile when he sees the tears forming in your waterline again. Aaron watches your fist clench presumably to distract yourself from the migraine that matches the pounding in his head, just as much as it is to pull your attention away from the hurtful lies he's about to weave. 

“You were supposed to have my back,” Arron spits with faux vitriol. “You had one job and couldn't even manage to do that”. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. 

“From the moment you showed up I knew you'd be a problem”. 

He continues to try to work his hands out from the binds. He can feel the knot loosening as he continues to buy the two of you time. “Aaron,” you beg, tears slipping down your cheeks now. 

“Following me around with some school girl crush. Look where we are now,” Aaron breathes. 

He can feel his father’s rage resting on his shoulders, as heavy as his hands were when he used to pat him on the back. It’s a quiet burning, far more silent than his mother’s anger, but it’s there and threatening him all the same. A silent shame; a fear induced by the knowledge that he’s failing but not being able to stop it. His father lived like a ghost in their home, just as Aaron has learned to haunt his life. He only ever raised his voice when he drank, but even then his hatred was self-directed. A sorrowful self-pity. A cry for help. The affairs, the gambling, the drinking; the man punished himself, stumbling home to a house with a vengeful wife, a silent boy, and a crying baby. It was a heart attack that finally killed him, but Aaron never doubted his father had stopped living long before that. 

Aaron breaks his own heart as he delivers each verbal blow. He hopes you understand. He prays that just maybe your concussion might leave the memories of this moment blurry. Selfishly, he begs you to forgive him, because he won’t forgive himself. 

He can see the way your wrists strain against your restraints. The UNSUB adjusts his grip on your hair as you struggle to distance yourself from him. Your eyelids flutter and he knows your vision must be swimming but you don’t give up. With a sadistic grin, the UNSUB wipes at the tear stain on your cheek with fake sympathy, grasping your jaw roughly he forces you to look straight at Aaron, “Poor girl… guess boss man doesn’t care about you after all. What a waste,” he sighs his breath heavy against your cheek, as he moves to hold the knife to your throat again, “She’s so pretty,” he directs his commentary at Aaron this time. 

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’ve slept with her. How couldn’t I when she was practically throwing herself at me?” The words taste bitter on his tongue as he speaks them. His stomach churns as he continues, “But what we have certainly isn’t love”. 

It couldn’t be further from the truth. Aaron grounds himself choosing to remember the quiet morning you two had shared only a few days earlier. Waking up without an alarm but with Jack sneaking in to jump up on the bed. As he watches you cry now he recalls how you had smiled so brightly at the little boy, ruffling his hair and cuddling Jack into your side. He had watched with a smile of his own as you bargained with his son, promising pancakes in exchange for ten more minutes of sleep on your shared day off. 

You crept into his heart so slowly he had hardly noticed. Until one day, he looked up from the bright pink sticky note you'd left on your recent report, reminding him not to work too hard; he knew, without a doubt, he was in love with you. 

For so much of his life, Aaron conditioned himself to expect a fight around every corner. He learned to make sacrifices from his happiness in fruitless attempts to keep peace. For the first time in forever he's been feeling like maybe, just maybe, he's enough. You’ve been more than patient with him; understanding his hesitance to open up to people again. You don't get upset with him for working late, but you scold him for not getting enough sleep and skipping meals. 

He smiles more. He cracks jokes the way he used to. You've helped him see the forest from the trees--  healed parts of him he didn’t know needed mending. He's tried to do the same for you. He's watched you open up and trust the team more. He's seen the way your confidence has grown and he can't take credit for your growth, but he's enamoured by the transformation just the same. 

You deserve better. You deserve better. You deserve better. The thought echoes in his head the same as it does most days. But now, it’s louder. The voice in his head matches the volume of the ringing in his ears, and the rushing sound of his pounding heart. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. He fights to remind himself, but the UNSUB is laughing now. Taunting you and your emotions, and there’s nothing Aaron can do but sit there and watch. He struggles to feign indifference, watching as you continue to make yourself smaller. It’s only then that he notices that you too are working your hands out of the rope that restrains you. The UNSUB was stupid enough to tie your wrist in front of you.

Aaron’s eyes focus on the bandaid wrapped around your index finger. You cut yourself making dinner last week. He could have sworn his heart melted when you turned to him holding your hand out, blood beading already. “Aaron, where do you keep your first aid kit?” you’d asked. Your brows furrowed, and your lips pouted. “In the bathroom, the cabinet under the sink,” he’d answered with no intention of letting you go off and tend to your wound alone. Instead, he guided you down the hall, his left hand looped in a gentle hold around your wrist, his other hand on your waist. 

Once you were sat on the countertop he took great care, making sure the wound was cleaned before he bandaged it. “My hero,” you teased, leaning in for a kiss. 

A simple cut he could manage to fix. Jack promised you could use as many of his Star Wars bandaids as you wanted while you healed as well. A little love and patience could make it better, a philosophy he adopted to heal Jack’s scraped knees, and schoolyard bruises. But the sight before him now is far worse than any kitchen mishap could be. 

Your nose is still bleeding. Bruises have already begun to form, red marks turning deep purple with every passing minute. He knows that your concussion is something you'll recover from. The contact burns from where the taser touched your skin will become new skin someday soon. The cuts and scrapes will scab over and then disappear. 

Aaron worries the damage he's done can never truly be ameliorated. Your compassion is unmatched. It’s what makes you a good agent, a good partner, and someone Jack can turn to. You are forgiving. God knows you've excused enough of his behaviour. But, he doesn't deserve to be absolved of this guilt. He will carry this day around in the darkest corner of his heart; the same place he holds the memory of Haley and how he failed her. The words “what we have certainly isn't love,” will linger uneffaced by time or kind words. 

The squeak of an old door opening piques Aaron's interest. The UNSUB doesn't react. Seemingly only interested in tracing the tear tracks on your cheeks. Your eyes are closing again. It's over now, he wants to tell you. He wants to hold you; comfort you; to apologise because you deserve to hear it anyway.

“Paul Simpson. FBI,” Morgan’s voice booms, “drop the knife and put your hands where I can see them”. Prentiss and Dave come to stand next to Morgan, their guns trained on the newly identified perpetrator. Aaron bites his tongue so hard he can taste blood-- it's all he can do to stop himself from bursting into a fit of bitter laughter. We win, he wants to say. 

Disarmed and handcuffed, Paul is escorted outside by Morgan and two members of the local police. Prentiss and Rossi make quick work of untying you and Aaron. 

“Aaron?” he can hear you mutter, breathy and quiet. 

“Yeah, I’m right here,” he promises kneeling at your side. Your eyes are glazed and unfocused as you nod and tip forward. Unconscious, your entire body falls forward into Prentiss’ arms. Aaron’s voice joins Rossi in calling for a paramedic. 

The doctors assure him that you’ll wake up soon. They dealt with his injuries quickly. Bruised ribs are the worst of his injuries. A cut at the back of his head and the taser burns were patched in only a few minutes, though he’ll readily admit he was far from a good patient. Too anxious to keep still much to the nurse’s dismay. 

You’re still asleep. A major concussion will have you out of the field for much longer than he knows you’ll be happy with. He makes a mental note to start setting aside some extra paperwork for when you inevitably start hounding him for something to do. With the lights in the room dimmed, and a comfortable silence settling he allows himself to indulge in the illusion that everything might be alright between you. 

With your hand in his, he breathes deeply trying to focus. He prays to a God he’s not sure he believes in. And when the quiet starts to get to him, he speaks out loud, as silly as he thinks he may look. He tells you about the phone call he had with Jack earlier and lets you know that Jack has a new painting he can’t wait to show you when you get home. Your hand squeezes his, encouraging him to keep talking.

“Aaron?” your eyelids flutter as you adjust to the light. The nurse had them turned to the dimmest setting but it’s still far more than you feel immediately capable of coping with. 

“Yeah, honey,” he affirms. You release the breath you’re holding your brow relaxing.  

“I love you,” you tell him. Your voice is steady and steadfast. Your resolve is impressive, unwavering and determined as you focus on making eye contact with him. “It’s not your fault,” you promise. He’s sure you don’t expect the weight on his shoulders to lighten instantaneously. You’ll tell him every day that he’s not to blame; intent on chiselling away at his guilt, shrinking it down before it manages to consume him. 

“I love you,” he swears. He knows it won’t squash any of the doubt he’s planted. Aaron knows there will soon be days that the niggling insecurity threatens to break what you’ve managed to build together; when the worry that you aren’t enough seems louder than it ever has before. He won’t blame you if you decide it isn’t worth the pain of staying with him. But, he’s hell-bent on loving you through it. He can only hope that it’s enough. 

[thewulf]

A Little Jealous || Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary: Request - I was hoping if I could get one with Jake Seresin x reader where they're very close to each other and flirt with each other all day and makes everyone sick with their shenanigans but they secretly pine for each other... Read Rest Here

A/N: Good old miscommunication trope :) I love writing Jake. Keep on sending these amazing requests in and lmk what you think below! TY for the request @stuffingbuttsandshit

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Y/N

Word Count: 3.3k +

“You’re being dumb, and you know it.” Natasha rolled her eyes before turning back to the traffic light the two of you were stopped at, heading towards the Hard Deck. Your usual Friday night hangout spot after yet another grueling training session with Maverick. He was kicking all of your sorry asses right into shape.

Leaning back into the seat you refused to look at her instead keeping your eyes trained out the window, “He doesn’t like me like that. He’s not a relationship guy Nat. He’s said it a hundred damn times. Why would I be any different?” Sighing in frustration Nat noticed you toying with the hem of your shirt, a nervous habit she picked up on after only you for a short while.

“Because you’re you? He told me yesterday how much he likes you.” She sighed in annoyance as she kept her eyes on the road even though she wanted to slap some sense into you. She often had to restrain herself from quite literally beating you up sometimes.

“As a friend! He likes me as a friend you doofus.” You added on knowing he couldn’t possibly return the feelings you had for him.

She scoffed while very visibly rolling her eyes at you, “Can’t believe you called me a doofus you dork.” She sighed before letting you continue the conversation, “Listen, all the two of you do is flirt. He’s constantly staring at you when you aren’t eye fucking him right on back. I haven’t seen two people get along so easily before in this line of work. Might as well embrace what you have while you have a chance.”

“Whatever. I’ll talk to him tonight.” You didn’t want to admit defeat, but you were growing rather tired of going back and forth with her on it. If there was one thing she was it was adamant, and this was the only way to get her to be quiet about it.

Her eyes lit up almost as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing from your mouth, “Really?”

“Yeah, yeah. If it comes up naturally I will.” You nodded your head thankful she was pulling into the bar already. There was a reason everybody from base went here after work, it was close. And you couldn’t be more thankful to be out of the car away from her prying eyes.

She shut the car off turning back to you, “Good enough for me. Now go in there and get your man.” She smirked knowing it’d set you off. She was right of course.

“Not my man.” You grumbled before happily hopping out of her car that was suffocating with her pressing you on the topic of Lieutenant Jake Seresin.

Of course, you’d love to take the next step with him. You practically threw yourself at the guy every time you hung out with him. But he never seemed to take your advances for what they were. Maybe you weren’t forward enough? Or maybe he just wasn’t a relationship kind of guy. You shuddered at that thought. He’d eventually be a relationship kind of guy. When he wanted to be. Why couldn’t it be with you?

When you walked through the front door and over to your usual spot you didn’t spot him right away. Instead, you spotted Bob and Rooster in the corner chatting away about something intently. Sitting down next to them you waited for their conversation to conclude before interrupting them.

“Hey Y/N.” Bob acknowledged you after a minute. You didn’t mind. Your eyes were busy scanning for Jake. Much to your annoyance you didn’t see him. Was he not here yet? That’d be off, he always beat you to the bar. Always saved a seat for you.

“Hey guys.” You nodded at the both of them with distraction written all over your face.

Rooster smiled over at you knowing exactly who you were looking for, “He’s on the other side of the bar with a friend.”

“Who is?” You couldn’t hide the blush that appeared out of thin air just at the thought of Jake. Were you really that easy to read?

“Hangman.” Rooster leaned forward challenging you, “The guy you’ve been looking for since you walked in.” Bob couldn’t help the small laugh that came from his friends joke.

“I have not.” Your eyes looked everywhere but his.

Bradley laughed, “Sure. Go on then. Go get a drink or something. Definitely don’t go looking for Jake or anything.”

You stook quickly, gracious of his out, “Am I that bad of company?” You mocked offence.

“Hardly.” He smiled shaking his head at your usual antics. Rooster had come to like you quite a bit. You were sharp as a tack, deadly in the air and kinder than they usually came. He’d be a fool not to befriend you. An asset he knew he’d need in the future, “It’s our company I fear that is not nearly riveting enough for you.”

You giggled shaking your head at him, “You’re something else Roos.” Before he could reply you walked over to the bar ordering a drink but also looking for the man who’d taken your heart so effortlessly.

When your eyes scanned the other side of the bar your heart nearly stopped when you finally spotted the guy you’d been looking for. He was sitting there talking, no laughing, with a beautiful blonde woman. Your mouth ran dry as your heart rate picked up at a rapid pace. She was absolutely breathtaking. Far, far more beautiful than you could ever hope to even come close to. If he was chatting her up so easily then how in the hell did you ever think you stood chance with man? Nat was right. You were just you.

You’d let Nat’s words get to your head and get yourself into thinking he’d actually want you. How could you have been so damn stupid? Your eyes watched them carefully as they both seemed overjoyed to be in such an intense conversation going on.

It was Penny who knocked you out of the longing stare that had your thoughts consumed so entirely, “Drink?” She asked.

“Uh, actually I’m alright. Thanks Pen.” You waved her off not wanting to get stuck here longer than you wanted.

She gave you a confused looked before turning away back to her paying customers. You walked out in a half daze thinking about the pretty blonde woman who had captured Jake’s attention whole so easily. You’d managed to avoid everybody on your way out including your ever so nosy friend. You decided to walk home, it was only about a half mile back to your apartment. You’d done it a hundred times before. You were just usually a little drunk and not so heartbroken.

In your mind it was best to simply turn your phone to silent and flip it over while you watched reruns of your favorite shows once you got home. You’d decided it was best to throw yourself a little mini pity party mourning a relationship that’d never be. So that’s exactly what you did. Ignored your phone and watched television. That was your first mistake. Your second was ignoring the knocks on the door. Instead, you turned the TV up just a little louder pretending you couldn’t hear it. Once the heavy banging on the door commenced you knew you could no longer ignore it.

You flung the door open in irritation not knowing who exactly it was but assuming it was Nat, “Would you quiet down? You’re going to get me in trouble…” The words stopped dead in your mouth as you observed Jake on the other side of the door and not Nat. Jake. Shit.

“You didn’t answer my texts.” He frowned giving you a once over scan that you would’ve missed if your eyes weren’t so trained on his. He was checking to make sure you were physically fine. You knew that.

“I turned my phone on silent. Wanted a night to myself.” You answered him before continuing with your own question, “What are you doing here?”

“Or my calls. You ignored my calls.” His frown deepened as he scanned your apartment behind you now. What was he looking for?

You sighed now, getting a little frustrated with his seemingly impromptu visit, “I told you. My phone is on silent in another room.”

That snapped him out of whatever he was doing. You usually didn’t have such a hostile tone with him. Everything with you was usually so gentle. The hostility was left for the skies, “Why? Why weren’t you at the Hard Deck tonight? Nat said you came in with her?” He looked so confused, almost hurt?

You nodded, “I did. I just felt, unwell.” It wasn’t an outright lie. Seeing Jake with that beautiful blonde woman made you more nauseous than you’d like to admit.

“Oh okay.” He frowned giving you another once over, “Are you alright?” He took a step to the side looking almost bashful. Not as confident as he normally came off. It was odd to see him so out of sorts. What was the reason? Surely it couldn’t have been you.

You took a moment to contemplate his question. You were fine, certainly. Just a little devastated for something that would never occur. A future you yearned for that would never begin. But you were fine.

“I’m alright. Why are you here Jake?” You asked once more not stepping away from the front door. Not letting him in but not shooing him away either. You’d usually let him waltz through without a worry, but something was stopping you.

“To check in. I got worried when you wouldn’t answer. You always do.” He answered without a beat. He didn’t look l

“Oh.” You nodded at him. That was kind. That was very much like him, “Sorry to make you stop by.”

He shook his head, “It’s alright.” He kept looking you over. You were playing with the hem of your shirt again. Things were awkward. Uncomfortable. You were nervous and he wasn’t saying what he wanted. Unsure of what to say you just looked down. Not ending the conversation but not making it move forward either.

“Well, goodnight.” You said after a few moments of painful silence. There wasn’t usually this much tension between the two of you. It felt wrong. There was never usually such an air of awkwardness such as there was now.

“No, wait.” He put his hand on the doorframe so you couldn’t shut the door. Not that you were planning to shut it in his face, “Is everything alright Y/N? I don’t… I don’t know what happened or what I did.” He paused giving you a genuine look of confusion and concern. A look you weren’t terribly familiar with from the man.

He was right. How would he know? You were being weird and secretive. And now that you knew he was probably dating that girl you couldn’t air out your love to him. That’d just ruin the friendship you’d grown to love with him.

So instead, you had to deflect a bit, “I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

He turned his head in confusion at that, “Pardon?”

“Uh,” Might as well spit out some of the truth, “Tonight. Was going to tell you I was heading home but then I saw you talking to the woman. She was pretty.” You added the last sentence in almost silence hoping he couldn’t detect the jealousy radiating from your body. It wasn’t easy to hide, no.

He crinkled his eyes together, “Who?”

Was he playing dumb? Could the interaction have been so minute that he didn’t even recognize just how gorgeous the woman was? You bit the inside of your mouth to hide your dissatisfied frown, “The blonde woman you were talking to in the booth?”

He cocked his head to the side. First a wave of confusion crossed his face then recognition of the interaction must’ve crossed as his once confused face turned to realization, “You mean Amy?” His smile turned to a knowing smirk once he put two and two together. Jake was anything but dumb. In fact, he was quite intelligent. It hit him as to why your mood would have turned so sour towards him so quickly.

“Amy?” You asked playing right into his hand. He had you now and you didn’t even know it.

He nodded leaning onto the side of the apartment building, “Yup. She was my commanding officer back in Virginia. We were catching up for a moment.” He nodded his head watching you as he reveled in your realization of who he chatting with. He also knew how pretty she was. Jake had thought so since the moment he had laid eyes on her all those years ago. There was a slight problem though, she wasn’t exactly into men. And she wasn’t afraid to let those around her know it. Apparently, you hadn’t picked up on it though. And Jake decided he’d tease you about it for a bit.

“Oh.” You said again as you took a step back while crossing your arms over your chest. It wasn’t exactly an invitation inside the apartment, but it wasn’t not either. Jakes eyebrows quirked up quickly as he realized he was getting somewhere with you. It was cute. You were jealous. You’d been so good at hiding any emotion he wasn’t sure if you actually liked him back. Nat had assured him that you did, and you were just afraid at showing it. Afraid of the consequences once you dove headfirst in. But this was a sign, albeit a small one.

He bobbed his head up and down while taking a small step forward, “Oh indeed.” He gave you a wry smile as his eyes traced over your face, “She was just telling me about how she and her wife were looking at adopting once they get settled out here.”

Your eyes rose in recognition of what he had told you, “Her wife?”

He took another small step forward, shrinking the already small space between the two of you, “Of three years. I was invited to the wedding. It was nice.” He grinned knowing he had you now. Your little outburst and show looked a little silly. He knew you felt embarrassed because he knew you. He adored you. He had begun to love you.

You looked down letting a small sigh of defeat out. You did feel embarrassed. Mortified actually. This is why you didn’t jump to conclusions. This right here. You stepped away from the door officially inviting him inside. He’d done nothing wrong. And even if he was flirting with a pretty blonde girl he would’ve done nothing wrong. You didn’t have any claim over him. Crap. You’d just made an unknowing mess of everything.

Jake didn’t hesitate at your invitation in. A sort of nonverbal apology he happily accepted. He sat down on the couch opposite of you giving you a smile, “You don’t look sick.” He said to you.

“I feel better.” You gave him a quick nod knowing your cheeks were beginning to flush right in front of him.

“Did your illness have anything to do with Amy?” He pressed deciding he wanted to cross the invisible line between the two of you tonight. Your acting out showed him just how much you actually did like him.

“No!” You were quick to answer, far too quick.

His little grin grew into that signature Jake smirk. The one that was often reflected at you in a much different light. Not like this. Not like he’d caught you doing something because he actually did.

“You sure about that?” He leaned so far froward you were sure he was trying to touch you now. Egg you on. Press your buttons. Cross the line. Maybe Nat wasn’t wrong? Maybe he did have feelings?

With wide eyes you shook your head, “No.”

He scooted over on the couch, so he was sitting next to you now. He reached out, placing a hand on your knee, “You seem… a little jealous?”

Your eyes were staring right at his hand that seemed to engulf your knee. You tried to answer him, really. But when you opened your mouth not a sound would come out. You shut your mouth in an instant before turning to him knowing he was right. You were a little jealous. But did you really have to admit it to him?

He leaned a bit closer to you, running his hand just a touch up your leg, before whispering in your ear, “For what it’s worth, I think it’s adorable that you’re a little jealous.”

Thankful for him giving you a little relief you finally found your words again, “You do?”

The smirk turned down into a soft smile as he saw the lack of confidence in your face. Had he not done enough to assure you of how he really felt? He’d thought he made it pretty obvious.

“I do. I think it’s really cute. Wanna know another little secret I’ve been keeping from you?” He asked you.

Your heart rate involuntarily picked up at that, “Yes.” It sounded more of a whisper than anything else. But you couldn’t quite help it. You were nervous. He made you terribly nervous.

“I think you’re the prettiest woman I’ve ever got to know.” He smiled watching your reaction. It was nice seeing you so expressive with him. You’d always been so cautious and reserved with him. Collected and calculated. But you no longer had to be. Not when he’d been so outright with it now.

“Now, I know you’re joking.” You laughed not so sure of his admission to you. But his face said otherwise.

“Have I lied to you before?” He asked knowing the answer was an easy no.

You shook your head in response, “No.”

He smiled softly moving his hand from your leg to your hand, “Why would I start now then?”

You gulped at the seriousness in his tone and through his expression. He wasn’t lying. He was out here admitting his feelings towards you. Damn. Nat was right. More than right. You were a fucking idiot.

Before you could stop the words that came out of your mouth you finally admitted to him how you’d been feeling, “I like you.”

He smile before capturing your face in his free hand, “A little jealousy always helps.” Brushing your lip with his thumb he studied your face intently, “I like you too. I like you more than you can even imagine.”

A breath of relief washed out of you as the words you’d been dying to hear left his lips, “That’s good to hear.”

He started laughing. A good old hearty laugh that filled you with your own sense of joy and giggles, “Let me take you out on a real proper date darlin’?” He asked once the shared laughter between the two of you had died down.

You nodded quickly, breathlessly as you took in his lovestruck gaze, “I’d like that.”

His other hand joined him as he cupped your face in his embrace. You were truly vulnerable as hell to him, a position you’d tried to avoid from the get-go. But you couldn’t help it. You were falling for him, fast.

“You have no idea how bad I want to kiss you right now pretty girl.”

You leaned towards him without a second thought, “Then do it.”

He thought for a second before shaking his head, “Can’t kiss you without taking you out first darlin’.”

You bit your lip knowing it’d drive him past his breaking point, “Please? You don’t have to be a gentleman tonight.”

He groaned, tightening his embrace on your face as carefully as he could, “How can I say no when you ask like that?”

Jake Seresin/Top Gun: Permanent Taglist (Message me or comment below if you want to be added!): @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @mamachasesmayhem

[eveningepiphany]

welcome to the final show | H.S oneshot

my masterlist!

summary: you take a beautiful sign to the final show and have the sweetest interaction with harry. then somehow bump into him in italy 2 days later.

warnings: nothing but fluff, and a few little mentions of how he saved your life!

a/n: i am so fucking proud of h. i want to give him a hug more than anything. this is for all my lovelies who love hslot so fckn much it makes them ill.

also this is such an unrealistic oneshot but like that’s just the way for it ig

———

There’s a certain type of atmosphere that comes around once and a while. It’s rare.

It’s one that no matter how many photos or videos you take, you can’t capture it. One that no word has enough emotional range behind it to convey the feeling it opens up in you.

That is the only way to get close to even describe standing where you are.

You can’t lie, you had waited hours upon hours in the Italian sun just to feel the warm metal of the barricade underneath your palms.

You’d waited years just to get here in general.

When you turn your head to look behind you, you see tens of thousands of people there. Going from visible, overwhelmingly happy faces to a sea of tiny dots.

But you’re here. At the front.

You smile because you made it. This has, albeit dramatic, been a home to you over the past 2 years.

A creature comfort. One you followed every step of the way. And somehow you can’t believe you made it here, and neither would the girl back 18 months ago watching a pixelated Instagram livestream.

Standing in your outift, which took more rhinestones and glitter than you could ever have kept track of.

But you shined under the sun like a mirrorball, so it all felt worth it. Even though you swear there’s still glue stuck under your nails.

Your friends around you shared water, staying hydrated as the show starting neared. Wetleg had already preformed their final set. And tears had been randomly springing on you all day.

You heard the power in the crowd as they sung the prelude songs, goosebumps dotting over your body as you realise he’s probably able to hear it now.

Soon enough he’ll be looking at it. In all of its 100,000 people glory.

“You okay lovely?” Sofia, an Italian girl you’d met in the line checked in on you.

You nodded with a heartfelt smile. The whole experience was so bittersweet. Full of lasts.

“I’m okay. Just so so proud.” You nodded and she softly chuckles.

Her outfit was an electric blue that contrasted her tan skin, “I have some granola bars in my bag if you’re hungry? You should eat, we’ve been standing in the heat all day.”

Your best friend from your other side peered over, drawn back into conversation after being lost in the magic of the crowd surrounding her.

“On cry number— let me guess— 24 of the day?” She said it teasingly.

“Saying that as if you don’t already have mascara stains half down your face.” You grumble back jokingly, leaning your head back to look at the pastel blue sky.

You turned back to Sofia, “We’ll save them for after, maybe lay down on the ground and eat them or something.”

You only said no because you felt like you could probably be sick right now.

“Amore sciocco, troppo testardo il tuo bene, mio dio.” She mutters under her breath with a laugh, shaking her head at you disapprovingly.

“Trash talking her again in Spanish. God I wish I knew how to speak it.” You elbow your best friend at her quip.

You could stay in this moment forever.

As Bohemian Rhapsody begins playing you watch the sun go down, and in this very moment, It is your forever.

You live and breathe every second of it. All the way into peace piece, and as you’re gripping the girls around you for dear life as the lights start to dim along with the setting sun.

Harry coming has the arena screaming so loud it would have been heard for miles. He looks beautiful.

Like a shiny star up on stage. Blowing kisses and sending thank you’s to as many areas of the crowd be possibly could.

Mouthing words in Italian, causing Sofia to almost pass out beside you she screeched that hard the first time he did it.

And him counting in Golden with their language, speaking proudly into the mic— “Uno, due— uno, due, tres!”

“HES— WHAT THE FUCK!!” You’re laughing, holding her hand as she shouts frantically.

Songs bleed into one after another, going on your part from embarrassing screaming and dancing onto equally embarrassing crying.

The overwhelming feeling of seeing him so close— so damn close you can see each individual sequin on his silver outfit when his on the main stage at his mic stand in the centre.

You don’t even realise he’s doing a sign reading interlude until Sofia hands you yours from where it leant on the bottom of the barricade at your feet.

You were enamoured by him.

Taking the sign, your hands shook a little as he was on the main stage. Right in front of you.

His eyes are scanning the crowd, glancing over some signs and smiling.

“We have a choice tonight,” he begins, voice echoing through the speakers.

“we can either move quickly through signs, in which case, we’ll be able to give you some more songs!” An array of screams come from everyone, and you feel sick just at the prospect he was suggesting. The fact he could pull out any song.

He chuckles, walking further towards the area of the pit where you are, “Just an idea, just an idea!”

You’re pretty sure the girls are yelling something about him walking over, but you’re stunned at what’s happening overall, and you can’t even process what they’re saying.

But contradictory to what he’d just said. He stops a moment.

From his perspective, he saw a handful of very bright colours in the front of the crowd. One holding up an equally eye catching sign.

But he takes a moment to blink, focus in on the person holding it.

This girl has her eyes locked dead onto him, like as if he moves an inch— something could implode at any moment. Yet it somehow comes across in a flattering way.

And then he reads the sign.

‘you saved me. i cant thank you enough for that. BTW…’

His heart immediately pangs. Already too emotional at this whole event to be reading a sign like that.

You are in shock. Because he certainly just made eye contact with you and he’s been staring at your sign for a few good seconds.

“Can— wait can you turn that for me, love?” His voice falters a little.

As if Harry Styles just asked you to do something, you move with a haste you never had.

However you misinterpreted his question, turning the sign clockwise like as if it was upside down. Feeling a little embarrassed in yourself that it was around the wrong way.

He chuckles into the mic, causing a small uproar at the softness of it.

“Wrong way, it has B-T-W on it so I’m assuming there’s more on the back.”

“Oh, god— sorry!” You shout out to him, it sounding a little shaky, and you can’t lie that tears were threatening to spill from your eyes.

You had waited so fucking long to have a chance to tell him that he genuinely saved your life. And you’re finally doing it.

Also spinning the sign so the back of it is facing him, and his eyes flit gently over it too.

‘you have by far the prettiest smile ever.’ It reads, with a few large red hearts around it, decorated with glitter and rhinestones.

A dimple pops out on his cheek and he covers his mouth with a hand, flattered as ever.

“Why thank you.” He does a little bow as well, and you’re laughing out of shock. You’re interacting with him right now.

He straightens up, “I’m flattered as ever.” Prodding one of his dimples as he shows off just how pretty his smile is.

“And thank you for coming, it means everything to me.” He flushes a little, laughing at himself and your still starstruck reaction.

“You are stronger than you probably think. What’s your name?”

A tear breaks past your waterline, and you call out, “Y/N!”

Both girls at your side are clutching you like no tomorrow, and Harry takes his in-ear out to hear you better.

You call it out again, he makes only one off guess before he gets it. And your name rolling off his accent tongue makes your stomach flip.

“Y/N? That’s right— well that was a pretty good record for name guessing—“ he laughs, walking over as close as he can to the edge of the stage.

He holds the mic up to his mouth, “make some noise for Y/N everyone!”

You are in complete shock as you hear the whole arena cheer and holler for you, and Harry has this wholesome feeling of adoration wash over him as he sees your reaction.

The tears slipping down your pink cheeks. If he could, he honestly would go down there and wipe them off.

Not something he often find himself thinking. Yet here he is.

“Thank you for coming Y/N. What do you say we do some more songs?” He asks, smiling at the shocked raise of your brows.

“Yes, please.” You enthusiastically reply.

“Alright, you heard her. More songs it is!”

And so the show continues on. The second he breaks eye contact and moves away, a sob tears out of you.

You can’t believe that just happened. And the fact the rest of the show— unless you’re delusional, and making this up in your head— he lingers anytime he’s going past where you are. Catching your eyes, and smiling a little wider.

And you’re absolutely a wreck at the speech he makes, even though Sofia has to translate every word that leaves his mouth.

But if that nearly killed you, the piano ballad was honestly your final straw.

You cried so hard you couldn’t see the fucking stage at one point. And you wish you could say you were embarrassed for him to see you as he did one last round of goodbyes. But you couldn’t.

It was all your love and appreciation for him, poured out of you through the tears streaming down your face.

To your disbelief, he stops in front of you again, blowing a kiss to your friends and then one to you.

Bending down a little further to look at you, lips starting to move— from what your could hardly hear, and mostly got from reading his lips, he said ‘thank you, I love you.”

You blow a kiss back.

And before you know it, the show has ended. And there’s this full, yet hollow feeling inside of you.

Like you’re not sure how to feel. You miss him already, but that was by far the most amazing experience of your life.

You’re overwhelmed, with love and gratitude. And you, Sofia and your best friend end up doing what you’d proposed earlier before the show.

Eating chocolate granola bars with your back up against the barricade, tears still falling from your eyes.

———

Post love on tour depression is a real thing.

There is no normal explanation for having to force yourself to get up to have an amazing brunch in Italy of all places.

But 2 days after the show day, you’re doing just that. Dressing in a nice summer outfit at the very least, and taking your LOT bag with you.

The streets aren’t too busy considering it’s midday, and you make your way through them peacefully. Stoping to peak into stores, or take photos of little things you like every now and again.

And all your adventuring leads you to a beautiful little corner-cafe. One that the second you step foot into, you are comforted by its cozy feel & strong aroma of coffee.

The building itself had all its historic bones, but had been modernised. Fitted with sleek wooden floors and new furniture. Walls painted a crisp white to brighten up the already light filled room.

You find the menu hanging above where the counter is, on large pretty chalkboards.

You’re mulling over what to get when you hear a voice from beside you.

It causes you to jump a little at it’s unexpectedness, “I like your bag.”

It’s said with the tone that you can tell someone is smiling. And you turn to greet the person who had just spoken to you.

That’s when you’re met with a sight that knocks the wind from you.

Beside you— standing tall, with his tousled brown curls and rolled up linen long-sleeve is quite literally the man you saw on stage 2 nights ago.

“Oh my god—“ you jump a little at the realisation, it hitting you like a train within seconds. But you’re trying to keep you voice down, as to not cause some kind of scene.

He laughs at your stunned reaction, the way your ringed hand goes over your mouth. It’s a reaction he’s accustomed to. But the way your pretty features portray the expression has him all the more intrigued.

He does his classic introduction, “Hi, love. I’m harry.” Sticking his hand out, smiling. Like as if you didn’t know.

“I— well I did notice that.” You rush out in a nervous laugh. Glancing around looking for some kind of film camera, gauging if this is a set up and not a coincidence.

You’re left realising it’s just the two of you, and some older guy with a newspaper a few metres away at a window seat.

But no one with a camera or phone out filming this interaction.

You shake his hand after a moment of hesitation, telling yourself mentally you’re not going to cry as your relish the feeling of his calloused fingertips against the base of your wrist.

“Hi…” You flush profusely.

“What are you ordering?” He smiles at you, and your eyes are so obviously darting over his every feature.

Which you feel like you couldn’t stop from happening when he’s this close, and you’re able to fully see the plains of his beautiful face.

The structure of his jawline— that’s dotted with a light stubble—his cupids bow lips, the definition in his cheekbones. And fuck his eyes.

That are very intensely locked onto yours…

“Oh. I’m sorry. I…” you fumble for words a little, “probably like a tea. That’s usually my go to.”

He nods, “let me get it for you, please. How do you have it?”

“No, no. It’s okay, you don’t need to do that.” You insist immediately, because even though the gestures small, it feels like too much.

“Y/N.” He tuts gently.

“Weird that you remember that.” You think aloud, unable to filter the shock at the fact he just said your name. Even though the show was only 2 days ago, when he learnt it.

“Of course I do. You had quite the sign. I won’t lie, it made me tear up a bit.” He laughs, pushing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes.

“Well, It was true. Not to be cheesy or anything, but your music genuinely means everything to me.” You say carefully. Not wanting to come across as weird.

“And love on tour was one of the best experiences of my life. So… thank you for that.”

“Thank you.” He smiled at your shyness. And you recall the fact you told him he had a pretty smile.

Prettiest smile. The fact he knows you think that?

You wonder if he’s thought the same thing at all in the last 5 minutes.

“Your support means as much to me. Wouldn’t be able t’do what I do if it weren’t for people like you.”

“Now, how you have your tea?” He reiterates, asking for an answer, not for another polite declination.

“I— okay. Since it’s clear you’re not going to take no for an answer.” You sigh. Corners of your mouth upturning anyway at his stubborn ways.

You rattle off how you have it, and he nods, mentally noting it down like this is going to be a regular occurrence.

He walks over to the counter and you shuffle over to the side that you’ll pick up the order from. Watching carefully as he goes up, you take in his much more causal appearance to the usual extravagance of the outfits he adorns on stage.

Hes got a pair of denim shorts on—strong legs on display— paired with a white longsleeve that’s rolled up his fore arms.

You avert your gaze to the older Italian man at the register, clueless to who he is serving.

Until a younger girl, say 15, walks from the back room and does the biggest double take youve ever witnessed.

Harry has to be used to it, because there was no way anyone could miss that.

You’re feeling like you’re in a parallel universe. Because Harry is just casually strolling back over to you, like you’ve known each other for more than a total of two, 5 minute interactions.

You take a breath, reminding yourself simply that he is a human. Just like you are. He wakes up in the morning, has bad days and good days, has habits and routines he follows— just like anyone else.

You keep this in consideration as you open your mouth to speak, “Thank you for doing that. How have you been?”

He smiles at your shy tone, a tiny wholesome feeling bubbling up at your question.

“I’m good, honestly. It’s been a big start to the year. I’m excited to take some time off even though wrapping it up the other night was really hard.” He nods, eyes casually trailing the man who was making the drinks.

“If it makes any difference, I was sobbing like a baby at pretty much every point of the show.” You laughed.

“I did see your very tear stained cheeks.” He shocks himself little with his continuation,

“Would’ve jumped down and given you a hug if I had the bloody time.” And he smiles with gratification as you mask your shocked reaction as much as possible. However, tiny little micro-movements in your face were still popping through. “I went a little overtime with the speech.”

Just human to human. You drew a tiny breath through your nose, “Which was great by the way. I mean my friend had to translate the whole thing, but was also another tear jerker.”

He goes to say something else, interrupted by the call of his name from the counter.

In which he collects the drinks from the lovely man, smiling at him with a warm thank you before turning to come back to you.

“Here you go, darling.” He hands over yours, and his green eyes look bright as ever.

The darling makes your stomach flip. He’s British, they use pet names like this in passing conversation often. But fuck if you didn’t know any better you’d think there was a chance he was flirting with you.

“Thank you. You really didn’t have to, but I appreciate it.” You repeat.

“You have a different accent, you’re not from Italy no?” He interjects and you’re a little confused at the sudden change of topic.

“No I’m not from here…?” you laugh.

“So you’ve travelled all this way to come see me I’m assuming, the least I can do is buy you a tea. Think of it as a thank you.”

He tests the waters a little further, “i don’t usually stay in cafes for overly long but, if you have time to sit for a bit…”

“You continue to amaze me.” You chuckle, slowly following behind him as he pulls up a chair, back to the window.

“You also made me a very flattering sign. So im just being courteous, as a way to return the favour.” He smirks almost. And you’re honestly not strong enough to endure this.

“And that little piano thing you did? Is this compensation for my mental health?” You hold the cup up and he lets out a surprised laugh at your gentle quip.

“Yes, I’ve heard word that it came across as emotional as I’d intended.”

“You could hear a pin drop in the whole arena.” You nodded, taking a sip of the tea he’d bought you.

“I was so worried I was gonna fuck it up somehow.” He shakes his head, hand running through his hair as though he was anxious just at the thought.

“It sounded amazing, Harry. Made me feel a lot how fine line did when I first listened to it.”

He looks sincere with gratitude as you talk. And it stays that way as he continues on conversation with you.

You know heaps about him— you’re a fangirl that’s practically your job— yet he doesn’t know anything about you. Leaving him curious about many aspects of your life, and also with plenty of questions. Ones he really can’t believe he is even asking given you’re a fan, and he’s never actually done this before.

Whatever this is, because it felt a lot like a first date. With the way he asked where you were from, who you came to Italy with, where you grew up.

The whole lot. Your drinks both long since finished, but the questions still flowing between you two. Like there was never enough information to be learned.

He was interrupted by a call, and it almost popped this little bubble you’d made around yourselves.

Which possibly wasn’t a bad thing for him. But it served as a reality check for you.

You’re still just a fan at the end of the day. Even though your not sure how that term stands after he knows about your favourite foods, or childhood stories from your younger years. Because you feel like now that he knows that, the dynamic feels different to you.

But most of all you dreaded the fact you had to say goodbye again. But now you have to say it knowing that he walks away from this knowing things personal to you.

You realise he’s on the phone to his mum as he talks, “Yea, tell Gem to grab them anyway… I’ll be back soonish.”

He glances up at your after a moment of brief silence, “I’m just out with a friend of mine I… bumped into. So I’ll see you soon, okay?”

A friend of his?

“Alright, bye, I love you.”

And just like that the phone hung up.

“I’m feeling very special at my label. A friend of yours.” You laugh, but not lying whatsoever.

“Was m’mum. We’re having a late lunch at her BNB.” He explained, and the fact he didn’t object his choice of wording meant even more to you than anything.

You stare at him a moment, both mutually realising that this moment was seemingly going to have to end at some point.

“I don’t often do things like this.” He shrugs, watching your eyes train on random objects around the room as you get lost in thought.

“What do you mean?” You ask.

“Never sat down with a fan and just had a drink. It was lovely, thank you for being so polite.” He smiles again at you.

It surprised him just how far he went with it. But you had this gentle aura about you. He knew of all people, you were safe to share this private slice of himself with.

“Thank you for buying my drink… to have spent this time talking, it— well it meant a lot to me.”

“I would give you my number if my manager wouldn’t kill me.”

As stated, he continues to surprise himself just how far he’s going.

Your brain stalls at his comment.

“You could just have mine? Buy a burner phone and text me off it.” You make the first suggestion that comes to mind and he barks out a laugh.

“Could just reaffirm that you weren’t going to sell my number off to fans on Twitter?”

“Ah, that could also work too.” You nod, raising your brows.

He pulls his phone from his pocket, and your heart genuinely palpitates. Because how the fuck had you managed this.

“Gimmie yours, if you’d like?” He slides it over, and you feel like you’re picking up something with more value than just a phone. I mean it’s Harry Styles’ phone of all things.

You begin to type it in, glancing up as his gaze is trained on you, “how many numbers of fans do you have banked up in here?”

He rolls his eyes at your tease, still smiling, “I’ll have you know you’ll be the first. If my mums counts though, then only two.”

“I just…” he pauses, pursing his lips as he looks for the right words, “knew I’d regret it if I didn’t have a way to get in touch with you. I’d say we’ve got a lot in common and it’s always nice to meet new people. And I don’t want to be thinking later ‘wow, she was lovely, wish I could have kept in touch’. Y’know?”

You send yourself a text, just a simple ‘:)’ so it saves in his recent messages. “Well, I suppose I’d be a little sad too. Probably start sending emails to your manager trying to find a way to get in touch again.”

He laughs at this, standing up from his chair and pocketing his phone in his shorts once you hand it back to him.

You also rise from the table, watching his movements keenly.

“Makes this part less sad.” He says, in reference to the impending goodbye, “I’m not leaving Italy for a little bit though, and if you’re sticking around as well, maybe I can buy your more cups of tea— to make you feel even more guilty about it, of course.”

You let out a soft chuckle, “Yea, I’m not leaving for a little while…”

He walks to your side of the table, not hesitating to pull you into a hug that leaves you winded.

You freeze a millisecond before jumping to embrace it. Enjoying the gentle yet strong feeling of his body holding yours. And the way his hands are ever-so-slightly caressing your lower back.

“Thanks for hanging out, alright? Don’t be shy to message me.” He murmurs into your hair.

“I— okay. I won’t. Thank you, Harry.” You smile into the crook of his neck.

He gives a final squeeze before pulling back. Fighting the internal urge to press a little kiss to your temple.

“I’ll see you around, hopefully. Bye Y/N.” He gives you a final smile before waving goodbye, and heading out the cafe.

Your head is reeling as he exits. Unsure if you just imagined that whole thing. You needed someone to pinch you, because as far as your concerned that whole interaction was something you dreamed up.

You check your phone to see the time.

1:53pm

1 new notification

Unknown Number | :)

So that actually did just happen.

———

To reaffirm that you weren’t the only person in the world to witness what happened today, you see a tweet reposted on an update account that reads,

so, i just saw harry styles in the cafe i work at, and he sat down and drank a tea with someone he talked to at a show. not naming the interaction for privacy but like… what the fuck?

And secretly you smile. Maybe this is something you’ll keep to yourself for a bit. Like he’s a new secret friend of yours.

———

part two!!

[luveline]

is there any way we could get badass!reader x spencer? except he’s injured this time? how does she react?

tysm ♡ cw hospital / gunshot wounds. 1.1k

"You have to let me see him." 

"It's family only," the nurse says, shrugging sympathetically. 

You grit your teeth. "That's what I'm telling you, I am his family. We've been together for four months." 

"Sorry. Unless you're blood related or his next of kin, I can't let you." 

"Spencer's next of kin is in a sanitarium in Las Vegas. I don't understand why you can't let me see him." You're trying not to shout at her, rage trembling in your aching fingers. "I understand that it's night time, and that he was admitted alone, but he was shot, he's not sick, and I can't make him worse. Please. You have to let me see him." 

When begging doesn't work, you get mean. You'd be ashamed to admit you flashed your badge if it weren't for the fact that you have no shame when it comes to Spencer. Face flushed with heat from a good twenty minutes yelling, a different nurse escorts you to Spencer's room. 

"I expect my colleagues will be arriving soon," you say. "And I expect they'll be met with less resistance." 

The nurse smiles at you, as fake as they come, but you don't deserve a real one. You don't care. Breaking rules and bending policies means nothing to you while Spencer's laying alone in a hospital bed. 

His heart monitor beeps steadily. He's sleeping, waxy face crushed sideways into a limp pillow, his stomach a lump under the sheets where he's been wrapped. He was alone when it happened —no one, BAU or otherwise, knows who did it or why. The hospital didn't know who Spencer was until he woke up after surgery and told them himself. 

And you'd been sitting at home feeling sorry for yourself (and vaguely irritated) because he didn't answer your text that morning. 

It's not hard being vulnerable with Spencer. He's your widely known soft spot, and you're unashamed. But it felt like a mistake, constantly checking to see if he'd answered your text. Good morning, I know we're supposed to see each other tomorrow but do you want to come over and watch movies tonight? Let me know had felt like I'm pathetic and in love with you and my day revolves around when you're free.

None of that matters now. In fact, it's all embarrassingly small. 

You creep up beside his bed and reach out tentatively. His hair falls out of his face with the barest of touches. He's had blood wiped poorly from his cheek, orangey streaks lining his jaw. His undereyes are dark like he hasn't eaten for days, his veins spider legs stark against his eyelids. 

You put your hand on his cheek, rubbing it lightly. "I'm sorry it took me so long," you say, leaning down to kiss his forehead.  

Spencer stirs, a groan rumbling from the centre of his chest. 

"I thought that was you," he mumbles, his fingers brushing your elbow. 

"When?" you ask. 

"You were yelling." 

Yeah, well. You need to be disruptive sometimes. "They wouldn't let me in." You're not a big crier, just seeing him like this, knowing he was alone and probably scared, it has tears pricking. "Spencer, I'm so sorry." 

"Hey." He clears his throat, your emotion starting him into wakefulness. "Hey, don't get upset. It's okay. It bounced off of me–" You groan and he laughs, though he grabs your elbow quickly after. "Ouch. Don't make me laugh." 

"I didn't say anything." You pet his face. He looks pretty even when he's in a bad way. Your chest is a pit. 

"It barely touched me. They said my feminine hips saved my life." 

"Stop trying to make me laugh," you say pleadingly. 

Spencer holds your gaze. "Stop looking so sad and I'll stop."

"Are you hurting?" you ask. You know you sound awful, a scared tone that he's never heard from you before, and you try to tamp it down as a lone tear breaks free, streaking down your cheek. "How's your pain? I can make them give you more–" 

"I know you can. I'm fine now you're here." 

You lean down to kiss the tip of his pert nose. Careful, you kiss his lips, enthused when he kisses up. "I'll take care of everything," you promise. 

The door opens behind you. You give Spencer a last squeeze and find Emily in the entrance with a bag pressed to her chest, her hair windblown, shocked with worry. 

"Spencer," she says, rushing forward to hug him. 

He's in a hospital bed and still insists on comforting her as he'd done you, arms threaded over her shoulders. "Hey. I'm fine." 

"Morgan and Garcia want to be here," she assures him, standing straight. "They're trying to keep the site clean. Spencer, what the hell happened?" 

You drag a chair to his bed and sit on his right. You don't take his hand, he doesn't offer it, but the longer his story goes, the closer you find yourself. "I didn't even realise they were following me," he's saying. Emily nods with Hotch on the phone, listening intently, repeating anything Hotch misses. 

You know you should be strong. Brave. You should be paying attention to his every word, ready to take the rains and solve the case, serve retribution against whoever it is that thought they could hurt him, but Spencer looks so tired. You can't imagine being anywhere that isn't his side right now. A blood bag fills at his side, a catheter runs under the bed, an IV line feeding pain medication and fluids into him mottled the skin on the inside of his wrist with bruise. Sometimes you have to stay put.  

Emily hugs you before she leaves. You hug back. 

"If I knew getting hurt would make you accept love from your friends, I would've done it sooner," Spencer says. 

"If you ever get hurt like this again, I'll never speak to you," you say, bringing his arm to your lips and pressing a kiss to the crook of his elbow. 

"Sorry for scaring you." 

You lay your cheek on his arm, looking up at him through your eyelashes. "That's okay. That's fine. Wasn't your fault." 

Spencer drops his chin to his chest. "Do I look bad from this angle?" 

"No. You look just as nice as you always do." Your throat burns with sincerity. You might cry again. 

Spencer nods like he's reading something else from what you've said. It's not that you'd meant to imply a double meaning, but he must see on your face how relieved you are, and how terrified you'd been. He brings his hand to your face, ignoring his cannula, to wipe the dried tears from your lashes. "You look pretty, too," he says. "Just don't cry anymore."