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pascalpanic · 3 years

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Miller Morales Mechanic Shop (Frankie Morales x f!Reader)

Part One of Miller Morales Mechanic Shop

Summary: Something is wrong with your car. What, exactly? You have no clue. So you bring it in to some professionals- who also have a toddler running around the shop.

W/C: 2.3k

Warnings: language, Frankie is a dad, brief mention of divorce and trauma bc poor Frankie, there is a child heavily involved in this so if you don’t like kids this isn’t for you :)

A/N: WELCOME TO PART ONE EVERYONE! This is such a cute AU and I’m BEYOND excited to start sharing it with you all! I don’t know how many parts this will be or anything but I can’t wait to take it and run with it.

Marisol Morales behaves for very few people. One of those is Ben Miller. Unfortunately, she has decided to break her own rules today.

Frankie loves summer. He loves his little girl playing outside in her baby pool, taking her for walks around the neighborhood with their three-legged dog, all of the fun parts. The hard part is when the nanny goes on a vacation and Mari has to come to work with him.

Benny and Frankie, ever since the chaos that was the Lorea mission, run a small mechanic shop together. Miller Morales Mechanic Shop isn’t necessarily the busiest place in town, but they make enough to get by and have some disposable income too. Mari loves to hang around the shop with her daddy and uncle. She’s there more than Frankie would like, but he supposes it’s not the worst thing in the world. When Frankie and Jules split and Frankie won full custody, he’d hoped a nanny would take care of most everything when Mari is home all day in summer. Sadly, he was in for a rude awakening when no Mary Poppins showed up on his doorstep.

It’s normally not too bad; Benny hung the moon in Mari’s eyes. If she won’t do something for her daddy, which is still somewhat rare, she’ll always do it for her Uncle Benny. That makes the day run much smoother. Mari has a whole host of quiet-time activities and toys to play with, and the men generally trade off periods of either working on the cars or being with the little girl.

Her favorite activities at the shop include drawing on the concrete with thick sticks of chalk and playing with her toy helicopters and planes. Benny insists tanks are cooler, but Mari prefers flying her Polly Pockets in the chopper, running through the garage and making flight noises. She’s a smart little thing; for her age, she’s picked up big words and can make sentences out of three words, which is quite a stretch for a baby just over two years of age. She calls for Benny and Daddy and knows the names of his tools: wench, scu-dwive, and her favorite, win-seeled wipe fwuid. She loves to babble at customers while they get their oil changed.

Being shit with cars is no fun. It only increases the anxiety when some light flashes on your dashboard. The lights can mean so many things that you find it ridiculous; “check engine”? Check it for what? To save yourself the anxiety, you find your nearest mechanic and pay them to deal with it.

Today, as you pull over into a gas station, you check your phone and find that the nearest shop is a place you haven’t heard of. It must be new. Miller Morales Mechanic Shop, 0.6 miles away. The name implies something more local and homegrown. You’re more than willing to support a place like that, so you start up the engine, pray you don’t explode, and make your way over to the shop.

It’s nearby, like the map indicated. The outside is a quaint little place, tucked in a strip mall next to a coffee shop, a dentist, and an insurance agency. The three car bays are empty, and knowing next to nothing about how these shops work, you pull inside and park your car, letting it run as you wait for an employee. The bell dinged to let them know you were here, so you stay patient and listen idly to the hum of the talk radio show from your car’s speakers.

After a minute or two pass, you realize that maybe this wasn’t the right place to be. Maybe you were supposed to go in the front or something. Concluding that you probably aren’t where you’re supposed to be, you turn off the car and get out only to be greeted by the sound of buzzing lips.

You can hear a baby’s voice, mimicking some kind of vehicle’s sound, and for a second you’re worried this place must have you hearing things. Then, from a swinging door to the front comes a little girl, running and babbling to herself about her toy helicopter.

She has a head full of dark brown curls, tied back into two puffs with pink scrunchies, and matching pink leggings and a t-shirt far too big for her, the back emblazoned with the shop’s logo. She’s barefoot, tiny feet slapping against the cold cement.

“I told you I had to piss, Fish!” A man’s voice shouts from one end of the garage.

“No you didn’t, dipshit!” Another man shouts back. Being caught in the middle of their argument is quite comical, if you’re being honest with yourself. “She’s fucking two! You can’t leave her alone like that, man!”

The first voice is matched to a person as a tall blonde man emerges from the customer service side of the shop. “Marisol Morales, come here,” he insists sternly as he rolls up the sleeves of his jumpsuit. “Come on, you’re gonna trip.” Ben is embroidered on a patch over his heart.

She pouts at him before stumbling forward and continuing to run, stopping as she sees you and looking up in confusion. Her lower lip sticks out in a pout as her eyes scan your face, as if she’s trying to remember if she knows who you are. “Hi,” she finally concedes as you bend to her level.

“Hi there,” you smile and hold out a hand. “What’s your name?” You pick her up, holding her on your hip so that she doesn’t trip, like Ben so desperately feared.

The second, unknown voice shouts for the little girl again before boots clunk on concrete up to you, rounding your car and stopping. This must be the girl’s father, you realize, as you rake your eyes up his body. He wears the same navy blue jumpsuit as the other man, though it’s unsnapped over his chest, exposing the white t-shirt beneath. The patch on his chest reads Catfish. He wears a ball cap and warm brown curls peek out from under it. He has scruff and a hooked nose that perfectly matches the one on the little girl. “I Mari,” she introduces herself proudly.

“Hey, leave her alone, Mar,” the man shakes his head as he hoists her up to hold her on his hip. “I’m so sorry about that,” he says with an embarrassed smile, showing a dimple beneath the scruff on his chin.

“No, it’s not a problem,” you laugh then set her down and tell the little girl your name. “Aren’t you just the cutest?” You chuckle as she looks at you. She blushes and buries her face in the man’s chest, giggling shyly.

He looks down at the little girl then up at you again. “Well, uh, hi. I’m Frankie, and you’ve met Mari already.”

“Your daughter?” you ask as you look at the pudgy little girl, who now stares at you in awe.

Frankie nods and adjusts his ball cap, pushing his hair back with it. “Yep. Our nanny is on vacation, so she gets to hang out around here,” he chuckles and kisses her head, setting her down. “Go see Benny, yeah?” He asks her. She happily waddles off towards the blonde man, who gives you a wave then heads into the back. “What brings you in?”

“Would you laugh if I told you I don’t really know?” You admit with a shy smile. “My check engine light came on while I was on the highway. I don’t know the first thing about cars, so I was hoping you’d figure out what that meant.”

“Nah, no laughing here,” he nods and gives you a genuine smile before looking over at your car. “Shouldn’t be too much of a problem. I’ll have you pop the hood for me and I’ll give it a look?” He asks.

“That would be great. Thank you,” you tell him, the desperation for his help in your voice. Now that you get the chance to really look at him, he’s quite attractive. His eyes are deep set and a beautiful brown, and they crinkle when he smiles. Facial expressions only accentuate the lines in his face, but he’s certainly not old. His eyes still hold his youth.

“No problem.” He leads you to the car and you pop the hood open before getting out. “Could I take your keys?” he asks you. “Just so I can turn it on and off and all that good stuff.”

“Yeah, of course,” you nod frantically and hand them over to him. “I’ll… be in the waiting room?”

“That’s how we usually do it,” he chuckles as he takes the keys from you. “Just shout for Benny if Mari annoys you again.”

That makes you frown. “She’s not annoying at all. She’s adorable,” you smile as you look over your shoulder and see her and the blonde man playing together.

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive,” he laughs and points his wrench at you as he walks to the hood of the car.

Shaking your head, you can’t help but laugh as you head back to the waiting room. You walk in and Mari perks up, turning to look at you. “Hi! Playing helicopter,” she tells you in her stunted speech as she holds up the toy.

“You sure are,” you nod and sit next to her. “Can I play?” You ask, looking up at Benny, silently asking him the question too.

He nods and Mari squeals happily. “Friend!” She shrieks and hands you another helicopter. “Go pew pew, okay?” She drags them across the toy mat like they’re cars, and you follow suit.

“Okay,” you laugh. Looking up at the blonde man, you extend a smile his way and introduce yourself. He’s busy repairing a Barbie dollhouse with a screwdriver.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Ben, Benny, whatever you wanna call me.”

Driving your helicopter around the ground, following Mari’s lead, you chuckle. “No preference?”

“Fish calls me Benny.”

“Fish?” You ask and tip your head.

“Frankie, whatever. We’re buddies from the service. His code name was Catfish,” the man explains with a shrug, testing the hinges of the plastic door.

That makes you smile down at Frankie’s daughter. “Really, just buddies? Could’ve sworn you’d be brothers,” you tease the blonde, blue-eyed man. “Does Frankie know how to do his daughter’s hair?” You ask and fiddle with her two pigtails.

“Yes, he does,” Frankie insists as he walks out to the front, cleaning a wrench. “But just barely.”

You look up at him, embarrassed. “Her pigtails just look a little messy. Then again, she was running around like crazy,” you laugh and watch her rush over to Frankie, insisting he pick her up.

Bending down to grab her, Frankie groans at the ache in his joints. “She was. I could use some pointers, if you’ve got ‘em.”

“Of course,” you nod and stand too, brushing the dust from the concrete floor off on your pants. “What’s the verdict on the car?” You ask.

Frankie turned, watching as Benny walks out to the shop, but he turns back to face you. “Oh, right. The engine was misfiring, and unburned fuel was being put into the exhaust system, and that damaged the catalytic converter.”

You nod as you listen to him, really staring at his face more than anything. He’s just so damn pretty, you note as you admire the curve of his nose, his slightly sunken and dark eyes. His lips look beautiful and soft, even though they seem a little chapped. When he stops talking, it takes you a second to process it. “I don’t know what that means,” you admit with a shy smile. “I told you. I don’t know shit about cars,” you laugh, playing it off like you were lost when you were really lost in his eyes.

He shakes his head and laughs, bouncing Mari on his hip. “Your car is gonna need some work. Couple hours,” he shrugs. “If Benny and I get to working on it together, an hour and a half, maybe?” He admits.

“Yeah, that’s great. I can watch Mari,” you offer.

Frankie would never be this trusting normally. You’re a straight-up stranger, but your demeanor is good enough for him. Besides, you’re right here. He can check on the two of you every so often, and Mari seems to love you. “That would be great,” he smiles. “You really don’t have to.”

“No, I have nothing better to do,” you chuckle and look at the little girl. “You wanna play?”

Mari nods excitedly and Frankie sets her down. She rushes back to her toy mat and you watch her go. “Thank you, again, for fixing all this.”

“Just doing my job,” he nods. This time, it’s his turn to admire you. He stares at your face, examining the curves and angles that make you up. Your eyes are kind and warm as they follow the little girl, and he can see that he’s making a good choice here.

When you sit down, Mari comes and sits cross-legged across from you. “What are we gonna play?” You ask her, looking at her wide variety of toys. Her pile includes dinosaurs, Matchbox cars, lots of toy helicopters and planes, Barbie dolls, and a plastic tea set.

“Tea party!” She says and hands you a tiny plastic cup and a felt muffin.

“Oh my goodness,” you gasp in a fake accent. “How delightful!”

Frankie peeks over his shoulder at the two of you. He could really get used to that sight.

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @princess76179 @deltadebelleza @tacticalsparkles @queridopascal @wintermuteway @maievdenoir @dobbyjen @beskarboobs

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drawlfoy · 3 years

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detention, retention, and draco malfoy being a little shit

masterlist request guidelines

pairing: draco x reader

request: no not really

summary: golden trio friend y/n y/l/n tries to extract information out of draco malfoy after being placed in detention together.

warnings: swearing, panic attack kinda stuff, just the dark war things that would come w having the task that draco does

a/n: ayo so i started this as a fic i was originally planning on writing in a week. i discontinued it bc i didn’t think anyone was that interested, but i’ve written for it on and off. it’s about 16k words right now standing, but i’m reposting this as a 2 part series. here are the first ~12k words....enjoy :) IMPORTANT: if you’re like “hey i started reading this in october why tf are you reposting the first two parts” just keep reading ok lmao i promise there’s more there’s about through part 6 in here hehe. i just wanted new readers to be able to pick up on it without being turned off by the fact that it was part 3. this will b e 2 parts and at least 20k words

word count: 11.6k

taglist: @gruffle1 @missmultifandommess @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @straightzoinked @imintoodeeptostop @naiomimoonshard @jejegu @ophelia-enthusiast @alwaysbeanunknownfan @nearly-memories @litty-dumb @callieclearwater @malfoy-wife15 @charlenasaxen @belladaises @fiantomartell

happy reading y’all

For legal purposes, the york pudding she lobbed at Pansy Parkinson’s head on Monday evening was simply meant to be a joke. She didn’t know that her aim was bad enough that it was going to get in Snape’s hair instead--honestly, it wasn’t even supposed to get past the Ravenclaw table, much less veer to the left to make a beeline for the professors--but no matter how much she tried to explain this to McGonagall, her sentence remained the same: detention every Friday. For two months.

Her life was ending for sure.

“I honestly don’t know what you were expecting,” Hermione told her as she gently wiped off the nib of her quill later that night in the common room. “Even if you had hit your mark, that’s still technically assault.”

“Did you even hear what she said to me? She told me that I looked like the type of kid that bit people in primary school,” complained Y/N. “I didn’t even think she knew what primary school was!”

Hermione snorted. “How long ago?”

“Two days. I’ve been waiting until there was something throwable on the dinner table.”

“How very analytic of you.”

“I’m going to hit you.”

“And you wonder why you’ve got detention.” Hermione tsk-ed at her, her face stone serious but her tone light hearted. “Maybe take this as an opportunity to, I don’t know, do your homework for once? So you won’t have to have a breakdown over the next Potion’s essay and beg me to write it for you?”

“I’m going to go to sleep and think terribly mean thoughts about you.”

“Have fun.”

Detention.

Something that Y/N wasn’t completely unfamiliar with--she’d done her time organizing Snape’s cabinets, just like every other Gryffindor--but it was different when it came to McGonagall. An impressive old lady, she thought that McGonagall saw something in her. She was always the first to chuckle at Y/N’s jokes and hesitated to reprimand her stupid behavior. And she never gave Y/N detention.

Until now, she supposed. 6th year was changing a lot of things--even their Potions professor--so McGonagall turning a new stone shouldn’t have been anything shocking.

At least, not as shocking as the first thing Y/N saw as she walked into her house head’s office.

“Malfoy?” she spat.

The platinum blonde didn’t even bother to look up from his desk.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Professor McGonagall chided. “I think we would all prefer if you restrained yourself from getting into any more physical altercations with Slytherins.”

She huffed, plopping down in the chair furthest away from that foul git and reaching for her satchel.

“I’ll be back in two hours,” said the elderly professor. “If I hear anything, and I mean anything, other than the sound of studying, consider your sentence doubled.”

With a swish of her robes, McGonagall was gone, leaving her with Malfoy.

“So what’d you do to get in here, huh? Did the administration finally get a hold of that video of you licking Voldemort’s toes?”

“What the fuck does that mean?!” he snapped, whipping around to glare at her.

“‘s just a joke,” said Y/N. “Like--how everyone says your family houses him and everything--but whatever. I can tell it’s a sore spot.”

His gaze, never withering in intensity, remained trained on her face. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Apparently so. What’re you here for?”

He exhaled sharply. “If I tell you, will you shut up and let me think?”

“No promises, but maybe.”

“Late work. I forgot to turn in the Transfiguration exam last week.”

She made a tutting sound as she lazily shuffled through the crumpled parchment in her satchel. “I expected more from you. Aren’t you gonna ask me how I wound up here?”

“No. I am going to ask you to stop talking now, though.”

“That’s terribly unfortunate,” Hermione said over breakfast the next morning. Ron and Harry were nervously chit chatting at the other side of the table over the Saturday Quidditch game against Hufflepuff--supposedly it was supposed to be quite a high stakes match. Not like Y/N cared much, though.

“Yeah! And the worst part was that he won’t even tease anymore. Like, he just sits there all broody and woe is me. We’re all witnessing our nation’s descent into war--he’s not special!”

“Who are you talking about?” asked Harry.

“Oh, just Malfoy,” said Y/N. “We have detention together with McGonagall. He’s such a nasty little greaseball, don’t you think? I mean, look at him right now, glowering over his cereal.”

“Wait! That’s it!”

“What’s it, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“It’s genius, really,” he said. “Y/N has to spend time with him alone every week, and we know that something is up with him. Malfoy is absolutely a Death Eater and has connections to You-Know-Who, but I just need to find a way to prove it.”

“I vaguely forecast where this is going, and I hate it already.”

“Listen, Y/N. It’s not for that long, and it’s for the health of the wizarding world. If you just get to know him--”

“Ick!”

“If you just get to know him, maybe get him to trust you and find out his secrets...we’d finally have enough to turn him in and throw him out of Hogwarts for good.”

“Is that really necessary, Harry?” Ginny butted in from her seat further down next to Dean. “Malfoy’s probably just exhausted like the rest of you. 6th year is difficult, and we have no solid evidence that he’s a Death Eater. I’m sure being stuck in a room with him for 2 hours is hard enough without pretending to be nice to him.”

“But what if Harry’s right?” said Y/N. “What if he is actually a Death Eater? What if he’s an active danger to the student body?”

“Exactly!” The joy written across Harry’s face at the prospect of someone else finally agreeing was infectious. “So will you?”

“Er…” She dragged her spoon across the top layer of her porridge. “In theory, sure. In actuality, I’m not sure how I could do it. Malfoy doesn’t want anything to do with me, either.”

“Love potion?” offered Ron.

“I don’t care how much of a prat he is, I’m not roofying him.”

“I rarely agree with you, Y/N, but I think you’re right. If you want to do this, you need to get him to trust you for real.”

“Your back-handed compliment skills never disappoint, Hermione. Do you think you could help me out with a plan?”

A slow smile spread across the girl’s face as she nodded. “That’s my strong suit.”

The plan they laid out over the remainder of the day was ambitious but at least do-able. Each week was split into different subtasks, the end goal being a somewhat tentative friendship between the two.

“If you can flirt with him and get him to have a crush on you without scaring him off, you’d be in the best possible position,” Hermione told her as they walked back from the Quidditch pitch among the screaming Gryffindor fans. They’d won--yet again. “Obviously I don’t foresee that being likely, but if you pull it off somehow he’d probably be willing to tell you anything. The fact that you’re a pureblood is going to carry you through this whole ordeal. He’ll at least be accepting of your existence in the wizarding community.”

The bitter edge in Hermione’s tone made Y/N’s blood boil. There was no reason for Malfoy to be as prejudiced as he was--he’d spent his adolescence in Hermione’s academic dust. She was obviously smarter than him.

“You got it, ‘Mione,” she said. Her voice barely carried over the cheers of her peers as they ascended the steps to the common room. “We’ll take this little ferret down. I can’t wait.”

“Don’t get too cocky, now.”

The Gryffindor after-party was crazy...per usual. The charmed self-filling goblets, the blasted playlist of Wizpop pumping through the air, and the buzzing energy of the room was giving Y/N a giant headache. She stood with Hermione and Harry by the edge of the crowd, watching Ron get hoisted up on the shoulders of the chasers.

“No wonder the Slytherins think we’re Neanderthals,” Y/N mused. For once, Hermione didn’t respond. “Hermione? Is everything okay?”

The second she turned away to look at her best friend, gasps and whistles filled the room. She whipped back just in time to see Lavender Brown, a sweet but slightly ditzy girl in their year, pull away from a kiss with Ron.

“Oh shi--Hermione!”

Harry and Y/N shared a glance before darting after the witch--who had impressively already made it to the door.

“Hermione, wait!” Y/N called as they jogged after her, throwing open the common room entrance and finding her sat by the tapestry on the other side of the hall, knees to her chest.

“‘Mione, what’s wrong?” asked Harry.

“Don’t be daft, Harry,” said Y/N. “You saw exactly what the rest of us did.”

“I don’t understa--”

“Harry.” Her voice was taut. “I know you’re just trying to help, but I think that it might be best if you let us be. Go back and enjoy the party.”

He gave her a tight, grateful smile before darting back through the door. Y/N wasted no more time in walking over to Hermione and throwing her arms around her shoulders.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, hugging her tight. Hermione made no move to detach them, so she continued. “Ron is an idiot. You deserve so much better--your first kiss was Viktor fucking Krum, after all. You’re hot stuff and this place is just unfortunately running dry of men who are impressive enough for you. Once you’re out of here and working in the Ministry, you’re gonna have the time of your life with men actually in your league.”

Hermione managed a sniffly laugh as she wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “It’s just so fucking embarrassing, you know. Like, I have a crush on him because I think he understands me and I smelled him in my Amortentia and I thought he’d like me back, but…” She hiccuped. “Then he goes off and kisses Lavender Brown, of all people. There’s nothing particularly wrong with her or anything, but she’s so different...I’m so bookish, and she’s so girly and everything I’m not…”

Y/N took the opportunity to tuck a lock of Hermione’s hair behind her ear as she listened.

“And it can’t help but make me think--was I ever anything to him but a friend? If the girl he ends up choosing is the opposite of me?”

“Girly, don’t think like that,” murmured Y/N. “He’s a teenage boy. They don’t think of love the way that we do--to them it’s a game of availability, not of choice. At least for Ronald. You intimidate him, and by extension, you’re not available.”

“That shouldn’t matter!”

“You’re right. It shouldn’t.” Y/N drew a long breath. “So you should find someone who always has you as their first choice--someone who isn’t intimidated by your intellect. They’re out there. I promise.”

Hermione managed a shaky smile. “Thanks, Y/N. I mean it. Do you mind if I have some alone time? I don’t think I’m ready to go back to the party but I just want some quiet.”

“Of course. Let me know if you need me,” she said, brushing herself off and making to walk down the hall.

“You’re not going back to the party?”

“Nah. It hurts my head and I want fresh air. If I’m not back here in a half hour, assume that I’ve been kidnapped.”

With that, she started her walk. She wasn’t planning on going on a long stroll--there was a small balcony that she often went to when she needed to clear her head. It was beautiful, especially on a snowy night like this.

But the walk was creepy.

There was only one way in and out--a narrow, damp hallway that had absolutely no light fixtures. If Y/N really wanted to, she could cast a quick lumos, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to see what lived on the walls. The stairs were steep, too, but she managed to bound up all 40 of them in record time.

“Who’s there?”

The sudden voice ripped a scream out of Y/N’s throat as she reached the top, catching a glimpse of the shadowy figure at the edge of the balcony that spoke. She clasped her hand over her mouth and she crept forward to the opening, getting a better look at the person that was in her secret spot.

The clouds shifted in the sky to allow more moonlight to cast a soft glow on Malfoy’s face, hardened with irritation.

“Malfoy?” Y/N asked, rather dumbly.

“What stellar observational skills,” he drawled.

She felt her cheeks grow hot. “What are you doing here? This is part of the Gryffindor tower. Shouldn’t you be...I don’t know...playing hide and seek with the sewer rats in the dungeons?”

“Very funny.” His flat tone exposed the fact that he did not, in fact, find it very funny. “There’s no rule barring me from coming up here.”

“But why? This is my spot!”

“Because I wanted to get out. Now, I was here first, so unless you want your detention extended, I suggest you leave.”

Y/N bit the fiery comebacks on the tip of her tongue as the memories of her plan with Hermione began floating back to her.

Week 1 -- Hold one neutral, civil conversation with Malfoy.

“I’ll be quiet. You won’t even know I’m here,” Y/N decided upon. leaning up against the balcony. The rogue snowflakes that made it past the overhanging roof melted on her cheeks.

“That isn’t a suggestion,” said Malfoy. “I’m demanding you leave.”

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” Y/N asked, pointedly ignoring his words. “I’ve always loved the snow. It’s so quiet.”

“And it would be even quieter if you left.”

“Aren’t you the conversationalist?” said Y/N.

“If you don’t leave, I will hex you,” Malfoy told her through gritted teeth.

“I just love how the moonlight reflects off of the snow,” continued Y/N. “It’s so...pure.”

“Please leave.”

On her walk back down the dank stairwell, she allowed herself a little smile.

Task 1? Technically done.

The first week went largely as planned. Malfoy was cold and certainly suspicious of her, but he wasn’t completely venomous when Y/N asked where he got his quill from in Potions. It was silver, charmed to shimmer with flecks of forest green. He told her Barnaby’s in France, and that was that. She walked away from his table with all of her limbs attached. Perhaps that was all the progress she was going to make in the next few weeks, but the task at hand certainly made the prospect of her lost Friday afternoons more bearable.

Harry was going completely batty, rambling on about how Malfoy was behind the mysterious cursed objects that had been floating about the castle without explanation.

“And why would Malfoy bring cursed objects to Hogwarts if he has aspirations other than being expelled?” Hermione would ask over their books.

“You don’t understand, Hermione! You girls need to be careful walking around at night--especially you, Y/N. I don’t want you going missing after detention because of that slimeball.”

Y/N always gave him a laugh, berating him for his slight misogynistic commentary and turning back to whatever her task was, but the truth was that she was worried for him. The mental weight of the impending war and the fact that he couldn’t do anything about it was certainly getting too difficult for him to bear. It was heartbreaking to see the vivacious boy she’d grown up with crumble under the responsibilities of something he should never have to worry about in the first place.

Friday came much sooner than expected, and Y/N reluctantly left her friends in the common room to trek to McGonagall’s office. The walk was frigid and the wind bit at her cheeks as she rounded the last outdoor hall.

Why was this castle so dark?

A thump behind her made her jump, and Harry’s words came floating back to her.

Remember all those cursed objects? What if there’s someone just...stalking the school grounds, waiting for someone like me to snatch?

She shivered, throwing herself at the office door and slamming it behind her.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Professor McGonagall greeted, her eyebrows raised in amusement. “Something giving you trouble?”

“No, Professor,” she answered, setting her bag down on the desk next to Malfoy. He sent her a curious look as well. “It’s just cold outside.”

She chuckled. “I need to go speak to Headmaster Dumbledore. I expect that, upon my return, you both are in one piece and alive.”

“I’m not sure if I’m the one who needs to be given that speech,” said Y/N, bored and testing the waters.

“She’s right, Professor,” added Malfoy. “There’s no projectiles here.”

McGonagall exhaled a long, shaky breath before brushing herself off. “Please. Behave yourselves.”

“You got it, boss,” she said as she watched her Professor walk out the door. “So, Malfoy. How was your week?”

“I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’d way prefer if you didn’t speak to me,” he said, refusing to make eye contact.

“I’m not up to anything! We’re in detention together and, I dunno, since I see you sometimes at balls, I thought it’d be nice to be on good terms.”

“Good terms?” He scoffed. “You’re a Gryffindor. I’d rather you be a bloody Hufflepuff.”

“How about neutral terms?”

Even though he wasn’t looking at her, she could catch a glimpse of him rolling his eyes. “If neutral terms mean you being quiet, then, yes. Please.”

“I’ll be plenty quiet. After I hear about your opinion on what happened in Potions today with Brown and Weasley. When Snape yelled at them for holding hands.”

He let out a sharp sigh. “Believe it or not, I actually have better things to do than keep up with whatever stuff your house does.”

“But…?” Y/N pressed. She may not’ve spent her time at Hogwarts as Malfoy’s best friend, but she had grown up with the boy, and she could tell when he was holding back.

He stared blankly at her.

“Come on. I’m literally the only person in my house who’ll openly admit that they’re disgusted by that dynamic. I’m begging you.”

She wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but she thought she saw a flicker of amusement dance across his face for a moment. “Your house sounds more like a cult than a student group.”

“Oh, says the one from Slytherin,” said Y/N.

“We only act like that because our families are close. What’s your excuse? Hormones and Quidditch culture?”

“Touché.” As much as she wanted to fight back, she bit her tongue. Whatever she was doing was making progress, and quicker progress than she was expecting. Her next task was to make him laugh, and she was emboldened by the fact that she could potentially be able to kill two birds with one stone.

They sat in silence for a little bit, but this time, it was a comfortable silence. Malfoy wasn’t staring at the clock on the wall or rolling his eyes at her every move, so she had time to plot.

On one hand, she could make a fool of herself--drop her inkwell, say something stupid in class, fall down the stairs--but she had a sneaking suspicion that her sorry attempts at slapstick humor wouldn’t land well with Draco anymore. He’d become so serious lately, so solemn. This was the most light hearted she’d seen him, even compared with how he acted with the rest of his Slytherin lackeys.

On the other, she could try to sell out her friends. She could confide in him how “big” Hermione’s teeth were (they weren’t even big) or tell him that Ron smelled of eggs (true, but that was a low blow). Something told her that this would be much more successful, but she wasn’t willing to turn to that so quickly--she was already a week ahead as it was.

“What is it?”

Malfoy’s bored drawl cut through her flurried thoughts. Her cheeks turned pink as she blinked, noticing that she’d been staring at him for far too long. “Nothing. Sorry. I just spaced out.”

“Sure,” he mumbled, giving her another suspicious look before turning back to his work. “Can you maybe space out somewhere other than my face?”

“Where’s your vanity, Malfoy?” she pressed as she leaned back in her chair, hair swinging over the back.

“Shut up,” he snapped. She could tell that whatever connection they’d had in the fleeting moments beforehand was being burnt by the second, but her embarrassment and pride drove her forward.

“Merlin, what’s got you so wound up?” she prompted, noting how deliciously unraveled he looked at this. “Where’s my cool, collected Slytherin?”

He slammed hands on his desk at this, whipping around to glare at her. “What’s your angle, Y/L/N?”

“What?”

“Why are you bothering me?”

“Because I want to.” She beamed.

Malfoy ran his fingers through his hair, mussing up the usual neat manner in which it normally laid on his head. “Compelling. What do you want from me?”

“What do I want…?” She tilted her head at him, narrowing her eyes. “What?”

“You never talk to me,” he explained. “Obviously, I prefer it like that. I can’t help but wonder why suddenly you want to be making small talk. So, what is it you want from me?”

“Malfoy,” she said. “I think you’re a spoiled prick who thinks far too highly of himself and drives me insane. But I also think that you’re funnier than what my friends give you credit for. Granted, you’ve always been annoying, but I don’t want anything from you. I just want to, I dunno, make these next few months less insufferable.” Somehow the lie slipped through her teeth easier than any of her previous bluffs.

He frowned, his mouth opening once before firmly screwing shut into a scowl. “Oh.”

“No offense, Malfoy, but what else can you offer me other than your dazzling personality?” she teased. “You know my family. I don’t need to blackmail you to pay for jewelry I’ve had my eye on or anything.”

He scoffed. “As if I’d say yes.”

“Exactly my point. It’d be fucking weird. Merlin, I’m not trying to butter you up to buy out Borgin & Burkes for me. Do I give off gold-digger vibes? Is that what this is about?”

“Fucking hell.” Malfoy turned to her in disbelief. “Do you ever shut up?”

“Answer my question. Or better yet, pull out your wallet. Wait, did I say that out loud?” She mimed surprise and covered her mouth. “Oh no! What will my mother say now that I’ve squandered my last chance of hitching you? There’s no way I can go home for Christmas break now.”

He rolled his eyes so hard she found herself worried for a moment that they were going to just permanently get stuck in the back of his head. “Hate to break it to you, but you didn’t really have a shot to begin with.”

Ouch.

She huffed and dramatically flopped over the back of her chair, hoping he couldn’t see that she’d flinched. “So you don’t think I’m pretty??”

“Y/L/N,” he snapped, his voice a low warning. “Can I please just work? What is with you today?”

Y/N sent him a sour look before giving her Charms work another look. Malfoy was awfully quiet, and when she snuck any glances at him later on, he was angled to face away from her.

Why did she feel like such shit all of a sudden? She cataloged the past events, trying to pinpoint the exact moment that her stomach dropped. It all made sense when the words “You didn’t really have a shot to begin with” echoed around her head once again. She’d failed Harry. She’d failed Hermione. There was no way that she was going to be able to get him to reveal his secrets now--it’s not like he was confiding in even his closest friends as Harry made apparent when he explained how vague his statements were to his fellow Slytherins on the train. Her only chance would’ve been to somehow get him to fall for her, and that wasn’t going...great. And it had been a pipedream to begin with.

When McGonagall swished back into the classroom to dismiss them, Y/N shot out of there without even looking at Malfoy again. It felt like something was lodged in her throat and she was not going to cry in front of him. No, no. She had to make it to Hermione to tell her what was going on.

“Y/L/N?”

Malfoy’s voice made her pause in her flee as she nearly rounded the corner in front of her, but she refused to look back. It was far enough away that it was possible she didn’t hear him.

“Wait!”

She was up the stairs and speed walking as fast as her legs could carry her to the Gryffindor tower before he even saw which way she went.

“I don’t think you understand,” Y/N wailed by the fire as Hermione rubbed her shoulders and Harry sat awkwardly perched on the couch. “I can’t do this. The only way this was going to work was if he had a crush on me, and I don’t think he ever will. I fucked it up! The one time you guys need me, I fuck it up! I let you down!”

Hermione’s left hand stopped its rubbing to rest firmly on her shoulder. “Please don’t be upset. You didn’t let us down. Plus, you’re only, what...two weeks in? You don’t need him to like you to make it work. Just getting him to trust you will be enough, and you’re good at that.”

“I don’t think so,” continued Y/N. “Harry said that he wasn’t even that open on the train when he overheard him talking to all of his friends. And those are purebloods that he likes! That he’s trusted and known for years and years! I’m a friend of you guys, and he knows it. I think he’d figure it out quick.”

“We should take every chance we can get,” said Harry from his spot a few feet away, his eyes lazy and unfocused on the fire crackling in front of them. “You won’t let us down if you can’t get anything, Y/N, you know that! But if you got anything from him, it’d be incredible. It’s a win-win. I don’t understand why you’re so upset.”

“I’m not upset,” she said, her tone becoming defensive. “I just...don’t want to mess this up. I know how much it’d mean if I succeeded.”

“So just try!” Hermione said. “There’s nothing wrong with it. I’m sorry he was kind of mean to you today, but I don’t think that should bother you too much. He should be more afraid of what you’d say if you didn’t care about being a good person.”

“Fucking right on there,” she said, wiping away the frustrated tears. “If I was honest with him, he’d leave crying. He should be grateful that I’m taking this bet so I actually have to be nice to him.”

“That’s the spirit.” Harry leaned over to smack her back like he did his Quidditch teammates after a winning match.

After they’d parted their ways with Harry, Hermione and Y/N made their way slowly up the stairwell to the girls’ dorms.

“Y/N?” Hermione asked, breaking the silence.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think, er…” She paused. “Do you think you were really upset about failing us today? Or was it something else?”

“What do you mean?” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows. “I don’t see what else it would be.”

“I’m sorry,” responded the bright witch. “Forget I ever asked. It was a stupid thing to wonder about.”

“Weirdo,” she teased as she waved her a goodnight and made her way to her dorm.

The next morning, Y/N busied herself with revising her Charms essay over her breakfast--a cup of tea and a half-buttered piece of toast--while Hermione leaned over her shoulder, nodding or grimacing at the corrections she made.

“Did you work during detention? Like, at all?”

“‘Mione,” moaned Y/N. “It’s too early for this. I don’t want a lecture. I just couldn’t focus.”

Her warm brown eyes narrowed as they bore into Y/N’s face. “Why were you distracted?”

“Oh, I, uh…” She stumbled over her words as Hermione drew closer. “Merlin, Hermione. I told you last night. I just felt like I was letting you all down.”

“Mhm,” was all she got in response before her best friend tilted her head back down to the parchment in front of her.

Y/N sat, completely puzzled. What was Hermione on about? She’d been straightforward with what was hurting her--she didn’t want to mess up the only task the Golden Trio had ever given her--and, even if she hadn’t been, Hermione was smart enough to deduce things for herself. So what was she thinking about?

Her eyes drifted over to the Slytherin table where the usual 6th year pureblood gang loitered about, drinking black coffee and sulking--but Malfoy was not to be seen. She jumped when her eyes met Parkinson, her dark eyes burning into her soul as a deep scowl was written across her face.

“Malfoy, what the fuck do you want?” Ron’s voice pulled her back to reality to see him glaring somewhere behind her.

“I wasn’t here to talk to you,” a familiar voice drawled.

She turned to see Malfoy standing behind her, a sneer written all across his stupidly pretty face.

“Miss me already?” asked Y/N as she raised an eyebrow and cocked her head to the side.

“For fuck’s sake, stop doing that,” he mumbled, reaching into his pocket and throwing a box at her. “You forgot your quill. I took the liberty of properly storing it, because it seems like you lot like to just throw them in your bag. Makes me physically ill to watch.”

“Oh.” Y/N studied the intricate box in her hands before tucking it away in her knapsack. “Thanks? I guess?”

He nodded curtly, contorting his face into one last scowl to send to Ron before turning and leaving,

“So,” Hermione began, cutting her omelet at a much brisker pace, “I think we need to have a little chat. About...all of this.”

“Why?”

“Not right now,” she said, her voice low and her eyes flicking at Ron and Harry sitting across from them. “I don’t think it’d benefit us for them to hear.”

“Ok?” She cautiously took a bite out of her toast and continued staring Hermione down. “You’re scaring me.”

“It’s...I don’t know. I thought I was crazy for thinking this, but it seems like we need to talk about it anyways. For this little mission of yours to work, we need to be totally open and honest with each other.”

“Sure.” Y/N took another bite. “I honestly have no clue what’s got you so on edge, though.”

“Who’s on edge?” Harry asked, leaning over the table and stealing the croissant on Y/N’s plate.

“Hey!” she exclaimed. “Do you not see the entire plate of them over there?”

He laughed, sending her an easy grin and dunking a piece into the hot chocolate in his mug. “Finders keepers. Say, Y/N, are you busy next weekend? Ron and Lavender are going to Madame Puddingfoot’s together, and I know Hermione isn’t going to want to take a weekend off studying to go to Hogsmeade, so I thought that maybe we could go cause some trouble at the Cauldron.”

“If you stop stealing my food we can talk about it,” replied Y/N, the corners of her lips tugging up into a grin.

“Deal.”

Hermione tugged at her arm. “I just realized I need to get something out of my room before we watch the Quidditch game. Will you come with me, Y/N?”

“Sure!” said Y/N. “Gee, I’m rolling in invitations today.”

Once they exited the dining hall, though, it immediately became evident that they were not actually heading up to the dorms. Hermione dragged her into the nearest bathroom before casting a quick silencing charm.

“Myrtle! Are you in here?” Only when she was sure silence was the only response to her question, she seemed satisfied to turn to Y/N and begin talking. “When were you going to tell me that you have a thing for Malfoy?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Y/N felt the heat that had risen to her cheeks from the last quill-encounter re-emerge.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” said Hermione. “Are you seriously going to expect me to believe that you nearly sobbed over some random pureblood git telling you you never had a chance with him because it might slow down your progress with helping us? Actually? I’ve seen you look more ecstatic about hearing that your dear granny passed away.”

“To be fair, she had really good life insurance,” Y/N cut in. “And she was an old hag. Never had a nice thing to say to me.”

“Life insurance or no life insurance...you can’t seriously expect me to believe that you were just upset about not being able to help us as much. That was ridiculous. I don’t buy it. And the way you blushed like crazy when he came over to talk to you--the way you try and pretend like you can flirt...please. Y/N, it’s clear as day. I know you, and I know you have a crush on him.”

“Hermione!” hissed Y/N. “You have no clue what you’re talking about!”

“Yes, I think I do,” she pushed. “And you need to be honest with me if you want to be of any help right now.”

Her bossiness lit a fire of rage in Y/N’s chest, but she sucked in a deep breath, shutting her eyes before releasing it. “Believe me when I say I haven’t ever acknowledged any feelings I may or may not have towards him.”

“Ok.” Her face softened. “I know it might take time, but I honestly do think I’m right. Please just...be careful. This is a really odd situation to get caught up in if you actually have feelings for the other person. You’re trying to manipulate him, for Merlin’s sake.”

“And if I have these feelings for him, I’ve done a pretty damn good job of suppressing them for however long they’ve been here.”

Hermione sighed. “That’s true. I’m just saying that spending this much time with him is probably only going to make things worse. Will you please tell me if anything changes between the two of you?”

“Anything changes?” Y/N’s voice was dripping in disbelief. “You’re joking. Even if I was obsessed with him I don’t think there’s ever a chance of hell in anything ‘changing’ between us. He said it himself.”

“You know what I mean, Y/N,” responded Hermione. “Just promise me, ok?”

“Ok,” said Y/N. “I promise.”

That seemed to satiate Hermione as she nodded approvingly at her friend. “I think it goes without saying that Ron and Harry shouldn’t hear about this.”

“There’s nothing to hear about, but yes.” She shuffled her feet before meeting Hermione’s eyes again. “Er, I’m sorry for this being a weird question, but would you mind coming along with me and Harry to Hogsmeade? I don’t really see him like...that...and I don’t want to read into it too much and reject him if he is doing it just platonically, but just in case. Y’know.”

“Sure,” said Hermione, even though her face took on that curious expression yet again. “Anyways, you actually did forget something--you’re not wearing a single piece of Gryffindor colors for our game today. You should probably run back to your dorm before Harry and Ron notice.”

After they said their goodbyes, Y/N found herself turning over the things Hermione had said to her in her head. Did she like Malfoy? No, no fucking way. But a part of her really did think he was funny. And of course it was natural to feel rejected when anyone insinuates that they’d never consider you as a romantic interest without jest.

Once she’d made it up to her room and grabbed a few scarves, Y/N made to put her red cloak into her satchel. Her fingers ghosted over the box that Malfoy had given her and scoffed once she saw the Malfoy crest engraved into the rich wood.

Narcissistic snot.

Her curiosity got the better of her as she reached over to open up the elaborately decorated box. What met her was not just one quill but two--one of which was most certainly not her own.

She took them both out, tossing the old one in a pile with her other trusty familiar white feather quills and picked up the other one. It looked familiar--identical to the quill that she’d complimented Malfoy on in Potions about a week ago. Butterflies began to flutter like crazy in her stomach as she turned it over in her hand, watching the gray and green glitter together and the magic sparkles cast a gentle light over her bed. She generally avoided dipping into her family’s pockets to get school supplies any more than she had to--it’s not like it made her friends feel good about themselves when they were reminded how rich her family was--but this might be what she could consider to be an exception. She hadn’t even liked his quill all that much when she first saw it in Potions--but it was one of those things that was so noticeable that it made sense to compliment him.

She gave it one last look before tucking it back away into the elaborately decorated box. Perhaps she had spoken too soon when she’d told Hermione all hope was lost.

When Monday morning Potions class with the Slytherins rolled around, Y/N wasted no time. Malfoy was alone--even his Slytherin lackeys seemed to know not to bother him. Just what she needed.

“Malfoy,” she greeted, setting her bag down on his table and looking him dead on. He raised to meet her eyes, his eyebrow raised.

“Can I help you?”

“I just wanted you to know that I also really like your immense fortune,” she said. “And your manor.”

“Well, a lot of people do,” he mumbled as he looked away to dig through something in his bag. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought he was blushing.

“I’m just letting you know,” she continued. “In case you were wanting to give them away. It worked for the quill, so I thought, well, why not?”

He exhaled, a deep and annoyed sound escaping his lips as he rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “I knew I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You really didn’t have to.”

“I was getting sick of it,” he told her. “I never can stick with one quill for too long, and I thought it’d be a shame to toss it. I thought it’d be better to be charitable--it’s not like your family could get an appointment at Barnaby’s if they tried.”

“Hey!” Y/N said indignantly. “You don’t know that!”

“I’ve heard your parents try to speak French,” he said. “If you’re anything like them, you'll be barred from ever entering the country.”

“Malfoy!”

His lips turned up into a smile, a soft laugh escaping his lips. Y/N suppressed the urge to grin in return. Task 3? Done. “What?”

“I can’t even argue with you,” she said. “It’s tragic.”

She stared at the empty stool next to him, wondering if she should just take the leap and sit with him. Malfoy seemed unbothered by her presence as he opened up his Potions book and set it next to his cauldron. “Do you want a partner?” The words left her lips before she could stop them.

He cast her a curious look before glancing at the empty stool. “It depends. Are you going to be annoying?”

She gasped in faux-offense. “What makes you think I could ever be annoying?”

“On that note, I think you better get back to Potter.” He motioned with his head towards the side of the room where most of her Gryffindor friends were chatting. Harry was staring at her, his fists clenched by his side.

Y/N smirked and sent him a wink.

“On that note,” she said, careful to imitate Malfoy’s drawl and sending him a smug grin, “Maybe I better sit here.”

“Hm.” He awarded her one more uninterested look before rolling up his sleeves and setting out the ingredients for the potion they were brewing--Amortentia.

She tried not to make it too obvious that she was staring at his left arm, but there was nothing on it like Harry had told her. It was just pure, unblemished pale skin that shimmered under the light. Before he could catch her looking, she quickly sat down and started pulling out her own things. After a short pause, she decided to take out the silver quill. She’d left his box back in her room--she wouldn’t be caught dead with something that had the Malfoy crest on it--but she’d wrapped it in a pouch with her own family’s emblem on the front, shimmering in gold and red.

“Why don’t you just buy your own charmed quills?” asked Malfoy after they had chopped all of the gillweed.

“You already know. We’re an abomination to the French. We aren’t allowed entry.”

“That’s not what I mean.” His tone was meant to read as exasperated, but his words still seemed good-natured.

“I...well.” She frowned. She’d never confessed this to anyone, but she supposed that Malfoy wasn’t going to find a way to use it against her. “I don’t like to flaunt my family wealth. I think it makes people, at least in Gryffindor, like me less. I learned that pretty early on.”

He hummed something in response before sliding all the gillweed into the cauldron, turning the clear liquid into a bubbling forest green.

“Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?” she asked.

He took his time finishing the note he was jotting down before he answered. “I’m not being nice. It’s just called being civil. You said it yourself, we see each other at balls sometimes.”

“We probably won’t anymore, though,” she mused.

Malfoy’s eyebrows shot up, but his voice remained low and steady. “No. I suppose that we probably won’t. Is your family part of the Order?”

“Hm. Are you a Death Eater?” she asked brazenly. He had no business asking her something like that, and he knew it. Especially not with his family connections.

“What do you think?” he drawled, waving his bared left arm in front of her face.

“Bullshit. That doesn’t mean anything after we learned Glamour spells last year.”

“Guess you’ll just have to trust me, then,” he responded, focusing intently on the bubbling liquid in front of him instead of her face.

“I guess so,” she replied. The weight of her Glamour comment began to sink in--she was right, after all. How had she not thought of it before?

But he was right when he told her she just had to trust him. Could she? Y/N rested her chin in the palm of her propped hand as she watched him work. A piece of disobedient moonbeam blonde hair dangled over his forehead as he diced up the unicorn tail, his eyebrows furrowed in focus.

“Is this why you want to be my partner?” he finally asked after a few moments of silence. “So you can just stare at me while I do all the work?”

“There’s the vain Draco I know,” she said, grinning as she leaned over to punch his shoulder.

He rolled his eyes again, scooting out of arm's reach before flipping back to Amortentia in his book. “You’re insufferable. And it’s Malfoy to you.”

“Fine, fine, Malfoy,” said Y/N. “What do you want me to do, then?”

He shoved his cutting board towards her, the half-diced unicorn tail staring up at her. “Finish dicing this and then stir it in. 9 times clockwise. I did almost all of the work, but it should be finished after that.”

Y/N sent him another glare before doing as he said. The glittering quill kept catching her attention from the corner of her eye, and she couldn’t help but notice that Malfoy was writing with just a plain white quill for the time being. HE really did just give it to me.

After the final ingredients were diced, she began to stir, each rotation around the cauldron turning the potion to a different color. It began as the bubbling green, then a deep sea blue, then a royal purple, a crimson blood red, a glimmering gold--before settling into a pale silver.

“Wow. It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “It’s like...liquid starlight.”

“All thanks to me,” said Malfoy. “You didn’t even have to crush the Mandrake root.”

“You’re such a gentleman, Malfoy.” Her voice dripped in fake sincerity. “So, what do you smell?”

Y/N was expecting him to scowl at her and tell her that it wasn’t any of her business, but he actually leaned over the cauldron and shut his eyes.

“I’ve never been good at explaining what things smell like.”

“Fair.”

Once he leaned back, she took his place, shutting her eyes and breathing in a tendril of the beautiful potion. “Whoa.”

“What’s it for you?”

“I don’t...know,” she admitted. “It’s not something I can describe note by note. It kind of reminds me of something, though.”

“Something with Potter, I presume?” he said, casually twirling his generic white quill around his fingers.

“No,” she answered, surprised at how honest she was being. “It’s…I’m trying to think. Er, it’s very lavish. It reminds me of when I was younger and my parents would drag me to galas and balls and whatnot.”

He stared at her in silence.

“What about you? Does it remind you of anything?”

“Yeah.” Malfoy reached forward to put a lid on the cauldron, effectively shutting out the steam from reaching either of them.

“Ooh, have you figured it out yet?” she teased, crossing her legs and turning to face him head on. “Let me guess. Is it someone like…”

She paused, a wicked smile stretching across her face. “Oh my god, is it Hermione? Or Luna? Or...help me out here!”

“No.” His voice was sour.

“Ah, it’s Parkinson then, isn’t it? Tell her I’m sorry for throwing food at her if you ever have the chance. Make sure to add the part where I’m more sorry that I missed.”

“Y/L/N!”

“It’s okay. I’d be a little let down, too.”

“Can you please just…” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Please just stop. I haven’t figured it out. Okay? Happy now?”

“I’ll leave you alone,” said Y/N. “Under one condition. You give me a hint. I’ve given you everything I know! This isn’t fair.”

“This doesn’t have to be fair,” he hissed.

Y/N kept the easy smile plastered on her face while she waited, her eyebrows raised in anticipation.

“You’re not going to let up until I tell you, are you?”

“You’d be right on that,” she said, sugary sweet.

“Fine. It’s something kind of floral.”

“How descriptive,” she snorted as she slumped back in her stool, thinking hard. Where had she smelled it before? Y/N shut her eyes, leaning her head back and trying to immerse herself into the memory that had surfaced. It smelled like grandeur, like an open ballroom full of guests wearing expensive perfumes. She could feel spinning, spinning like she was with a dance partner. Who was it? She couldn’t quite remember--the last ball she’d been to had been years ago--but after she leaned forward and smelled the Amortentia once more time, she came to a conclusion.

“I had to have danced with him at a gala before,” she announced to Malfoy, who was looking quite unimpressed. “So I know it’s no one from Gryffindor.”

“Interesting,” was all he said before turning to his parchment and jotting something down.

Late that night, while Y/N was settling into bed, a strange idea struck her. Sure that the thought that was nagging her was completely fruitless, she had no trouble with reaching into her desk and pulling out the Malfoy box. She just had to check if she wanted to sleep well.

Here goes.

She closed her eyes, imagining the expensive scent of her Amortentia. Then she opened it, stuck her nose into the fabric, and breathed in.

Well, fuck.

The internal debate going through Y/N the next day at the breakfast table was intense. On one hand, she really, really wanted to just tell Hermione that Malfoy had been in her Amortentia and she was completely fucked, but on the other…

She glanced at the witch next to her as she methodically sliced her toast into perfect, equivalent squares before dunking them in jam. Y/N liking Malfoy was not going to fit into her toast cubes. If she said anything, she would lose her excuse to talk to her about him. And her excuse to try and get close with him.

Perhaps I can figure it out tomorrow.

When tomorrow came, she still hadn’t made progress. Y/N was beginning to think that her so called “revelation” after they brewed Amortentia was truly just complete and utter bullshit. So what that his quill box smelled like it--all rich people kind of smelled the same at some points, and so did their houses. There was a reason why she couldn’t immediately pin the scent to anything--it wasn’t like she even knew what Malfoy smelled like.

But the truth remained that she was still attracted to someone who happened to be a rich Slytherin--so naturally, her mind began to wander. There’s no way it was Zabini--his mother owned a fragrance line, and she would’ve instantly recognized the cologne that she knew Mrs. Zabini made him wear--and there was absolutely no way that it was Crabbe or Goyle, so the only other Slytherin it left was...Nott? But that didn’t make sense either--she’d never spoken to him before in her life, even less than Malfoy. So perhaps it would be better if she didn’t think on it.

The next day of potion brewing came on a stormy Wednesday. Malfoy and Y/N worked silently together to brew a Draught of Dreamless Sleep. She was surprised to see how practiced his movements were--he didn’t even have to reference the book to recite the exact measurements and directions.

“Do you have bad dreams or something?” she asked, mostly as a joke. He didn’t seem to pick up on the light-heartedness and stiffened up.

“No?”

“Gee, you’re talkative today,” Y/N said, trying to ignore how her hand brushed his by accident when she added the scoop of anjelica.

“Excuse me for not entertaining you,” he drawled. “I wasn’t expecting to have such a needy potions partner today.”

“I am not needy!” she gasped, smacking his arm. “I’ve sat in silence for a full hour!”

He rolled his eyes (he was always rolling his eyes) and gave the potion one more final stir before setting the lid on the cauldron. “Think you can do that again? It needs to simmer for that long.”

“Just because you’re so sweet to me,” crooned Y/N before pulling out a heavy book from her satchel. Her Charms exam was tomorrow, and, naturally, she had decided to save all of her revising work until the night before. The textbook stared back at her as she jotted a few notes onto a previously blank sheet of parchment. The quill in her hands was light and glided across the paper like the tears of Merlin, something that she had forgotten quills could do. All of her familiar basic quills were okay, but they were prone to skidding and breaking. This nib hadn’t worn down in the slightest, still at a smooth and defined peak.

Y/N couldn’t believe that, out of all people, the person to give her such a thoughtful gift was Draco Malfoy. She tried to sneak a glance at him then, moving her curtain of hair away from her face. It took all she had in her to not be startled at the fact that he was already looking back, a slightly concerned expression etched into his face.

“Is something wrong?”

He snapped out of it the moment the words left her lips, his face hardening. “No.”

“Forget I ever asked,” she responded, turning away from him for good and focusing on her textbook. No, there was no way he could be what she smelled in her Amortentia. She liked to think that her subconscious wasn’t secretly a masochist.

Friday evening swung around again, much to Y/N’s dismay. She’d had a talk with Hermione later on in the week, confirming that no, she did not smell Malfoy in her Amortentia, and that yes, she was still abiding by the plan that Hermione had so carefully laid out for her. It did bother her a bit that she could be lying to her on both fronts--but at the end of the day, she was going to get the answers that Harry wanted, no matter what.

She just had to get through the scary ass castle first. She’d forgotten how spooky Hogwarts was after her previous sprint to the door, and this time she was positively trembling by the time she turned another dark corner on her way to McGonagall’s office. Yet another cursed item had been found in the girl’s lavatory on the 3rd floor, right by some of the classes that she had taken earlier in the week. The fact that whoever was out there was capable of dark magic and actively wanted to hurt people terrified her, all that Gryffindor bravery be damned.

So when she heard footsteps suddenly right beside her, it was no wonder that she jumped feet in the air.

“Fuck!” she sputtered, turning to see a very familiar blonde in Slytherin robes. He was frozen in place, curiously looking her up and down.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“Malfoy,” Y/N said, resisting the urge to melt into a puddle of relief at the sight. This wasn’t right--wasn’t he a suspected Death Eater? “You scared me.”

He scoffed, digging his hands into his pockets. “You’re supposed to be the brave ones, right?”

“Huh?”

Malfoy motioned to her Gryffindor jumper.

“Oh.” Heat rushed to her cheeks as she realized what he meant. “I dunno. I just get jumpy around the castle at night.”

“No shit.” They’d begun to walk now, side by side. Y/N couldn’t remember ever walking with him before--she’d always been late. “Do you think I forgot the way you screamed when you saw me at the tower?”

“Shut up,” she grumbled, reaching over and giving him a healthy shove.

They walked in silence together. Malfoy moved noticeably slower than he normally did so he wouldn’t leave Y/N’s shorter legs in tow. McGonagall seemed pleasantly surprised to see Malfoy hold the door open for her.

“I’m glad to see you two getting along,” she said, giving Y/N a hesitant nod before grabbing the stack of papers on her desk. “I’ll be back momentarily.”

After she exited the room with a swish of her deep maroon robes, Malfoy turned to her. “Are you scared of the dark or something?”

She turned, ready to send a biting retort his way, before she noticed how gray his pallor looked...and how big the circles under his eyes were. “You look like shit, Malfoy. Is everything okay?”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t change the subject.”

“Oh. Um…” Y/N pause before deciding that the little tidbit of information she was about to reveal wasn’t that important anyways. “I’m just on edge at night at Hogwarts is all. Especially with all that weird shit going on with all the cursed objects. So I kind of hate walking to and from detention.”

Malfoy let out something that sounded like a strained laugh.

“You didn’t answer my question. Is everything okay?”

“None of your business,” he snipped. “I just had a bad night.”

“Do you have trouble sleeping?” she asked, unable to keep herself from prying.

“Something like that.”

“Have you tried lavender?”

“I’m sorry?” He frowned.

“Lavender. Like the essential oil. It’s nothing magical,” she explained. “I just like to spray it in my bed sometimes before I sleep. Or I’ll use a few drops in a diffuser. I have trouble sleeping too, all the time, actually.” She shut her mouth before she had any chance to ramble further.

“It sounds a bit too floral for my taste.”

“Here.” Y/N dug around in her satchel, searching for the tiny spray bottle she kept with her at all times. “Borrow this and spritz your pillow with it before you sleep, and then tell me it’s too floral. I promise it helps.”

He glared at her. She extended her hand with the white bottle that was covered in purple decor, raising her eyebrows expectantly. “I won’t tell anyone that you have it if that’s what you’re worried about or whatever.”

“Fine,” he snapped, snatching it from her hand and dragging his fingers over her palm for just a second. “Don’t expect me to actually try it, though.”

“Just give it a sniff.”

He huffed, but to her surprise, he actually uncapped the top and held the spray hole up to his nose, inhaling in once.

The effect was immediate. Malfoy’s face completely drained of color, becoming even grayer than he’d been when she first saw him under the light. The briefest expression of surprise fleeted over his face before he wiped it off, replacing it with something unreadable and tossing it back at her. “I’m not using this.”

“Why not?”

“Not quite my taste,” he spat.

Y/N was shocked by the sudden outburst, watching as he continued to glower at his desk. “I don’t understand. It really does help you sleep. I know it seems stupid, but I...really think you should try it. Just once, if anything.”

“Why does it matter so much to you?”

“Because I--” Y/N stopped herself before she let her mouth run without check. “I know what it’s like is all. I feel like shit if I don’t sleep. Plus, I have to spend time with you every Friday. I imagine that you’ll be slightly more tolerable if you sleep more.”

“Hm.” He sent her a particularly venomous glare. “Thanks for your concern. Consider me uninterested, though.”

“You break my heart,” she teased, pulling back her hand and placing the bottle on the corner of her desk. An idea struck her.

“And just what are you smiling about?” Draco said. His lips were turned into a sour frown.

“Nothing, nothing,” she responded, her voice adopting a sing-song quality. All she had to do now was wait.

He exhaled, a deep and exasperated sound. Then he turned back to whatever was in front of him.

McGonagall entered the room a few minutes later, nodding cordially at the comfortable silence the two students were in. What she didn’t know was that Y/N was waiting, just waiting for Malfoy to dig through his satchel and stop paying attention to his quill.

She got her opportunity a few minutes later, when McGonagall called him up to look over his latest Transfiguration homework.

“Mr. Malfoy, I’m happy to see that you’re taking more initiative in getting your assignments done...I have to say that you had me a bit concerned…”

While her professor kept Malfoy occupied, Y/N darted over and grabbed his quill.

Ha.

Malfoy frowned down at his desk when he returned, giving Y/N a suspicious look.

“What is it, Malfoy?” she said, hoping her voice conveyed nothing that might hint that she took something of his.

“Nothing.”

“Hm.”

The rest of detention passed without any more discussion. Y/N was eager to run up to her dorm and set up her plan to be carried out the next morning, but she calmed her bouncing leg and forced herself to keep a straight face when McGonagall dismissed them.

“Got somewhere to be, Y/L/N?” Malfoy’s voice called after her as she sped down the hall towards the Gryffindor tower.

“What’s it to you?” she fired back.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he picked up his pace until he was walking next to her.

“Aren’t the Slytherin dorms the other direction?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Are they?”

She allowed herself to be amused by the way words flowed out of his mouth when he was slightly out of breath. “Why are you walking with me?”

“You said it yourself.” He kept his eyes cast on the cobblestones below them. “You don’t like walking alone at night.”

“Uh...oh.” Against her will, her feet froze and she was glued to the ground. “You’re joking, right?”

If the lighting wasn’t so dim, Y/N would have good reason to believe he was blushing with how intently he was studying his fingernails. “By all means, I can be.”

“No! No, I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth. “Er...I’d like you to. If you want to, that is.”

He shrugged, an elfish expression spreading across his face as he took in how nervous she was. “Well, come to think of it, you didn’t ask me to. I suppose I better get back to the Slytherin dorms anyways. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near the Gryffindor Tower right now.”

“Why?” she squeaked.

“Oh, you know, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that most of the cursed things showed up on your side of the castle, yeah?”

She gulped.

“I gotta get going. Don’t want to stand around here too long. This place gives me the creeps.” With that, he turned and began walking away.

“Malfoy?” She hated how timid her voice sounded. “Consider this me asking you to walk with me.”

He slowly faced her, a sly grin plastered all over his face. “Oh? Did I hear that correctly? Do you want me to?”

“I’m only going to say this once,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and trying her best to look intimidating. “Walk with me. Please.”

“I guess I’ll take it.” Malfoy glided down the hallway to her in just a couple steps, sending her yet another smug look.

“You made up that whole ordeal about Gryffindor Tower being targeted, didn’t you?” asked Y/N as they rounded the corner to reach the staircase leading up to the common room.

“You bought it, didn’t you?”

“Who says I didn’t just want you to walk with me?” pushed Y/N. This was as close to flirting as it would ever get for her--but it looked like, somehow, things were falling into place. The heat in her cheeks must’ve been from the excitement of making progress.

Malfoy’s toe caught on the first stair and, if it weren’t for Y/N’s steady grip on his arm, would’ve made him go sprawling across the stone steps.

“Merlin, Malfoy,” she said, immediately dropping her grip from his shoulder. “What’s gotten into you?”

He responded with an unceremonial snort and a withering glare. The rest of the walk was done in silence, and Y/N noted how careful his footwork became around the Gryffindor steps.

“This is me,” she finally said once they reached the tapestry for the Gryffindor dorms. He seemed surprised, and only then did it strike her that he’d probably never seen the entrance himself before. “Thanks for being such a gentleman.”

“I live to serve,” he drawled.

And just like that, he was gone.

Her plan was simple. She had located an extra monogrammed pouch in her cabinet, a rich mahogany color with her family crest in a vivid gold, and placed both his quill and the lavender bottle. She would corner him after breakfast or follow him out of the Great Hall and show him then.

However, it was becoming increasingly obvious that Malfoy was not coming to Saturday morning breakfast. Many people didn’t, but Y/N had never known him to miss it. His normal spot was vacant, and it certainly wasn’t a house-made decision as all of his Slytherin friends were present and accounted for. Y/N couldn’t say for sure, but she could see Parkinson turning her head to the entrance every time the doors thudded open before glancing back to Malfoy’s empty seat when it turned out to be someone else.

Where was that loser?

“Excuse me,” she said to the trio as she stood up and brushed off her skirt. “I think I’m going to go get some fresh air. I have a bitch of a headache.”

Hermione and Harry expressed their sympathies while Ron gave her a characteristic mumble through his mouthful of bread, and she was off with the pouch secured in her cloak pocket.

It was a clear November morning, clearly Mother Nature’s attempt to slowly move the world from the crisp autumn to a cold winter. The sky was clear and the sun’s rays warmed her skin at a slanted angle, casting weak shadows across the courtyard.

If I were Malfoy, where would I go to sulk?

The obvious answer was either the Slytherin common room or his own dorm, but that was without a doubt out of question for her. She wasn’t even sure if she possessed the knowledge to guess which corridor the entrance was in, much less work out the password herself. Beyond that, just getting into the common room and waiting would be...She shivered. It would be a terrible idea while she was clearly wearing a cloak in Gryffindor red and gold trim.

As she continued her aimless wander around the castle, she heard the slightest sound from the girl’s bathroom on the second floor. It wasn’t ever really in use--no one came in there to actually use the loo unless they wanted Myrtle to materialize and tell them her supernatural troubles while they were in the middle of their personal business--but it was often the source of strange happenings.

Like the cursed objects she thought to herself, her nails digging into her palms. But did she care about that right now? Surely cursed objects seemed somewhat...suspicious. Dark magic was difficult to hide, and to a pureblood eye that grew up around magical objects, cursed things shouldn’t be impossible to spot.

And, plus, it was Malfoy she was looking for. None of the students had died from the curses so far, and if she was able to break through and learn something, or at the very least gain his trust, the reward to the Order would be more than worth it.

She stepped in, expecting to see an entirely empty bathroom with perhaps a ghost rattling around at the sink. Instead, a different sight awaited her.

Draco Malfoy was clutching the edge of the cracked sink basin in front of him, rocking himself back and forth and shaking. From her vantage point, she could see that he was dressed in his normal garb--a black ensemble--but his hair was unruly and messy, sticking up in the back like he’d hurriedly tugged something over his head.

A strangled gasp grounded her and halted her curious observations. Malfoy began to make these awful sobbing sounds, like he could barely manage to breathe.

Y/N was frozen in place as she surveyed her options. If she stayed and tried to talk to him, he might react in anger or hurt her. But if she just left him, like this, all alone...She swallowed once before stepping forward.

“Malfoy? Are you okay?” Obviously he’s not, you bint said a voice deep in her brain. She pushed it aside as he swung around, his wand raised and his eyes blazing. “Whoa! I’m not going to...Put your wand down!”

He stared at her, his eyes wide with horror as he continued to shake, so much so that his wand slipped out of his hand and clattered to the floor. Without thinking, Y/N reached into her pocket and flung her wand away, holding her hands up.

“I’m not going to try anything. I promise.”

As she drew closer, she could see the remnants of tears on his wet cheeks and the way that his silver eyes were rimmed with a bloodshot red.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he hissed, his voice weak and cracking.

“Neither should you. This is the girl’s bathroom.”

final a/n: ok so lmk if you guys wants me to continue. i really did not edit the last half fjkdsal;f also kinda made this an au where malfoy tried to assassinate dumbledore. with more than one cursed object but dw it’ll all make sense ill clear that up 😭

#draco malfoy #draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine #draco x you #draco #draco malfoy x you #draco x y/n #draco malfoy x y/n #draco x oc #draco malfoy x oc

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the-cult-of-russo · 3 years

Text

Billy Russo Fluff Alphabet

A/N: a Billy x reader fluff Alphabet anyone? 🙃

-----

A = Admiration (what do they absolutely adore about you?)

Billy admires everything about you. From your looks to your personality. He often just watches you with a dopey smile on his face as he wonders how he managed to get someone like you.

He's gone his life feeling like people only wanted him around because they wanted something from him. His money, his skill or his looks. But you just want him for him. It scares the shit out of him sometimes but it touches his heart to have found someone who isn't using him and actually cares.

B = Body (what is their favorite part of your body?)

I answered this in the NSFW alphabet but, his favourite body parts are your neck and eyes.

Your eyes give everything away and he can pick up even minute changes in your mood from them. He adores them.

With your neck, it gets him going ridiculously.

C = Cuddling (how do they like to cuddle?)

With you, Billy is a huge cuddler. He loves it when you lay your head on his chest. He hitches your thigh up so he can grasp it, his other arm wound tightly around you. He also loves being the big spoon.

He just enjoys the closeness, he feels like he can never get close enough to you.

D = Dates (what does their ideal date with you look like?)

As much as he can do fancy dinners, he much prefers at home dates. He loves the dates where he cooks for you at home and then you cuddle on the sofa afterwards. It feels much more intimate to him.

E = Emotions (how do they express emotion around you?)

Billy is very emotionally stunted. At first, he struggles to deal with having feelings and expressing himself. But once that hurdle is over, he has no issues with constantly telling you he loves you. He's also very affectionate because sometimes it's easier to show you rather than to tell you. Sweet kisses, soft touches or his hands gripping your hips.

F = Family (do they want one? If they do, when?)

Billy never wanted a family before. He didn't think he was built that way after his upbringing. The looming threat of failing as a parent would haunt him.

But with you he started to crave that. Started to want what Frank and Maria have.

He started to be able to see himself as a dad, the father to your kids.

G = Gifts (how do they feel about gift giving? What are their habits when it comes to this?)

Billy loves showering you with gifts and he's surprisingly good at getting sentimental ones. He has a fantastic memory and he never forgets what you say. If you say something in passing conversation about something you like or want, you'll end up with it not long after.

Billy will pull all the strings he needs to in order to make sure you get what you want. He loves to spoil you.

H = Holding Hands (when/how do they like to hold hands?)

Billy likes holding hands, feeling his fingers laced with yours. But he much prefers wrapping an arm around your waist or shoulders. Holding hands creates some distance and he doesn't like that. He likes you as close as possible at all times. Pressed against his side with his arm around you brings him a sense of peace.

I = Injury (how would they act if you got hurt?)

Over the top.

Stubbed your toe? It's the end of the world.

Accidentally cut your finger when chopping vegetables? You're dying and he needs to call 911.

“Billy, you don’t need to call 911,”

“What, you wanna bleed out?”

“It’s-It’s a tiny slice...”

“Right, and the next thing you know, you got sepsis and they’re choppin’ off your arm. I’m callin’ 911,”

“Billy-”

“Yeah, hi. My girl’s bleedin’ out, we need an ambulance...”

If you get injured because of someone else, even if it's an accident, he wants blood. Anyone that hurts you is on his shit list.

If anyone purposely hurts you… their days are numbered. Billy won't rest until he's got retribution for that. No one messes with his family.

J = Jokes (do they like to joke around with or prank you? how?)

Billy loves to joke with you. He's constantly teasing you and making you laugh with dad jokes and bad puns.

He also loves to see your face when you slurp your coffee that has salt and not sugar in it.

K = Kisses (how do they like to kiss you?)

Billy loves kisses. He loves giving you little affectionate kisses on your head, cheek, temple, shoulder, neck. It reassures him you're still there and he can't help it, the need to be close to you.

When he kisses your lips though, it's hard to hold back. Whether it's the slow and sensual kisses that have you melting or the bruising kisses that are all tongues and teeth, he can't hold back. Even sweet pecks on your lips turn into dirty kisses as he loses himself in you.

He's the kind of guy that kisses with his whole body. His hands wandering and gripping you, his body moving against yours. Kissing Billy is a very involved experience.

Kissing you is his favorite thing to do.

L = Love (how do they show you they love you?)

He sometimes struggles with his words and Billy is very much a man of action. Things like making you breakfast in bed when he's off work, cooking you dinner. Sometimes he leaves little notes for you since he wakes up early for work and he doesn't want to wake you when you look so peaceful.

He's always checking in with you, wanting to make sure you're healthy and happy. There isn't anything he wouldn't do for you.

M = Memory (favorite memory together?)

His favourite memory is the day you told him you loved him. It would be ingrained in his memory forever. It was the day he realised that just maybe he could have a happy ever after.

N = Nightmare (what is their worst fear?)

Losing you. Billy's seen a lot of shit in his life and lost people close to him. His biggest fear is losing you in any way. Whether that's you willingly walking away, something that plagues him daily. Or you being taken from him somehow. He'd die if anything happened to you.

Losing you is not an option for Billy and he will do everything humanly possible to make sure that doesn't happen.

O = Oddity (what is one quirk they have?)

He's a neat freak. He loves things being neat and orderly, he can't help it. His bookcase is arranged alphabetically, his suits coordinated by color.

P = Pet Names (what do they like to call you?)

Sweetheart is his go to. He constantly calls you sweetheart and doesn't even realise it. When he's feeling especially soft, it's baby.

Q = Quality Time (how do they like to spend time with you?)

He loves any time he gets with you no matter where it is. As long as you're by his side, he's fine.

He really loves the domestic home life with you. His arms wrapped around you while you cook, snuggled on the sofa together etc.

R = Rhythm (what song reminds you of them?)

Closer by Nine Inch Nails 👀😂

S = Secrets (how open are they with you?)

It takes him a while to open up since he has trust issues. But once he realised you genuinely love him, he started to open up bit by bit. Every time he revealed something about himself he was convinced you'd leave. But when you didn't, he got more confident to share his life with you.

T = Time (how long did it take you to get together?)

It took a little bit. It started off casual but he knew he wanted more. You were like an addiction to him. He rarely went back to someone for sex, only if he was getting something out of it. But he liked having you around. Enjoyed being with you even when you weren't having sex. Eventually he realised he wanted more with you.

U = Upset (how do they act when you’re upset?)

Billy hates it when you're upset. He wants to be able to fix it, to make you happy. And when it's something beyond his control he loathes it. If he can fix it, he will. Instantly. No questions asked. No matter what he has to do.

If someone is the cause of your tears, he's feral. He'll make them pay for every tear you shed because of them.

V = Vaunt (what are they proud of? Do they like to show you off?)

Billy is as proud as a peacock. His biggest achievement is Anvil and he's proud of that.

His life hasn't been easy and Anvil to him is more than a company. It's a tangible representation of how far he's come in life. In how he started at the bottom and clawed his way up to the top.

He's also proud of being a former marine. He knows he did some bad things and there's part of his time there he regrets. But he's still proud to have served his country and being part of that.

Billy loves to show you off. Any galas or events and he's got you at his side, introducing you as his girl proudly. If you can't be there then he can't help talking about you.

He has a picture of you both that takes pride of place on his desk.

W = Warrior (how do they feel about you fighting? Would they fight for you, beside you, etc?)

Billy's taught you how to fight and use weapons. Of course he wants to be the one to protect you, but he's a practical man. He knows that he can't always be there. He's ensured you know how to protect yourself.

If you had to fight, he wouldn't be happy about it. He'd hate that you'd been in that situation. But he'd be super proud of you and fuss over you to make sure you're okay.

Billy would most definitely fight for you. Sometimes it isn't even necessary when he tries to go for people. You have to calm him down when someone bumps into you in the street and almost knocks you over. He'd murder someone in broad daylight.

Billy would literally go to war for you.

X = X-Ray (how well are they able to read you?)

Billy is scary with how well he can read you. You can't hide anything from him. He's super perceptive and picks up the slightest thing. Whether that's a slight change in body language, something in your eyes or voice. He always knows if somethings wrong and he knows right away if you're lying to him. Nothing gets past him.

Y = Yes (how would they propose to you?)

Billy would want to go all out and be super romantic. He'd tailor it to things you like, making sure it's all about you. He wouldn't do it out in public with an audience. Not only because of his deep rooted fear of rejection, but mostly because he wouldn't want to pressure you. It would be intimate and sweet and he'd give a long ass speech on how you changed his life and he can't live without you.

He'd also cry.

Z = Zen (what makes them feel calm?)

You. You are his safe space, his home. Any time things are intense with him, you can bring him back and soothe him. Being close to you instantly makes him feel better. Holding you in his arms calms him right down.

If you're not around then exercise. Working out helps him relieve stress.

Combining them both with sex with you… well that's just his favorite way to calm down.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #the punisher #billy russo imagine #billy russo headcanons

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thewritetofreespeech · 3 years

Text

Words: 5000+

Rating: M

Pairing: Benimaru (TSSK) x Reader

Summary: You were husband & wife in name only.

AO3

The moon was bright & crisp in the sky over Rimuru. Even without your candle light, you would probably be able to see clearly into your mirror as you brushed out your hair, preparing for bed. It had been a challenging day.

Keeping Shion and Shuna from destroying their Lord with their love was a full-time job sometimes. Being the buffer between them was sometimes more than your poor human body could take; a fact Rimuru-sama was often concerned about. You usually brushed it off with a ‘better me than you’ remark as his peril would be far more of a detriment to others than you, but appreciated his concern. Besides, neither ogre-ess would intentionally hurt you. Worst you’d ever come away with before was a good goose egg from Shion swinging around Hercules’s willy-nilly and caught you in the back of the head. It was an accident, and she could have easily crushed your head like a melon, but Shion still cried for almost 3 days after every time she saw you in apology.

You chuckle a little at the memory. How wonderfully problematic your life had become in this past year. You wouldn’t call it ‘blissful’. It had it’s challenges like most. But your life taken an interest, wonderful turn that had led you to this life you wouldn’t trade anything for. You were safe. You were loved. You were a respected person when just some months ago you were nobody and nothing. How quickly the world turns.

A knock at your door halted the comb in your tresses and you look up surprised by the sound. “Who is it?” You ask. Curious who would be at your door so late at night.

“It’s me.” Your eyes blink in surprise as you hear the familiar deep timber of Benimaru behind the frame. “May I come in?”

You stammer out a reply of ‘one moment’ as you adjust yourself to make your appearance more presentable and told him to come in. It was embarrassing to have him see you in your night clothes. But if he was coming here so late at night, it must be important. Your husband never came to your chambers this late at night.

The title of ‘husband’ was in name only. You and Benimaru were not romantically involved, nor had you chosen each other completely of your own free will. He had saved you, along with Rimuru-sama and the rest of the Kijin, when they defeated the great bandit army that had been sweeping the east. Once just thugs of human and monsters alike, they had grown into a real threat in the land taking anything they please. Money. Goods. Women. When they came to your small village, they had burned it down and had taken you with them when they left. You were their prisoner and slave for nearly two months before Rimuru-sama and his band had come along.

You still remember seeing them for the first time. Bright and regal. A peasant before being a slave, you had never seen such fine strange clothes before. Nor the impending presence of the man in front of you when he’d come upon you.

“I claim this woman as my own.” They were the first words he’d ever said to you. Then he picked you up over his shoulder and carried you away with his band while the smoldering embers of the great bandit army died out in the distance.

At first, you thought it was all going to be the same. One capture was no different than the last; though you were a little concerned about an ogre being your master than a human. But how much worse could it be? The last human captor you had had been a true monster. Being owned by a real one could not be that different. Or at least that was what you thought at first.

The ogres and Rimuru-sama had been impossibly kind. They tended to your wounds from your long capture. Gave you a place to sleep. Clothes. Fed you, although there was some debate on which ogre-ess’s cooking would ‘best suit you’, and treated you as an equal. You were incredibly moved by their generosity. They were even willing to take you home. And when you told them “I have no home” they seemed genuinely hurt by that.

You of course explained to them what happened, and realized now that you really had no place to go. You thought you would die in the bandit camp. So the thought had never crossed your mind where you would go should your imprisonment be over. You were lost and alone in the world. No money. No home. No family. Even if you left, who was to say you wouldn’t be taken up by another group who found your helplessness easy pickings? Or worse, going to that life on your own because you had no other choices…..

“You’re staying here.” Benimaru had announced, much to the surprise of everyone. “You’re my woman now, remember? I defeated those fools and claimed you as my prize. This is your home now. You’re staying here.”

There was a loud commotion from the group as they all thought he had been joking but, apparently, he wasn’t. While the energetic group argued, you looked at Benimaru critically and realized what he was doing. He knew that if you didn’t belong to someone, you could easily be taken by another. If not the remanences of the great bandit army, but someone else; as you feared. Being his woman, letting him lay claim, offered you protection you couldn’t afford on your own. “Ok,” you’d told him. Your soft voice somehow ringing out over the crowd.

Rimuru-sama had of course forbade his general from ‘keeping’ a woman. He said if he wanted to do this, he would have to do the honorable thing and marry you. It had been surprising how quickly he agreed. Then asked if you would be alright with it and you’d said yes. You had been married the next day, and were then husband & wife, and that was the end of it.

Your married life was that of about the same as anyone else in the close group. You weren’t intimate. You didn’t share secrets or stories. You didn’t even sleep in the same quarters of the estate. Aside from a few group outings, communal meals, and when he popped in on Shuna when you were around, you honestly rarely saw your ‘husband’.

Which was why it was so surprising he was here now, at this late hour.

“What is it Benimaru-sama? Is something wrong?” You ask, looking up at him from where you’d been sitting on the floor before he sat down too. His expression was placid, so it was hard to tell if something was going on.

“The envoy from Blumund is leaving tomorrow.” His eyes fixed on the hardwood under your knees.

“Yes, I know. He told me. He’s a little hard to miss.” You reply with a soft chuckle.

The envoy in question was a nice man. Tall, lean. A little bit older than you, but still a jovial person. Rimuru-sama had set you with the important task of keeping him company and being his escort during his stay. His immediate council in the Kijin were nice, but they sometimes lack the social grace or understanding of human culture. He didn’t want to offend the man and trusted you could keep him company during his stay.

“He’s rather taken with you.” Benimaru then stated. Taking you a bit by surprise. “He wants to take you back to Blumund with him.”

Your bit of surprise turned into full blown shock. “W…What are you talking about??”

“He wants to take you back to Blumund with him.” He repeated. As if somehow that made you understand completely. “He said he thinks you’re very beautiful, and charming, and that it would be a better fit for you to live among humans, rather than here in Rimuru with none of them. He talked to Rimuru-sama about this.”

“And Rimuru-sama told you about this?”

“I was there.” Benimaru stated after he shook his head. “He asked for us to severe our bond so you could go with him. So you could marry him.”

Your eyes probably bug out of your head now. Were you being proposed to by proxy by your own husband?!?

“How could he ask such a thing?!”

“Like I said, he’s taken with you.”

“That’s not the point! How am I supposed to marry someone else when I’m already married?!”

“He knows our marriage isn’t consummated.” His eyes finally look up to catch yours.

You feel your whole body turn red. Now you have to look away to stare at the floor. It was true. Your marriage wasn’t consummated. It had been something done to offer you protection and stability. It had never been about love. So you have never laid with your husband as he wished to respect your virtue. “How crude.” You mutter. Embarrassed, more than anything, as you were sure people knew about your unclaimed marriage, but no one would dare bring it up until now.

“Do you want to go with him?”

You look up again and offer a soft noise of surprise at the question. “Do you want to go with him?” He repeated. “As you said, he’s a good man. He has fortune, and power. You’d be a respected woman among your people. You’d be among your people.” Maybe you imagined it, but you thought you saw Benimaru wince at that. “You don’t have to stay here anymore. You don’t have to stay with me. You’re established enough now to make your own choices. You can be free.”

Free? The word played over in your head for a moment. The sheer concept completely foreign to you at the moment.

You’d never been free. First you belonged to your family. Then the bandits. Then Benimaru. Though you had freedom on occasion, you had never been truly free. And now that you had it, you found the idea ironically suffocating. You could choose to leave. Leave Rimuru City and start a new life as a woman of prominence in Blumund. But what if you didn’t want to leave?

“D…Do you want me to leave?” The kijin looked up at you again with a confused expression at your soft words. “If you want me to leave I will. But…I don’t want to leave all of you. I love being here, and being with Shion, and Shura, Rimuru-sama and….you. My ‘people’ have never been kind to me, so I really don’t want to go back to them. I want to stay here. We don’t have to be married anymore, if that’s the problem. We can still break our bond, if that’s what you want. But I’d like to – “That’s not what I want!”

Your eyes flicker up. Startled by the red Kijin’s roar and the burning fire resting in his eyes. “I don’t want to break our bond! I don’t want you to go with him! Do you have any idea how hard it was not to tear that man’s head off at the table when he said that?! I wanted to gouge his eyes out for saying you were beautiful! I wanted to rip out his heart out for ever letting you rest in it! You’re my woman, and my wife, and he thinks he can just say those things to me and live! He should kiss Rimuru-sama’s feet before he leaves because he’s the only reason that wretch is still breathing!”

Silence passed between you for a moment as you were completely stunted into speechlessness by Benimaru’s words. You had never expected such a passionate response out of the man. Until now, you were sure his only feelings toward you were ambivalence and mild friendship. The way he just ‘my wife’ to you, however, let you know that he had thought of this more than just a marriage of convenience. Your body flushed hot again as your heart beat hammered in your chest. “Benimaru….sama?”

“Don’t go with him.” The kijin repeated. Calmer this time as his expression seemed to morph into sadness at the thought of you leaving. “I can’t stand the idea of you leaving with him. When we first met, and I took you as my woman & wife, I will admit that I did it out of pity for you. You lost everything, and had nothing. I know what that’s like and wished to spare you. I thought that, after a few months, you would have a good enough reputation as the former wife of the Ogre Prince, Commander of the Jura forces, that we could break our bond honorably and you could make your own path in the world without fear. But, as time went on, I became more and more attached to you. Your kindness in spite of everything you endured. Your determination. Your desire to work hard to make things better for everyone here. I grew to fall in love with you and I couldn’t let you go. I know it was selfish, and that I’m being selfish now, but please don’t go.”

Your heart was still hammering so hard in your chest that you were scared you might faint. You felt like you could swoon at any moment. “Why didn’t you ever tell me this before?”

He looked down and started to fidget. “I was afraid you wouldn’t feel the same.” His confession less confident this time. “You weren’t really given much of a choice in our marriage. I was afraid that you thought of me as just another man who had taken you. If you didn’t feel the same I could live with it, but knowing was – “That’s not true!”

It was Benimaru’s turn for his eyes to flicker up and be stunned by your confession. Apparently you had more in common than you thought. “I’ve never thought of you that way! If anything, I’ve only ever seen you as my rescuer. You saved me from a horrible existence as a slave. You gave this life that is so wonderful. With friends, and people I can’t live without anymore. I can’t begin to repay you. Or tell you how I feel….”

All these feelings and emotions were rushing to the surface now the more you spoke. You had always been fond of Benimaru. Your strong, brave protector. You just assumed that he wanted nothing to do with you. The distance he put between you making it very clear. So you had pushed your feelings toward the back of your heart. Forgetting them until now, where they crashed to the front like a dam had burst.

“[Y/N]….” You look up into the red head’s eyes when he said your name. Whispered it, really, like it was some secret plea. His hand then reached out slowly to cup your cheek. Those battle calloused hands incredibly gentle against your skin. You really might swoon at the juxtaposition.

Those burning red orbs look at you in earnest before they flicker down to your lips. A silent request. One you eagerly receive.

The only time you had kissed your husband before this was at your wedding. To seal your bond. That, however, had been just a simple peck on the lips to meet the contract. This was a real kiss. Your lips pressing together in committed passion. Intense, but both of you still too shy it seemed to go past pressing your lips soundly together.

“[Y/N],” Benimaru said again as you press your foreheads together after your kiss. You don’t ever think you’ve heard your name sound so sweet. “Become my woman and my wife. Truly. You didn’t get a choice when we first met, but I ask you this now to make your own decision. Will you be mine?”

Your heart swelled unbearably tight in your chest before you nodded against his forehead. “Yes. Yes, I want to be your woman and your wife. Truly.”

You can feel the smile on his lips when he kissed you again. More deeply this time. His tongue snaked into your mouth against yours. The way he was kissing you making your legs feel weak to the point that you were happy you were sitting down. However, if they had buckled, your strong husband could easily pick you up in his arms. A shiver racing down your spine at the lewd thought that had just passed through you.

“Aah…I knew it. This is why I stayed away from you.” Benimaru said, finally letting you go. Your lips were kiss swollen now, and you were having a hard time understanding what he was talk about. “Every time I was near you, I wanted to claim you.” He explained. His expression looking deliriously happy as he examined his handiwork on your lips. “It was so hard to even be in the same room as you with your scent always hounding me every moment I was near. I had to stay away so I wouldn’t do anything horrible to you. But then that was its own torture as well. Near, apart. Both were an agony I couldn’t face somedays. Now that I have you though, I’ll never let you away from my side. You’ve summoned the beast in me. I hope you’re prepared.”

A loud squeak left your lips as the sneaky ogre flipped you. Instantly going from sitting on your ankles to flat on your back. Your world righted again and was filled with Benimaru as he leaned on top of you. His expression soft but heated, making you blush, before he kissed you again. His weight on top of you now making you moan wanton into the kiss this time.

Your world was filled with passionate kisses. They steal your breath away and make you squirm under your husband. You then feel his hands on your side. Touching you. Caressing your curves. You feel them fumbling around for your kimono tie, unwilling to let your lips go for even a moment to get to it properly, and place your hand on his chest.

“Benimaru, wait.”

The kijin stopped instantly and sat back off you. His eyes questing into your own to see what was wrong.

“I just….I thought I should…I mean we never…I’m not…” You stumble over the words to say to him. To explain that you weren’t the maiden he might have hoped for. The words cling in your throat as images of your former life flash across your mind. You feel unworthy. Dirty. Then his hand reached out to you brush your cheek again. Causing one of the tears that were welling up in your eyes to fall against it.

“That doesn’t matter to me.” He said with assurity and a softness that could only be described as love. “It doesn’t change how I feel about you. I love you as you are now. Not who you could be. My only regret is that I couldn’t kill those bastards 100 times more over for ever having hurt you.”

You scoff out a chuckle at the violent decree said so sweetly. You hand came up to clasp his own. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“You could never disappointment.” He replied, almost instantly. Then kissed your hand as he brought it to his lips once he removed it from your cheek. “Do you wish to stop? We don’t have to do this now. I can be satisfied with you declaring you want to be my woman and my wife. Well….contented.”

You chuckle again, more light hearted this time, and leaned in to initiate your kiss this time. “I meant what I said. I want to be your woman and your wife truly. I don’t want to stop.”

A sigh of relief left Benimaru. The prince willing to stop if you wanted but clearly so glad you didn’t. You giggle and let him take you in his arms.

The momentary pause in your kissing afforded Benimaru the chance to undo your kimono tie. Loosening it and letting it fall, but not pushing the thin material of your actual robe off your body yet. You reach out for him as well to undo the clasp of his overcoat. The heavy material immediately falling of his shoulders, in contrast, once the hold was released. He seemed fascinated with your work as your hands untie his under coat as well.

“Your touch is like fire.”

“Is that a joke?” You ask when Benimaru growled those words at you. Your apex quivering at the sound, but still curious if he was making a joke.

He chuckled. Another shiver at your core. “No. But I guess I can see how it would be. I mean it though. Everywhere you touch me sets a fire in me.” His hand came up to take yours and slip it under his loose top now. Guiding it over the hard planes of his chest over to his heart. “I can’t get enough of it.”

You kiss again and continue stripping. There wasn’t much to let go of for you, as just before now you were preparing for bed, so you were quickly naked in front of him. He talked about your touch being fire, but his was burning you up inside. His hands were hot. They left a lingering heat in your body everywhere he touched, to the point that you wonder if he had activated his magic. You were helpless against his soft touches. Your body aching already before he even properly touched.

Then, when he did, your body became a livewire.

Your limbs immediately went taunt when his fingers touched your core. “Please try to relax.” He whispered to you in your hair. His own long, hard body nestled beside you. Holding you close.

You try to do as he said and relax. It wasn’t difficult after the initial shock as the pleasure made it easy to succumb to him. Those hands so skilled at fighting working your body with similar expertise. “Mmmm…Benimaru….”

“Ah…say that again.” His deep voice was in your ear again. This time sounding elated, before his tongue reached out to lick the shell of it. “Say my name again. Please.”

“Benimaru…” You repeat his name over and over again. His precious name he held so dear. The name Rimuru-sama had given to him. It fell from your lips like a prayer chant as his fingers brought you closer and closer to climax. When you did, it fell from your lips again in a shout. “Benimaru!”

He continued to touch you until your walls stopped clamping around his digits. Finally setting them free. Your spent body laid against him, and you open your eyes tiredly just in time to see him cleaning your juices from his fingers. “Ah…my love tastes so sweet. I could get addicted to your flavor.”

If you body wasn’t already flushed from orgasm, you would have blushed completely. Benimaru seemed pretty proud of himself, however, before he leaned in to kiss you. You don’t think you taste sweet at all. But the taste of yourself on his lips was something you could get addicted to too. When had you become so perverted?

He let you go for a moment and shuffled around to pull out of his pants. You watched him, in the soft light. His handsome body bare to you. Not a mark on him thanks to his skill and healing. Your eyes travel down and find the proof of his love for you staring back proudly at your face. You gulp at his size. That was going to be inside you.

“Don’t worry. I know it’s a bit bigger than a human’s, but I’ll try not to hurt you.”

“I-It’s alright.” You reply back at his concern. He had mistaken your gulp for a concern about his size. How shameful he would probably find you if he found out that it wasn’t from concern, but excitement, that had caused you to gulp. Again, when had you become so perverted? “I trust you. And I want to be with you.”

“[Y/N]….” He spoke your name softly again before he leaned in to kiss you. Guiding you back down on your back. You feel his weight press on top of you. Your legs spread wide around his pelvis to let him mount you. You can feel the tip of his erection pressing against your entrance and shiver a little at the lower kiss. “Please tell me if I’m hurting you.” Benimaru urged as he started to press into you.

You let out a wordless cry at the initial invasion into your most private place. You can feel your entrance stretch to accommodate him. The sensation a duality of pleasure and pain. And it was only the first few inches. Finally, agonizingly slowly, he was fully inside you. The kijin raining kisses down over your face and neck and everywhere else his lips could get to as you held on to him. His back tight under your fingers as he was very clearly straining to wait for you. “I’m alright, Benimaru. Please. Continue.”

You felt him nod against your shoulder before his hips pull back away from yours, then forward back into you. You both moan at the initial slow thrust. The feeling indescribable and compounding with each shallow thrust. “[Y/N]….”

“Mmmm…Benimaru….” You moan back when he said your name. “You can…go faster….” Not that you weren’t enjoying this slow entanglement, one could only describe as love making, you could tell that he was holding back and it was hard for him. “I..I want you. Please….Make me your woman.”

“I did warn you.” His voice sounded hard now, in comparison to the soft words he’d whispered to you earlier, and you think you hear the sound of nails scratching against the floor mat by your head.

His hips pull back again, this time practically pulling out of you, before they slam back in. You let out a loud cry. One readily identified as one not of pain. Then all you can do is hold on. Your arms wrap tight around Benimaru’s neck as he pounded into you. Before, where you had tried to roll your hips up to meet his thrusts when they had been soft & gentle, all you can do now is lay under him and take it. And become a babbling mess it seemed.

“Ah~! B-Benimaruuu! S-So good! Don’t stop!”

“I have no intention of stopping.” His words were stern. The cool seriousness of his intention to keep claiming you made your walls quake around him. “You’re my woman now. This body is mine. I’ll remind you of it every day if I have to. You’ve possessed me to the point of madness with this love. I can never let you go.” His tongue laved at the sweat collecting on the skin of your neck. Following it up to the back of your ear before his teeth bit into the soft flesh there. You let out a yelp, and call his name again, before you were cumming. Your nails biting him back into his shoulder.

“Ah! [Y/N]! Too tight. It’s too tight. I’m gonna-!” His hard thrusts come to a staggering halt as he spilled his seed inside you. Holding there before his hips roll softly against you as his cock continued to twitch its release.

He collapsed on top of you once it was finished. Your bliss worn body not seeming to care about the extra weight as you held him against your bosom and both tried to catch your breath. Rested, but not to say recovered, the ogre lifted himself up off your body and pulled out. You wince as he did. Those hard thrusts catching up to you, and suddenly feeling at a loss without him inside you. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You look over to Benimaru, who had apparently seen you flinch, and was looking concerned. “No. Just a little sore.” He looked a little ashamed at that and muttered an apology to you. “Don’t,” you tell him. Reaching on to touch his chest. “It’s not as if I was really complaining.”

You both blush, despite everything you’d just done, still apparently shy about intimacy, before he slid over to you. “Are you sure you’re alright? About everything?”

You nod. Both of you laying on your side to face each other. His fingers caressing your cheek before moving down to the love mark he’d nipped into your skin. “Yes. I meant what I said. I don’t regret it.” You weren’t foolish enough to think that you were going to be instantly happy as husband and wife now. You were basically starting fresh. Starting anew. Though you knew a lot about each other, you had to relearn things and uncover new things as only a spouse would know. It would take time. But you were happy enough for now to at least try to start this new chapter with Benimaru. “You’re not going to kill the envoy before he leaves tomorrow, are you?”

The man let out a boisterous laugh and wrapped his arms tight around you in a hug. “No. I would never disrespect Rimuru-sama like that. As long as he leaves, I’m satisfied. But if he touches you between now and then, I make no promise on the guarantee he will leave with all his limbs.”

“Benimaru….”

The envoy, it seemed, was clever enough to take the hint in not touching you. The murderous aura & killing intent of the red kijin seemingly always just behind you making that clear. You decline his invitation to join him in Blumund. Telling him that the only time you would come to the city to visit him was with your husband. He again took the hint and left without comment. Rimuru-sama gave Benimaru a stern talking to about scaring their allies and ambassadors to their country, but you could also see that he wasn’t very serious about it. He seemed pleased enough that things had worked out, that you were staying, and his beloved friends were happy.

Ever the wonderfully problematic life in Rimuru City.

#;pen & paper (fanfiction)#benimaru #benimaru x reader #tensei shitara suraimu datta ken #that time i got reincarnated as a slime #tensei shitara slime datta ken #tensei shitara slime datta ken x reader #tensei shitara suraimu datta ken imagine #random fandom #imagine #benimaru tssk #benimaru (Tensei shitara Slime Datta Ken)#scenarios #[the fact that there isn't more work about my beautiful red headed baby is criminal]

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amoristt · 3 years

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Just a Dare | Nathan Prescott x Reader

@trueloveknifefight asked, Also can I request Nathan asking you out?

here u are! i love writing convos w nathan UGH i adore his character.

as always, replies and reblogs are greatly appreciated1 i check all tags and comments <3

wanna support me for just $3? here's my ko-fi!

The lights were bright, vivid. Almost blinding. They dance LED accents into the reflection of your drink- a dull plastic cup filled to the brim with one part whiskey, zero parts mixer. The taste could bring a tear to your eye but you would be damned to water down such fine alcohol, provided by none other than Nathan Prescott himself.

Music reverberated along the pool rooms walls, laughter and hollers distantly rising with the tempos. Your foot absently tapped to the beat- you were never one for dancing. Never one for parties, either, actually, favoring drinking in the solitude of a small friend group.

If not for Nathan you wouldn't be here at all. Some would say it's a privilege to slip past those heavy doors, entering the dully lit world of the Vortex Club. You mostly just felt like it was all for show. Somehow securing a place among Nathan's friend group, and a good friend at that, it was almost duty to show up. He insisted on it.

So, here you were. Leaning against a wall in a suffocatingly warm, cramped pool room surrounded by a sea of faces you hardly recognized.

That was, until you saw Nathan's face peer through the small break in shifting bodies. You knew him all too well.

Strikingly handsome, equally strikingly pompous. Funny, crude, an absent minded party goer just as much as he was a fireball with racing, incoherent thoughts. A drinker, a druggie. Takes the edge off, he says, but you think he does it to take away his thoughts completely. You felt like his entire life was all edges, never sacred ground.

The poor bastard.

He lures your attention in as he saunters over with squared shoulders, narrowly avoiding spilling his drink when a random student cuts it a little too close. Normally Nathan would make a bigger deal, give him what for, but this time he just shoots the poor kid a menacing glare and grumbles, 'fucking watch it'. He's walking with purpose and intent, you can see it on his face. You must have a target on your forehead as he darts straight over.

When he comes to your side, his own alcohol dripping down the sides of his cup onto his wiry fingers, you raise a brow.

"Something wrong?" You ask, as he takes a spot leaning against the hard wall right next to you.

"Just wondering why you're being so fucking lame over here," He shouts over the music, taking a sip of his drink, grimacing at the taste. "We're all having a good time over at the lounge and you're over here acting like all the other wallflower nobodies."

You roll your eyes with upturning lips. "Maybe I like being a wallflower. I like people watching. I see things no one else does."

"Yeah, okay, fucking weirdo."

"I mean it," You push off the wall and grin. "Look-" You point to a student obviously wasted, drink held high over head while he lets the music take him away. "That guy is clearly trashed- he's having the time of his life. He's gotta be seeing double."

Nathan whistles at his state, taking in the guys goofy smile, half lidded eyes. "I'll bet it's the triplets. I could breathe on him too hard and he'd fall over."

"You should go try it." You tease. He shakes his head and takes another drink.

"Nah, he'll get it himself. Guarantee we'll be dragging him out by his feet by the end of the night." He shrugs. "Or, at least someone will. I sure as fuck ain't staying that long."

You snicker. "What, got a hot date?" Nathan glares at you. "Oh don't tell me," you cup your hands to whisper, a secretive gesture, "homework?"

"Fuck no," He scoffs, and you can just barely see that he's a little more than tipsy now. His pale cheeks dusted with red, the tip of his nose ruby under the harsh lighting. It's also then that you realize he's a little more tense than usual, even despite the drinking. He's standing straight upright, his right hand gripping his cup like a crutch and his left now shoved hastily into his pocket.

He hasn't looked at you dead in the eyes yet.

"So what is it then?" You ask curiously. He shrugs and stares into his cup. You frown. "Bro, are you like, good right now? Do you wanna leave?"

For the first time since he'd wandered over, Nathan looks up at you. His eyes are unreadable, but his composure seems stressed. He shrugs again. Before you can even open your mouth to ask him about his state, he sighs and downs an entire mouthful of burning whiskey. It makes you cringe just watching him.

"Fuck it," He huffs. "Look I got some stupid ass dare to come over here and put the moves on you, okay." He sounds almost annoyed, like it's a hassle for him, or maybe embarrassing. You cross your arms. "I was dared to come over here and try to get you like, to fucking, you know, leave with me, but now that I'm over here I'm starting to think maybe that was a dumbass idea."

"Leave with you?" You say incredulously, a brow already lifting. "You were dared to come over here and try to sleep with me? By our friends?"

"No, no, fuck," Nathan seems agitated now, rushing. "Like a date sorta bullshit. Ask you out." He manages to get it out in almost the worst delivery possible, meanwhile you're just trying to pick out who would put him up to this. Hayden? Victoria?

A laugh forces its way out of you. "Aren't we a little too old for that game?"

Nathan shrugs. "That's what I said but they insisted. Fucking babies. At least make the dare a little more fun than just asking some bitch out. That's like elementary level shit."

Your eyes widen, you scoff. "Excuse me?"

Nathan sputters. "You're not some bitch, I didn't mean to-... Fucks sake, I'm clearly a little drunk right now okay, if you could cut me some fucking slack that'd be awesome."

"Hey man I didn't ask to be a victim of bullying," You tease, and he can't help but laugh. You soften. "Never expected it from you, though of all people. As ironic as that sounds."

"I'm not even bullying you, come on. Don't be a bitch. I even admitted it and everything."

You grin. "Yeah. Gotta say though, I'm a little disappointed."

"Oh what, you wanted to see my moves?" Nathan hums. "You wanted some Prescott action?"

"Shut the hell up." You shove his shoulder, an action that would be a mistake to so many others, but for you, it was welcomed. "I'm disappointed that it was just a dare. I'd probably have said yes if it wasn't. But, oh well."

Nathan doesn't answer for a long moment. First, he stares into his drink, processing. Almost like he hadn't heard that right, or like you were messing with him. It's rare to see Nathan Prescott stunned into a momentary silence. He's thinking, wondering what he should say next. Suspicious that you're just playing with him, hopeful that maybe you aren't.

And, you hadn't been. Truth be told if given the chance you would allow him to take you out for the evening. Show you fancy things, try out something a little more intimate than just laughter and poking fun at classmates together. You enjoyed his presence, looked forward to it at times.

A small part of you had hoped that he felt the same, maybe. Somehow. While grateful that he respected you enough to cut the crap before it even began, you couldn't help but feel a little... Disheartened at the prank. You'd saved your pride by denying him beforehand, but, if it had been genuine...

"So if it wasn't a dare," He began, quietly, barely audible over the booming music overhead. Eyes barely visible in the sea of vibrant lights crashing like waves. "You'd have said yes."

You shrug, trying to play it casual to save your own feelings, just in case. "Probably. I mean, we're already friends. We have fun so it couldn't have been that bad." He nods along to almost every word.

"Well what if we did it anyways." He blurts.

"Did what?"

"Go out tonight. Like, you know ditch this lame ass party and have some real fun."

"You love this lame ass party, and plus," You shake your head in feigned annoyance. "I'm not sleeping with you, Nathan."

He glares at you. "Fucking duh. I'm just saying we can go and hang out somewhere else. This party happens all the fucking time so it's not like we're missing anything."

"But, wouldn't that make me the butt of our friends joke?"

He shrugs. "Fuck em. It was a dumb dare anyways."

"Now it seems like you're trying extra hard to convince me to say yes." You state, and he's frazzled, running lines through his brain to try and save the absolute failure of asking you out. You decide to spare him, take a little leap of faith for yourself. "But, alright. I'm in."

Nathan gapes at you. "You're in?"

"Yeah, why not. I'm not busy right now and if you're not either than," You smile. "Why not. You better wow me though, Prescott. I'm talking a night to remember. Fireworks, dinner by candle light, a serenade. The whole package."

Nathan's eyes light up, but he tries to hide it, rolls those beautiful blues. "Well considering I've had like no fucking time to prepare how about we instead go to the roof and chill out."

You toss the idea around in your head for show. You already knew the answer the moment he asked if you were being serious.

"I mean I guess that would work," You say. "I was looking for fireworks but I suppose that will suffice. Feel free to go tell our buddies their joke may have backfired on them."

Nathan shakes his head. "Nah, don't even bother. They're all drunk and probably don't even remember daring me in the first place."

"Alright then," You push yourself off the wall, feeling your cheeks warm. A flutter takes wing in the base of your chest, your heart picking up just a little faster. You can't stop the smile that graces you as you say, "Lead the way, Prescott."

Nathan does lead the way. He takes your hand into his own, your fingers tracing over his boney knuckles as he drags you through the sea of bodies, out to the school hall and up winding stairs.

You giggle like a child when he struggles to find the correct key on the janitors ring he'd snatched weeks ago just in case, tease him when he almost spills his drink all over himself. Nathan's hands are almost shaking, but you chalk it up to the alcohol. You chalk everything up to the alcohol- his trembling fingers, his red face, a shy, albeit goofy smile resting upon his lovely, angular face.

The night was cool and crisp, a stark contrast to the smoldering heat of the Vortex Party.

He looks amazing out under the stars, and underneath the scope of the vast, black sky dotted with trillions of perfect, twinkling lights, you feel at peace.

Looking at him, you feel like this may be the start of something you'd denied yourself the chance of ever even imagining.

Out there, alone but together, hearing the echoes of music mixed with the livelihood of crickets in the darkness...

it truly was a night to remember.

-----------

Days later, you sit atop your desk, feet tapping rhythmically on your chair, typing away at your phone.

"Love the top," A familiar voice pipes, and you glace up to find Victoria standing before you, books pressed to her chest. She takes in your shirt, a nicely fitted long sleeve with a rather low cut v-neck. "Why haven't I see that one before?"

You shrug and set your phone down. "Never got around to wearing it I guess. Not a big fan of V-necks."

"It fits you," She sets her books down at the table beside you and brushes a hand through her hair, making sure every strand is in line. "I'll have to get one myself."

"You know what, you can have it after today," You say, and she perks up in disbelief. "As a thank you for what happened at the party."

That disbelief soon turned to confusion. "...Meaning?"

"Y'know, making Nathan ask me out. He made a whole huge deal about it- said you guys were drinking and playing Truth or Dare of all things. Gotta say, I was a little surprised."

Victoria's brows knit. "We hardly drank at that party, and I wouldn't be caught dead playing Truth or Dare. That game is for kids."

It almost knocks the wind out of you.

They hadn't even been playing in the first place.

As the teacher walks into the room, the first period bell blaring annoyingly over the speakers, you climb off your desk and prepare for the day, hardly able to contain yourself. It hadn't been a dare, after all.

And, you and Nathan's official second date was merely a day away.

#nathan prescott #life is strange #imagine #lis

112 notes · View notes

winterscaptain · 4 years

Text

berry hill.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: i am so excited to share this one with you. the tropes are PACKED in here, and it was a blast to write. i also realized some time ago that i keep forgetting summaries on my works, so i’m gonna do my best to add those from now on. as always, let me know if there are any mistakes in here! thanks to @writefasttalkevenfaster for helping me today <3 intended for the ‘a joyful future universe,’ but does not require context. takes place in 2011, early season six, prior to the valhalla arc. words: 12k warnings: language, some vague mention of aaron’s anatomy, alcohol use, when i say slow burn i mean s l o w burn.

summary: "...and there was only one bed." - old fanfiction proverb

waldosia (part 2) | absence (part 3) | mean it (part 4)

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed! updated: january 5th, 2021

It’s way too late and you know it, but Jack is still on his annual winter vacation with Aunt Jess and the rest of the Brooks clan, so there’s simply no incentive to leave. You’re with Hotch at his desk, kicked back like you own the place, while he sits back in his chair with his hands laced behind his head.

The Montana case wrapped up neatly, and any remaining or incoming paperwork this week is light. Though it is admittedly weird without JJ, Seaver seems to be settling in alright. You’re glad that the team decided to take a chance on her like they did with you.

“What do you mean he drew on the wall?” You say through a laugh, popping a grape in your mouth. “Are we talking like a crayon mark here and there or a full-on mural.”

“Multi-media mural - glue, paper mache, markers, crayons, you name it and it was there.” He laughs and he takes a grape from your bowl, kicking his feet up on the desk - mirroring you. “I have no idea how he managed it. I was in the house the whole time.”

“Oh my God, he’s a terror!” Before Aaron can agree, your phone starts ringing. You pick it up, smiling as you see the caller ID.

“Hey Dean!” You stand and give Aaron a ‘sorry, just a second’ finger and step out of the office, leaving the door open behind you. You stay where Aaron can see you, leaning on the rail next to the stairs. You don’t really mean to stay within his eyeline, but it’s habit at this point.

“Hey babe, I hope I’m not calling too late.”

“Oh not at all. I’m still in the office with Hotch getting some work done.”

You catch Hotch’s eye and he mouths ‘Work?’ and you shrug as if to say ‘It’s a loose term.’ He rolls his eyes and steals another one of your grapes.

“Ah, I see. Late-night work with the hot boss-man.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. “So what’s up?”

He sighs, and you already know what’s coming before he says it. “Something came up at work and I won’t be able to make it to the wedding next week. We’re closing on this huge property in Georgetown and it’s really big for the firm and -“

“It’s okay. I get work stuff, trust me.” And you do. It just fucking sucks.

“I’m so so sorry to leave you hanging. I know it’s going to be super rough. Maybe one of your work friends can go with you? Maybe boss man? His name’s Aaron, right? Hopscotch or something?” His humor doesn’t make you feel any better, but you promise to keep ‘Hopscotch’ for later.

You tip your head up to stare at the ceiling and will the tears away from your eyes, blinking them back. “Yeah, I’ll figure it out. None of them knew to ask off work, so if we have a case I’ll be on my own regardless.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Two tears fall out of the corner of your eyes, and you turn around, wiping them away. “It’s okay.”

“I’ll call you day-of to check in, okay?”

Hotch watches you carefully, doing your best to hide your tears from him. Bad news, certainly, but he wishes you wouldn’t hide from him like you do. Or rather, he wishes you wouldn’t try to hide from him like you do.

He can’t hear the entire conversation, obviously, but he resolves to do what he can to return at least a little of the care you always show him without hesitation,

“Okay.” You heave an uneven sigh. “I’ll talk to you then... Really - don’t worry about it, it’s fine.” You hang up before he can respond and rest your forearms on the railing. You let your head hang for a second, collecting yourself before you have to face Hotch again.

You take a deep breath and turn, sitting across from him again. Attempting to restore your good spirits, you kick your feet back up and have another grape.

Hotch’s voice is quiet. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” but your voice breaks. You clear your throat and blink a few more times.

You can feel him squint at you. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, you know.” You sniff, and gesture vaguely as you continue. “My best friend from college was supposed to be my date to a friend’s wedding next week, and the friend getting married also happens to be someone I dated in college so I was really hoping Dean could come with me, and now…” You trail off, realizing you’re rambling.

He’s quiet for a little while, and you shove some more grapes in your mouth to make up for the silence. You know each other so well, but it still feels a little weird to explicitly talk about your personal life in the office. Sure, you spend a fair few weekends together with Jack, but the whole thing is a little embarrassing - and you’re not sure if the worst part is admitting you have an ex-boyfriend from college or you now have to go stag to his wedding.

“Do you want someone to go with you?” He watches you chew on your lower lip. A long time ago, he decided there was nothing worse than seeing you upset.

This is the least you can do, Hotchner. First personal weekend in nearly four years, you can at least do what you can to make it suck less. He reasons with himself, but he can’t help the sly thought that sneaks in on the tail end. Being a backup is better than being nothing at all.

That’s enough.

You scoff. “Well, yeah. Obviously.”

He smiles a little, knowing you completely missed his point. “If you wanted…” He clears his throat and looks out the window, and you reply before he can continue.

“Oh, God, Hotch.” You cover your face with your hands. “Please don’t feel like I’m trying to guilt you into anything. I’ll be fine.” You try to laugh it off, but can’t hide the anxiety in your voice.

His laugh warms you. “You’re not guilting me into anything. I’m offering.”

You remove your hands from your face and look at him. There’s an earnest sort of kindness in his eyes, and you find yourself a little short of breath. “Really?”

“Really. I can get the weekend off - things are pretty slow around here. Where is it?” You had trouble reading his tone. Really, he’s just treading carefully. He doesn’t want you to feel pressured, or give away his own selfish motivations.

“It’s, ah,” you stutter for a second, getting your metaphorical feet back under you. “It’s down at Berry Hill Resort, right by the North Carolina border.” Your lip disappears between your teeth again. “It’s about a three and a half hour drive.”

He opens his phone, and you know he’s checking the map. “It’d be easy enough if we left early and switched in Richmond. I’ll start, if you’d like.”

You smile at him, wide and genuine. “Hotch, you’re the best.”

+++

Hotch calls you up to his office, and you swing in, your hand gripping the doorframe. You bite back your greeting as you find him on the phone.

He beckons you in and you step inside, closing the door behind you.

“...Thank you, sir. I’ll be sure to pass that along to the rest of the unit...You too, sir.” He hangs up and laces his fingers, addressing you. “Question.”

You sit, resting your elbows on his desk. “Answer.”

“Funny.”

You smirk, and he continues. “I’m not sure if it matters to you, but I have an absurd number of ties. Color preference?”

A huff of laughter leaves you in disbelief. “You called me in here to ask whether or not I want to have a color scheme?”

“Yes,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “A united front, or at least a coordinated one, seems like the best strategy, right?”

+++

Aaron walks down from his office, his phone to his ear. You’re helping Ashley with a consult, walking her through your process just like Emily used to do with you.

“Hotch usually likes to approach the profile starting with a demographic consideration, but I usually start from physical evidence and -”

A hand falls onto your shoulder, and you look up. “Yeah?”

He pulls the receiver away from his mouth. “Jack wants to talk to you.”

With a shake of your head and a fond smile for Hotch and an apologetic one for Ashley, you put the phone to your ear. “Hey, bud! How’s Grandpa’s house?”

“So fun,” Jack says, almost yelling into the phone. “Aunt Jess has let me play in the snow every day.”

You laugh. “I am so glad.”

“Dad says you’re busy at work, but I miss you.”

“Aw, bubba, I miss you, too. You’ll be home really soon, and when you get back we’ll go out to ice cream and you can tell me all about your visit.” You, for just a moment, forget where you are, and you lean back in your seat as if you’re leaning into Jack himself. “Does that sound okay?”

“Yeah, that sounds good. I love you.”

Your breath catches, and you keep our eyes firmly planted on your consult as you reply. “I love you too, bub. Here’s your dad.” Placing the phone in Hotch’s hand, you return your attention to Ashley and do your best not to acknowledge Aaron as he walks back up the stairs. “So, like I said, Hotch prefers to -”

“Hey.” Ashley stops you with a hand on your arm. “You’re really good at your job.”

A confused smile pulls at your lips. There’s a question in your eyes, and she answers it.

“Oh, I just...You’re a good teacher and a good friend, that’s all.”

“Thanks, Seaver.”

+++

On a rare weeknight off, Emily and you gather at Penelope’s apartment. You’re all sitting on the floor, bottles of wine making an occasional rotation, and a pile of snacks on the floor taking up the space in the loose circle you’ve created.

“You’re taking time off this weekend?” Penelope sounds almost insultingly surprised, as if the concept never occurred to her.

You nod. “Yep. First time in four years, so I think I’m about due.”

Emily laughs and asks. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve been inexplicably invited to an ex-boyfriends wedding - he’s a friend from college and we were friends before we dated etc. etc.” You wave your hand as you speak, outlining the tedium of it all. “His mom loves me, and I suspect she was the one who added me to the list.”

“Are you going with anyone? Penelope’s concern is touching.

“Yeah. One of my college friends was supposed to be my date, but he bailed for a work thing.” All the girls roll their eyes and nod. They get it. “So, Ho - someone else - is going with me.”

“Who?” Emily narrows her eyes and searches you.

“Oh come on, profiling is against the rules.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, okay, sure.”

“Spill it.” Penelope throws a goldfish cracker at you to emphasize her point.

You take a deep, long-suffering breath, suddenly missing JJ and her powers of redirection. “Fine. Hotch is coming with me -” you intercept their eager questions “- only as a favor.”

“That’s very...thoughtful of him.” Emily’s chin tips up suggestively, and you throw Penelope’s goldfish at her. “Who’s idea was that?”

There’s a moment here somewhere, where you realize you’ve just dug yourself a hole you’ll be hard-pressed to get out of. “He overheard Dean bail, and offered. I’m sure he’s just doing it because he feels bad and -”

“Oh, don’t be stupid!” Penelope nearly falls into Emily, giggling. “I can’t believe you two.”

You throw your hands in the air. “What?”

Both women share a look before looking back at you with identical disbelief. Emily speaks first. “You can’t be serious.”

Take a deep breath. You’re not that obvious.

Maybe you are. You’ve only been half-or-completely in love with him for five years.

Shut up.

“Serious about what?”

Emily rolls her eyes and finishes her second glass of wine, reaching to refill it immediately. “Nevermind. You’ll figure it out eventually.”

+++

You’re finishing your last bit of packing, leaving your toothbrush and toothpaste out for the morning, when your phone rings.

“Yeah?”

“Hey, it’s Aaron.”

“Ah, my saving grace,” you say with a laugh. “Calling to cancel on me, after all?”

His laugh just isn’t as good over the phone, but it’ll do. “Not even close. Is 6am still good to come get you?”

“It’s so early.” There’s absolutely no shame in your whine, and you’re rewarded with another laugh. “But yes, that’s fine. That gives us enough time even if we hit some traffic out of the District and into Richmond.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

You look at your suitcase, resting open on your bed. “You’re still okay with this, right? I know I couldn’t grab that extra hotel room for you and I don’t want you to feel pressured or -”

He cuts you off, calling you out by name. “Enough. I offered, remember? I’ll see you at 6. Bring a pillow so you can sleep in the car.”

Your lips pinch, holding back a smile. “Thanks, Aaron.” And he knows you don’t just mean it for the pillow reminder. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Of course. Sleep well.”

You don’t, but are nevertheless ready with bells on, pillow tucked under your arm, and coffee in-hand at 5:55am the following morning. He looks surprised when he pulls into the driveway and sees you standing on your porch, looking only a little worse for wear. At least your teeth are brushed.

“Thought you might want this.” You hold out the travel mug to him as he approaches, and he takes it (and your suitcase) from you.

“Thank you. Jump in.”

You follow instructions and immediately stuff your pillow between your head and the window as he throws your suitcase in the trunk. You’re forever grateful Aaron drives the same SUVs you all have at the bureau. He claims it’s easier to not think about different car specs, but at this moment you only care about the temperature control and familiar, soft leather seats. Your eyes shut on their own accord, still heavy even after your abbreviated morning routine.

He slips into the driver’s seat and, with your eyes closed, you miss the way he looks over at you with a barely-there, fond smile. Your sweatshirt is too big for you and your face is adorably smushed into the pillow.

With a sigh and shake of his head, he places his hand on the back of your seat, backs out of the driveway, and gets on the road.

The silence gives him plenty of time to think about things he’d rather not address. This favor, for one, is something he’s still trying to reconcile.

Would I have offered to Emily? JJ? Hell, Dave?

If any other member of the team had a friend bail out of their role as a wedding date, he’d like to think he’d drop everything and take the weekend to make them feel better, but he knows that probably wouldn’t be the case in reality. He knew you were different, and it frustrated and confused him.

As often as he acknowledges his love for you - he wishes it would just stop.

Only a year and change had passed since Haley’s death, and there were still some mornings where he woke up and couldn’t breathe. Jack still had some nightmares too. Those broke his heart more than anything in the world, but he knew you would always pick up if he called - no matter the hour.

It happened more often than he’d like to admit.

“Hotch? Aaron? What’s up?”

“I’m sorry to wake you.”

“Nightmare?”

“Yeah.”

You’d always talk to him about something or nothing at all, sometimes turning on your bedside lamp and reading from whatever book you were perusing before bed.

He knows you understand. You were the only one there with him, when he found her body. You were there to take his son out of his bloodied hands. You were there when he was afraid of himself.

The nightmares still come for you, too, sometimes. There are nights where Haley’s dark blue eyes stare into you, whether your eyes are open or closed. You told him that, once, and he was grateful - grateful that he wasn’t the only one.

You murmur something in your sleep, about twenty minutes outside of the city. You’re still an hour or more away from Richmond, and Hotch figures he’ll let you sleep if you don’t wake up between now and then. It’s not a hard drive to Berry Hill, and you need the rest.

Might be good to pick up some food on the way...

He turns the music off, letting the sounds of your breathing and the road wash over him.

“Aaron.”

He turns, expecting your watchful eyes, but finds you burrowing further into the pillow, a little smile on your face as you remain blissfully unaware of your surroundings. Something warm starts to radiate in his chest as he looks back out at the road, the Virginia countryside stretching out in front of him, around him, and in every direction he can see. The warmth vibrates into his fingertips. He flexes his hands around the wheel, trying to shake it.

He fails.

You’re not sure how you manage to sleep so soundly in the car. You had tossed and turned all night, thinking only of facing a part of your life you hoped you’d never address head-on ever again. Why you accepted the invitation at all (or why you even received one) was beyond you.

It must be his mother’s doing. She always loved you, and she did her best to keep your friendship alive much longer than its natural death.

Exercising control over her child’s life due to an exceptional lack of control and consistency during her upbringing. Relating to her son’s partners to achieve some semblance of intimacy without facing the root of her insecurity that she’s failed as a parent.

The profiling never stopped, it seemed.

It wasn’t just the wedding keeping you up last night. The thought of spending the weekend with Aaron in an environment where you will inevitably feel (if not look and act) distraught close to the whole time still wears on you. Spending weekends at home, where you sit together with a glass of wine and leftover popcorn after Jack gets tucked in feels different.

That’s comfortable. That’s safe. This? This is scary. Vulnerable. Burdensome.

Even then, there’s nobody you’d rather have at your side while you face friends you haven’t seen in ages. He’s charismatic, almost entirely unapproachable (when he wants to be), and tall. All those factors should be enough to keep anyone from trifling with you for the duration of the weekend.

But now, in the car, all those thoughts are far from your mind. Your mind is blissfully dark and blank, your body soothed by the low hum of the car and the smell that follows Hotch wherever he goes - spicy, earthy, and something that reminds you of the air right before lightning strikes.

The car slows, and the subtle change in ambiance wakes you. You lift your head, finding Hotch turning on an offramp.

“Are we in Richmond already?” You ask, bleary.

He smiles. His sunglasses are resting on his nose to combat the rapidly-rising morning sun. “Not yet, but I figured you hadn’t eaten yet.”

You tip your head. He’s right. “I could eat.”

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye. “You should eat.”

+++

After food and a top-off for the gas tank, you offer to drive.

Aaron refuses. “If you drive, I don’t get to pick the music.”

“I thought shotgun picks the music.” You frown at him, admittedly still a little tired. You’ve shoved your pillow behind your seat and start to sit like an actual human being for the first time that morning.

“Those are Morgan’s house rules, not mine.”

“Ah,” you say, sagely. “I see. What are your house rules?”

There’s a smile behind his sunglasses. “Driver picks the music and critically considers any suggestions made by shotgun.”

Thus, the Beatles’ White Album starts from the top. You can’t say you’re surprised - it is his favorite. You’ve grown rather fond of it yourself, if you’re honest, Though, you’re not sure if you fondness for the album has anything to do with the man beside you - the one who’s hair is soft and floppy in the morning light, the one wearing an uncharacteristically casual ensemble of jeans, sneakers, and a black t-shirt, the one singing along under his breath.

“Why is this one your favorite?” You hear yourself ask.

He’s quiet for a minute, as if you are the first to ask that question. Maybe you are. “I’m...not sure. I think it might have something to do with my mom. She bought the record a couple of weeks after I was born in late ‘68, and made sure I had a copy when I got my own record player in my first college apartment.” He shrugs. “It’s been around just as long as I have, and there’s something a little - I don’t know - comforting about that?”

You nod. “I get that.” You’re quiet for a moment, considering all the things that happened in 1982. “Grease 2 came out the year I was born, so I can’t say I share a similar affinity for the pop culture phenomena of my birth year.”

Hotch lets out a low whistle and a grimace. “That film really was awful.” He waits for your laugh and is rewarded before continuing. “I saw The Who on their final tour that year.”

You furrow your brow. “Weren’t you like, barely in high school?”

He nods. “We snuck out, a couple of friends and me. It was really stupid and we got in a lot of trouble, but it was fun.” There’s a nostalgic smile on his face. “I have no idea how we managed to get all the way into the District, let alone find tickets, but everything was a little less complicated back then. Buses ran on time, people read maps, and parents didn’t all have cell phones.” He shrugs and shoots you a smirk. “But of course, that’s before your time.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh c’mon. I’m not that young. I remember the world before the mainstream internet and 9/11 and all that pre-Patriot Act shit. I remember when the Berlin Wall came down, at least.”

That gets a laugh out of him. “Fair enough.”

You lapse into silence for a little while, handing him fries from the drive-thru bag when he puts his open palm over the center console. You notice his left hand shift slightly in time with the music, and you watch a little more carefully.

And I see it needs sweeping Still my guitar gently weeps

I don’t know why Nobody told you How to unfold your love I don’t know how Someone controlled you They bought and sold you…

“Hotch, do you play guitar?” There’s a touch of disbelief in your tone, but you try to hide it for the sake of his pride. It’s not that you think he doesn’t have a musical or creative bone in his body, but you’re rather surprised by the relaxed subtlety of his movement. It was your impression he never did anything without thinking about it, and to see the slight, almost unconscious action sparks a pleasant little flicker of warmth in your chest.

He shrugs. “I played a little when I was younger. I guess you could say I know how to play, but I don’t claim to be decent at it in the slightest.” His head tips, and you could swear you see an eye roll. “Sean’s always been better at those kinds of pursuits.”

As usual, he doesn’t seem thrown or surprised by your question and doesn’t hesitate to answer them. After almost five years, he’s used to your keen observations. He’d never admit it, but he expects them - maybe he’s not able to guess at the content of the questions themselves, but he always knows there will be one eventually.

“Have you and Sean always butted heads?”

Aaron snorts, and gives you a simple, “Yes.”

You’d never met the younger Hotchner, but you’d seen photos and heard tell. From what you understand, he’s a little wilder than his older brother, a little more idealistic and far less practical. Sean seems like someone you would like, but you doubt he would rise to the top of your Favorite Hotchners List - a list with only two names so far, tied for first.

It’s safe to say Jack and Aaron are hard acts to follow.

+++

You talk about everything and nothing, when finally, he asks. “So, who is this guy?”

“Ugh.” You tip your head against the seat. “You really want to know?”

“Of course. Isn’t it protocol to brief the team before arrival?”

You snort, immediately regretting your decision to make fun of Strauss over drinks last week. “Yes, sir.”

He laughs, and you tell him.

You tell him about Austin and how you met in a random general education class and became fast friends and started dating, talked about marriage and kids and the whole nine yards. You told him about your semester abroad, your traveling, and returning home to find he’d been dating someone else while you were away, without your knowledge.

“It’s kind of cliche, I know, but it broke my heart in half.” You laugh a little to cover the truth of it. Hotch keeps his eyes on the road, letting you go at your own pace the same way you let him the entire time he’s known you. “I was really close to his family, and we did our best to remain civil and friendly for everyone else’s sake, but we’ve only kept in touch through other people the last few years.

“I think his mom sent the invitation. I mostly accepted because I’d love to see her and Austin’s little sister - I miss them the most.”

“What are they like?”

There’s a smile on your face as you tell him about them - how Allison likes more cream than actual coffee in her mug, how their mom has the best taste in books and still sends you worn copies of her favorites every once and awhile.

“It’s good of you to keep in touch.”

You shrug. “I guess. I mean, I know it’s different, but you have Jess.”

The difference, he decides, is that you are kinder, more patient than he is. Jess would hardly be in his life at all if Haley was still here. He had a hard enough time keeping up with Haley’s family when they were married. Keeping up with them after the divorce?

There was no way to know, but he can’t remember much affection between them even before Haley’s father decided to hold him personally responsible for her death.

You notice his preoccupation, and reach out. Your thumb traces back and forth over the skin of his bare forearm. “It’s different now, and it would be different then. There’s no right way to do anything.”

He exhales in a huff, and you bring your hand back into your lap. “I spent almost twenty-five years knowing Haley. You know that?”

“I do. I also know you spent longer than twenty-five loving her, and probably won’t ever stop.”

There’s a sigh, and then an elbow on the center console. He leans heavily on it, and you do your best to keep your hands to yourself. “How do you know everything?” He asks.

You rest your head against the seat and adjust so your body is angled toward him. A small smile crosses your face as you take in his profile - relaxed, his wrist hanging loosely on the wheel, sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose. “I dunno. I guess I just pay attention.”

+++

You let out an exhausted exhale upon reaching the room you will share with Aaron for the weekend. One king size bed dominates the room, instead of the two doubles you halfway expected. He recovers faster than you do, shrugging and setting his things down on the left side of the bed, closest to the door.

Instinctively and completely without previous confirmation, you kind of figured he sleeps on the left side. The realization of that fact is a little unsettling, but you follow his lead and set your suitcase on the stand opposite his, unzipping it and unfolding your garment bag.

There’s a small part of you that’s pleased by this arrangement. Another part of you shames that part.

He’s going to think you’re taking advantage of him.

Are you kidding? He’s a SWAT-trained senior FBI agent. And a lawyer. It’s impossible to take advantage of him.

Yeah, of course that’s what he wants you to think.

Do you ever shut up?

Your outfits for the cocktail hour and the ceremony day are all set. So are Hotch’s, apparently. You look over to find him hanging a grey pinstripe suit in the closet you’d never seen before. It looks beautifully tailored, and expensive.

“Mind if I take up some real estate?” You ask, holding up your handful of hangers. He shakes his head and makes some space for you.

When you’re all settled, you sit on the bed, still tired. It doesn’t make any sense, seeing as Aaron insisted on driving the entire way.

“What time is our first obligation?”

You huff a laugh at his rhetoric. “5pm. Cocktails at the hotel bar. Rehearsal dinner after that is wedding-party-only, thank God.” Glancing at the clock, you confirm, “We basically have the day to ourselves until then.”

He nods thoughtfully before meeting your eyes over your shoulder. “How do you feel about a nap?”

I love you.

Shut up.

You can’t imagine how tired he is - working off minimal sleep and coming off a drive just shy of four hours long. “I feel great about a nap.”

Aaron’s lips quirk up in a smile, and he picks up a pair of flannel pajama pants from his bag and shuts himself into the bathroom.

Oh my god. Oh my god.

You quickly shuck your sweatshirt, suddenly too warm. Standing, you cross to the window and draw the blinds, covering the room in a kind of gentle shade that isn’t quite darkness. You toe off your shoes and slip under the covers, thankful you never really changed out of your pajamas. Curling up facing the bathroom door, you try to stay awake until Hotch returns, but your eyes close of their own accord.

Hotch leaves the bathroom to find the room darkened and you under the covers, dead to the world. He takes another moment to look at you, the way your brow sits smooth and relaxed above your closed eyes, your hands curled loosely in front of your face, the way your breath evenly comes and goes past the curve of your lips.

Taking the risk, he places his jeans back into his duffle bag and gingerly stretches out on top of the covers beside you. His eyes close eventually, but he can’t remember falling asleep - entirely preoccupied by the phenomenon before him.

+++

When you stir again, your hands are warm. You take a deep breath and your eyes crack open, finding a sight that steals your breath. Hotch is on his side in front of you, ramrod straight, with your hands clasped between his. Your heads are bowed together - not touching, but close.

There’s no memory of him joining you in the massive bed, nor any recollection of contact, so he either held your hands on his own, or you found each other in sleep.

You’re not sure which one makes your heart flutter faster.

Resolving to get a little more sleep, you close your eyes. Only moments later, you feel him stir beside you. You know he’s watching you, and you endeavor to keep your breath even and slow, hoping he can’t hear the racing of your heart.

He releases one of your hands, and you let it drop down to the cover, praying your fingers don’t twitch.

You’re proud of yourself when you don’t flinch as his fingers brush butterfly-soft against your cheek, tracing from your brow bone, down your nose and across your lips. Impossibly gentle touches find their way down your temple to your jaw before disappearing.

His hand closes around yours again and it takes everything you have to keep your breath steady as he presses his lips to your fingers before tucking them back to his chest. When his breath evens out again, you know he’s asleep.

You open your eyes, thinking it's more than high time to study him for a change.

He looks years younger in his sleep, closer to your age than his. Even awake, he hardly looks the picture of a father in his mid-forties. His graceful aging is more obvious when his face isn’t drawn up in stress or that aching kind of sadness that lingers around him.

Curious about what he saw and felt on your face, you follow his path, slipping your hand out from under his, tracing his jaw, his cheek and brow bones, his handsome, straight nose.

Your finger rests lightly on his cupid’s bow for a moment, his breath rushing slow and warm over your hand. The feeling of his breath stalls yours, and you swallow. The next breath you take is almost a sob, and you press your lips into a thin line. Light fingers brush through the hair at his temples, the sparse, soft silver strands seeming to glow in the low light.

What you don’t know, however, is that he has taken a page out of your book. Though his eyes are closed and his breath even, he is very much awake, heart pounding. He’s sure you can hear it, or even feel it, with your remaining hand still trapped between his.

The catch in your breath makes his chest ache. Even then, his eyes remain closed, and he’s mindful of his breath. With the route you take, tracing his features, he realizes with a shock of adrenaline and cold panic that you were probably awake, playing at sleep then as he was now.

If that was the case, you know how he feels about you. He knows how you feel about him.

But you can’t. You don’t want to take up space in his life he doesn’t have, space better used to heal, space reserved for his son.

He can’t. It's too soon. He can’t subject you to the ghosts, the baggage, the long journey to wholeness he’s endeavored to embark upon with only his son at his side.

The new normal, his therapist had told him, is the hardest thing to find.

He was sure, then, that it would be easier to find the new normal on his own, but he wasn’t so sure, now.

You slip your hands away from him entirely and roll over, making play at rising. You check the time on your phone, finding the early afternoon awaiting you.

There’s a deep breath and a stretching noise, and you turn to find Aaron rolled over on his back, his hands laced behind his head.

“Good afternoon,” you say, and you’re proud of yourself for sounding normal.

A smile plays at his lips. He looks like he knows something. “Good afternoon.”

“So, tonight.” You decide it’s best to move on before anyone admits anything they don’t mean to share. “Do you just want to be ‘work friends’ or do we want to lean into the whole ‘let’s ruin Austin’s life’ thing?”

He laughs a little. “I’m comfortable leaning in if you are.”

+++

The cocktail hour isn’t as horrible as you thought it would be. Aaron sticks to your side like glue, your right hand firmly placed in the crook of his arm while your left babysits a small glass of wine, more for show than for anything else.

You hear your name from across the room, and you see a huddle of some old friends and their respective dates. Aaron tips his head down to get the briefing, and you tell him names, relationships, and brief histories as you approach.

As you expected, he’s warm and charming, taking cues from you as you navigate eight years of catch-up with classmates you remember well and alleged classmates you don’t recognize at all.

“How did you two meet?” The woman asks (You’re certain she’s someone’s sister - Hotch caught her name while you missed it. Oops.).

You glance up at Aaron for a second before answering. “We’re in the same department at work.”

The man with her takes a sip of his drink. Him, you kind of recognize. Casey? Carson? Maybe. “Where is that, again? I can’t remember where you landed after your internship.”

“DoJ, in Quantico.”

Leslie, who you met in guided research your senior year, rolls her eyes. “They work for the FBI, Carson, keep up.”

Carson, that’s it.

“No shit!”

A small group has gathered around you, and you shuffle closer to Aaron. He wraps his arm around your waist and steps a little behind you, protective and secure.

“Shit,” you reply, jostling Aaron with your shoulder. “We don’t have our creds on us tonight, so if you get arrested you’ll have to bail yourselves out.”

“We also don’t have jurisdiction even if we did, so keep it high and tight and we’ll all do just fine.” Aaron’s voice rumbles through you with a laugh, and you take an overlarge sip of wine.

He really shouldn’t say things like high and tight with his hand where it is.

And his hand isn’t really in any kind of questionable location, just resting above your hip with his chest to your back, but it's still more contact than you’re used to. He wasn’t joking about leaning in.

“There he is!” Carson crows, and your head whips around. You almost lose your balance, but Hotch keeps his feet. A warm hand presses to your shoulder.

“Thank you,” you whisper. You know he can hear you, and he presses a kiss to your temple.

“Always.”

It’s just an act. He doesn't mean it. He can’t mean it.

Austin approaches with his drop-dead gorgeous fiancee and a smile.

Aaron releases you as Austin gives you a warmer hug than you were expecting, and examines Hotch over your shoulder. He introduces you to his fiancee (Madeline), and you introduce them both to Aaron.

“Austin, this is my…” you pause, realizing you never actually established a cover story, letting the implication speak for itself. “Aaron.” You recover with a light laugh, and Aaron pulls you to him with one hand while he shakes Austin’s with the other.

You try not to smirk at the grimace that flashes across Austin’s face when Aaron’s hand closes around his in a very firm and assertive handshake. “Pleasure. Congratulations.”

Austin laughs, a little uncomfortable, and stretches his hand once it reaches his side again. “Thanks. We’re really glad you both could make it. Mom will be really happy to see you.”

+++

“That could have been so much worse.” You shuck Aaron’s blazer off your shoulders and hang it in the closet as he passes behind you. He’d passed it to you when you shivered slightly at the bar and it wasn’t even a point of conversation. It had been second nature to him, draping it over you and placing a hand on your back. The memory pulls a smile from your lips. “Thank you for enduring the mayhem down there.”

Aaron sits on the bed and slips off his boots. “I can’t remember the last time I went to a social event that didn’t directly affect my career trajectory.” He looks up at you, and his grin makes your heart skip around in your chest.

You shake your head, walking past him to retrieve your pajamas and toothbrush. “Do you ever want to move up the chain at all?”

“Not really. Something big would have to change to get me to leave the BAU.” He looks at you over his shoulder. “We tried that, remember?”

“I do, actually.” At his chuckle, you continue. “I can’t say that’s something I’d like to relive anytime soon.”

You move easily around each other, changing into pajamas and brushing your teeth and getting otherwise ready for bed. He’s cute at night, with his pajamas and floppy hair and big yawns. It’s not like you haven’t seen this side of him before, what with all the late nights watching movies with Jack, but it is significant that it’s just the two of you. He’s not Jack’s Dad right now, or Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner who won’t go to bed until The Case Is Solved, but Aaron.

Sleepy, charming, funny Aaron.

Eventually, you throw back the covers and crawl in without thinking about it too much, while Aaron lingers in the bathroom doorway.

“I really can take the couch.”

You look at him and pointedly turn off the lamp resting on your side table. “We’re adults. I don’t mind it if you don’t. And for that matter, if either one of us is sleeping on the couch it’s me.”

“Oh?” He asks. “Why’s that?”

“Because as you so astutely pointed out earlier, I am significantly younger than you, and I think my back will fare better than yours after a night of lumpy cushions.”

The bathroom light flips off, and you hear a scoff in the dark. “Never once did I say significantly younger.”

“Well, Aaron, ‘before your time’ is rife with implication.”

The mattress dips beside you, and his form takes shape in the darkness, facing you. Before he can speak again, you cut him off.

“You know what? Nevermind. I forgot who I was talking to, and I would hate for you to go full-tilt lawyer on me.” You curl up, bringing the covers to your chin. He laughs, and you can almost pretend that this is your life, that you get to fall asleep beside Aaron every night.

Don’t get comfortable.

Why not? He’s here, isn’t he?

He is, but not like that. This is a favor for a friend, nothing more.

You’re both quiet for a little while, listening to each other breathe in the dark. There’s a sigh, and you belatedly realize it came from you.

“Are you okay?” Aaron’s voice floats to you in the dark, and you nod. “I know this isn’t easy for you.”

You think for a moment, trying to articulate your thoughts. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just - I really can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’re here with me this weekend.” A hand reaches out, and you find it.

“Of course. I’m glad I can be here for you.” He means it. The trust you’ve placed in him does not go unnoticed or unappreciated. Your willingness to be vulnerable and funny and so yourself is a precious gift to him, and one he’ll never take for granted. “Thank you for letting me come.”

I’d like to let you come -

Ew, dude.

What?

Now is not the time.

“With that in mind,” he continues, his voice gentle in the dark, “I’m really proud of you. And not in a ‘I’m your boss and you’re making significant progress,’ way. As your friend, I’m really proud of you.”

Your friend.

He is your friend.

I know but that…sucks.

It doesn’t have to.

There’s something in his voice that almost makes you stupid, but you hold your tongue. “Goodnight, Hotch.”

He takes a deep breath, missing the way his first name fits in your mouth. It sounds safe there, like you’d never use it against him. “Goodnight.”

+++

You feel warm and feeling somewhat constricted, but not uncomfortable. There’s weight at your back and an arm around your waist, and you lean into it in your state of half-wakefulness. A little noise leaves the body behind you, almost like a sigh with tone.

Remembering where you are, you resist the instinct to jump. Hotch is wrapped around you like a koala, his knee between yours, one arm under your head and the other around your waist, face buried into the crook of your neck and shoulder.

His hair smells divine, and he’s so warm.

Your theory from yesterday morning seems confirmed - you definitely didn’t fall asleep touching each other, so you must have found each other in the night. The thought warms you, and you close your eyes again.

The ceremony isn’t until the early afternoon, so you have all the time in the world to doze and prepare for the hellscape of the day.

That’s not a fair assessment. You think, and correct yourself.

If the prior evening was any indication, things would go smoothly. Aaron was the world’s best wingman. He kept conversation flowing and took your cues without a second’s hesitation. Everyone loved him, and people asked you all night how you met, how long you’d known each other, how long you’d been together. The first questions were easy, but the last one was one you hadn’t prepared for. He, of course, had an answer for all three.

“We work together.”

“We met, what? Five years ago now? Maybe a little more?”

“We’ve been partners for almost four years.”

And...he wasn’t lying. You always paired off with him at work, whether naturally or by assignment. His lack of specifics in defining your relationship both settled and raised your blood pressure, depending on the way you decided to approach it. The words accompanied an affectionate squeeze around your waist or a kiss to the back of your hand.

You know he’s just playing the part for the weekend and everything will go back to normal when you get home.

But God, he’s good at it.

You almost believe him.

He’s still sleeping behind you, his breath fanning slow and even across your shoulder. You’re both fully clothed, but there’s something intimate about it. Sleep, you think, is inherently vulnerable, inherently a trusting state. You two not only managed to fall asleep in the same bed, but woke up tangled together.

You drop your hand to your waist and rest your hand on top of his, falling back into sleep without too much thought.

When Hotch wakes, it’s thankfully late. He’s far too comfortable to be in a hotel bed, but quickly realizes it’s not the mattress. You’re wrapped in his arms, and for a split second he almost panics, concerned that you’ll wake to find him glommed onto you like some kind of ridiculous backpack.

But then he remembers the way your fingers traced his face when you were sure he was asleep, the way you leaned into him the night before - taking shelter in his willing arms.

He feels your fingers pushed between his, your palm warm against the back of his hand, holding him to you.

He’s fucked. He’s totally and completely fucked. He’s even more fucked to even consider the possibility you’re fucked, too.

How could you possibly want him? A man nearly fifteen years older than you, with one failed marriage under his belt, an inability to tear himself away from his work, and more than enough trauma to drown in is hardly the ideal partner for someone as vibrant as you, with so much life yet to live.

And yet, it’s so hard to imagine a life without you. Whenever he looks into his future, he sees you there with him. It’s far too easy to let himself fall into the fantasy as you peacefully sleep in his arms with your fingers laced together.

You shift a little in your sleep, and he arches his back a little, definitely trying to keep you away from...certain parts of his anatomy that are a little more awake than the rest of him.

Quit while you’re ahead, Hotchner.

He very gingerly disentangles himself from you, and he’s pleased when he only gets a few sleepy protests in return. The shower is calling his name, for more than one reason including but not limited to the uncomfortable tightness of his flannel pajama pants.

With one last lingering glance at you, he picks up his toiletries and locks himself in the bathroom for a long (very) hot shower, followed by a much shorter (very) cold shower.

While he’s gone, you stir and stretch your arms over your head. A little disoriented, you find his side of the bed empty but not quite cold before you hear the running water of the shower.

What if you just -

Do not finish that thought.

You are not one iota of fun.

Reaching for your bag, you pull your laptop out and get started on some emails. You have a couple from Seaver and one from Emily.

You sigh and pull out your phone.

“Prentiss.”

“Hey, Em. You wanted me to call?”

“Oh, I just wanted to see how things are going down there.” her voice is the picture of forced nonchalance, and you can almost hear Penelope leaning over her shoulder.

You laugh into the phone and trace patterns on the bedspread. “Things are going well. Hotch was the perfect gentleman last night, and we have the ceremony and reception today. We head home tomorrow morning.”

“Has anything happened? Where is he right now?”

“He’s in the shower. And no, don’t be ridiculous.” You shove your phone under your chin and answer all of Ashley’s questions in confident keystrokes. “You and I both know he’s just here because he likes to owe me favors.”

Aaron pauses in the bathroom, in the middle of towel-drying his hair. With a smile, he overhears: “...he’s just here because he likes to owe me favors.”

He can’t hear the response, but he does hear you when you say. “My God, Em. Would you quit?”

Ah. So it is Emily.

“I’m not going to do anything about it because there’s nothing to do anything about...Don’t give me that...You have absolutely no proof...I don’t care if you’re a profiler or not, there is no way you can say with any definitive certainty -” You pause, and your voice drops to a low murmur he can’t hear over the hum of the bathroom fan.

With a frustrated huff, he ties the towel around his waist and ventures out, entirely aware of his state of undress.

You’re so glad you drop your voice to finish your thought (“- that he’s in love with me. Don’t be stupid.”) because the door opens and you are immediately confronted with Aaron Hotchner in a towel and every single coherent thought flies out of your head. He smiles a little at you, and something in you melts.

“Are you good?” Emily’s voice is full of laughter.

The heat rises in your cheeks and you whip your head back to your laptop, typing just for something to do with your hands. “Yeah, for sure.”

“He just walked out wearing a towel, didn’t he?”

“Emily, you know I’m not going to dignify that with a response.” You roll your eyes, and miss the smirk on Hotch’s face as he grabs his hanging clothes from the closet.

“So that’s a yes.”

+++

Austin’s family clearly spared no expense for either the ceremony or the reception. You and Aaron had walked in arm-in-arm to find a spot on the groom’s side near the back. It’s still weird - there was a time where you thought for sure Austin was the be-all-end all for you.

But here you are, sitting next to Aaron. He’s wearing that beautiful suit that looks even better on him than it did on the hanger (and that’s saying something). As promised, his tie matches your outfit, and you’d be lying if you didn’t say it made your heart all warm watching him put it on.

The ceremony itself is a blur. You stand and sit when you’re supposed to, and spend the vows with your head on Aaron’s shoulder - playing the role, of course. You take a few unsteady breaths, caught off guard by how affected you are by the ritual of it all.

You don’t love Austin anymore, not by a long shot. That said, the reminder that you’re not married to anybody but work and rapidly approaching thirty is unpleasant.

“Are you okay?” Hotch’s whisper doesn’t carry far.

You nod. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About?”

You shake your head, the soft wool of his suit jacket pressing into your temple. “Later.”

His cheek presses to your hair for just a moment. He’s not worried about you, per se, but he’s never seen you in this existentially forlorn state before. It’s a feeling he recognizes in himself, but to see it on you makes him feel a new kind of helpless.

+++

You’re at the open bar, snagging a glass of wine for yourself and two fingers of whiskey for Aaron (the good stuff, of course), when Austin’s mother warmly accosts you.

“Darling!”

Against your will, a genuine smile breaks out across your face. “Hey, Laurie!” You set the drinks down and embrace her, the familiar smell of her perfume engulfing you. Suddenly, you feel nineteen years old again. “Congratulations.”

She pulls back and waves off your good wishes. “Oh, please. I haven’t done anything.”

You laugh and shake your head. “I beg to differ, but alright.”

She takes you under her arm and holds you close to her. “So.” Her tone is conspiratorial, as if a great plot is to unfold before you. “Who is that devastatingly handsome man you’ve brought with you to shame my son?”

“I did not bring him to shame your son, he offered to come when my original date bailed. You remember Dean?”

“Of course. Such a sweet boy. Still married to his work?”

You shake your head. “I would be...hypocritical of me to get upset with him for that. My work at the bureau keeps me plenty busy. If I’m honest, this is the first personal time I’ve used in four years.”

She squeezes you for a half-second. “I’m so glad you’re here with us.” Her lips purse. “But don’t think you can get out of telling me about that fine, fine man over there.”

“His name is Aaron,” you start, fighting a smile. “We work together at the bureau and he’s just a friend, Laurie, so don’t get any ideas.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I always have ideas. Now, introduce me so I can see for myself.”

With a long-suffering sigh, you grab the drinks off the bar and lead her to the table, where Aaron sits with his fingers pressed thoughtfully to his mouth, his elbow on the table and ankle crossed over his knee. Approaching from behind him, you set the whiskey down where he can’t knock it over and lay a hand on his shoulder. “Aaron.”

He turns, and a broad smile breaks out over his face. You’re sure he’s just being polite - you’ve never seen him smile so much. Offering a hand to Laurie, he stands. “SSA Aaron Hotchner. Thank you for having us. I’ve heard so much about you and your family.”

“Oh no, that can’t be good.” She laughs lightly and takes his hand in both of our own. “Laurie Miller. As I’m sure you know, I have a great amount of love for this one here.” She releases Aaron’s hand and tucks you into her arms again, kissing your cheek. You laugh, tickled by her demonstrative affection designed only to embarrass you.

“C’mon, Laur. You don’t have to lie for my benefit.”

You try to ignore the fondness in Aaron’s eyes as he watches the two of you, Laurie cooing over you and your successes. She returns her focus back to Aaron. “Sit, sit and tell me what you crazy kids get up to over there in Quantico.”

Aaron sits and relaxes back into his chair, resting his arm on the back of your seat. You lean forward with your elbows on the table, your hands propping up your head. Aaron’s a great storyteller, of course, and it’s so interesting to watch him talk about work outside of the context itself. He seems to bloom - effusive, charming, and warm - before you.

When you look at him, it’s as if you’re seeing him for the first time.

“...Preventing loss of life is always rewarding, and our team is a family.”

Laurie is clearly enamored, completely drawn into his gentle description of your very-stressful and often-gritty line of work. “It’s so lovely you have so much fondness for each other. I imagine it makes everything much easier.”

He nods, and glances at you. “It does.”

Your phone buzzes on the table, and you excuse yourself with a hand on each of their shoulders.

“Dean, you bastard!” You answer. Hotch’s huff of laughter tells you he overheard it, but he picks up right where he left off with Laurie.

As you step out onto the banquet hall balcony, almost feel bad leaving him to his own devices, but then you remember all the times he’s been left alone with serial killers and you feel much better.

“Hey babe! Are you surviving? Are you alone? Tell me everything.”

You laugh into the phone. “I’m doing alright. Hotch actually offered to come with me. I just stepped out, but he’s in there holding his own well enough.”

“Oh my god. When I said that I didn’t actually think you’d do it!”

“What do you mean?” You look up and out over the property, and the views are simply breathtaking. The moonlight falling across the Virginia landscape almost makes the world look like it’s holding its breath.

What it’s waiting for... you’re not sure.

“When I said bring your hot boss to the wedding I was joking. You didn’t ask him, did you?”

You let out a snort and it almost disrupts the peace of the evening. “Of course not. He offered.”

“I have never met a pair of people so fucking stupid in all my life.”

“You’ve never met Hotch, idiot.”

“Don’t have to,” Dean says. “I know you are you’re dumb enough for the both of you.”

+++

When the dancing starts, you’re understandably resistant. The playlist is a playful mix of contemporary and classic music, and you can’t help but laugh when Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I’m Yours) starts to play.

Aaron stands and offers you his hand. You take his hand without thinking, belatedly realizing his intentions.

“Hotch, you can’t be serious.” You stop dead in your tracks, but his grip on your fingers stays firm as he looks back at you with a look of humorous disbelief on his face.

“When have you ever known me to be otherwise?” He tugs you forward, and you fall into his arms with a huff. “Humor me. Just one and I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the night.”

You glare at him, dubious. “Why don’t I believe you?”

“Because I’m lying.”

And at the end of the day, you can’t refuse him anything - especially when he smiles at you like that.

He’s an excellent dancer. Your grip on his shoulder slowly loosens as you grow more comfortable, trusting him to lead you around the dance floor. He holds you tight, his movement playful in a way that’s almost foreign to you.

You’ve seen him dance exactly once, at Haley’s 39th birthday party, the summer before she died.

You catch sight of Austin and Madeline on the other side of the dance floor and avert your gaze when you find Austin looking back at you.

“Hey.” Aaron’s voice is low, almost a laugh.

Your eyes snap to Aaron’s. “What?”

“Relax.”

“You’re one to talk,” you scoff.

He rolls his eyes and throws you out by one arm, spinning you so your back is to his chest. “I’m plenty relaxed. You are tense.”

The feeling of his heartbeat against your back ruins your resolve and you relent. “It just feels weird.”

“What does?” He spins you back out and pulls you close. You try not to be too distracted by the proximity of his face to yours when you land back against his chest, you hand resting over his heart.

“I just -” you push through your reluctance and admit, “I don’t love him in that way anymore, but it’s super weird to even think that I could have ever thought he was it for me. And now he’s with someone he loves and both of our lives just...kept going after we split, you know?” You shake your head, scattering your thoughts.

He nods. “I do.”

You believe him. The very concept of his heartbreak with Haley - the separation, the anger, the divorce, her death, the love - is overwhelming. You know he understands.

The silence that lapses between you is comfortable.

Yeah, I've done a lot of foolish things That I really didn't mean I could be a broken man Here I am, baby...

When he turns you under his arm, you laugh until you can’t breathe. There’s a smile on his face, too, and there’s something warm and inexplicable about it. You turn the tables on him, turning him under your arm and pulling him back to you.

The song changes to something slower and, true to his word, Aaron keeps you out on the dance floor. You’re exhausted all of a sudden, and your eyes close as you rest your head against his shoulder.

“Thank you for being here with me.”

You’re only sure you spoke aloud when Aaron replies, “Of course.”

+++

Your feet ache when you finally call it quits and head upstairs to your room for the night. Aaron’s suit jacket had long since left him, leaving him rolled sleeves and a loose tie with his top two buttons undone. It traveled from the back of his chair to where it now rests, slung over his arm.

You look over your shoulder as you slip your shoes off. “You look positively rumpled, Agent Hotchner.”

He lets out a laugh, and it makes your breath catch. His laugh always takes you by surprise; it’s much brighter and higher than his speaking register, and frankly, adorable. “It’s past my bedtime.”

“You don’t have a bedtime.” And it was true - you could count on one hand the amount of times you’d known him to actually sleep, especially on a case. You could neither confirm nor deny that he even needed it to function prior to this weekend.

The thought makes your cheeks a little warm, and you turn away from him, setting aside your pajamas and packing the rest of your items.

There’s a little chuckle behind you before the bathroom door closes and the shower starts up.

When Aaron leaves the bathroom, his hair wet and pajamas on, you’re asleep. Curled up on top of the covers, out like a light.

He flips all the switches, leaving the room in darkness. Creeping to your side of the bed, he reaches over and pulls the covers down, gingerly shuffling your legs underneath, followed by your torso. You stir a little, and catch his hand as he moves to tuck your hands under the covers.

His eyes close, just for a moment, before slipping his hand out of yours. He’s already dreading going back to his empty apartment tomorrow afternoon.

That feeling is only amplified when you curl up against his chest as soon as he’s settled under the covers, your leg hooked over his.

+++

You wake up warm again, and snuggle into the body beside you. Arms tighten around you, and you remember where you are and who you’re with. Unlike yesterday, you can’t pretend to be asleep - when you look up, Hotch is awake, brown eyes looking down at you.

“Good morning,” he says.

You tuck your face back into his chest. “I’m sorry - I’m clingy when I sleep.”

His laugh sings over the crown of your head. “It’s alright. I don’t mind.”

Don't read into that.

I’m going to.

Don’t.

Fuck.

“What time is it?” You crane your neck and look at the clock on his bedside table, but you can’t quite see with his arm in the way.

“Just before nine. We have an hour before checkout. Want to get packed, grab some breakfast, and head out? I’ll drive.”

“You drove here.” You shove at him and sit up.

He shrugs and you take a moment to admire the tousled, floppy state of his hair. “I like driving.”

“I won’t argue with that.”

You sigh, stretch, stand and start rolling. You brush your teeth (twice) and put your clothes back into your suitcase, zipping it up without much trouble. He, of course, takes it off your hands right away and brings the bags to the car while you take care of checkout.

He meets you outside, sunglasses on, and the sun hits his hair. You can see all the nuances in the black - the touch of silver, the dark browns and reds. They all seem to make a halo around him in the sunshine. “Ready?”

You snap back to attention and give him a wide smile. “Yes, sir!”

Breakfast is an eventful affair. As soon as you sit down, you get a call from Penelope.

“Hey, Pen, what’s up?” You look across the table at Hotch with amusement in your eyes, and he smiles, still digging into his eggs benedict like a starving man.

“Tell me everything.”

“Oh, well we’re just at breakfast, almost on our way back. My laptop is in the car, can I take a look at that for you when I get home?”

Not now, Penelope, I’ll call you when I’m home.

She hums, following right away. “You better give me every single detail as soon as you step through the door or I swear I’ll riot.”

With a laugh, you reply, “Of course. You know, it might be easier if you just stop by - I’ll text you when I get home and we can do dinner or something.” You push your food around your plate, trying to ignore the fact that the only person you actually want to have dinner with is right across from you.

“Perfect. Yeah, just text me when you get home babycakes. Can’t wait!” She hangs up promptly, and your eyebrows raise for a half second.

You put your phone away and shake your head. “She’s very predictable.”

He nods, looking at you from under his brows. “Indeed.”

You both continue to dig into your food, not realizing how hungry you are from all your antics the night before. His phone rings next, and it’s Jack.

“Hey bud!”

There’s nothing better than the way his voice transforms when he speaks to his son. You hear your name and return your attention to his conversation.

“...we’re at a wedding this weekend, remember? We got to go to a big party last night, and we’re driving home today… Yeah,” he looks at you, “we did have a lot of fun… I’m so glad you had a good time with Aunt Jess and the Brooks cousins this weekend… You got to go ice fishing? That’s so exciting! Did Grandpa take you?... Awesome, bud… Sounds good, I’ll call you when I get home, okay?... I love you too.”

When he puts his phone away, you ask, “How’s he doing?”

“It’ll be a fight to get him home, that’s for sure.”

You take another bite of your food. “How are things with Haley’s family? Any better?”

“Not at all. I’m not sure there’s much I can do, at this point. Jess does what she can, but her dad is… not a fan of mine.” There’s a kind of sadness in his eyes, and you almost regret asking.

“I know you know this, but none of this is your fault.” You look into him and hope he can see the sincerity in your eyes, hear it in your voice.

He thinks for a moment, and you’re almost nervous he’s going to disagree (it’s happened before), but he just meets your eyes and says, “Thank you.”

+++

Hotch lets you pick the music on the way home, and doesn’t say a word when you sing along (sometimes good, sometimes bad). He does occasionally smile a little secret smile to himself, which makes your heart skip around in your chest.

At a certain point, you turn the music off and sit back in your seat.

As usual, Aaron knows you’re going to say something long before you say it. “Yes?”

“I know I keep saying this, but thank you for coming with me this weekend.” Your body shifts toward him, and you can’t seem to tear your eyes from his profile.

“You’re welcome.” He glances at you before looking back at the road. “Thank you for trusting me not to embarrass you in front of people you haven’t seen in almost ten years.”

You smile a kind of lopsided sort of smile. “You could never embarrass me.”

He frowns playfully. “That’s not true.”

“You are exceedingly upstanding, and you just got your hair cut, so the odds are in my favor.”

“Hey!” He self-consciously runs a hand over the back of his hair. You reach over to shove at his shoulder and you’re rewarded with a laugh.

“I’m kidding! I like it long.” You look over fondly at him. “It was longer when I first met you, remember?” You’re not sure why you continue, but you do nevertheless. “You started keeping it shorter after the div - well, after.”

He quirks his brow, the corners of his lips upturned just the smallest amount. “Nobody ever accused you of being unobservant.”

You grin widely at him and turn the radio back on.

+++

You’ve never been more disappointed to see your own driveway in your whole life. Hotch pulls in and turns the ignition off, and you sit in silence for a minute.

There’s so much to think about, and most of it is at least a little uncomfortable. Of course you’re in love with him and he’s your favorite person (and that’s bad enough), but that is even harder to stomach now that you have to go back into the real world.

It’s easy to pretend that it was real, that it wasn’t just for show to make you feel less awful about the direction of your love life. If anything, now that you’re home, you feel even worse.

The only person you want is seemingly the only person you can’t have. There’s something so unattainable about Hotch. You’re not sure if it’s his stern exterior or his age or his role, or if it has more to do with how devastatingly handsome he is, but it’s something.

Aaron wishes he could do anything else, than leave you here at home. Nevertheless, he sighs and gets out of the car. You follow him around back, though you’re not really sure why - he takes your suitcase and insists on carrying it all the way to the door.

You stand there, fumbling with your keys, feeling more and more like a character in a romantic comedy with every passing second. Aaron sets your suitcase on the ground and covers your hands with his. You look up at him, and he leans toward you, pressing a gentle, chaste kiss to your cheek.

“Thank you for inviting me.”

All you can do is nod, with a tight, closed-mouth smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says

“Bye, Hotch,” you call to him as he trots back to the car. “Thanks again.”

He turns toward you, puts his sunglasses on, opens the door, and says, “Anytime.”

You wave with the tips of your fingers and slide into your house. Your back to do the door, you slide down to the floor and cover your face with your hands.

Fuck.

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fridayfirefly · 3 years

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Cowboy Like Me

Read Cowboy Like Me on AO3

Masterlist

Written for Maribat March Day 5 - Last Time

Now I know, I'm never gonna love again

Marinette was a terrible sentimentalist. After such a bad breakup it might have been cathartic to tear up the pictures of them, but Marinette just couldn't do it. No, she could bring herself to destroy the evidence of her six-year relationship. Marinette kept all the pictures, all the movie tickets, all the handwritten notes and put them in a shoebox at the top of her closet, somewhere that she couldn't reach without the help of a stepstool. Maybe the pads of her fingers could brush against the smooth cardboard if she stood on her tiptoes. But Marinette could never open it again. Inside that shoebox were the memories of being in love, kept safe, locked away, just out of reach.

As Marinette boarded the plane, she looked back on everything that had gone wrong. Though the cause of all the destruction in her life was uncertain, Marinette could pinpoint the effects exactly. There were a few things Marinette knew for certain: Marinette would never fall in love again, the city Marinette once loved now only held bad memories, and once the plane took off, Marinette would say goodbye to Paris for the last time.

Never wanted love, just a fancy car

The socialite scene of Gotham was dreadfully boring in the winter, Marinette learned. The weather was so brutal that anyone who could afford a second house in Key West or Malibu left as soon as the first snow-fall hit. Marinette stayed inside her penthouse apartment for weeks, designing her wardrobe for the next few months. It had been so long since she had been able to design for herself, without input from anyone else. It was freeing, to work with the colors, the patterns, the styles that she wanted. Marinette had forgotten what freedom felt like. For so long, she had worked for the whims of others, crafting to someone else's design.

Marinette made her first friend two weeks after the move. Silver St. Cloud was Marinette's neighbor in the apartment to the left. Silver was a model and influencer, and a self-proclaimed expert on all of the rich single men in Gotham. Upon their first meeting, Silver offered to show Marinette around Gotham and introduce her to the socialite scene. Marinette, hesitant but hopeful, accepted.

"Bruce Wayne is the best that Gotham has to offer," said Silver as they leave Starbucks, lattes in hand. "But there are plenty of men who are worth your attention - women too, if that's what you prefer."

"Bruce Wayne is the best?"

Silver nodded. "The Waynes have owned this city for as long as Gotham has been on a map. I wouldn't set your sights on him completely, though. Bruce Wayne doesn't date anyone, not even a former member of Kitty Section."

Kitty Section was known around the world, the biggest band to come out of France in the last decade. Their songs topped charts. Their albums won awards. Their well-crafted image of reclusive, mysterious artists led to a media sensation over the members of Kitty Section. Everyone wanted to know them - Luka Couffaine and Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the lead vocalists whose relationship enchanted their fans. Rose Lavillant, the backing vocalist and keyboardist, and Juleka Couffaine, the bass guitarist, who were unashamed of their love for each other. Ivan Bruel, the mysterious drummer who had the name Mylène carved into his drumsticks. They were famous. They were at the top of their game. They were unstoppable.

Marinette ruined it all when she left the band. Her split had been big news, exposing a dark side of Kitty Section that their fans were never supposed to see. But after their breakup, Marinette quickly realized that she never loved music. She loved Luka, and once that love faded away, she loved nothing.

"I guess I'll find someone else," said Marinette, but it was a lie. There was Luka Couffaine, and after that, there was no one else. She might be able to love fancy dresses and expensive cars, but Marinette would never love a person again, not the way she loved Luka. When it came to love (deep, true love, not just the infatuations of childhood) Luka was her first time, Luka was her only time, and Luka would be her last time.

Perched in the dark, telling all the rich folks anything they wanna hear

Marinette quickly learned the art of charming everyone she met, either through her impressive resume (founding member of Kitty Section) or through her newfound ability to flirt. It turns out, once you turn off your feelings it becomes very easy to pretend that you can still love.

Marinette and Silver became thick as thieves. The girls became a popular pair, charming every birthday brunch and charity dinner. For Silver, it was all about networking. As she explained to Marinette, "I'm trying to create a brand. I'm trying to turn my own name into something that can be sold, and for that, I need connections.

For Marinette, it was something to do. As long as she used her money wisely, Marinette had enough saved to comfortably live out the rest of her days. The real problem came in finding something to pass the time. Marinette rarely felt joy in living her life, the way she used to back when she was a child, the bright-eyed girl who aspired to be a designer. Now, everything from charming a billionaire to designing a new dress felt like a chore.

"Come meet Bruce Wayne," urged Silver as she grabbed Marinette's hand. "He just got back from Nepal. It's his first time in Gotham in six months. He skipped his own New Year's Gala to go soul-searching in the Himalayas. It's my job tonight to convince him to stay in town for longer than a week."

There was a determination to Silver's voice. From everything she had heard about Bruce Wayne, Marinette doubted that Silver could make him change his ways. However, that wouldn't stop Marinette from helping her new-found friend.

Silver's whole body-language changed, shifting from a determined march to a delicate float as she made her way over to a dark-haired man in a well-fitted tux. "Hello, Bruce. It's so nice to see you again."

"Silver." Bruce acknowledged her, sounding bored. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She was the lead singer of Kitty Section before the band split up a few months ago."

"Kitty Section... I might have heard of them before. The band was... French?"

Marinette nodded. "Yes. All the members were born and raised in Paris. Have you heard of any of our music?

"I'm certain now that I have. It was very... commercial."

Marinette ought to have slapped him across the face right then and there. Not only was commercial not a compliment, but it also wasn't even true. It was the biggest criticism of Kitty Section, their reticence to work with popular music trends. Despite her overwhelming desire to assault the most wealthy and influential man in the ballroom, Marinette instead steeled her face and gave Bruce a pleasant smile. "Thank you. So what do you do for a living, Mister Wayne."

"I travel."

Marinette resisted the urge to roll her eyes. He spoke two words to her. The conversation was anything but interesting. "How interesting. Have you ever been to Paris?"

"I'm not a tourist, Miss Dupain-Cheng. I travel to much more interesting places."

Marinette officially gave up on the conversation. She would let Silver (who looked to be itching to have her turn to talk to Bruce) try and fix the train-wreck of a conversation that Bruce created. "You sound like a man with a lot of stories to tell. I hope you can tell me them over lunch someday."

"Perhaps."

Marinette gave Bruce her politest smile. "I have to excuse myself. Silver, why don't you tell Bruce about your new sponsorship from Lululemon."

Silver lit up. "Oh, you have to hear about this email I got last week. It was amazing, it's so good for my brand..."

Marinette walked away, letting her distaste towards Bruce leave her. Secretly, a little part of her hoped that Bruce would leave Gotham, as he was well-known for doing. Though Silver was her friend, Marinette didn't think she could pretend to like Bruce.

"He's intolerable, isn't he?" joked a voice from beside Marinette.

Marinette turned to face the stranger, a beautiful woman, taller than Marinette by quite a few inches, with dark hair, dark eyes, and tanned skin. She wore a dress of royal blue silk, so elegant it reminded Marinette of the sort of thing she always dreamed of making. "Who?"

"Bruce Wayne. Who else would it be?"

Marinette let out a quiet laugh. "He is quite unpleasant. I take it you know him."

"I accompanied him on some of his travels. Bruce is a good friend of mine, but these parties tend to bring out the worst in him. He hates this city and he especially hates the wealthy of this city." The woman grabbed a glass of wine off of a server's tray and handed it to Marinette, who gratefully took it.

"Then I doubt Silver will have any luck convincing him to stay." Marinette tried to keep the satisfaction out of her tone, but the woman laughed anyways, an indication that it didn't work.

"You're quite funny..." The woman paused for an introduction.

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng. And you are?"

"Diana-"

The sound of shattering glass interrupted Diana's introduction. The crowd started to get frantic, and Marinette was pushed one way while Diana was pushed the other. The glass of wine was knocked out of Marinette's hand, staining the fabric of her dress. Marinette struggled to stay on her feet, desperate to not twist an ankle in her four-inch heels.

"Listen up!" shouted an oddly-dressed man. "You're all going to listen to me, and no one will get hurt."

Marinette had a very odd feeling that this would be a moment she remembered for the rest of her life.

Never thought I'd meet you here. It could be love

"They're calling him a supervillain. Apparently, his name is The Riddler," reported Marinette, looking up from her phone, where she was reading about the events of the night before.

Silver glanced up from her seat on the sofa across the room where she was painting her nails a delicate shade of pink. "It's about time Gotham got its own supervillain. Metropolis has had Superman and all the villains that follow him around for years."

Marinette snorted out a laugh. "You think that a supervillain is a good thing?"

"Sure. It means that Gotham will be getting a superhero of its own soon." Silver brightened up. "Plus, the hostage situation from last night meant that I got to spend a whole two hours with Bruce."

Marinette groaned. "I can't believe that you two are going on a date. Bruce Wayne is one of the most insufferable men I've ever met."

"It's not a date. Bruce specified it as just dinner between friends. You should come too, Marinette. I'm sure that once you spend some time with Bruce you'll warm up to him."

Marinette gave Silver a skeptical look. "You want me to come with you on your date with Bruce?"

"Again, it's not a date. Bruce said that he would be bringing one of his friends along as well."

Marinette finally understood Silver's intentions. "You want me to come with you so that I can partner up with Bruce's friend, and you can get some alone time with Bruce."

"Well it doesn't sound very nice when you put it that way," huffed Silver.

Marinette giggled. "I love devious plans. We'll just have to make it look natural."

It took a little time to get all the details, but Marinette and Silver got their plan in order. Silver would arrive first and meet Bruce and his friend. Marinette would arrive later, strike up a one-on-one conversation with Bruce's friend, and spend the night engaging Bruce's friend in conversation so that Silver could flirt with Bruce. Marinette's only concern about the evening was that Bruce's friend would be just as unbearable to talk to as Bruce himself.

The restaurant that Bruce picked out was very fancy, but Marinette didn't mind. It allowed her to wear her new dress, a pale blue and silver creation meant to mimic the shimmering quality of ice. Marinette thought it might be a little too experimental for the old-fashioned Gotham society, but Silver approved of it, and Marinette trusted her friend.

As soon as Marinette walked through the doors her eyes caught sight of Silver's white-blonde hair. Then she noticed Bruce sitting beside her friend, his eyes trained on Silver with an odd intensity. Finally, Marinette noticed Bruce's friend. She was shocked to see that it was Diana, the very woman that Marinette had met at yesterday's gala, the very woman whose introduction was interrupted by the untimely arrival of the Riddler. For a second, Marinette was shocked into stillness. The chaos of the night before had overshadowed her meeting with Diana to the extent that Marinette had forgotten how very charmed she had been by Diana. Now, it seemed Marinette had the perfect opportunity to get to know the charismatic woman from the night before.

"Marinette," the surprise in Diana's tone told Marinette that she was just as blind-sighted by their meeting.

"Hello, Diana. Fancy meeting you here," said Marinette with a smile.

Bruce raised one eyebrow. "I didn't know you two knew each other."

"We met last night," explained Diana. "I wanted to let her knew that you aren't usually so insufferable."

Bruce looked affronted. "I wasn't insufferable."

"You lied about having listened to Kitty Section," piped up Marinette. "There are a lot of valid criticisms of Kitty Section. However, our music being too commercial is not one of them."

Bruce had the decency to look guilty. "I apologize, then. I'll make sure to take the time to give your music a real listen."

For Silver's sake, Marinette was willing to forgive him. "Maybe next time you can give me some real criticism."

Bruce nodded graciously. "I'll do that."

Diana took that moment to bring back up their introduction the night before. "So Marinette, I don't believe we got the chance to finish our introductions last night. I'm Diana Prince, newly a curator at Gotham's Art and History Museum."

"I'm Marinette Dupain-Cheng, former member of Kitty Section, currently taking a soul-searching sabbatical."

"Soul-searching for what?" asked Diana.

"I suppose I'm trying to figure out what I'm going to do with the rest of my life. When I was younger I was so passionate about fashion. I made my own clothes, entered my creations into design contests, spent years creating a portfolio. I'm trying to rediscover that passion."

"Maybe you could show me your designs some time," offered Diana.

"I would like that," agreed Marinette.

"Actually," chimed in Silver, "Marinette made the dress she's wearing right now."

"Really? I would have assumed that it was professionally made. It's a gorgeous dress," praised Diana.

Marinette blushed, a warm fluttery feeling stirring deep within her. The rest of the night passed in a blur, with Marinette hanging on Diana's every word. It was easy to talk to Diana. She was so naturally charming that Marinette couldn't help but enjoy herself. As the evening winded down, Marinette felt only regret that they would have to part so soon.

As Marinette stood outside the restaurant, waiting for a taxi, she felt Diana's hand settle on her shoulder. It had been a while since Marinette had felt such an intimate touch. "I had a nice time talking to you tonight." The feel of Diana's fingers gently trailing down Marinette's arms was almost more than Marinette, touch-starved and hungry for more, could bear.

Marinette smiled. "I did too. I hope to see more of you."

"I'm sure you will." Marinette took comfort in the certainty in Diana's voice.

And in the back of her mind, Marinette began to rethink her policy of never falling in love again. Something about Diana made Marinette think that Luka wouldn't be her last time after all.

And the skeletons in both our closets plotted hard to fuck this up

Marinette could not believe he did this. After everything they had been through together, Marinette's one final request to Luka was that he not release a song about their breakup. But there it was, top of the charts, the lead single of Luka's new solo album, Different Cities. And if it wasn't bad enough that Luka broke the only promise she asked him to keep, included in the song was a snippet of the last voicemail she sent to him. She left it for him weeks after they broke up, as an explanation to him, to let him know she was leaving Gotham.

In the last few seconds of the song, Marinette's voice is hesitant as she speaks. "I know that you wanted me to stay so that we could work things out, but I don't think that our relationship is fixable. So I guess I'm calling to tell you that I give up. I'm leaving Paris next Friday. I've already bought the plane ticket. You can't change my mind. Goodbye, Luka."

It was the rawest emotion Marinette had shown since the breakup, and Luka exploited it for his own gain.

Marinette spent the day joylessly deleting emails from various news outlets begging her to tell her side of the story. As if she would give Luka the satisfaction of giving free publicity. Everyone loved drama, so Marinette was going to make her reaction - or lack of reaction, in this case - as boring as possible.

Every time her phone rang, Marinette ignored it. The voicemails started to stack up, and eventually, Marinette found herself going through them one-by-one. One from Alya, letting Marinette know that she was there for her when she wanted to talk. One from Adrien, more joking in tone, trying to cheer Marinette up. One from Ivan, directly threatening to punch Luka in the face if Marinette wanted it (and that was the only voicemail that actually brought her spirits up). One from Juleka, an apology.

In the voicemail, Juleka's voice was rough, like she had been crying. "I'm so sorry, Marinette. I begged Luka not to release it, but he wouldn't listen to me. He said- he- he said-" Juleka broke off into a sob, and Marinette couldn't help but sniffle along with her. "I can hardly recognize him anymore. Rose and I aren't on speaking terms with him now. He's no longer my brother."

Marinette wished that she could pick up the phone and tell Juleka that it was okay to forgive Luka, but Marinette couldn't. The wound was still fresh, still bleeding out.

One step forward, one steps back. Two days after Marinette considered the idea of loving again, and she was right back where she started - in too much pain to even consider friendship, let alone love.

Speak of the devil, Marinette's phone rang, Diana's name lighting up on the screen. Part of her wanted to throw her phone across the room and curl up under her blankets. The other parts of her answered the call. "Hello?" spoke Marinette, wiping away the moisture at the corner of her eyes.

"Marinette, are you okay?" Diana's voice was soft. It was the most comforting thing Marinette had ever heard.

"Not really. I can't decide if I want to punch Luka in the face or if it would hurt too much to ever see him again."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Marinette sighed. "I met Luka when I was fourteen. He was my classmate Juleka's older brother. Luka had his own band, so all the girls in our class thought that Luka was so cool, but he mostly ignored us. Then one day his backing vocalist got bronchitis and he needed someone to fill in. I was a soloist for the school chorus, so I volunteered. Luka was hesitant to let me join his band until he heard me sing. He told me I had the voice of an angel. Two days later he kissed me, and I fell in love with him so hard and so fast I didn't have a chance to consider if he was really the one."

Marinette took a deep breath, then continued, "It was a whirlwind after that. We started dating. We started a new band and named it Kitty Section. We started writing songs together. The weird part was, he never asked how I felt about any of it. He never asked me if I wanted to date him, he never asked if I wanted to join the band, he always assumed that I wanted what he wanted."

"And what did you want?" asked Diana.

"Back then, I thought I wanted a future with Luka. Now, I guess I just want to feel passion again. I've felt so empty since I left him."

"You might feel better with some company. Do you want me to come over to your place?"

Marinette looked around at her empty apartment, at the way the shadows filled the room, at the way seemed to lurk in every corner. "Sure."

"You could show me some of those designs you were telling me about the other day," suggested Diana.

Marinette glanced over at her sketchbook, which had laid empty for months. "That sounds good."

As she hung up the phone, Marinette realized that talking to Diana had made her feel a bit better. The knife wound that Luka had left in her heart had begun to close up at the edges. Marinette took a deep breath and picked up her sketchbook. If she wanted to rediscover her passion, she needed to work for it.

Now you hang from my lips, like the Gardens of Babylon

Marinette let out an appreciative noise as Diana re-entered the room, modeling one of Marinette's creations. "Give me a little spin."

Diana turned herself around, letting the red fabric swirl around her legs. Something about the way that the dress looked on Diana made it so much prettier in Marinette's eyes. Suddenly the fabric wasn't just red, it was carmine. The dress wasn't just being worn, it was being modeled. It didn't just move, it flowed. "It's a gorgeous dress," complimented Diana as she looked over her shoulder at the mirror behind her to admire it.

"It is nice, isn't it." Marinette had been so caught up in her head she had forgotten to truly admire her creation. Suddenly an idea occurred to her. "You should keep it. One of Bruce's charity galas is coming up in a few weeks. You could wear it there."

"I couldn't," protested Diana.

Marinette shook her head. "It looks best on you. I could never pull off such a vibrant shade of red." There was a second part to the sentence that was left unspoken. If Marinette made the dress knowing that it wouldn't look good on her, she must have made it for another reason. She must have made it with Diana in mind.

Diana smiled, seeming to have caught those unspoken words. "Well if I'm going to wear the dress, you'll have to put up with me gushing about how talented you are all night long."

Marinette flushed. "It's no big deal. It's just a dress."

"It's not just a dress. It's your passion." There was truth in Diana's words that Marinette couldn't deny. It was so much more than a dress. It was the passion for design that Diana had helped her rediscover. It was the newfound friendship with Diana that chased away the loneliness and despair that had taken over her life. It was the glimmer of hope for a future with Diana.

Takes one to know one, you're a cowboy like me

Diana looked beyond gorgeous in that carmine dress. Marinette could keep her eyes off of her as they mingled around the ballroom. Marinette's dress was nice, made with the same passion that Marinette had in her younger years, but it paled in comparison to Diana. However, Diana made up for this disparity by gleefully explaining that Marinette was the creator of the dress every time it was complimented. By the end of the night, Marinette had spent so much time blushing over compliments that she worried her face would become permanently flushed.

The gala was a complete success for everyone involved. The charity, which happened to benefit Gotham Child Protective Services, raised twice their goal amount. Marinette got to spend time with Diana. Even Silver had spent the night looking very pleased with herself, her hand resting on Bruce's forearm as they walked through the ballroom together.

As the night winded down, Marinette and Diana found themselves walking out of Wayne Manor towards Diana's car. Diana had offered to drive Marinette there and back, and Marinette had eagerly accepted. Marinette hated driving in Gotham, as Gotham was known for its aggressive drivers and high rates of automobile accidents.

Marinette sat down in the passenger seat with a sigh, kicking off her heels. "Tonight was nice."

"It was nice," Diana agreed. "We'll have to attend galas together more often."

"You just want an excuse to get your hands on another one of my dresses," teased Marinette.

Diana laughed. "I wouldn't say no to another dress. But really, Bruce's rich friends are much more bearable when I have someone to make fun of them afterward with."

Marinette shuddered. "And to think I thought that Bruce was bad. His friends are intolerable. I never want to talk about golf again in my life."

The two women chatted as they drove through the dark streets of Gotham, back to Marinette's apartment.

"Thanks for driving me home," said Marinette as the car pulled up in front of her apartment building.

"It was no problem." Diana hesitated, before continuing. "I was wondering if you would like to go out to dinner with me tomorrow night."

"Dinner sounds good," Marinette replied, strapping her shoes back on.

"I'm asking for this to be a date." Diana finished.

Marinette looked up at her, surprised. Her friendship with Diana had been so easy that Marinette had forgotten that it could be anything else. She had half a mind to decline, to stay in the familiar, but that little bit of hope in her heart urged Marinette to take a leap of faith and accept. "I would like that. What time will you pick me up?"

Diana smiled, her whole face lighting up. "How does six sound?"

Marinette smiled back, her heart feeling lighter than it had in years. "Sounds great. I'll see you tomorrow."

And as Marinette got ready for bed, she realized that all of the sadness that lingered in her heart since the breakup had gone away. All that was left for her to feel was hope for the future.

@maribatmarch-2k21

#maribat #MaribatMarch2021 #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Diana Prince #wonderbug #dianette #my work

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atinysunbaby · 3 years

Text

Meant to be | Choi San 🖤

Warnings : Cursing, violence, mention of rape.

Words count : 2.2 k

Previous 《 Prologue

Masterlist

Chapter 1

Present

My cheeks are burning from the salty tears escaping my eyes. A tightening feeling in my chest growing by the minute. The sobs keep escaping me, making my body move uncontrollably. Chocking from the sharp inhales and shaking from the cold temperature. This moment, forever will be imprinted in my mind. Those images I wish I could forget, unfortunately will hunt me till my last breath.

I suppose it's what most people feel too when they lose their parents. I wanted to deny it, but I saw their bodies. They were cold, bruised, bloody and no longer held any signs of life.

The last time a saw them, I didn't bother much to say goodbye to them. Only telling them to enjoy their little vacation in the woods. I was more exited about being alone then making them know how much I loved them. Now it's too late, I'll never be able to see their faces again, hear their voices, feel their arms around me when I need them the most.

I woke up to my cellphone ringing this morning, answering grumpily, thinking it was my mom who disturbed me from my sleep. It was actually the cops telling me to come to the hospital, but I wish it would've been her instead. I wish she could annoy me every morning now, but it's over. She isn't here anymore and neither is my dad.

I'm in my room, at this moment, crying my heart out. I ran out of the hospital immediately after seeing their corpses. They wanted me to identifie them, but I left with people screaming for me to comeback. I guess they probably know from my reaction, that it was indeed my mom and dad.

People keep calling me on my phone, but I don't answer. I'm laying on the floor, looking at the ceiling, waiting for my sadness to subside. I know that won't happen anytime soon, but it's the only way for me to calm down. Being surrounded by people telling me how sorry they are for my loss. A bunch of fake assholes making me feel even worse about the situation definitely won't make anything better.

Slowly my eyes get heavy, I try to fight the exhaustion but fail miserably. I fall asleep on the cold floor of my room, my window open and the sound of rain filling my ears. All of this crying definitely used up a lot of my energy.

The car crash, I wasn't there and I have no idea of what happened. But I see it, something is in the middle of the road and dad just told mom a joke. They're laughing.. until they hit that thing, an animal maybe. It goes right through the window and kill my dad instantly, but as for my mom. The car rolls off the road and fall down a small cliff. Mom's still alive, she's in pain, blood everywhere, she's crying for her husband to open his eyes and answer her. She keeps screaming that she can't feel him anymore? His presence? Her breathing is getting worse the more she panics. Suddenly the door on her side opens and something stabs her in the chest, putting a end to her desperate cries. Blood is streaming down her chin, her eyes looking directly through mine while she takes her last breath.

I open my eyes to see nothing but darkness. I frantically search for a sign of light, I reach around with my hands. My eyes are open wide and my breath shaky, until my fingers brush against an object. I stop every movement, slowly gripping it and letting a breath of relieve when I realise it's my phone.

I turn it on to see a ton of messages and missed calls. One standing out, my aunts name, my mom's sister. I never talked to her, but mom insisted on giving me her number. I look around my room and stand up to look outside the window, only to notice that it's night time. The reason of the darkness and freezing temperature. I close it and turn the lights on in my room. Then I sit on the corner of my bed and hesitate a few minutes while looking at the screen in front of me. My fingers finaly press on call. A few rings later, Aunt Kath's voice is heard. "Y/N! Y/N is it you?"

"Yes it's me.. why did you cal-" I'm cut off by a loud sob. My eyes widen in confusion, but I soon remember that my mom, her sister is no longer a part of this world. I sigh and wait for her to stop crying on the other side of the line. "S-sweetie- where are you? Are you safe? You're not alone ar-"

"Kath, my parents just died. I'm obviously not partying right now, but I'm okay.. I guess.." She stays silent for the next few seconds, my blunt answer probably wasn't expected, but it's understandable. "Sweetheart-I uhh.. you have no one to stay with right? So.. your mom made me your godmother, i-in case anything happened to her.. will you come live w-with me, here in Korea?"

It takes some time to process what just came out of her mouth, my eyebrows are furrowed. Many feelings are fighting to take control of my body, but the one that wins is frustration. "W-what?.."

"She told me to take care of you if she wasn't there anymore... It was just a precaution, but I guess it really happened." She says with a small voice, trying not to upset me further. Judging from my lack of response, she can tell I'm not that excited about this new information. "I asked you, but it ins't really a choice that you have. It's an obligation, you can't stay alone out ther-"

I hang up, not wanting to listen even for one more second. I need some time to think about it. She's right, I don't have much of a choice. I turned seventeen not too long ago and I don't have any family member here. At least none that I know of. I sigh defeated, once again pressing on my godmother's contact.

She picks up not even a second later, as if she knew I was gonna call her back. She doesn't say a word, waiting for me to start talking. I clear my throat after freeing my lower lip from my teeth. "How will I get there? How about my clothes and everything else in the house? My parents' funera-"

"I'll take care of everything you don't have to worry, just bring the necessary and I'll transfer some money on your account so you can pay for your plane ticket. As for the ride to my house, my boyfriend will pick you up" She spend a whole hour explaining to me how everything will go and I agree after hesitating for a while. If my mom gave Kath the role of godmother, she must trust her. So I will trust her too, anyways I don't really have a reason not to. She's been nice till now and she'll even welcome me in her house, she's taking me in. "Thank you Kath, I really appreciate it. I don't know what I would've done if I was all alone."

Days later

I prepared all my stuff, ready to fly to Korea. It took me a while to accept, but eventually I warmed up to it. It's an opportunity for me, to start over. A new life full of adventure, new environment and culture. I want to explore the world so why not start there.

Unfortunately though, I had to say goodbye to all my friends. We cried and spend the last few days together. We promised to text each other everyday and not to forget about one another. Sad thing is, my friends aren't the only ones I need to leave behind. It's hard to leave the place I grew up in, my house, my neighbourhood, my city, everything.

In a few hours, everything I ever knew will all be in the past. Only the memories will stay, the rest, all gone. So the day my parents died, I didn't only lose them, but my life too. The life they gave me. Now, I have to make a new one, by myself.

Landing in Korea

The flight was boring and quite annoying, I didn't know what to do. A baby cried for what felt like years and a couple had an argument at some point. Then the person next to me started to snore so loudly I thought the plane was crashing. I'm glad to finaly be on the ground, the loud voices of people speaking indistinctly seeming to sooth me from what I went through previously.

I sit on one of the chairs in the airport waiting for James, my godmother's boyfriend. He'll drive me to their house, apparently Kath arranged a room for me already. She doesn't have any kid, so she's looking forward to having me over.

"Y/N!!" I jump from the chair almost falling on my ass. I luckily manage to stay on my two feet and not make a fool of myself. Upon hearing a chuckle, I turn around and see an old looking dude smirking at me, maybe in his late forties. "Umm.. Hi can I help you?"

"James, I came to pick you up remember?" He asks while pointing at himself. I'm still unsure, he's looking at me weirdly. I can feel an odd vibe from him. It makes me feel uncomfortable, but I push it aside and nod before following him.

We enter his rusty jeep, the doors creaking when moving. Despite the outside looking a bit ugly, the inside is clean. The only negative point would be the smell, cigarette and..alcohol? Paying a bit more attention to the smell though, it doesn't only come from the jeep. The man next to me is even worst, it seems that he might shower rarely. Subtly, I bring my sweater paws to my nose, looking outside to distract myself.

"So, Y/N! How you holding up?" His loud and deep raspy voice makes me jump for the second time. I turn a bit a towards him not to be impolite and think before answering him. "I guess it's a bit easier then I expected. I didn't think that I'd feel any better, but after a few days it prove me wrong. But I feel bad, to already move on.."

He hums next to me, nodding his head lazily. I wait for him to add something, but the car is filled with silence. I'm relieved he doesn't speak further, not really being in the mood to have a whole conversation, especially with someone I don't know. So, slowly I turn back around towards the window. My mind drifting to the events that happened in just a few weeks, everything is so fucked up. Fortunately, Kath and James decided to help me.

About an hour past since we came out of the airport. We just entered a forrest, James informed me that it'll take a while still. He insisted that I should go to sleep and when I'll wake up, we'll be home. I ponder for some time, but eventually agree. It doesn't take long for me to fall asleep due to not being able to get much sleep in the plane.

I wake up when the car come to an halt, a man's voice coming from next to me. Curses escaping his mouth, confused I open my eyes. The events from the previous hours coming back to me, tears threatening to escape my eyes. My body shaking slightly from fear, uncontrollably.

The ride was a lot longer then what James had told me it would be and I slept, only to be woken up by a hand covering my mouth. Horrible things happened in that car and it wasn't a nightmare, no mather how much I wish it was one. He said he would tell Kath it took us some time because of the traffic and the airport. Then he threatened to kill me if I open my mouth.

I can't let him see me crying, I don't want him to have another reason to hurt me. Despite being terrified and completely drained from energy, I swallow the bill in my throat and wipe the tears from my eyes. While I'm breaking down, next to me James is whistling and turning the car off. Announcing with a loud scream to Kath that we arrived.

"Omg! Y/N! Sweetie you really are here." Kath comes out of the house shouting happily, her arms open, waiting for me to give her a hug. I rush to open the door, but a hand grabs my arm. His nails dig in my skin and I whimper, both from fear and pain. "Remember. You talk, you die."

He puts my bag in my hand, pretending to be helping me. Finally I escape the horrible vehicle and run into my godmother's arms with a heavy heart. The second she engulfs me in her warmth, sobs spill from deep within me. She cries with me but not for the same reason. She cries because she lost her sister and now I'm here. I, cry because I've lost my parents, I lost my house, my friends. Because I've been raped less then an hour ago. Because I feel completely broken and hopeless. The new life I wanted for myself, only starts with even more problems then I had before.

Next 》 Chapter 2

#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic #kpop #kpop fanfic #san fanfic #werewolf au #atiny #park seonghwa #kim hongjoong #jeong yunho #kang yeosang #choi san #song mingi #jung wooyoung #choi jongho

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ficforce · 3 years

Text

Obi Relationship Alphabet

Reader is a F!Nurse

A- Activity (What is their favourite activity to do with you.)

Obi and Y/N are very busy with their jobs, they’re both constantly on call and deal with tense situations all the time.

They really enjoy some downtime, Y/N has shift work rather than the 24/7 work pattern the Fire Force has, so she often goes to Obi and they chill out in the rec room. It can be something as simple as putting on a movie or even going for a run together… providing Obi gives her a foot rub later.

B- Beginnings (How do they act at the beginning of a relationship)

It was professional at first, communicating at the scene of an Infernal to protect the public and make it as painless as they could.

There was an instant attraction. Obi noticed her compassion first and Y/N adored how he tried to give comfort to the ones left behind. Obi’s not great at speaking to people and he fumbled a lot, he tripped over his words and got bashful easily. Y/N thought it was adorable that a big man like him was so cute.

It took them a long time to find time to go on their first date but they were sickly sweet with each other.

C- Communication (Are they good communicators? How do they normally talk about their problems or solve issues)

Once Obi got over his bashfulness he found it easy to talk to Y/N. She was a good listener and always seemed to know what to say to help him work through a problem. She never made him feel stupid like Princess Hibana could.

When Y/N gets exhausted from work she can get emotional and Obi is a brilliant soundboard for her to talk to. He gets her completely but doesn’t tell her to stop complaining. Everyone needs to deflate every now and then - Even him.

D- Drunk (What are they like when they’re drunk)

Hilarious.

Together they’re disgustingly cute, nose kisses, cuddles, showing off for each other and the dreaded cute talk.

If Obi is drunk then he becomes a cuddle, he wants to show off and he wants everyone to be enthusiastic and get ripped with him. Y/N can usually distract him but he’s really heavy and if he passes out there’s not much she can do.

If Y/N is drunk she gets a bit of a handful, she treats everyone like a kid and tries to look after them all, even if she’s fall down drunk, she’ll usually be cuddling someone. She’ll take almost any dare and Obi usually ends up fireman lifting her out of there to get her sobered up.

E- Emergency (How are they in emergency situations? You get hurt, they get hurt, someone is dying etc..)

Their lives revolve around emergency situations. They’re cool and calm whilst keeping their compassion. When it comes to each other it goes out the window.

They can’t breathe, they have a moment of sheer panic where they just don’t know what to do. They have to almost forget that this is the person they love most in the world and treat them like any stranger.

Afterwards, they won’t be apart for a second.

F- Free Spot (I’ll give you any headcanon I come up with)

Obi used to go to her ambulance with pathetic little injuries just so he could talk to her.

G- Gifts (What kind of gifts do they give? What kind of gifts do they get?)

They’re not really big gift-givers. They prefer time together.

Y/N likes to bring him food he likes and she’ll gift him with professional massages and physio to make sure he doesn’t overwork his muscles.

Y/N’s really into going out to parks, experience days and food. Obi will use his whole days off to take her somewhere fun and won’t let her pay for a thing - he’s got everything planned.

He tries to take her out to different street food places often.

H- Hugs (How do they show affection/cuddle)

Whilst on duty they are professional, they might have a few private conversations and check-in with one another but that’s it.

Off duty and in public they’re obviously together but don’t overdo it. Y/N likes to hold hands or he’ll put his arm around her shoulder/waist. They will kiss but chastely, nothing too much.

Off duty in front of team 8 is similar to public but there’s more nuzzling and cuddling.

In private… well, that’s not your business.

I- Irritation (What is something that irritates them? How do they show their irritation?)

They both get irritated but try not to take it out on others.

Obi will train harder and snap at people.

Y/N has an ‘irritated expression’ and people can literally feel it rolling off her… best leave her to Obi.

J- Jackpot (How would they spend their winnings if they won the lottery?)

With the world the way it is, they’d take what they needed and use the rest to help victims of Combustion.

K- Kryptonite (What is their ultimate weakness?)

They care more about others than themselves.

One day they’ll go too far

L- Laughter (What makes them laugh?)

Each other, other people, dumb little things.

M- Morning ( How do they wake up in the morning? Are they a morning person or a morning grouch?)

Because of his bodybuilding, Obi doesn’t sleep very well, he’s always pumped up and has to keep his carbs up. He’s up and ready to go.

Y/N loves to sleep when she can, she’s usually exhausted and collapses in bed, mornings are the worst!

She’s groggy and a little grumpy until she’s awake enough.

On rare occasions where she stays over, Obi will stay in bed to hold her until he literally can’t be still anymore. He’ll let her know he’s going and smile as she grumbles then goes back to sleep.

He never rushes her in the morning… she’s been taking shooting lessons from Hinawa.

N- Needy (When do they feel particularly needy? How do they show it?)

Obi is needy when he’s feeling ill, it’s rare but he behaves like a little kid and wants Y/N to mother him.

Y/N’s needy in the morning, she wants cuddles and is just useless without her Captain.

O- Oasis (Where is their happy place? Where would they go if they didn’t have anything holding them back?)

Somewhere quiet, maybe out in the country or up a mountain…?

P- Pain (How do they handle pain? How do they handle when you are in pain?)

Obi gets hurt often and he brushes it off, Y/N hates it, she wants to make him comfortable and will look after him if she can.

Y/N isn’t a wimp but she does cry when she’s in pain. Obi hates it, he wants to make it stop but he doesn’t really know how. He feels guilty that she’s hurting.

Q- Quote (What’s a quote that fits them and your relationship)

“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.”

― Lao Tzu

R- Reunion (How do they celebrate seeing you after a long time of being apart)

They can sometimes go weeks without seeing each other, it depended on their schedules.

They will head out, recently they like to visit Asakusa in the evening, the street food is great and Company 7 doesn’t mind putting them up.

S- Stress (What stresses them out? How do deal with stress and how do they relieve it?)

Life. Work… It’s really stressful.

Downtime is important.

Obi works Stress out and Y/N sleeps it off.

T- Terror (What are they afraid of?)

Failing.

Y/N takes it really hard when she can’t save a life

Obi is the same.

U- Unique (What is a quirk that is unique to them?)

They always have time for others.

V- Violence (Do they fight a lot? Are they a good fighter? What is their fighting style?)

They don’t fight physically. Sometimes they argue about the other taking time off and that they work too hard but that’s about it.

W- Wow (What do you do that really surprises them? What do you do that they really like?)

Hinawa has told me that Obi and Y/N are always awed by each other - it’s sickening.

X- (Explicit headcanon. For all you degenerates)

They’re at it like rabbits, they’ve had sex all over the Company 8 building and been caught a few times. Y/N loves how he can fuck her to within an inch of her life whilst his words and hands and kisses somehow remain soft and loving.

Y- Yucky (Is there something that grosses them out so badly that they can’t deal with it?)

Y/N would like Obi to stop exercising in the same t-shirt. He’ll put it on clean, sweat in it, take a shower, then when he goes to train again later puts on the old sweaty thing. It gets washed at the end of everyday but for Sol’s sake, Obi, just put a clean one on!

Z- ZZZ’s (What are their sleeping habits? Both with and without you)

Together they like to cuddle up.

Alone, Y/N cuddles a firm body pillow as a substitute.

Alone, Obi doesn’t sleep as well.

#obi akitaru #reader #alphabet #fire force #enen no shouboutai #enn enn no shouboutai

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kanene-yaaay · 4 years

Text

Go Virge, go!

Kanene’s note: TODAAAAAAAAAY IS A SPECIAAAAAL DAYYYY!!! DO YOU KNOW WHY?? THAT IS RIGHT! BECAUSE TODAY IS @why-not-a-tickle-blog BIRTHDAY!!!! Gooooosh!!!! I know I already did a whole speech before, mah friendo, but you’re just so amazing and lovely! Aaaaaa I’m happy for being your friend! <33

Okay, I got a little carried away! Enjoy the gift! x3

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* This characters don’t belongs to me! They all belong to Thomas Sanders and his series Sanders Sides!

* This is a SFW Tickle-Fanfic, so, if you don’t appreciate this kind of content, please, look for another blog. There are a plenty of fabulous arts in this site!! ^w^)b

* Oneshot. Something around 3.800 words.w-)b. Lee!Virgil and Ler!Patton in Human AU.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any and every advice is very very welcome! \(-w-)/

* Since it’s a gift: Essa fanfic não será traduzida, mals. Thankys for reading, my lollipops, especially you, Livvy!! Have a wonderful and incredible day just like you!

[~*~]

Patton was confused. A lot.

And that wasn’t even a whole brand-new thing in his life.

Patton got confused quite frequently, being honest.

He got confused when he accidentally fell asleep on the couch and woke up four hours later with all his house painted in the dark of the night and without a single drop of memory about where he is or who he is for some minutes. Patton got confused when his attention was caught in some adorably adorable video of kittens being the best thing in the world and quickly ran to Virgil’s room just to show them to him, not understanding why his friend can’t stop looking at him quizzically until Virgil finally asks why does he has a spoon in the knot of his cardigan and Patton jumps because HIS COOKIES ARE IN THE OVEN AND HOW MUCH TIME HAD PASSED-

Oh. Wait. That is not what he was talking about. Focus, focus!

Anyway. Life is confusing, feelings, thoughts, actions, trying your best, keep going, look at the refrigerator just to realize you have no idea of what you were supposed to be searching in the first place, humans…

Yeah, especially humans.

Patton stared at the figure of his friend laid on the couch, absently looking at his phone while a piece of smile adorned his face. The movie both decided to watch paused in the background as the one currently in the kitchen waited for the popcorn get ready, his hand held lightly his chin and a frown rest peacefully in his features, mirroring the same expression he always saw on Logan every time he was confronted by a problem whose solution seemed impossible to find.

It was The Pose of all the incredible genius in the world, right? Therefore, in some moment about now the answers of all his questions should magically pop before him, unfolding and refolding in logic patterns just like in all the mystery series and books.

Right about noooow…

…

Now?

…

Well, it didn’t work.

Patton pouted, turning to pour the warm and probably delicious snack in big bowls that both would pretend they wouldn't be able to finish before even getting in the middle of the so expected movie. He grabbed the bowls and headed to the other room, reprising the entire day in his mind, a faint echo of Logan saying that could help basing his decision.

Everything started in the morning with Patton arriving at their breakfast table only to find Virgil, but not his usual Virgil.

That was a Virgil without his hoodie.

Not that it was a totally strange thing! Usually by his free mornings he would prefer to wander in the house on his comfortable pajamas, however the thing today is… he wasn’t on his pajamas. He was prepared to fight the world – actually Virgil was just going to work, but he said this sounded more badass - on his black Slipknot shirt, jeans and the hoodie nowhere near to be seen.

Besides that, today was predominantly cold. Cold enough for the one wearing glasses end up missing his favorite cat cardigan by the time he arrived their house, searching for the so dearly craved cloth in every little corner until Patton came across the scene of his friend - his best edgy, lovely friend cutely wearing it and being equally playfully bratty when tried ask it back, pulling out his tongue out as his form dazed in a chase the moment Patton’s promise of ‘physically fight for it!’ – which was a lie, obviously. He gave up the vestment the very moment his eyes locked in a Virgil playing with the cat ears sewed in it – flew from his mouth.

And, after getting tired out, they cuddled! Okay, this wasn’t nearly a strange occurrence between both, albeit was one of those rare moments when Virgil was the one who initiated it, laying on his lap with a pout and a sharp look, as if he dared the other to say something (and Patton didn’t!! He swears!! Squeals. Do. Not. Count. As. Words.), feeling comfortable enough to even start a Poking War as they were accommodating themselves on the cushions, rays of giggles, squeaks filling the place for some heartbeats before both decided to metamorphose their last bit of routine into a movie night.

Which was exactly what they were doing!

Now, don’t get Patton wrong. He was absolutely delighted by everything! Knowing Virgil felt comfortable, safe enough to act nonchalant around him was so heart-warming he could almost feel himself melt in happiness!

….But…

But there was this signal in the back of his mind. A particularly different gleam in the other’s eyes he had already seen before, however couldn’t quite place its meaning yet. Some words unpronounced amongst his lightly snarky demeanor. Some little thing that made Patton feel playful and happily bubbly as well, except he couldn’t really grab the exact information, the exact why or the exact memory.

Not yet, at least.

[~*~]

Virgil was about to fucking quit it.

No, actually, he was about to fuck quit everything when he woke up of his incredibly, horrible, wonderfully teasy tickle dream. The tingles of the dreamy tickles still ghostly buzzing on his body as he quietly giggled, burying his face in the pillows and kicking about everything on his bed, eyes firmly closed as the memories bathed his mind in a flow made to increase awfully his lee mood.

And then one of his favorite artists posted some new things on Tumblr, which obligated him to see all their new posts and, who knows, accidentally click in the tag ‘My arts’ of them, which end up with him re-finding other works he had already forgot about, path that consequently leaded to some more reblogs and therefore another bunch of tickle blogs which, of course, made his lee mood at work almost unbearable.

At least he had the cold to blame if someone questioned about the persistent blush spread on his features.

After everything, finally: The calm and quiet of home, broken by his determined decision to try to make – somehow - Patton tickle him. His friend was soft and playful by nature, and he already knew Virgil liked tickles (quite of an interesting story involving a meme, a movie and the power going out. Heh. Do not ask about it.) so, I mean, the worst part was already gone, right? It wouldn’t probably be that bad. Virgil would just act naturally, smoothly following a few advices he found in some blogs discussing this topic and hope, for the sake of his life, the Universe wouldn’t follow Murphy's Law for ONCE.

Of course, that didn’t happen. OF COURSE.

Virgil tried first to be a bratty. He stole Patton’s cardigan and even ran across the house in an attempt to maintain his new possession. He stretched while laid in Patton’s lap: no hoodie, ticklish spots right there. In the last shot he even let himself giggle every single time his mind wandered to the dark corner designed especially for the subject. The one wearing smudged make up even started a poke war!! A poke war!! What kind of poke war doesn't evolve to a tickle war where he would, so sadly and despise his best efforts, lose spectacularly??

He crossed his arms and DID NOT pout, blowing grumpily some strands of hair that fell in his vision’s field.

“I would sell my soul for a tickle.” Virgil growled, his usually careful façade crumbling under the quite persistent thoughts of fingers spidering on his ribs, counting each one of them before lazily dragging the tip of the nails to his quivering tummy, dancing and poking unbothered by his squi-

“What was that?”

Virgil squeaked, jumping some centimeters in the air when the voice of his approaching friend filled the room, the words getting stuck in his throat, his head shooting in the other’s direction, wide eyes.

“What.” He eloquently offered.

“I was too far, didn’t hear what you said, sorry. Could you repeat, please?”

Virgil tried – failing - to not blush. Patton was… actually being serious, right? That wasn’t any kind of tease, even if the traitor little demon he usually called brain unhelpfully unlocked all the memories of all the tickle fanfics he read that began with that exact same words. “Nothing. It was nothing.” He promptly ignored the way his voice came out slightly high.

“Oh, okay!” Patton kindly smiled, putting the popcorn on the coffe table and looking for some space on the couch to lay down while Virgil pressed play, the show’s opening quickly filling the air and silence hanging between both. Patton stopped. Suddenly Virgil felt a shiver run across his whole body, his gaze turning to his friend, only to find the one wearing glasses staring at him intently.

“You like tickles.”

The word only was enough to jolt his body back to a sitting position, butterflies starting to wake up, proceeding to fly the most desperate as possible in his stomach, his brain fuzzing, crumbling for answers of How and When and What the Fuc-

“What? NO! I mean, yes but how- when did you just…”

“Oh!” Patton gasped and Virgil felt his whole face in flames once the realization of the shiny gleam in the other’s eyes, almost as literal stars shining, hit him. Maybe… Maybe something he had done before finally work? “That is why you initiated a Poke War? Were you trying to make me tickle you? Vee, you just needed to ask!”

Yep. No. Nope. No way. That was definitely worse.

Virgil tried to hide himself in his hoodie, deciding he could very much rather perish in his Lee Mood than stare at the pure love and awe gazed right in his direction. His lips curving in a shadow of a smile for a second when he pressed himself further on the furniture, noticing with a grumble leaving his mouth the only armor he owned was the cat cardigan. Hood pulled up and his face firmly pressed on his knees, he ignored the way his excited giggles started to bounce and dance in his throat, resulting in his own body bounce a bit.

“Knock knock…” Virgil felt a light tapping on his knee.

“Fuck off.” The hissed answer ran without letting he even think about it, too much occupied in pretending to not notice how much this position left his entire tickl- I mean, sensitive torso vulnerable and how much not seeing what was happening increased second by second the tingles and shivers crazily racing in his skin.

“Gasp! Virgil!” The one dying in the cat cardigan internally rolled his eyes at the literally audible gasp his friend vocalized, almost being able to see the playful mood taking over his expression as it always has when they swore around him. “I should tickle you for this, Mister Potty Mouth!” Yes. Yes!! Come on, come on! “But I won’t.”

Hey now, what.

“What?!” His head shot upwards absurdly fast, a fact which, obviously, he would deny it to the end of his living and non-living days.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide or ignore your desire for tickles every time you have them! Especially…”

‘Please – see? I know how to use some freaking good words. - Please don’t say what I think you’re going to say, Patton. You’re cool, you’re a funny guy, you have good intentions but you have any ideas of what the fuck will happen??’ Virgil found himself almost pleading, the sentences already running in his head, but his lips firmly gripped in the fear to let out more than these simple words.

“… Since I’m totally okay in tickling you! Oh, wait. Did you just squirm? Aww, Virgil!! That is so, so adorable! You’re blushing, too! Awwwwww!!! Okay, okay, okay, I’m… Imma gonna die of cuteness. You’re truly the most precious being I’ve ever met!!! Wait, what I was just saying…?”

‘I will die! No! I’m already dying! See? You already accomplished what you wanted!! Let’s move on to the next damn part!’

“Oh right!” Patton lightly hit the side of his head. “I’m glad to tickle you! Truly! All you have to do is…”

‘Dude, Patton, Pat-Pat, Popstar don’t…’

“Ask me! Please, please, please!!” Virgil stared him dead in his eyes, crossing his arms, his cheeks so hot that he was surprised his face didn’t melt yet. “Aw, don’t give me that look, kiddo!” Virgil just narrowed his eyes further. Patton pouted, his ‘Puppy Eyes’ expression – more like an unfair weapon - showing and nailing cracks on Virgil’s resolution.

They stayed like this for a while, until Patton abruptly lifted his hands, his fingers wiggling on Virgil’s direction, the movement so out of blue that catched his friend out of guard, a true yelp jumping from him before he grumpily growled and let himself fall on the cushions.

“I can’t.”

“Of course, you can, kiddo! I’m rooting for ya! Wanna see?” And then he started to fold and unfold his fingers, approaching them to Virgil inch by inch “Go Virge, go! Go, Virge, go! Goooo, Virgeyyyy, go!” Inch by inch. Close and then even closer. The boy with a wobbly smile in his face felt like he couldn’t tear his eyes from the movements, the butterflies seeming to freak out in his stomach in the rhythm of the cheers.

He hides his face behind his hands. Patton was going to be the end of his existence.

“Stohop it.” Dammit. He was breaking.

‘Come on, guy! You can do this!’ He internally whined.

“Ooh, is that a beauty giggly giggle what I hear? The cheering should be working then, don’t you think?! We believe in you, Virge-poo! And we can’t wait for when we…” Virgil dared to spy the scene between his fingers, only to see Patton’s hands barely touching his sides, his fingers positioned in a claw shape. “… getcha, getcha, getcha, getcha, getcha, getcha!!” They suddenly moved, clawing unbearably away and terribly close at each couple of words.

No. Virgil did NOT squeal nor squirmed closer to the fingers. Fuck you. Nobody asked. That is none of your business anyway.

‘Just… just don’t think about it! Pull it off. Like… I don’t know! Like a stupid band aid!’

“It is going to be so much fun! I didn’t even tickle you yet and you’re already giggling excitedly! Think in all your wonderful, beautiful laughter flying everywhere when I finally tickle, tickle, tickle, tickle you silly!! You’ll be giggling up a storm! Happy gasp! Pun inserted!”

Virgil obligated himself to take a deep breath and not stare the warm, teasy hands which were oblivious of the intern turmoil caused as they rested on his sides. Their tips very lightly, almost impossible to feel and – even more difficult to ignore - poking the ticklish skin, as if they simply couldn’t bring themselves to stay still. The one laid on the couch and yet hiding his face felt the urge to kick just to get off all the pleasantly nervous energy building up in his body.

“Virgey-wiggly-wiggley…~”

“TICKLEMEPLEASE!”

Patton squeaked excited, the teasy grin immediately giving space to the joyful smile. “Of course!” He grazed his fingers up his sides to his ribcage, the nails lightly drawing circles around each one of the ribs, receiving a quick tasering in the middle of them before going up to the next one, letting for a piece of moment Virgil’s bubbly and more high-pitched giggles fill the room alone.

The cat cardigan owner ran the tip of his fingers up and down, up and down, up and down his sides, watching in complete awe the way the other squirmed at each infinitesimal move. He stopped the movement on his right side, his eyes gleaming behind the lenses as accompanied Virgil adorably wiggling away from the reminiscent tickles, as if he tried to escape from the evil fingers scribbling in that exactly spot which connected his left side to his tummy and leaded cute, sweet titters escape from his gigantic smile.

A devious plan shinned in his head.

Patton ceased the tickling in order to give him a breath, smiling at the pout that didn’t take too long before blooming in the other’s features.

He quickly poked his left side, immediately hearing quiet, bubbly giggles dance across the air as Virgil wiggled to his right, only to be warmly welcomed by scratches of one single finger on his lower back, making his breath stop so fast a snort escape. Virgil widened his eyes, his hands automatically clapping in his mouth at the same time a big, gleaming grin took over Patton’s expression. They stared at each other, fingers never stopping, squirms never ending.

“No.” His voice was slightly wobbly, giggles beginning to intertwine his words as his friend scribbled softly again. “No no no! You are a- dON’T!- such a dork!!! No!!”

They initiated the cycle again. Every time Virgil squirmed to escape from the left tingles to the right tickles one more finger was added to the attack, soon leaving the blushed poor victim kicking sporadically when the ten fingers resumed their light, tickly attack. “I’m going t-t-to kick you!!” and then was subdued to the snorts and squeals painting his fast titters.

The one who wore the cat hoodie which moments before had slipped from his head in the ““fight””, now showing clearly the red strongly flaming his cheeks and the tip of his ears shook his head from side to side, the frown he tried to form being immediately won by the smile taking over his features. Virgil let himself embrace the feeling completely over, laughing freely, almost doesn’t believing this was actually happening.

That it didn’t matter how much he tried to escape nor squirm, the tickling just followed his movements, just as all his (fake) protests didn’t stop the excited, evil teases pouring from the other’s mouth. Not to tell how only the big, happy gaze from Patton was definitely not helping in the slightest his current state at all!

He was certain. There was no way out of this. He was going to melt and d i e.

And he was loving every single second of this.

“Aww! Tickle, tickle, tickle, Virge!! Look at the happiness shining in your face!! Someone really, really loves some tickly-tickles, am I right? But don’t worry, Virgey-wiggley! I will give you all the tickles you could ever want! Like here!” He booped Virgil’s bellybutton “Here” A couple of fingers slid on his waistline “And here, and here, and here and everywhere!” Fingers flew quickly, traveling on his hips, collarbone, sides, behind his ears…

The incapacity to know where Patton would strike next killed every single drop of coherent thoughts of his mind, which could only focus on the tickling and how much it was unbearable and everywhere and it t i c k l e d . His giggles grew to chortles, his hands flying from his own face to lightly push Patton’s, dislocating his glasses and freeing surprised chuckles mixed with his own squeaks.

“Virgil!!” Patton ceased the playful attack in order to retire the other’s hands off his face, before both knew they’re wrestling, laughter cutting their acts and weakening their movements. “Virge!! I will go to another spot this way!”

In a blink of an eye one of his friend’s arms hugged his sides and Patton felt a malefic grin crawling his lips without even noticing its presence. Very much different from Virgil, who in the same heartbeat realized his mistake, using the opportunity of the instant of distraction to lightly push the cookie lover off him, quickly dashing across the house. All his instincts gleaming and sparkling the sign of ‘Survive’ in his veins.

The only reason of what Virgil forgot about the numbness from spending so much time laid on his legs, resulting in trips that definitely made him lose some crucial speed as he encircled the couch, capturing with the corner of his eyes the scene of Patton jumping of the cushions and following his escape route. The crackling dancing in the air owned by nobody specific.

His heart beat faster, the joy raced his nerves and made his tummy tingle in advance just for imagining the exact moment where two arms would hug him firmly yet gently from behind and his ears would be set on fire the very same moment Patton would say-

“Gotcha, Giggly Storm! I gotcha, gotcha ya!!” Patton dug his thumbs right above Virgil’s hips, the remaining fingers clawing the poor, sensitive skin in his back, leading belly laughter to took over his friend’s sentence, his knees buckling and legs uncontrollable kicking as Patton sat with him on the floor, pressing his back on his chest and resting his head on his shoulder.

“Patton!! Pahahatton, come on, no!” Patton just hummed, two fingers calmly walking on Virgil’s waistline. “Don’t you dare!! Don’t you fuckin- gah!” The nails began to slid in the length of the belly, going from a side to another as elected soft snorts and bouncy giggles.

“Tickle, tickle, tickle, Virge!! Did you thought you could run away from the Tickle Monster? Poor unfortunate soul ~. Now the Tickle Monster has to give you a bunch of more ticklish tickly tickles just for this, don’t you think?!” And then Virgil felt the tickles speed up to scribbles and clawing and wiggles delivered in every inch of his tummy. Going in random patterns, drawing forms on his sweet spot, up and down, from a side to another, over and over again. Quick enough to make him sporadically squirm and kick, a rain of squeals, yelps and squeals flowing from his lips, yet soft and light enough to let him rest his head on the other’s chest and just enjoy the feeling.

“Awww! Look at how much shaking your tum-tum is! It is probably so happy in receiving its so much craved tickle tickle tickles, right, Virgey-poo?” The answer was only a blushy Virgil hiding his face on Patton’s neck, giggling nonstop.

“Nonono!! It’s not!” And, if that move only led to a now very exposed neck to be gifted with some special scratches? They both pretended it wasn’t on purpose.

Patton just rolled his eyes, playfully exasperated, quietly chuckling when the other jumped with the quick squeeze delivered on his hip.

It didn’t take long before Virgil let out his first ‘Stop’, which Patton happily obliged, don’t having the heart to move when he realized Virgil’s breath becoming calmer, his eyelashes closing as he snuggled closer to the one wearing glasses.

The duo knew very well they would probably regret napping on the hard, cold floor later, yet none of them managed to bring themselves to care, especially when Virgil’s quiet snorts with the second tickle dream of the day lullabied Patton to an equally peaceful dream.

[~*~]

Random non-said thing: Patton only remembered that information because the movie they’re going to watch was one of the trilogy they were watching when Virgil gathered up enough will to tell him he likes tickling.

#Happyyy dayyyyy <333 #Sanders Sides tickling #Kanene's fanfic #Kanene's Au #Lee!Virgil #Ler!Patton #I just realized the title sounds like that cartoon Go Diego go. Not changing it looool xDDD #Ticklish!Virgil #Soft and Playful tickles #Cute #This is so cute because they're precioooous #Tickle fic #Tickle fanfic #Kanene's Art #Sanders SIdes Human AU #<3 #<33 #I really liked writing this one <33 #Sanders Sides tickles

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