#and my patrons were so damn nice to give me so many excuses to do just that! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ellana-ravenwood · 3 years

Text

The art of taking care of the woman you love - Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader

Synopsis : You’ve always had really bad period pains. You learned to live with it, and to take care of yourself during those times...Up until a certain Bruce Wayne came into your life, and made it his mission to be there for you.

For @meghan-maria, who gotta be the sweetest out there :), and for anyone who ever had really bad period pains. I hope you will like it :

TW : periods. It’s obvious given the theme, but I guess we never know and better safe than sorry.

My master list : @ella-ravenwood-archives

_________________________________________________

The First time it happened

It’s the fact you cancelled your planned date with him without an explanation that makes him worry.

“Sorry, can’t make it tonight. Will see you tomorrow !”

You never did that before, and you two were so busy neither of you would miss a date really. Not unless something bad or important happened. But then in that case, you would’ve told him, no ?

It made him so anxious. And he was starting to clearly overthink things.

Were you maybe...having second thoughts ?

You and Bruce made your relationship official not long ago, was the media’s pressure becoming too much ? You told him you’d be fine, but after a few months experiencing the plague that were paparazzi and invasive questions, did you change your mind ?

Or maybe it was because of the whole Batman thing ? You discovered that a while ago, even before making your relationship official so...why would you change your mind about it now ?

Maybe he came home with too many cuts and bruises. Maybe you were freaking out ? He would understand if you did.

Or...There was a last option that came to his mind : he upset you somehow.

It was entirely possible, sometimes he could get stuck in his own mind, and be a jerk without even truly realizing it. He knew that fact very well about himself. It was often the reason of how he ruined multiple relationships, friends or more.

The way he sometimes just got too focused on his vigilante work. Too obsessed. And could be stuck in a “dark mode” like you’d say...

But, he also knew that you never took any of his shit. You would’ve told him if something was really the matter, right ?

Right ?!

Should he ask Alfred if he noticed anything ? His butler, and surrogate father, always saw things that escaped him. Especially when it came to feelings.

This was a less known trait about Bruce, but ever since he was a child, he’s always been anxious. He was usually really good at hiding it, and his “Brucie Wayne” persona made everyone think it wasn’t possible for him to be anything else but confident and cocky but...it wasn’t true.

Especially when it came to those he cared about. Especially when it came to you.

You loved him despite his flaws, accepted him fully, without any conditions. It was the first time it ever happened, that he LET it happen...So, with this simple plan cancellation that was quite unlike you, he freaked out a bit.

In the middle of the day, he finally decided to call you. One. Two. Three tones before you picked up, and oh. Oh he felt so relieved to hear your little “hello ?”

At the same time, his worry peaked. Was it just him, or did you sound really weak ?

“Hey honey, just wanted to check if you were alright ? Your text was a little short, and I know you don’t owe me any explanations of course, but I just wanted to check on you. You know. I-um...”

Clumsy Brooshy.

It made you smile, the way he could be a little flustered and lose his words, when with you. And it made you smile even wider that he chose to call you to make sure everything was ok.

Sweet Broosh.

If you really didn’t want to talk to him, you wouldn’t have answered. And he wasn’t the kind of man to “insist”. He would’ve left a voice message, and leave you alone until you felt like calling him back. Bruce was most definitely not invasive...but at the same time, you’d never leave him worrying for no reasons, knowing how anxious he could be.

The truth was, your text was short because...You didn’t know how to tell him the reasons you needed to cancel your date. You didn’t want to embarrass him. Men didn’t really like to talk about what you currently were suffering from.

You also were a little embarrassed yourself, because the entire society surrounding you made you feel wrong for having periods.

Periods.

One week a month. Every single months. That was a lot.

Especially for you because...you always had complicated and difficult periods. Painful. Making you feel like you couldn’t move. The pain making it impossible for you to even get out of bed for long.

You and Bruce had been dating for a while but...weren’t periods sort of a taboo subject ? You didn’t really know how to tell him. Especially since most men really seemed uncomfortable with the all thing.

Of course, you should’ve know Bruce wasn’t “most men”.

“Baby, are you there ?”

“Um yes yes, sorry I was lost in thoughts.”

“Are you ok ? You don’t sound right.”

The most observant man in the World was obviously going to realize your voice sounded weaker than usually. The truth was, you were trying really hard to keep it steady as pain filled your being.

“Yes yes, I’m ok, just feeling a bit...under the weather ?”

“Is there anything I can do ? Is it a cold or something ? If so, I can bring you buy some chicken noodle soup, and pick up any meds you might need.”

You almost cried at his words.

Super busy bee Bruce Wayne was telling you he’d go out of his way to bring you what you needed...It made you crack a little.

He was too damn nice. And your hormones were in shambles. It was very easy right now for you to cry.

This. How willing he was to help you, how he immediately asked if he could...Was what made you say the truth without thinking twice :

“I’m-I’m on my periods. They’re usually- They’re usually bad.”

“Oh.”

His response scared you a little bit. Were you right, was this maybe too much, too soon ? You were about to add something when he said :

“I’ll be there in about an hour, if it’s ok with you ? If you prefer to be alone I can send-”

“No ! No, I would love for you to come. I just-I wasn’t sure-I-”

“It’s ok. I understand. See you in a bit, love you.”

“Love you, too.”

On that note, Bruce hung up and leaves you with a wild beating heart.

************

Exactly an hour later, your doorbell rings.

With difficulties, you stand up, and go open the door. Surely enough, it’s your boyfriend.

“Hi.”

He has a bag in his hand, and you melt a little at the soft look and smile he gives you (even if there’s clear concerns behind it). You let him in, and go sit on the couch, even if just sitting up is already too much.

“Do you want to lie down ?”

“No. No I’m fine. You came all the way here, I can’t just stay in bed haha.”

“Of course you can.”

There’s a small silence for a little bit. Not awkward, you’re just not quite sure what to do. Should you go back to bed ? You really want to. And clearly, he understands. He always does.

“Ok.”

You stand, and wince because moving really makes everything worst. He approaches you, worried, but doesn’t dare to touch you and just follows you into your room. You get back in your comfy bed, under your comfy comforter.

Another silence. Until he breaks it, taking something out of the bag he was carrying and saying :

“So. I wasn’t sure you had a hot water bottle, I don’t ever recall seeing one in your apartment. So I bought one on the way just in case. Sorry if you don’t like the color, I can pick another one up later. It’s just, the woman on YouTube said that heat pads and hot water bottles were great.”

“The...woman on YouTube ?”

“Yes, I watched a video on menstruations on the way here.”

For a few seconds, you just stare at him, stunned. Never EVER in your entire life did you think you would hear THE Bruce Wayne say those words one day.

“A video on menstruations ?”

“Well, yes. Obviously, I don’t have periods. So I have no idea what it feels like. So I watched a video, to understand the process. And also so that you wouldn’t have to explain anything to me. You know what periods are, you don’t have to educate me on it. It’s not your job. And I definitely don’t want to sound patronizing about it. So I watched a video, and read a few articles. I won’t say I know how it feels, but I understand it more. Tell me if I ever step my bounds at any moment..”

You can’t help but smile, even as your lower belly is on fire. Ah. Of course he would search things about it. Bruce was the kind of man to be thorough in his researches before tackling a problem. As Batman, he always tried to know everything there is to know about a situation before finding any solutions. But he was like that in real life too.

And it particularly touched you that he did it so you wouldn’t have to explain...You had an ex, once, who sat down with you to talk about menstruations and it sort of drove you crazy. He thought it was nice, but your hormones were wreaking HAVOC and he was trying to explain to you how periods work and what it felt like ??? Give you advice about it and that it would be fine if you did what he said ?? Excuse me ??? As if you didn’t try everything already to feel less pain. And as if, as a woman, you didn’t know what it felt like or what it was exactly...

And there came Bruce. Reading up on it. And knowing he would never quite know how it feels. But educating himself so he won’t say something that could trigger you in any way.

Sweet sweet man...If only people knew.

He caressed your cheek softly, before whispering :

“Then I-I watched something on endometriosis, because I read in a previous article it felt horrible. And you said your periods were bad, when we were on the phone. It sounds awful. Do you-...Have endometriosis ?”

You shake your head weakly. Endometriosis was one of the reason why your periods were so painful and dreaded. And the worst ? It was a sickness many people said didn’t even exist.

A woman being in pain during her periods ? Drama queen. Right ? It didn’t hurt that baaaaad. See, some women didn’t feel anything, just bled for a bit and moved on with their months. So obviously every women felt the same. Some were just being too sensitive...

Endometriosis was still, even to this day, a rather unknown illness and one that was rarely taken seriously. Some people just couldn’t even fathom you being in pain because of your periods, so much so that you couldn’t move.

That you occasionally fainted, that you couldn’t eat much because it made you vomit, that you had awful migraines, stomach ache and back pain. That you couldn’t focus or sleep because of it. No.

No those were just “made up symptoms” because you were “weak”...What awful things to say, right ? It was even worst to hear. Someone telling you this, as you felt like you were dying because of the pain, made you feel GUILTY to have painful periods.

But it wasn’t your fault ? IT WASN’T YOUR FAULT ?! Nor were the moodswings, the cravings, the fatigue...

You hated going to the doctors when you were younger, because you knew he wouldn’t believe you when you said your periods hurt...

Anyway. Even without endometriosis, women who had bad periods pain were rarely taken seriously. Unless they met another woman who felt the same. Then they’d feel like they weren’t alone, or crazy. Like there were others who felt bad too.

Every woman was different. And you unfortunately never met someone else with the same problems than you...

You felt very alone, for so long, and it was enhanced by your hormones going crazy and the pain being unbearable at times.

And then, in come Bruce.

Your Broosh.

“Ok. Well. I brought you some of your favorite food. And um, I picked up some snacks if you want to do a movie marathon ? I brought all The Lord of the Rings extended editions. I got heat pads and a hot water bottle like I said. We can also just cuddle and relax if you prefer, I read that physical comfort was good ? Or, I can leave everything here, settle you in properly, and leave you alone. Just, tell me what you need my love ?”

What did...you need ?

Nobody ever asked you that. Nobody. Not even your parents.

What did you need ?

The answer came quickly.

Him. You need him. His warmth. His large and soothing hands. His comforting presence. His calming voice.

You knew you were in love with him since a while now. You exchanged “I love yous” already. But never did you feel as much love for him as right now, seeing him sitting in front of you, asking you what you needed...

A simple action. Simple words. And yet, it meant everything.

“What do you need, honey ?”

The concern in his eyes, and how he was very obviously ready to do whatever you wanted him to.

It already made you feel better. The physical pain didn’t go down, that’s not how it worked unfortunately. But the emotional anguish ? Gone.

Because he was there.

Without even realizing it, you started crying. This was too much for your heart, too overwhelming. It meant the World, in that moment.

It meant the world, to you and your overworked hormones. And so you cried. You cried hard.

Without thinking twice, Bruce moved towards you. Taking his coat off and leaving it on the floor (Alfred would scold him about this for sure), he climbs in your bed and engulfs you in his arms. And it’s so warm and comforting, comfortable, too.

“Just tell me what you need..”

He whispered to you, in his deep calming voice, his fingers running soothingly through your hair.

“Could you just...keep holding me ?”

He smiles softly, and says :

“Of course.”

He never, and never would, shy away from comforting you in any way. If you needed to have a good cry in his arms, so be it. And if you just needed him to be there, he would be there.

You cuddled for a bit, the soothing circles he rubbed on your back doing wonders to make you feel relax. He brought some essential oils, that he massaged on your belly before filling the hot water bottle and laying it there...It relieved the pain a little bit, as you started a marathon of your favorite movies.

He took great care of you all day long, answering your every need even as you didn’t dare to ask...as if he could read your mind. You almost suspected he really could. You never felt so in phase with anyone before like you did with him.

You had been together for less than a year. Although your anniversary was right around the corner. But him coming over as soon as he knew you weren’t feeling well. Him educating himself on what was it that hurt you...

If you weren’t sure yet that he was the one...You knew now.

It sucks to be a woman, sometimes

Bruce never knew periods could be that bad. Well, of course, he was a guy. And “periods” was never really a subject he talked about with anyone. He never really paid attention to it, like many men really.

Until he saw you while on it.

He knew you. He knew you were a tough lady. Once, you broke your leg while on a date with him. A silly accident really. Involving an ice rink, and an overzealous you chasing a hockey puck...Long story short, you ended up with a bad break. And you barely said a word about it.

Bruce had his bones broken many times, he knew the pain of it. It was one of the pain he hated the most, along with burns. One he dreaded the most. And you took it like a champ.

The break was bad enough you even needed surgery, yet you kept smiling at him (he might’ve feel bad that he let his over-competitive mind take over, “pushing” you to really want that puck...but of course, it was not his fault, after all, you too were very competitive, it was a pure accident). Saying you were fine, and that it’d be ok.

He always hated seeing you hurt, it hurt him too. Inside. And scared the Hell out of him, to even think about you being harmed. So that day, he was rather frantic. You staying calm helped him, which made him feel a little guilty that even as you were the hurt one, you reassured him.

But then you reminded him the roles were often reversed when he came back hurt from a rough vigilante night...You always had the right words to ease his mind.

Anyway. That one time, after badly breaking your leg, you stayed rather calm and collected. But when you had your periods ?

He never knew it could hurt so much. You couldn’t hide your pain, or pretend everything was alright.

It was clearly a really bad moment to go through.

He knew about the terrible migraines, being unable to sleep which made everything worst, feeling like your lower belly was being twisted from the inside, being sore all over for no reasons, not being able to move...

Seeing you, was enough for him to know that periods sucked.

“Being a woman is the worst, sometimes!”

You’d often say during those moments, and he’d just soothe you, wishing he was in your place...

He hated when you were hurting. It hurt him too. Inside.

And never. NEVER would he doubt that you were in real pain. Because unlike the doctors who kept telling you it was in your head, he knew you. He saw you get injured before. He knew you were tough. So for you to not be able to pretend everything was fine...

You were hurting. Badly. And it was awful. But he believed you. He believed you and that’s all that mattered to you.

Space

He also knew how to give you space when you needed it, though.

He would be here if you needed him, bring you any food you craved, giving you relaxing massages, rubbing essential oils on your belly, filling up your hot water bottle etc etc.

To be honest, his reaction to you being on your period is what made you sure he would be a great father one day...And you were right.

Not a perfect father.

But oh. Oh he cared. And wanted so much to do good...

And he knew.

He knew exactly when he had to be there, and when he had to give you space.

His hoodie

Bruce couldn’t always be with you when you had your periods, of course.

He often took time off to be. But it was unrealistic to think he could be 24/7 with you the entire week.

And sometimes, when he was away, you really suddenly craved his presence...So you came up with a trick.

You stole his clothes.

Particularly, hoodies he often wore when hanging out casually in the Manor.

First of, they were very comfortable. And second, and most importantly : they smelled like him.

They were warm, had his scent, and you could fall asleep feeling like he was almost there.

Bruce couldn’t count the number of hoodies he lost to you....Then again, after a while, you’d ruthlessly abandon one because it stopped smelling like him, and would steal another one.

Of course, he never minded. In fact, beyond the fact hoodies were nice and comfortable, he started to wear them a lot while in the house or during times he didn’t need to wear a suit (in every sense of the term), specifically because he knew you’d steal them when you felt lonely.

It was cute. And it made his heart beat faster just thinking about it.

Nobody.

Nobody ever needed him that much before. Nobody ever loved him so much that sometimes him not being around was distressing.

Of course, he felt the same. And the knowledge that you too, would sometimes feel lovesick when you were separated for too long...Filled his heart to the brim with the best feelings.

For so long, he thought someone being dependable of him, and him being dependable of someone was bad...Oh, how he was wrong.

It’s not because you open your heart to someone that you’ll get hurt, or that they’ll use it against you. You just have to find the right person...

So. Yes. He will always cancel plans just to be with you.

To bring you hot water bottles whenever you need. To cook your favorite food and snacks. To be there during all your mood swings, and endure even if you’re not the nicest to him (it’s not your fault). To watch your favorite movies. To let you sleep in and run your errands...

Periods sucked.

He didn’t need to be a woman to know that.

So he was there. Right there. For you. Taking care of you. And he would forever be there for that.

But when he wasn’t ?

Then he’d strategically leave one of his hoodie near the bed, so you could steal it, and comfort yourself with his smell...

Mood Swings

“Brooooooooooosssssh...”

You’re crying. You’re crying !

And it makes Bruce panic. You cry very rarely, so when you do it means something really bad must’ve happened or..or...

Bruce makes a quick calculation in his head and...Yup.

It’s that time of the month again.

Already ? Poor you..

This means that tomorrow, you’ll be a mess as everything will hurt too much, and today, the eve right before, you’re overly emotional.

Hence you clinging to him right now, sobbing while repeating “I love you so much Bruce, I love you soooo much”.

Hormones could really turn your head around. Right at the start of your period, before the pain, you had a rush of many emotions.

You could either get very irritated for no reason (like “WHY IS THIS FLOOR ON THE FLOOR ?!”) or cry at everything. Right now, you were crying because you realized you loved your Broosh to death and you just had to tell him and you didn’t want him to go that night and...ah...

“It’s alright, it’s alright my love. You’re ok. We’re ok.”

He lets you cry in his arms, of course. And already made the decision to not go out tonight, and stay with you. Kate could take over. He couldn’t leave knowing your emotions were doing quite a trick on you...

************

Your mood swings during your periods were particularly bad.

You guessed it went in pairs with all the pain. Of course, not just one thing had to be exacerbated. Oh no. EVERYTHING bad about periods had to be turned to the max for you. Otherwise, were was the fun, right ? Sarcasm.

You’d get irritated for no reasons. Then feel bad and cry for hours. To then feel ridiculously giddy once again for seemingly no reason...and then suddenly a burst of anxiety would attack you.

It was a circus in your mind, and in your body.

You couldn’t focus on anything. You couldn’t sleep properly. You felt awful all the time. Everything hurt. God...

And there he was. Bruce. Taking the brunt of your bad moods without saying a word. He knew it wasn’t your fault. That you didn’t mean it. That your hormones dictated your behavior against your own will.

He knew.

And he was there.

He was there.

“Every little moment is important, Son” - Thomas Wayne, to Bruce during the Flashpoint events.

“Bruce ? What are you doing here ? Thought you had important meetings ?”

“They weren’t that important.”

“Really ? Lucious said-”

“Lucious is overdramatic. Anyway, Tim is taking care of it.”

“...You’re letting our sixteen years old son taking care of the future of your company ?”

“To be honest, he’s probably more competent about it than me.”

“...That’s actually pretty accurate. But, why did you cancel things ?”

“Because it’s this unpleasant time of the month, right ?”

“Oh. You don’t have to-”

“I absolutely do.”

Disappearing for a few seconds, your husbands comes back, wearing one of his favorite silk pajamas (and by “his” favorite, he really means : he knows you love them and think they look good on him, but won’t ever admit it because they’re “damn pajamas, it’s silly”...but he likes to please you). He then climbs in bed with you, and settles comfortable against you.

“So, what’s the program today ?”

This wasn’t unusual, for him to do this when you were on your periods.

In fact, it was almost a ritual. Delegating his works to others, so he could take care of you.

Ever since that first time, all those years ago, things didn’t change much. He would ask you what you need, you’d tell him, and he would do it happily.

He knew it was a tough moment for you, physically, hormonally, mentally...Having your periods sucked. So he was there. Right there.

The words his father...Well, not really his father. The “Thomas Wayne” of another dimension. What his father would’ve become if he died that fateful night, instead of his parents. Regardless, to him, it was his father.

The father that never saw him grow up and became the man he was now...Yet who had important words for him.

“Take advantage of every little moments, you never know when it’ll end.”

Those words stuck with him. Because it was true. It only took a few seconds in an alleyway for his whole world to turn upside down...Why would it take any less for it to completely change now too ?

What if something happened to you ? And he didn’t spend enough time by your side ? Or to his kids ?

There was a time, being Batman was everything to Bruce. Because he was angry, lost, and devastated.

But over the years...Over the years this role stayed important. But he expended his vision. He included others in it.

So. Yes. He would treasure those small moments with you. And if it meant taking a day and night off to take care of you during a rough time, then he’d do it. If it meant missing work (both his works) because one of his children was sick, so be it.

He was Batman. But he was also a husband. A father.

And now...Now he knew his priorities.

He’d never stop being Batman. Never.

But he knew now. He knew there was more to life than this dark world he thought he’d get stuck in till the end of his life.

“I was about to watch a movie.”

“A movie it is. If you want me here, of course.”

“Do you even have to ask ?”

“To make sure you’re ok ? Always.”

“-sigh- Yes. Yes Bruce, I want you here. I want nothing else, in fact.”

“Ah, not even pop-corn ?”

“...Once we’ll have pop-corn, I’ll want nothing else.”

“Um, why is there tampons in your drawer ??”

One day, one of Bruce’s associate, Carlton, needed some paperworks to finish a deal, and came into his office. Bruce was on the phone, and gestured to him to just pick the papers up in one of his desk’s drawer.

Only the man misunderstood and opened the wrong drawer and...

“What the-Why is there tampons and pads in your drawers ?”

He asked, half-bewildered half-amused. Bruce finished his phone call, and answered :

“Why wouldn’t there be ?”

“Um, are you a woman ?”

“No, but my wife, who often come to this office, is.”

“Jeez Louise Bruce, never pegged you to be such a simp haha ! Oh man, they’re even “organic”, how far can you go for one woman right ? Haha joking of course, or maybe..haha !”

There was something in the tone Carlton took that brushed Bruce the wrong way. Something disrespectful and irritating. Not disrespectful to him, as if he cared to be called a “simp” (by a grown ass man by the way, which made it even more ridiculous). No. He didn’t care. But..This was his wife, they were talking about, in the end.

“A...”simp” ? Because I have items who can be useful to my wife in my desk drawer ? A place in which she often comes, as I already said ?”

His voice was cold, and Carlton definitely noticed. He always thought Bruce was an affable man, but sometimes...Sometimes he had something almost scary in his eyes.

Ah, but Carlton wasn’t the kind of man to really take this things seriously. And he added :

“Come on Bruce, don’t you think it’s a little ridiculous ?”

“No.”

“I just think it’s funny you have a drawer full of those things.”

“As I said, my wife comes by often, and might need it sometimes. I keep them here for her. It often came in handy you know.”

“Don’t say that, that’s so gross.”

“Why ?”

“Just thinking about it.”

“Just thinking about something my wife, but also yours by the way, have no control over ?”

“My wife doesn’t- We just don’t talk about it.”

“Well I guess yes. Or you wouldn’t react that way. Do you not take care of her when she has her periods ?”

At the word “periods”, the man opened his eyes wide, which made your husband roll his. It truly TRULY baffled him that this dude was being grossed by OBJECTS and most likely didn’t take care of his wife ? How could you love someone and not want to comfort them ?!

“Well, I don’t think she- I- She doesn’t - I ...It’s embarrassing, no ?”

“No.”

“Well, maybe it’s not with your wife but with mine it has been. She asked me a few times to buy pads for her.”

“Why would it be embarrassing ? I can assure you, nobody is going to think it’s for you.”

Carlton’s face was steadily going red. He said :

“It’s just something we don’t talk about.”

“Why not ?”

“It’s just...gross and...”

“Why is it gross though ? Why do you think that way ?”

“I mean, you know what periods are right ?”

“Of course I do. It’s something happening to a very large chunk of our population, and that is a natural phase in their life. Do you think your wife wants to have periods ? Most likely not. Mine definitely doesn’t. But she does. So I do keep pads and tampons here in case of an emergency, in case she has nothing else on her.”

“Nothing else ?”

“Do you think only pads and tampons exist for women’s periods ?”

“I-”

“It’s not hard to read up on it a bit. Especially when someone as close as your own wife is a “victim” of it."

Awkard silence. Clearly, the man was uncomfortable. Bruce sighed, and said :

“Just go take care of those papers.”

Evidently relieved, his associate almost ran out of the room.

Bruce kept thinking about how funny Carlton thought it was to have pads in his drawers. How he was about to mock him further before he got called out. “Simp”. If taking care of the woman he loved meant being a simp, then whatever.

Bruce couldn’t stop thinking about his associate’s words. And it gave him an idea...

The next day, every newspapers and local news channel talked about how the (Y/N) Wayne Foundation gave millions of dollars to every school and public places in the country to provide free tampons and pads to women. And how Bruce Wayne became a huge advocate of the “period positivity” movement his wife started.

“Periods shouldn’t be taboo.”, he said in his speech for the grand-opening of thousands and thousands of free pads distributors.

When the kids are around.

Dick

Dick was little when he first witnessed what your periods did to you, and he downright panicked when you fainted in front of him while you two were shopping for Bruce’s birthday present !

That morning when you woke up, you knew you were going to have your periods. You always felt it in your bones, a little bit before it truly started...But you also promised little Dickie you’d help him chose a gift for your husband.

You hated breaking your promises. Especially the one you made to your kid. He was just nine, and already experienced so many heartache...You couldn’t just break a promise you made to him, no matter what.

So you went anyway, knowing there was a high chance you’d feel ill during the day. You were hoping, in fact, your periods wouldn’t truly start up until the evening, and so you could spend the day with your son.

Alas...

“Mom ? Mom !? Someone help !!”

Your fainting during your period never lasted long. Just a sudden drop of energy, feeling dizzy, and falling...you woke up fast. Opening your eyes to see your baby boy with tears in his eyes. You knew what happened, and reassured him immediately.

You refused to call an ambulance, and instead called Alfred to ask if he could come pick you two up (you would NOT risk driving while in this state).

And there you were, sitting on a bench with your son while waiting for Alfred who would be there as soon as it takes to get from Wayne Manor to Gotham’s City Center.

“Are you sure you’re ok ?”

“Yes, don’t worry, this is normal.”

“Fainting is not normal !”

Dick looked so distressed...Should you tell him what was going on ? But he was such a young child.

Ah. But you were amongst the people who thought that kids weren’t as stupid as many people thought. And that they could handle the truth, especially this kind of things.

Understand what was happening to you would surely easy his mind. And make him understand, and act accordingly in the future. Wether with you, or a possible girlfriend ?

So you do just that.

You explain to him what is going on. You don’t give too many scientific details, but you explain as best you can so he understands.

“And every women has it ?”

“Every women have periods yes. But not everyone’s hurt.”

“Why do yours hurt ?”

“We don’t really know. I guess I wasn’t lucky ?”

“Scientists don’t know ?”

“Well, research on it are rather recents to be honest.”

“Why ? Women had it long ago too no ?”

“Yes, but it was a little taboo.”

“Why ?”

“Patriarchy.”

“Oh, damn patriarchy.”

You laugh. You knows he didn’t understand your answer, said as a joke to yourself. But it’s absolutely adorable how he immediately sides with you anyway.

“When I grow up, I’ll be a scientist. So I can help.”

“Ah, I thought you wanted to be an adventurer like Indiana Jones ? Or “whatever dad is doing I want to do it too” ?”

“Well. I can do more than once things at the same time, right ?”

“Sure you can. You can do anything.”

He smiles at you, and get closer for a little cuddle. And that’s how Alfred finds you two, your son hugging you, and you hugging him back, on a bench in the streets...

************

After the initial panic, Dick made it his mission to take care of you. He got really scared when he saw you faint, and would actually be a little...overbearing.

When he knew you were on your periods, he’d literally forbid you to walk around, and would make sure you had everything you needed.

His attentions, plus Bruce’s, made you feel like periods weren’t so bad in the end ?

Even as a grown up, Dick would often come by the manor with your favorite cake, for example, when he knew you didn’t feel well. And he would still get strict with you if he saw you roaming around and getting too busy while he knew you were in pain.

He’d do whatever you had to, for you. Wether it was cleaning things up, picking groceries...Running any errands for you, so you could rest.

You were definitely grateful. Even if sometimes, you wish you could just tell him to ease up a bit...Ah. But how could you really ?

The trauma Dick felt when loosing his parents made him overprotective and rather intransigeant. This was just how he was. And you always loved all your children unconditionally. You could take him being a bit too overprotective sometimes, because oh, oh he brought so much in your life...

Jason

You having really bad periods is the reason why when Jason, as a child or an adult, heard anyone say to a girl : “Jeez, why you so moody are you on your periods ?!”, would get mad.

It was cute to see his little ten years old self lecture grown adults about it : “Periods are really tough on a girl ! It’s not their fault is they don’t feel well or have mood swings, be more empathetic !”.

And it was still cute to see him as an adult glare at those who’d say this and give them a sermon about why it was wrong, and they better not say it again “or else” (and when a man like your son said the words “or else”, literally no one wanted to find out what he meant by it).

Once, someone told him, sarcastically :

“Wow, you drunk a lot of “respect women juice” huh ?”

“What is that even suppose to mean ? I’m being a decent human being. You should try it sometimes. If respecting women is so foreign to you, that hearing me say what I said is funny and ridiculous, reassess your life mate.”

It’s really not like anyone really wanted to argue with your son. Besides the fact he was very tall, and as a vigilante definitely worked out a lot...he had a “dangerous” air about him. It was his eyes maybe, daring anyone to argue and making them understand he wouldn’t back down without a fight ?

Ah. But if only people tried to look beyond that. If they only tried to know your son.

They’d realize he’s the sweetest little buddy around.

It surprised people that you still called him “little buddy” even as he was fast approaching his mid-twenties. But for you...

For you he was still that little, sweet Jay he was before he died. The one that you could still see sometimes, behind all his anger, trauma and hurt.

Ever since he was a child, Jason always felt everything more than anyone around him. He was an “hypersensitive” child. When he was angry, he was enraged. When he was happy, he was the happiest boy on Earth. When he was sad, it was hard to console him.

When he grew up, and all those bad things happened to him...This trait of his got even more enhanced. It was sometimes hard to reach him under all those negative emotions...Yet. Yet you managed to do it.

Bruce too...But that was another story.

For now, you just always felt extremely proud that your son was actually not as harsh as some people thought (the same mistakes they all kept making about your husband...you hated this kind of assumptions).

He always stood up for the underdogs. And was always respectful, and would voice his opinions.

Like how he hated when people told women : “ugh are you on your periods ?!” if they were being just a tiny bit difficult (sometimes, not even).

As a kid, Jason would worry a lot about you when you were on your periods. He hounded Bruce to know if you were ok, which your husband didn’t mind, of course. But he never quite dared to “bother you”.

Of course, he would never bother you. But Jason was a complicated kid who always worried too much. He didn’t want to get in your way, or annoy you.

So he had little quiet actions for you.

Like getting your slippers warm when you’d wake up, by placing them near the radiators all night and putting them right beside your bed before you’d wake up. Or bringing you hot beverages. Baking your favorite treats, and leaving them in strategic places so you’d see it. Or scolding his dad when he thought he wasn’t taking care of you enough haha.

Jason was a good kid. Nobody would ever change your mind on that. He was a good kid, to whom bad things happened. Yet he never strayed from his principles...No matter how people could see his recent actions.

Jason was a good kid.

He was your kid.

As a child, he hated this week during which you had your periods. He dreaded them as much as you did. Just like Bruce, he had a hard time standing you being hurt...

As an adult. It was the same. And he still had little silent actions to make you feel better. To make your day easier.

That was Jason for you.

Such, such a good kid...

Tim

Tim, very much like his father, was a boy who needed to always have a plan, and to know everything before finding solutions.

When you were on your periods, he’d always know. Because he kept a calendar about it.

Some people might find it weird, but...Why ? He kept count of the days to know when you’d have your periods, so he could act accordingly. So he wouldn’t be caught off guard by one of your mood swings. And so he could take care of you ??

It was an act of care, to keep track of your periods. Sometimes, he even knew before you when you were going to have it.

People who thought it was weird to kept such a calendar, were the same people who thought periods were gross and a taboo subject.

Sure, it was definitely not very glamorous. But it was part of half of the World’s population life ?? Why keep it taboo and refusing to talk about it ?

Tim immediately, just like his dad, did a lot of research on women’s menstruations...Which got you to be called in his principal’s office once.

The man was worried, and unhappy that your son was reading a magazine “for woman” about “menstruations”, he thought the topic was vulgar and inappropriate.

Your son was 13. Which was also the age many of his girl friends were experiencing their first periods. And that principal was out there, scolding him because he talked about it, making an entire generation of little girls thinking they were wrong for having periods ?

Needless to say, you got rather mad. And the principle never called you ever again (if he had to call, he was always making sure to get your husband on the line, and not you).

And so Tim kept learning everything possible about it, in the hope also to find the perfect remedies to ease your pain. He tried a lot, to help you out. Gave tricks to Bruce, too.

And so, kept a calendar.

This allowed him to know if something was wrong, as well.

He was the first one to guess you were pregnant with Thomas, because of his calendar. And one time, you had hormonal problems and he’s the one that told you you should check an endocrinologist because you’d been too irregular with your periods time !

Yes. Just like his dad, Tim needed to know a situation fully before acting. And seeing him trying to know as much as he could in order to help you was...why, it was the most adorable thing in the world.

Cass

Cass’ periods were not painful, and you were so glad for her.

To her, it was a mild annoyance, there was no pain, it was just irritating. And yes, she had mood swings and could easily get mad, but it was nothing major.

She never even knew other women could have it so bad...The education about periods was really lacking ! They never talked about it anywhere !

Cass was a woman of few words...but she knew how to pass her emotions through her body language. Oh, how she knew.

“Momma.”

Just like your other kids, she’d come check on you when Bruce couldn’t take care of you. You wanted space sometimes, which they all understood. But honestly, during your periods, when you were so sensitive about everything ? You also wanted them around almost all the time.

A paradox. Very fitting of those damn periods time.

Cass would just sit with you, and make sure you were comfortable. She wouldn’t say a word. Lay her head on your shoulder, and hold your hand. Watch movies with you. Hold you close.

She was delicate with you, as if afraid to break you.

Just like your husband, her presence had a soothing effect ? As if nothing bad could ever happen to you as long as she was there (and that probably was right, Cassandra would never let anyone touch her “momma”).

She didn’t need to talk. She didn’t need to do anything more than stay with you when you didn’t want to be alone.

She never experienced the pain you had, but if even to her, who had painless periods, it was annoying and a damn plague ? Then to you...

She didn’t need to do much.

Just her being there already meant a lot.

Her holding onto you, even as she stayed afraid of anyone’s touch for so long.

“Momma.”

Cassandra was your only daughter. And oh you were glad her periods weren’t as bad as yours. That’s all that really mattered to you.

“Momma.”

You often fell asleep with the warmth of your kiddo right there. Next to you. Knowing she wasn’t going to leave unless you wanted to. Knowing she wish she could take your pain on.

Ah. But no. No even if it was possible you’d never allow that. You were the mom. YOU were supposed to take their pains on.

And knowing that Cass never suffered on her periods as bad as you did, was enough. After all, your baby suffered enough in the past...She could get a little lucky, right ?

“Momma.”

That word was music to your hear. Cass’ first word to you.

She didn’t need to talk anyway. Being here was enough...

It was more than enough.

Damian

Everyone who saw Damian around you would notice that he wasn’t quite the same boy than "normally”.

He was calmer, nicer, and sweeter.

You’d argue that it was his real self. That this was his “normal”. That he was just never allowed to show his true heart before, and wasn’t used to trust others and open up. And you were definitely more than happy that he finally managed to do that after arriving into your home.

That none of you ever gave up on him.

You especially had a calming effect on him. After all, he never had a “conventional” mom, who could take care of him when he was sick, kiss him good night and make sure he always had everything he needed.

Some would say you coddled him too much...And you didn’t care. Because that boy lived 10 years being the opposite of coddled. So what, if you’d cut the crust off of his sandwiches, or read him bed time stories every single night ?

Damian loved it. As he often said, being a momma’s boy was “hardly something he was ashamed of”. He never felt loved and safe before, you bet he’d take every chance he got to be cared for.

He never got to act like an actual kid. You allowed him to do just that, AND you made him feel like he belonged. Finally. Like he had an actual family.

So...The day he heard about your absolutely awful periods, what did he do ?

Every single day of your life with him, you had at least one nice intention to him. Wether it was baking his favorite cookies, or telling him how proud you were of him, you always had nothing but kindness for him, often going out of your way for your son.

It was normal for you. Of course. And you did it with all your children...but you had to admit maybe Damian had just a little more of it, because he really never had anything like that to him.

And to him, it only felt normal then, when you felt at your worst, that he’d be there for you exactly like you were there for him.

During any mood swings, he’d have comforting words for you. He had little attentions for you that just made life easier.

Again, it would greatly surprise anyone but his family, but when you had your periods, he did a lot of overly sappy little things.

Like for example : every month, he wrote seven things he found extraordinary about you and would put them in a jar. Seven. The number of day in a week. And usually the number of day, give or take, your periods would last.

The jar would be sitting right on your bedside table on the first day, with the indications you had to read one paper every morning, or every time you felt down (it was supposed to be one paper a day). Sometimes, you’d go through his seven messages in less than a day...and magically, the next day, the jar would be filled again.

Damian made sure of it.

This was just a small example. But it showed exactly what kind of boy your son really was.

If he was heartless, a killer, someone destined to destroy the World...would he really put that much effort into making you feel love ? Into making you feel better any way he could ?

You didn’t think so. The only way your son could ever “turn bad”, was if you (and Bruce) stopped caring for him. Left him alone (A/N : this is a CLEAR jab at current comics canon, if you know what I mean :I ). Only if he felt abandoned, unloved, and rejected.

You knew your boy had, just like you, “rejection dysphoria”. It was hard for him to accept any kind of rejection, and it made him act out and hurt. But that was another story...

Right now, all that mattered to you, is that you knew your son was always going to be there for you, just like you’d always be there for him.

That he finally learned how to love, and care. That he would never unlearn it, as long as you lived.

Your periods sucked.

So bad.

But Damian was a ray of light in the darkness of those seven dreaded days...

Duke

Duke’s mom also had endometriosis.

Over the years, he perfected a “special remedy” he always made her when she had her periods.

He hesitated to make it for you. After all, it was something that made him bond greatly with his own mom...was making it for you, now, acceptable ? Did it mean he forgot about his mother ?

No. No of course not.

Duke scolded himself for even thinking that. You too, became his mom. He learned over the years that it was ok, to have two mom. That when they’ll find a cure for his parents, it wouldn’t take away the years you filled in for the mother role, and took care of Duke as if he was your own.

So here we go.

Some ginger. Some lemon. A dash of his little secret ingredients. Your favorite blend of tea. And it was done.

He brought it to you, saying it always soothed his mom...

And just that.

Just those words. It meant so much.

“It always used to soothe my mom. Used to do it all the time, ever since I was five !”

He said with a smile.

It was something he used to do for his mom, and now he did it for you. Just this. Just that fact, it was enough to make you feel better.

It didn’t take away the pain, but mentally ? It felt amazing.

You drunk his concoction and...Oh god.

Oh god it was disgusting. And...Ah. Yes. His mom probably pretended she liked it. “Ever since I was five !”. Ha. So cute. But also, it really was gross.

At the same time, you felt a pleasant warmth spread through your body as the terrible aftertaste slowly faded. Duke smiled to you, and with a little mischief in his voice said :

“It’s really gross, isn’t it ? But it does the trick haha”

There was a few seconds of silence. During which you blinked at him, not quite registering what he just said. Until...

You burst out laughing. The little mischievous smile, and the way he said “it’s really gross, isn’t it ?” was just too funny.

Your communicative laugh spread to Duke, and as he laughs it makes you laugh even louder too and...You forget.

For a moment you forget about your periods. The pain. The anguish. The emotional labor. This damn week of hell.

You forget.

And you just laugh.

You laugh alongside your son.

Thomas (if you wonder who the H is Thomas, you can check my “Batmom” masterlists, he appears from the story “the great mall adventure” ^^)

Thomas must’ve been about four, when he first saw you having your periods.

Your littlest baby was also one of the most sensitive out of them all (right along with Jason, the two of them cried their eyes out when they watched “Inside Out” and Bing Bong disappeared). Bruce always said he took that after you. And honestly, you couldn’t disagree. It’s true you could be very sensitive.

So one morning, when he woke up and went to breakfast and heard you weren’t feeling right, he immediately went to you and...

Bruce found him an hour later, crying in his room.

“Oh wow hey hey, what is it buddy ?”

He asked, trying to hide the panic in his voice. Thomas might’ve been sensitive, but he rarely cried. He was just a very empathetic boy. But also a cheerful one, and he had a knack to see the good even in the worst situations.

So seeing him sob like that, made Bruce’s heart drop.

“Is mommy going to die ?!”

It took Bruce a few seconds to get a hold of his racing heart. His son crying. And asking if you were going to die. It shortcircuited his brain for a few seconds. Until he realized what Thomas was talking about...

“Oh, oh no champ, no, mommy isn’t going to die.”

Your kids were used to see you strong and fierce. Of course the first time your little one would see you on your period, he’d think something big was wrong.

He had just recently learned what death really mean (you can read about this here : The day he understand what Death means), and since then was so scared it’d happen to his parents. Or his siblings. Or anyone he knew, really...

Picking up his son and slowly and softly tapping his back in soothing circles, he walked around the room and rocked him until the boy calmed down a bit, before trying to explain as best he could why mommy felt bad, without going in in too many details.

Once Thomas understood this was just like when he got a fever that time, that it would pass, he felt much better. But also worst. Because his mommy wasn’t feeling well ! And it happened often !

Bruce reassured him that there were ways they could help you...And soooo :

Thomas brought you hot water bottles, with the help of his dad (the bottles were almost as big as him), and ended up falling asleep on one as it laid on your belly (he heard that humans’ body heat was very strong and wanted to “help the hot water bottle”).

The water in the bottle became cold, and you removed it..Your son didn’t woke up, so you laid him back down on your belly. And he was warm and so tiny, and you loved him so much...It made you feel like the luckiest woman in the world, to be surrounded by people like this little one.

And all your kids. Alfred. Your friends. Broosh...You fell asleep with sweet dreams made of warmth and cuddles.

Not long after, Bruce came by to check on you, finding both you and Tommy deeply asleep and...An overwhelming feeling of happiness took him over.

You weren’t the only one feeling lucky. Except for Bruce...For Bruce it was even stronger, because after his parents died, he never thought he would be happy ever again.

This was why he’d always be there for you. You gave him another family...

His schedule was freed, and he had a busy day. A nap sounded perfect. Especially while nestled against you, with his little one right there.

Dick came by in the afternoon, and found all of you like this. Bruce holding both you and his son, Thomas taking way more space than such a small body would make you thing he’d take.

Dick snapped a picture, and send it to the group chat he had with his siblings and some other close friends and such (like Clark, Wally, Conner, Diana etc etc they used the group chat to gossip about Bruce, mainly). With the caption : “Big bad bat tamed by a four year old”.

Cass send multiple hearteyes emojis. Jason said it was adorable and send a crying emoji, and didn’t care one bit what anyone would think of him saying such things. Damian yelled at Dick that he should’ve put the comforter back up on his baby brother and mom because it wasn’t properly put on !! Duke send a : “I’m downloading that picture for the next time he gets mad at us and we need to soften him up”. Tim replied with a gif of Maes Hughes from Full Metal Alchemist saying : “dis dad”. Clark said “they look so peaceful, you wouldn’t believe he threatened me just yesterday to punch me because I made a joke” to which Diana answered : “that joke was so bad I wanted to punch you to. Cute pic btw, give kisses to Tommy for me, you should come see me more, I just stocked my freezer with nothing but ice creams”..Everyone send a little comment about it.

Because even superheroes, could have normal conversations about those they love.

Suffering alone is a thing of the past

It’s funny. You couldn’t even remember, now, what it felt like “before”.

Before.

Before you met Bruce.

Before that first time he showed up to your apartment to take care of you.

How were your periods before that ? The worst.

Definitely.

Actual Hell.

Not that they were feeling better now. Oh no. There were time your overdramatic self exclaimed : “uuuugh just kill me alreadyyyy” when the pain was too grand...But you weren’t alone anymore.

That’s what made it a bearable moment of the month.

It still felt as bad as it used to when you were younger.

But it wasn’t just you agonizing in your bedroom all alone anymore.

It wasn’t you wishing you’d have someone to take care of you, and to try and ease the pain. Not anymore.

It wasn’t you crying with nobody to dry your tears anymore...

No. You had an entire army of people right there just for you.

Alfred, your children, and most of all...Bruce.

Your Broosh.

Ah. If only some people could see this side of him you and your family knew. The caring and loving one. In a way though, it was rather comforting and made you feel special, that only you and your kiddos knew the real Bruce ?

Of course nowadays, some of his closest friends like Clark and Diana weren’t fooled anymore either. But they’d never see him the way you did, when you were in unbearable pain, and he was right there, drawing soothing circle on your back, keeping you warm and safe...

This was only privy to you.

Your Broosh.

Yes.

Your periods were still as painful as they used to. But now...

Now you weren’t alone anymore.

The end.

________________________________________________

Hey guys ! I hope you liked this :). As usual, feedbacks and reblogs are always welcomed ! (Especially lately, the reblog ratio seems at its worst haha). And again, I really hope you liked this. I was finally able to sit down and write after weeks of being stuck in a depressed mood, so I’m quite excited about sharing this. But as usual, always a bit nervous that you’ll be disappointed blahblahblah low self-esteem and all that haha... :). I just hope this is to your liking. Thank you.

3K notes · View notes

tomtenadia · 3 years

Text

Blind mistake

Rowaelin month - day 8

So, this fic was fighting me at the beginning. as I started, deleted and restarted a million times.

Then slowly the idea came and here it is. What I was not expecting was to write a A Little Braver AU.

Aelin and Rowan meet under different circumstances and are two different people from thee actual story. Aelin is still the captain at east station and Rowan still the airforce captain.

Yes, this is a happier fic but as Aelin said in KoA... she loved Rowan because it was him, the man who had known pain as deep as hers.

IN order to enjoy this fic you do not need to have read ALB. A part from Pete popping up for a brief second at the end, this is a complete stand alone story and no knowledge of ALB is needed.

Rowan sighed. His love life sucked so much that he ended up using a dating app. Since Lyria dumped him a year before he had been struggling to go back in the game. He had been on a few dates but so far none of the women he met had sparked his curiosity. Far too bland and with almost no personality or far too bothered by looks. Some of them had been downright stupid and he had been a gentleman and played along when all he wanted to do was run away screaming. The last nightmare had been a woman called Remelle who Lorcan had recommended to him. He had to feign food poisoning and pay the chef to let him escape from the back of the restaurant to flee the monster. He had paid the bill sneakily, and once home he had insulted Lorcan and his poor taste in women.

Now he was again in a restaurant, ready for probably another fiasco. He and the woman had chatted a bit and she had seemed interesting so he had dared to ask her out and she had accepted. On the paper it was all good. In reality he was getting ready for another crazy escape. Maybe he should just give up and live alone and become a grumpy old man.

He had a kingsflame on the table near him, their code to recognise each other at the restaurant. The fact that they knew very little about each other made him nervous. It was a recipe for disaster. He knew she was a personal shopper and that she liked movies and music. He was really dreading the encounter now, and started to realise that perhaps it had been a mistake. She could have lied.

Until he raised his head and he noticed the woman who had just entered the restaurant. He then spotted the flower pinned on her green dress as they had agreed. Gods, the woman was way too hot for him. There was a catch somewhere. His heart raced when realisation dawned on her face and she waved and started to walk to him. The smile. Damn, the smile could stop a man’s heart. The woman walking toward him was a goddess. He was expecting her to turn away for another table until she sat down in front of him at his table. Rowan was speechless.

“Sorry, I am late. Accident on the ring road. I stopped to give a hand to west station.” She used her hand to brush off the smudge of grease he had only just noticed she had.

“You stopped?”

“Yes,” she looked at him with a strange light in her eyes “I am a firefighter. I am the captain at east station.”

Rowan blinked twice. Shit. She was the wrong woman. She was not here for him. Of course. It was too good to be true. She had sat at the wrong table and a part of him was sad.

“I am Aelin.” she said and he knew that it had dawned on her as well that he was not her date “You are not Chaol.”

Rowan shook his head “I am Rowan.”

“Holy shit. I saw the kingsflame. The restaurant. And you smiled at me when I came in. I just assumed...” He did not want her to go.

“Ach, I was having second thoughts anyway.” He shrugged.

In that moment the waiter came and they were hesitant for a moment then Aelin grabbed the menu and started ordering, surprising him. Rowan got some wine for both and they placed as well their order.

“Our dates are late anyway. Maybe stuck in the horrendous traffic out there.”

“You will not hear me complain.” Said Rowan with a smile “so, you stopped and helped?”

Aelin nodded, sipping a bit of her wine “I couldn’t resist it. West station was there but there were so many cars involved that I had to something. The traffic wasn’t moving anyway.”

Rowan could not believe the woman in front of him. Not only she was a goddess. She had even stopped to help her colleagues save people from a car crash on her way to a date. Where had she been all his life?

The waiter came with their order and smiled at the expression of joy when Aelin looked at the amount of food in front of her. Another point for her. She had an appetite. He had no need of another date ordering a boring salad. He was a healthy eater but loved a woman with an appetite, especially because he loved cooking.

“So Rowan, what do you do?” She asked him while tackling the gigantic prawn on her seafood tagliatelle.

“I am an airforce pilot. I am a captain.”

Her face lit up “as in the uniform and all? And the awesome planes?”

Rowan nodded.

Aelin was about to take another sip of her wine when two figures stopped at their table. A brown-haired man and a blonde woman. Both had a kingsflames pinned on their dresses.

“Excuse me but you are with my date.” Said the stranger.

Rowan looked up from his risotto “finders keepers.”

“And he is my date.” Said the woman in a shrill voice.

“What he said.” Added Aelin while eating another prawn.

“We got stuck in traffic. There is a massive road accident on the ring road.” Chaol complained, not letting it go.

“Yeah I know. I stopped to help and I still made it here before you.”

“So what does this mean?” Asked Chaol.

Aelin stared at Rowan. It was a no brainer. Chaol was cute but Rowan was sex on two legs. Between the silver hair and the green eyes he ticked all of the boxes. And he was a pilot. Chaol was an accountant.

“You two can go on a date together.” She suggested and hoped they took the hint.

“That is rude.”

“Oh shoot,” said Aelin covering her mouth in fake surprise “I must have left the fucks I have to give in my bunker gear.”

Chaol looked at her aghast. The blonde woman turned on her heels and left.

“You missed an opportunity.” He added before he left as well.

As soon as he left Rowan burst into laughter and she joined him “no fucks to give…” he said trying to catch his breath “I have to steal this when my CO drives me nuts.”

“Ansel, one of my firefighters, she taught me that.”

“It’s fucking perfect.”

And both resumed their dinner without the awkwardness of a blind date. No stupid questions like how many siblings do you have or what is your favourite colour. No, with Rowan there had been a connection from the start and the joke had been the final proof.

“Most guys would have left running at my joke. I have a big and foul mouth. Not very lady-like.” She apologised. “I work in a male dominated place. Apart from Ansel and my two paramedics, I am surrounded by guys and well, they are not easily scared.”

Rowan chuckled “I am in the military. My CO uses fuck you as a term of endearment and one of my lieutenants has the record for the most innuendos in a sentence.”

“How many?” Asked Aelin curios.

“Ten.”

“No friggin’ way.”

Rowan nodded solemnly. Then looked at her and he was glad she sat at his table mistaking him for another man. They had known each other only for twenty minutes but he was dumbstruck by the woman.

She was fierce, intelligent and with a wicked sense of humour.

The meal had been perfect. Aelin had polished every single plate in front of her and also ordered dessert. And when she offered to pay for half the bill he had smiled. He had plenty of dates where the woman didn’t even offer. She took it for granted that he, being the man, was the one paying. He had no issues with that, he was happy to pay, but the fact that Aelin offered made him realise that she was different.

They left the restaurant and he gasped when he saw a red pickup reading Terrasen fire department on its livery, parked just outside the restaurant.

“Way to scare the patrons away.” He joked.

“Sorry. Yesterday I took a lift to work from a colleague and I forgot for a moment that I had a set the date for tonight after my shift. So I grabbed my work pickup to get here. I need to go back to the firehouse and return it.”

“I’ll follow, you drop off the pickup and then I drive you home.”

“I can take a cab, you don’t have to come all the way to the station and back.”

“Humour me,” he said giving her a beautiful smile and she accepted.

Ten minutes later they were at east station and she parked the pickup in its corner at the side and out of the way.

She saw Rowan getting off the car.

“Welcome to east station.” She said extending her arms. She pushed a button and the rolling doors slid up and two big trucks appeared in front of him. He had always wanted to see one up close.

“Cap,” said a man at her back “what are you doing here? I thought you were on a date?” He smiled “that bad? I told you accountants were a bad idea.”

Aelin laughed “looks like I got myself an airforce pilot instead.” She winked at him and Rowan’s heart skipped a beat.

“I’ll tell you next shift, Pete. I just brought back the pickup before Dorian kills me.”

She waved at her relief captain and followed Rowan in his car and told him her address.

While he drove she studied him. He was wearing a nice pair of jeans, a shirt and a black leather jacket. She should have guessed he was military. Aedion had the same posture and he was ex-army.

“Which house?” Asked Rowan, waking her up from her thoughts.

“The one with the blue door.”

He parked and walked with her up to the door “I had so much fun tonight,” she said to him, not wanting him to leave her.

“I am so glad that you sat at the wrong table. This was the best blind date ever.” He looked at her and wanted to kiss her so badly but they had just met and he did not want to pass a a pig.

She moved a step toward him “I am glad too.” And her lips brushed his cheek in a kiss “perhaps we could go on a proper date. One where we are actually meant to meet each other.”

Rowan sighed relieved “It would make me very happy.”

Aelin rummaged in her bag until she found a pen then grabbed his wrist and pulled up his cuff a bit and wrote down two numbers.

“The first one is my personal mobile number. The second one is the direct number to my office. I am known to leave my mobile in my bunker gear.”

“Thank you.”

“Let me know a date and if I am not free we can find a better one. Us firefighters have crazy long shifts so I need to be off.”

He took her pen and her wrist and wrote his number “then you text me. A day that you are off shift. I work regular hours. This makes more sense.”

He took a step down from the few step and she hated the idea of him leaving.

“Goodnight, Rowan.” She opened the door and looked at him one last time.

Rowan waited for her to disappear behind the door and then went back to his car and was grateful for the best blind mistake of his life.

#rowaelinmonth #rowaelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #rowan x aelin #fluff

80 notes · View notes

poeticandors · 3 years

Text

Cut to the Feeling Part 4

Poe Dameron x F!Reader (Babysitter!AU)

Summary: After graduating college and needing to have some cash in order to survive while doing an unpaid internship, Y/N decides to take up a babysitting/caretaking job. Little does she know that she ends up working for a familiar face.

Warnings: None!

A/N: Well, damn! It has been a long time but I’m back! Thanks for waiting patiently. Hopefully you enjoy this chapter.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

GIF by @damerondjarin

Ah, the weekend. Plopping on the couch, you planned for a day of doing absolutely nothing. You were finally able to relax after a long week of observation hours for your internship as well as driving Eva Bey to and from school, to her dance lessons and soccer practice, and whatever errands Poe had you running for him such as trips to the store.

A few months have passed since you’ve started working with Eva Bey, and you seemed to have gotten into the routine. You got along great with Eva Bey, who was an absolute sweetheart, and Poe was nice as well. There have not been any issues thus far, and you were hoping that it would stay that way.

Eva Bey really was one of the easiest children you have had the pleasure of working with. She enjoyed any activity you had planned for her, and she had the biggest imagination. If she did become upset, it wasn’t hard to redirect her into another activity or to get her to tell you what was going on. You adored her the more you’ve gotten to know her.

As for Poe… things have been going well. There was never any miscommunication between you both, and you would go as far to say that it was as if the incident never happened. It also made it easier that you would really only see and talk with him at the end of each day when you would be leaving, so conversation was limited. But… you secretly wondered if he ever thought back to it such as you have.

Shaking your head to stop you from thinking anything further, you grab the remote to your TV and flip on Netflix as you try to find some movie to distract you, only for your phone to ring. Grabbing it, you see Poe’s name flashing on your screen as you furrow your brows. You hoped something didn’t happen with Eva Bey, so you quickly answered.

“Hello?”

“Hey, I am sorry for calling on your day off. But, is this a bad time?”

“No, I was just trying to find something to watch on TV.” You sit up. “Is everything alright?”

“Oh, yeah! I am actually calling on behalf of Eva Bey’s request— oh, okay here she is.”

You hear the phone being passed on the other end as well as Eva Bey and Poe’s whispers to one another.

“Hello?” Eva Bey’s sweet voice calls out, which instantly brings a smile to your face.

“Hey, Eva Bey! Is everything okay?”

“Yeah! Um, I asked my dad to call you. I have a question.”

“Alright, what is your question?”

“Can you come swimming with us? My daddy said he would take me, but I want you to come too!”

“Oh, um… I mean, I wouldn’t want to ruin your time spent with your dad—“

“But I want you to come. Please?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you ponder for a moment until you let out a soft sigh. “Eva Bey, can you give the phone to your dad?”

“Yeah!”

You hear the shuffling of Eva Bey handing Poe the phone back. “Hey.”

“Hey, um… are you sure it’s okay if I join you guys? I wouldn’t want to be a bother and interrupt any father-daughter time.”

“Oh, no. It’s totally okay with me. Eva Bey was the one who wanted to go swimming since the community pool just opened this weekend. She would really want to see you.”

“Oh, well…” You try hiding the slight disappointment in your voice, internally reprimanding yourself why you thought Poe would be the one to want to see you.

“And please. Don’t think you’re a bother. You could never be one.”

Something in the way Poe says that makes your heart flutter in your chest. And because of that, you are almost hesitant to decline— to come up with some excuse. This would be your first time being with Poe outside of professional settings, definitely not counting the first ever encounter between you both. But, if Eva Bey really wanted you to be there and it was her idea…

“…Tell Eva Bey that I am packing my swimsuit right now.”

Poe does so, and so you hear the excited little shrieks from the little girl as you both laugh.

“Just meet us at the house, we can all drive together and it gives me time to get us situated.”

“Of course, Bye, Poe.”

You hang up, soon getting up from your couch as you head to your bedroom to begin packing up for a nice, relaxing day at the pool. Totally professional, totally just to spend time with Eva Bey.

Totally.

++++++

Hoisting your bag up, you knock on the door as you wait for Poe to let you in. Packing for this trip was a little stressful for you as you searched thoroughly for a swimsuit and then came to the realization you had no sunscreen, so you had to make a stop on the way. Then, you figured to grab a few snacks for you three while you were there because why not? You even decided to pick out a sea turtle floating toy for Eva Bey simply because you couldn’t resist.

The door opens up and you smile, taking in Poe’s appearance. This was the first time you had seen him in anything other than a suit and tie, and he looked… nice. His hair was slightly disheveled, probably from getting Eva Bey ready for the day, and he looked comfortable in his t-shirt and swim trunks.

“Hey, thanks for coming along. Sorry if you had plans or anything.” Poe scratches the back of his head.

“Oh, it’s no problem. You saved me from an entire day of just binging Netflix, anyways. Thanks for the invite.”

Poe smiles, and before he can speak, you hear your name being shouted as Eva Bey rushes over to hug you tightly.

“Hi, Eva Bey!” You laugh as she pulls back, grabbing your hand. She pulls you inside, as Poe closes the door behind you.

“My dad says I can wear my new swim suit today.” She beams, as you set your bags down. “It’s blue!”

“Well, I can’t wait to see it.”

“Do you think you can braid my hair the way you do? My dad doesn’t know how to do it.”

“Hey, in my defense, it is more complex than the braids I usually do for your hair.” Poe chuckles. “You might have to teach me how to do it.”

“Well… I guess I could teach you. But, I must warn you that these lessons come with a fee,” you tease.

“A fee, huh?” Poe raises a brow as you shrug your shoulders.

“If you’re good at something, don’t do it for free.”

Poe grins, before Eva Bey begins tugging his hand. “Can we go now?”

“Yes, Eva Bey. Let’s just get everything packed in the car, okay?”

“Yay!” Eva Bey exclaims, as she looks up at you. “I have my own swim bag packed already!”

“Great! But, I think you might be missing something,” you discreetly pull out a box from one of your bags.

“What is it?”

“I thought why not bring a big pool floatie with us?” You smile as you show her the turtle, and she jumps up from excitement.

“You didn’t have to get that,” Poe glances at you.

“It’s okay,” you wave him off. “I thought it would be fun. I also brought some snacks so you don’t have to pack any.”

Poe slowly nods. “Huh… thanks”

“It’s nothing.”

Poe stares at you for a moment, a comfortable silence building between the both of you before clearing his throat. “Let’s get this filled with air, okay? Then we can go.”

“Sounds good. Come on, Eva Bey. Let’s get everything else packed up.”

Eva Bey nods, taking your hand as you both walk outside with your bags while Poe searches for a vacuum to pump up the floatie.

++++++

After arriving at the pool, Eva Bey practically pulled your arm off while dragging you through to a table in the shade as she set her bag down. You sat in the backseat with her on the ride there, braiding her hair as you sang along with her to plenty of her favorite Disney songs. Poe didn’t even get out of it, as he was asked to sing plenty of the male counterparts in the duets. You and Eva Bey definitely got a kick out of it when he sang along to Gaston, trying to match his deep sounding voice.

It was quite warm today, so you were glad there was at least an open area that was well shaded. A group of children screamed and laughed from excitement jumping into the pool, while parents chased after a few others to try and convince them to wear more sunscreen.

When Poe set down the floatie and bags of snacks and water bottles, he looked over to Eva Bey. “Let’s get some sunscreen on you, kiddo.”

“Okay, Daddy!”

Eva Bey stands in front of Poe as he squeezes some of it on his hands, and begins rubbing it all over her shoulders and arms before turning her around. You watch as he carefully rubs it on her face and neck, before setting the bottle down.

“Okay, you’re all set. Where is your life vest?”

“Umm… Daddy, I want to try and swim without it today.”

“Oh?” Poe raises a brow. “Are you sure?”

Eva Bey nods, and you can see the slight nervousness in her eyes as she does so. You knew that Eva Bey didn’t know how to swim completely, but also didn’t expect her to want to try to learn right away.

“Okay, kiddo. But only if you’re sure.”

“I am,” she says more confidently, then turns to you. “Will you help me, too?” “Of course, Eva Bey. Just let me finish getting ready, okay?”

“We can go ahead and get in the pool while we wait, Eva Bey.” Poe takes her hand, as you begin stepping out of your cover, and put sunscreen on yourself.

What you don’t see, however, is Poe glancing back at you, slightly freezing. You don’t see how his gaze moves down, observing each and every inch of your body. Poe suddenly has a flash to that night so many months ago, of him touching and kissing along those curves of yours, as well as the sounds he managed to hear from you that tend to patronize his dreams most nights. Poe stops himself from gazing any longer, and he shakes his head as he leads Eva Bey to the pool.

When you finish getting ready, you make your way over to the steps of the pool that Poe and Eva Bey stopped at. You look down at the little girl, seeing her eyes scan cautiously along the water as Poe steps into the pool, shivering slightly from the chill of the water.

“You ready, Eva Bey?” Poe holds his hand out, only for her to take a step back slightly.

“Um… I don’t know…”

Poe glances up at you, and you nod slightly as you kneel down next to her.

“It can be a bit scary, learning how to swim at first. But you know all the first steps to swimming by yourself, don’t you?”

She shakes her head as you smile, and take her hand. “Well, one of the first things you need to remember is that when it comes to swimming, you can always ask for help. Would you like me and your daddy to help you?”

“Yes…”

“How about we take the first step into the water?”

Eva Bey nods, as you both step into the water, and goosebumps cover your skin as you shiver lightly. Eva Bey also jumps from the cold, as you chuckle.

“It’s chilly, isn’t it?” “Yeah!” She forces out a nervous laugh as you both take another step, the water feeling more manageable.

“Alright, we’re in the water,” you look down at her. “Now, this is another important step so I need you to pay close attention. An easy way to keep yourself afloat in the water is to just lay on your belly and keep kicking your feet. Can we try that?”

Eva Bey looks at Poe, as he smiles. “You got it, baby.”

You step further into the water, and hold your arms out to her. “I’m right here, okay? I’m just going to hold you. Can you lay on your belly in my arms and fly like a superhero?”

“Okay…” She moves into your arms and lays down as you smile.

“You’re a natural! Look at you! Can you kick your feet for me and make some splashes in the water?”

She does so, and you begin moving her around in a circle, and look up at Poe. He gets the hint, as he holds his arms out, and you pass Eva Bey over to him as she continues kicking. You clap your hands, and Eva Bey gives a toothy smile.

“Look at you! You’re already a professional!” You laugh softly, as you move over to her. “Next step since you have already mastered lying on your belly and kicking: blowing bubbles.”

“I can blow bubbles!”

“Can you? Well, let’s see!”

Eva Bey puts her face slightly in the water and she begins blowing bubbles for a few seconds before quickly lifting her head back above the water. Poe holds her up, and you give her a high five.

“Eva Bey, that might’ve been the best bubble blowing I have ever seen!”

She grins, looking back at Poe as he nods. “It really was the best.”

“Okay. Now, this next step might be a little scary, but I promise you that me and your daddy will be there to help you, okay?” She gives you a slight tilt of her head, nervous. “We are going to do all of these steps underwater, okay? The flying like a superhero, the kicking, and the bubble blowing— it’s all going to happen while you are under.”

“Do you want to practice going underwater, first?” Poe looks down at Eva Bey.

“Yeah…”

Poe turns her around, grabbing under her arms. “I’ll hold you the entire time, okay?”

“Don’t forget to blow your bubbles!” You give her a thumbs up.

She returns the thumbs up, before Poe begins to count to three, and they both go under the water for a few seconds. Poe and Eva Bey come back up, and Eva Bey wipes the water away from her face as you begin to clap.

“Awesome! That wasn’t so scary, was it?” You flash a comforting smile, as she giggles, shaking her head. “Are you ready to try to swim by yourself? Or do you need some more practice?”

“I… I’m ready!”

“I like the sound of that,” you chuckle, as you hold your arms out to her. Poe hands her to you, as you begin to take a few steps away from Poe. “Alright, now remember, when you need to breathe, just lift your head up out of the water, take a big breath, and then put your face back in the water. Think you can do it?”

“I can do it.”

“I know you can.” You give her an encouraging smile. “On the count of three, I’m going to go underwater with you and push you, and you’re going to swim to your daddy. Ready? One… two… three!”

Eva Bey immediately begins kicking as you push her away from you underwater, and you break the surface as you begin cheering her on.

“Go, Eva Bey!” “C’mon, baby, almost there!” Poe holds his arms out, as Eva Bey moves closer and closer to him, before she finally makes it.

He pulls her into his arms as she looks at him excitedly. “Daddy! I did it by myself!”

Pride fills Poe’s eyes, and he kisses her cheek. “I’m so proud of you, Eva Bey.”

You quickly swim over to them, as Eva Bey wraps her arms around your neck, hugging you tightly.

“Did you see? Did you see me swim?” “I sure did. You are amazing! A professional already!”

“Thank you for helping me.”

A gratifying feeling fills your chest, as you hug her back, and Poe can’t help but smile at the two of you embracing. You manage to catch Poe staring at you, returning his gaze as you flash your own smile at him.

Something lingered in that moment as Poe kept his eyes on you. He couldn’t bring himself to look away or keep himself from moving closer to you. There was a tenderness, one that seemed to continue growing the longer he stared at you. It was something that Poe told himself over and over not to pursue.

Poe just can’t seem to push that fondness away. Whether it was just the heat of the moment, he knew that there was something there for you. Seeing Eva Bey— the most important person in his life— interact and become so comfortable with you, someone that Poe has only grown more trusting with each passing moment, fills Poe’s heart with something he never felt before.

But he couldn’t act on those feelings.

Not only that, but he shouldn’t. You worked for him, you took care of his kid… the boundaries were put up for a reason. The night that plays over and over on repeat in his head would never happen again. You both agreed on that, and that was final.

Poe clears his throat, finally breaking the gaze as he pulls Eva Bey from you, and grins at her. “How about we celebrate with a snack break?”

“Okay, daddy! But I want to swim to the steps by myself.”

“Well, if you’re sure.” Poe gently pushes Eva Bey to the steps, and you both watch as she swims towards them by herself.

“She’s amazing,” Poe hears you say, and looks down at you as you keep your gaze on Eva Bey.

“Yeah… she is.”

Poe quickly looks back, watching as she finally makes it to the steps, and holds her hands up as she stands. “I did it!”

“We’re so proud of you, Eva Bey!” You clap, smiling brightly.

“You both have a beautiful daughter.”

Looking up, you both see an elderly couple smiling as they stand on the deck, and a slight awkward feeling fills the space between you and Poe.

“Oh, uh…”

“And I see she gets all her looks from dear old dad, doesn’t she?” The woman chuckles.

“Actually… we’re not…. I’m not her mother. I’m just her caretaker.”

“Oh! I am so sorry for assuming. How silly of me!”

“It’s alright.” Poe waves them off politely. “But thank you for the compliment about my daughter. She really is.”

They only nod in response, before they walk off. You look at Poe, clearing your throat.

“Well, uh… yeah. I’ll just… help Eva Bey get her towel.”

You quickly swim off, getting out of the pool as Eva Bey takes your hand, and leads you away.

Poe can only follow, trying to clear his racing thoughts of you as he walks towards your area, and begins to pull out the snacks as you wrap Eva Bey’s towel around her. He can only smile, hearing Eva Bey chatter excitedly about the fact she finally knows how to swim, and suddenly becomes all for trying out for the swim team after discovering it.

++++++

After a fun afternoon of swimming, Poe finally decided it would be best to head home after seeing Eva Bey’s energy begin to dwindle. Poe finished packing up the car as Eva Bey settled in her booster seat, before you both got in the car quietly.

Poe looks in the rearview mirror as he begins to drive back to his house, seeing Eva Bey begin to doze off. He chuckles lightly as you glance at him.

“Someone had an eventful day,” he nods at the reflection as you peek back, smiling.

“Oh, this is too cute.”

“Here, take a picture so I can send it to my dad along with the videos I took of her swimming.” Poe hands you his phone, keeping his eyes on the road.

You snap a picture, before turning back, and setting the phone down in the cup holder. Poe continues driving, the radio playing music at a low volume as a comfortable silence settles between you both, until Poe mutters something.

“Hm?”

“I said thank you. For helping Eva Bey learn how to swim.” “Oh… it’s no problem.”

“It’s a big deal, though. I know she’s been nervous about it, and anytime we would get close to trying she would get scared.” Poe glances at you as he stops at a red light. “Seeing her overcome her fear, becoming so excited, and you helping her… that means a lot to me. Thank you.”

“Of course. I would do anything for Eva Bey.”

“I know you would.”

You stare into Poe’s eyes, and the tension only grows in that small space that separates you from him. It was true what you said, that you would do anything for Eva Bey. The young girl had come to mean so much to you the entire time you’ve gotten to know her. She meant so much to you, and you wanted to be there to continue helping her in anyway possible.

But you also know you would do anything for Poe, too.

Sure, you knew you would not be able to pursue any feelings beyond that for the sake of professionality and Eva Bey, but you would still do anything you could for him. Part of you thinks he knows that, but you couldn’t outright say it to him.

Still, something seems to bring you both closer to each other, despite a voice in the back of your head warning you not to cross that boundary. Another tells you that you should cross that boundary, to explore what it could offer and what might blossom between you both.

But you continue to listen only to that first voice, because right now it’s the only one that is keeping you from ruining this.

The light turns green, and Poe only begins to drive when a car behind him honks, and you look away. The rest of the car ride is quiet, and Poe finally pulls up to the house. Eva Bey stirs awake from the movement, and smiles tiredly.

“Are we home?”

“We are, Eva Bey.”

Getting out of the car, you grab your bag as Poe helps Eva Bey. She hugs your legs, looking up at you.

“Thank you for coming swimming and teaching me how to swim!”

“I had so much fun with you. Thank you for inviting me,” you smile as she pulls back.

“Can’t you stay a little longer?”

“Well, I would. But I have to get home and I’m sure your daddy is tired and wants to spend the rest of the weekend with you.”

“Oh… okay…” She does nothing to hide the dismay in her expression, as you poke her cheek.

“But I will see you on Monday, okay? I have some water beads I thought you might enjoy playing with. Is that okay?”

Her disappointment soon fades away as she smiles, nodding excitedly. “Okay!”

Glancing up at Poe, you give him a small wave, before finally walking off. Poe watches until you drive off, looking down at Eva Bey as she tugs on his hand to lead him inside.

“Let’s get you ready for a bath, okay? Then I’ll cook us some dinner.”

“Daddy, do you like Miss Y/N?”

Poe stops, before setting the swim bag down. “Well, of course I do.”

“I think she’s very nice, and very pretty. Don’t you?”

“I… why don’t you go pick out your bubble bath, okay?”

“But—”

“And then we can FaceTime Papa Kes to talk about how you swam by yourself after I make mac and cheese?”

“Fine,” she replies with a hint of attitude that Poe can only laugh at, and she heads to the bathroom.

Poe shakes his head, running a hand down his face as he lets out an exasperated sigh. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, looking through the videos of Eva Bey swimming to you as she pushes off the wall cheering each and every time without fail. Poe looks at your smiling face, and can’t help but pause the video for a moment.

He did, indeed, think you were very pretty.

Poe pulls up the messages between you, and begins typing before suddenly stopping himself. Biting his cheek, he decides ultimately to delete the message, and puts his phone down instead.

#poe dameron x reader #poe x reader #poe dameron #poe dameron x f!reader #single dad!Poe Dameron #poe dameron fic #single dad!Poe dameron x f!reader #babysitter!au

143 notes · View notes

a-pretty-nerd · 4 years

Text

Rebellion

Tomura Shigaraki x AllMight!Daughter! Reader

Prologue

Premis:

When The League of Villians discovers that AllMight has a daughter, they are quick to snatch you up and hold you hostage. Shigaraki had a careful and thought out plan, but that was before you got there. Now you're in the mood for some not-so-healthy rebellion.

word count: 1405

A/N: Welcome to the dumpster fire!

Don't froget, I have a patreon now! So go support me there to get some nice and spicy, exclusive content, AND I'll only be accepting direct requests from Patrons now. Patrons will also be able to vote on what projects I focus on next. So please check me out there! I love you guys, and I hope you enjoy the prologue. I'm so excited for this one! 💕

Chapter 1

This was your mother's idea.

It was your mother's idea and your father played along. So shortly after graduation, you caught a plane to Japan to spend the summer with your father. After his early retirement, he had a lot more free time and your mother intended to exploit that.

You've been to Japan a handful of times to visit, but you spent the majority of your life with your mom in America. You've never been excited to go to Japan. The trips were usually filled with an unspoken sense of obligation and tension. Your father was always distant, even when you came to visit. He was always busy and even when he wasn't, there was a rift between the two of you. He just wasn't around enough to really be a father to you.

But you hoped that this time things would be better. Maybe now that it was just you and him, you could patch things up. Get to know AllMight a little better. That’s how you knew him. Not as your father, not even as Toshinori Yagi, but as AllMight.

The pressure in your ears began to subside and eventually pop as the plane landed. Soon you shuffled onto the ramp and into the bustling airport. You looked up at the signs for directions. Good thing a lot is in English, your Japanese is getting sloppy. What was that character again??

Eventually, you found him. You almost missed him. When you were a kid, he always put on a big show. He always had a driver pick you and your mom up from the airport to take you back to his luxury apartment, which he rarely used. But no, this time he was here in the flesh and what was even weirder was how he looked.

You had seen the fight on the news. The resurgence of All for One had gone viral and everyone knew. You would have taken the time to be more concerned about AllMight, if it wasn't for your mid-terms that week. Now he stood there, a shadow of the man he once was. Maybe things would be different this time.

"Hey! Over here!" He called out as he stretched a scrawny arm out and waved.

"Hey!" You called back with a smile. You let go of your luggage to greet him with a hug.

"I'm so glad you made it. How was the flight?" He spoke softly. You had heard the change over the phone, but in person, it was worse.

"Long."

"Heh, I bet. You hungry? Let's grab lunch." He took your luggage and began rolling it behind him as you walked. When you finally sat down for lunch, he suddenly perked up. "I almost forgot! I got you something, for graduation." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wooden box. Inside sat a black and gold pin in the shape of a graduation cap. For a second you didn't know what to say. Clearly, it was expensive. But you didn't know what the hell to do with it. Put it on your jacket? You would have much rather preferred the money it cost than the little shiny thing in front of you.

"It's beautiful. Thank you." You smiled in an attempt to appear grateful. You took the pin out and stuck it to the lapel of your denim jacket.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be there on the big day. It’s just that UA has had me pretty busy since security got tighter."

"Don't worry about it. I get it. How are things at the UA?" You asked. Anything to get him to talk, anything but silence. He went on and before you knew it lunch was over and you made your way back to his apartment.

"When did you move?" You asked as you kicked your shoes off at the door. The place was nice but much smaller. Nothing like the flashy penthouse from when you were a kid. It was quaint and homey. He even had a few house plants sitting around.

"Oh, a while back. The guest bed's over here." He showed you to your room which sat cold and alone in the dark. "You must be tired. I'll let you get settled before dinner."

"Hey, uh...is there a gym nearby by any chance?" You asked before he shut the door.

"Uh yeah, there's one in the building downstairs. You work out?" He asked awkwardly. You shrugged.

"I like to in my spare time. Its good to stay active."

"Yeah it is...it is...Well, I'll leave you to it." He said before closing the bedroom door. Damn, he was awkward. It’s like even as an adult he didn't know what to do with you. You were starting to regret coming here after all. But apart of you was determined to give the old man one last chance to be a father.

One. Last. Chance.

You couldn't sleep that night. Jet lag was getting to you, and despite being incredibly exhausted, you didn't sleep a wink. You decided to make yourself a cup of coffee, only to find he didn't keep any in the house. That’s right, he always preferred tea. So when he shuffled into the living room at 5 am and found you watching tv, wide awake, he offered to take you out for a cup before work.

"You have work today?" You asked as you watched him shuffle back to his room.

"I know, I'm sorry. Hey, why don't you come with me! I'm sure they'd let you follow your old man around for a day! What'd'ya say? It'll be fun." There he goes, talking to you like your a little kid. You'd think after graduating college he'd at least stop that.

"Didn't you say security is tight now? You said students were even living in dorms now last we spoke on the phone. You sure they'd let me in to just...observe all day." AllMight paused.

"Sure! You're my daughter after all." The idea embarrassed you just a little bit, but it sounded better than sitting around his apartment all day. You agreed.

You regretted it almost as soon as you got there. Most people, even his coworkers, had no idea you even existed. He never talked about you and every shocked face reminded you that. You fought the day with a horribly forced smile on your face. You stayed in the teacher's office when he taught classes. You sat there, reading on your phone for hours on end.

"You just graduated, right?" A deep voice asked from behind a computer. You looked up and turned to look over at Mr. Aizawa who sat at his desk. Looking outrageously bored and just as tired as you.

"Sorry?"

"What was your major?" He asked, looking back at the computer screen and going back to work.

"Forensic psychology and law."

"You wanna be a hero, like your old man?" He droned on.

"God, no. Hero work isn't for me."

"Yeah? What are you gonna do with your degree?" He seemed amused by your distaste for hero work. As far as you were concerned, heros were just cops with superpowers. And where you came from, that had its own set of issues.

"I have a job lined up with an office as a junior detective in New York."

"You want to be a detective?" He raised a brow and looked up at you.

"Something like that. I just want to actually help people."

"You don't think heros help people?"

"Not where I'm from." The conversation fizzled out from there. Occasionally teachers would leave and come back, starting small talk and then excusing themselves again. They were all nice enough, though, you tended to favor Aizawa's company. He often worked as a detective in many cases to catch criminals. So you could talk true crime with him easily. He also brought you a cup of coffee.

Soon the day came to an end and you walked with AllMight back to his car. Unfortunately, you weren't alone. Across the street, a pair of binoculars peered at you through a bush.

"Going home already, AllMight-I'm tired!"

"Wait, who's that girl?"

"Girl? Where? In the car!?"

#tomura shigaraki #shigaraki #tomura shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader smut #mha x reader #mha #bnha

242 notes · View notes

prettyyoungandbored · 4 years

Text

Becoming Mrs. Wayne [The Dark Knight] Two

Pairing: Christian Bale!Bruce Wayne x OC

Summary: Demetria Gallagher knew her cozy life would change the second she became engaged to Bruce Wayne. But what she doesn’t know is she’s getting more than what she agreed to. (I am trash at summaries.)

Taglist: @dragonballluver

Warning: Semi-smut, dirty talking, etc.

Previous chapter

Demetria removed her coat, throwing it over her arm as Bruce spoke to the host. She could feel the eyes of other patrons glancing over at her as they leaned over to whisper to one another. She flashed a small smile, hoping they’d get the hint that either a.) she was well aware of their staring and felt deeply uncomfortable by it or b.) she was just waiting for her fiancé to finish up talking so they could sit and eat.

She then felt Bruce take her hand, her eyes shifting to him.

“Shouldn’t we wait for the host?” she asked.

“They know where we’ll be.”

He led her through the restaurant, eyes of other patrons following their every move. Demetria pulled back her lips as she quickened her pace a bit to walk by her fiancé’s side.

“Rachel, fancy that.”

Demetria looked over to find Rachel and Harvey sitting at a table. Her eyes lit up at the sight of Harvey.

“Yeah Bruce,” Rachel responded ever so cooly. “Fancy that.” She stood up and hugged Demetria. “Good to see you as always.”

“You too and I love this dress,” Demetria said, taking a step back to admire it. She then turned to Harvey. “I see you changed your shirt after your soy sauce debacle.” She turned to Rachel. “I tell him several times not to open the damn packet with his teeth--.”

“He doesn’t listen,” Rachel finished, nodding her head. She turned to Bruce. “Bruce, this is Harvey Dent.”

Harvey got up and shook Bruce’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“You as well. I’ve heard a lot about you from Rachel and Demetria.”

“Demetria’s told me a lot about you.”

“Well I certainly hope not everything,”Bruce laughed. “What do you say we push some tables together?”

“I don’t know if they’ll let us,” Harvey responded.

“Oh they should,” Bruce assured, motioning to the waiter. “I own the place.”

Demetria whipped her head. “You own what now?”

Bruce smirked at her. “I told you it was a surprise.”

After the waiters moved the tables together, Bruce took the seat next to Rachel while Demetria took the seat beside Harvey.

“So Demetria, Harvey introduced me to your mom over the phone,” Rachel spoke up. “She sounds like she’s over the moon about the engagement.”

Demetria nodded. “She’s flooding my emails with ideas for the wedding decor when we haven’t even set a date.”

“Bruce, have you met Olivia?” Harvey brought up, taking a sip of water.

“I did,” Bruce nodded. “When she came up to the city for the weekend a few months back.”

“How’d you guys manage that?” Harvey asked Demetria.

“We had dinner at my place,” Demetria answered.

“Oh, you mean you ordered take out?”

Demetria shot Harvey a glare. “It was from a nice restaurant.”

He smirked. “I’m sure she had a lot to say about it.”

“She actually loved it.”

“What did she think of Gotham City?” Rachel asked.

“She has her reservations, but really she’s just nervous because of all the crimes and whatnot. She keeps asking me if this is a place I wanna raise kids in.”

“Well I was raised here and I turned out ok,” Bruce remarked.

Demetria smiled at him, patting his leg with her hand.

“Is Wayne Manor in the city limits?” Harvey questioned.

Bruce let out a wry laugh. “The Palisades? Sure. You know, as our new DA, you might want to figure out where your jurisdiction ends.”

Harvey sat back in his chair as Demetria, uncomfortable at the scene that was playing out in front of her, changed the subject. “If anything, she’s just weirded out by Batman and how, as she puts it, Gotham City looks up to a guy in a mask.”

“Gotham City is proud of an ordinary citizen standing up for what’s right,” Harvey defended.

“But who appointed the Batman,” Bruce joked.

“We did,” Harvey answered. “All of us who stood by and let scum take control of our city. When their enemies were at the gates, the Romans would suspend democracy and appoint one man to protect the city and it wasn’t considered an honor, it was considered a public service.”

Rachel leaned toward him. “Harvey, the last man that they appointed to protect the republic was named Caesar and he never gave up his power.”

“Ok fine. You either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain.”

“I actually find him fascinating,” Demetria spoke up.

“What do you mean?” Harvey questioned.

“Think about it, most people who do heroic things do it because deep down, they secretly want to feel good about themselves, right? Everyone wants to achieve some sort of glory, even if they don’t want to admit. Here comes this guy who’s actually going out and making some sort of a difference, and he's doing it without giving out who he really is.”

“Well he’s giving some sort of an identity,” Bruce corrected. “He just works under a different name.”

“But still, it’s someone who is actually going out there and is taking care of the problem without abusing their power like most police officers do,” Demetria went on. “He doesn’t even give any kind of hint to who he is. He could be anybody. I mean, even Harvey, you could...” She paused, before waving her hand. “Actually, you couldn’t be the Batman. You got your ass beat in intramural football in college too many times.”

Rachel nearly choked on her drink, excusing herself as she tried to fight back laughter. Bruce smirked, eyes down on the ground.

Harvey tilted his head. “Hey, while we’re on the topic of embarrassing college memories, remember the time I walked in on you and that guy from Student Government at that party senior year?”

Demetria’s eyes widened while Bruce lifted his head up, intrigued. “I’d like to hear more about that.”

“It was a one time thing,” she said, clenching her teeth.

“Look, whoever the Batman is he doesn’t want to do this for the rest of his life,” Harvey continued. “How could he? Batman is looking for someone to take up his mantle.”

“And you think that person could be you?” Demetria asked.

He shrugged. “If I’m up to it.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “Do you honestly think Batman is gonna come up to you and say, ‘Hey, I don’t wanna do this anymore so can you handle this?’”

“Not like that no.”

“Then how the hell do you know what he wants?”

“At the end of the day, no one wants the sole responsibility of carrying the safety of the entire city on their shoulder.”

“Except you, and to be fair, that’s what makes you a great District Attorney.”

Harvey and Demetria exchanged smiles. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me all night, Dem.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I have my moments.”

“Well I’m sold, Dent,” Bruce chimed in. “I’m gonna throw you a fundraiser.”

Demetria whipped her head to Bruce. “You’re what?”

“That’s nice of you, Bruce,” Harvey chuckled. “But I’m not up for reelection for three years.”

Bruce shook his head. “No, you don’t understand. One fundraiser with my pals, you’ll never need another cent.”

“It’s a kind gesture-.”

“You can also think of it as a thank you for bringing my future wife to Gotham,” Bruce cut him off, looking to Demetria. “Without your persistence, I wouldn’t have found her.”

She smiled as he took her hand in hers.

“I guess I can’t say no then,” Harvey remarked.

_________________________________________________________________

Back at the penthouse, Bruce undid his tie as Demetria sat on the edge of the bed kicking off her heels.

“So, you’re really gonna throw a fundraiser for Harvey?” she asked.

He looked over his shoulder at her. “Yeah. Why?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s great you support him and the offer is so generous but...I mean, you just met the guy.”

“I think he deserves one,” he shrugged.

“But why now? Like he said, he’s not up for re-election for another three years.”

He put his tie in the drawer. “I think he’s what the city needs so why not garner future votes to keep him in office?” He turned to her. “Besides, it gives me an excuse to show off my gorgeous fiancé.”

Demetria blushed as she tried reaching for the zipper on the back of her dress, struggling to latch on to the zipper. “Well, I’m sure your support will really...” She grunted. “Can you please help me?”

Bruce went over to her and slowly zipped down the back. Demetria inhaled sharply, the cool breeze slowly hitting her bare back.

She glanced over her shoulder, a small smile on her lips. “Thank you.”

When she went to step away, Bruce quickly grabbed her and tossed her on the bed, before climbing on top of her.

“Jesus, you could warn me next time,” Demetria giggled. “Not all of us spend our nights training like you do.”

“But it’s so much more fun to surprise you.”

His lips hovered over hers as she cupped his cheek with the palm of her hand.

“Tell me, did the guy from Student Government turn you on like I do?” Bruce whispered.”

“Oh my god,” she groaned, her cheeks flushing. She threw her hands over her face. “I’m gonna kill Harvey for telling you that.”

Bruce moved his lips to her neck. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Demetria lifted her head up, removing her hands from her face. “I don’t remember! It was years ago!”

“I bet he didn’t make you cum like I do.”

She made a face, pretending to think about it. “Well now that you bring it up, I think he did.”

Bruce pulled back, fighting the playful smile on his lips “Wow.”

She pointed a finger at him. “You started it!”

“So that’s how we’re gonna do this..”

“Are you going to fuck me or not because I don’t remember him taking this long to-.”

Bruce shut her up by crashing his lip onto hers. He made damn sure she was gonna scream his name loud enough for the kid from Student Government to hear wherever he was.

_____________________________________________________________

She woke up to find herself alone in bed, curled up on her side as the sating sheets wrapped tightly around her nude body. She sighed and laid on her back, knowing Bruce was probably training at the gym.

As much as she loved him and was proud of him for being so dedicated, she wished some nights she could wake up and find him still there, still holding her. She wanted to see the way the moonlight reflected off his body as they went off in one of their deep talks.

But he was dedicated to what he did and she respected that.

She grabbed her glass of water from the nightstand to find it empty. Tossing, the sheets off her, she made her way to the set of drawers Bruce bought for her and grabbed a pair of black yoga shorts and her old Gotham University hoodie.

She then walked into the kitchen area and quietly filled her cup with water from the kitchen sink. Turning off the water after filling up, she took a quick sip before looking over her shoulder at the twinkling lights from other building lights.

She wandered outside, gently closing the door behind her. Setting her glass on the ledge, she leaned over the railing and gazed as the city in front of her.

While she never cared about Bruce luxurious lifestyle, she did love how his balcony had the best view of the city. She could get used to spending some quiet nights out here.

It was a fact that Gotham was its most dangerous during the nighttime, which Demetria found to be waste because in the right light, like the one she was currently looking at, the city could be absolutely breath taking at night.

“You should be inside.”

She jumped, her arm flinging and knocking over the glass of water on the ground.

“Fuck me,” she whispered. She then turned to her side to find Batman standing there. Her mouth hung open a jar, as she took in the sight before her. “Wow...”

“What?” His voice was rough, calloused, and almost hushed.

“You’re just...bigger than I thought.” She folded her arms across her chest. “You’re also a lot more intimidating in person.”

“I scare you?”

She chuckled nervously. “Well, considering you show up and beat the shit out of people, I mean yeah. You are.”

Silence fell as she waited for him to respond. “So are you gonna beat me up or...?” she joked, half-heartedly.

Once again, no response. Her smile fell as she nodded her head awkwardly. “You’re not much for conversations, are you?”

He didn’t respond, again. She pulled back her lips. “Well then, I’m going to get a broom and clean up the glass.”

She went to turn around when she heard, “You’re the billionaire’s wife.”

She turned to face him. “He has a name and so do I.” She paused. “Also, I’m his fiancé.”

“But you’re going to be his wife.”

“If you don’t kill me tonight, then yeah.”

He made one step toward, causing her heart to drop to her stomach. She took a couple steps back.

“I won’t hurt you,” he told her.

“Then can you tell me why you’re here so I can go about my life and you can go take out some member of the mafia?”

“Your life is valuable. Stay inside.”

He then grabbed the railing and jumped off, Demetria leaning over to watch him soar off into the night.

Running her hand through her hair, she let out a long sigh. “Jesus fucking christ.”

She went inside and quietly went back inside to grab a broom and the garbage can.

She cleaned up the glass, throwing the pieces in the garbage can. Putting the broom back in the kitchen closet and the garbage can away, she went back into the bedroom and closed the door. She turned on her bedside lamp and grabbed the remote, turning on the TV, settling on an old episode of “I Love Lucy.”

_________________________________________________________

Bruce entered the apartment quietly, as though not to wake anyone. He quickly glanced over to find Demetria was no longer out on the balcony, a small wave of relief crashing over him.

He’d made a promise to himself to keep Demetria away from Batman as best as he could; however, between the constant coverage the press was giving her and the copycats and the mob and their affiliates running around at night, he had to do what he could to protect her.

He entered their bedroom to find the TV on and Demetria lying awake in bed.

“What’re you doing up?” he asked, laying his gym bag on the floor.

She pulled her knees to her chest. “If I told you, you’d think I was crazy.”

He got into the bed and wrapped an arm around her. “Try me.”

She sighed. “I met Batman.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Really?”

“I was out on the balcony and he just showed up and, I don’t know, he just...he was strange.”

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No, no, no. He just told me I should stay inside because I’m apparently valuable.” She leaned her head against Bruce’s chest and sighed. “God, this city’s so fucking weird.”

He chuckled. “It’s not all that bad.”

Her fingers gingerly ran through his hair lazily. “How was your workout? Any more injuries?”

“It was fine and no, not a scratch on me.”

“And last night’s scratches? They’re ok?”

“Perfectly so.” His smile softened. “Thank you.”

“For what?” “For being you. For taking care of me.”

She smiled. “Happy to help.”

“What would I do without you?”

She lifted her head up. “Fuck half the Moscow ballet?”

Bruce shook his head, laughter escaping his lips. “I love you, Demetria.”

“I love you too, Bruce.”

He kissed her forehead before turning his eyes to the TV. “ ‘I Love Lucy’?”

“I couldn’t go back to sleep.”

She reached over for the remote on the bed when Bruce grabbed it first. He turned up the volume a bit, pulling Demetria closer to him. She threw one arm over him as they watched the show together.

Bruce knew his days as Batman would eventually end and when they did, he couldn’t wait to spend a normal night curled up with his wife watching a mindless show.

Those days were coming soon, at he least hoped they would.

#bruce wayne x oc #bruce wayne imagine #batman fanfic #batman #bruce wayne x reader #christian bale #christian bale x reader #bruce waye #the dark knight fanfiction #the dark knight #the joker #tdk trilogy #tdk #bruce wayne fluff #bruce wayne smut #batman x reader

277 notes · View notes

shoutobabes · 3 years

Text

An excerpt from an OCxShouto fic I’ve been working on:

———————————————

Todoroki Shouto hated formal events.

He had attended enough Hero Awards Galas as a young child with his father to soil his opinion of them nearly two decades later, a pro hero in his own right. But tonight was not about his father.

Still.

He drummed his fingers on the fine linen tablecloth and watched as the drink in his glass vibrated slightly with each tiny impact. Taptaptap. Taptaptap. Shouto allowed a small trail of frost to travel up the table inching toward the glass. The bottom began to dust with frost. The water at the bottom began to freeze. Taptaptap. Taptaptap. Taptap--

“Will you stop fucking doing that?”

Shuoto whipped his head up to see a pair of angry red eyes glaring at him. Bakugo drove an accusatory finger toward Shoto’s glass.

“You’re like an antsy kid,” Bakugo huffed. “I don’t wanna be at this shit-parade any more than you do, icy hot, but you don’t see me blowing up the fucking finger cakes, do you?”

“I’m not taking Kacchan’s side, Todoroki,” Midoriya spoke up from his seat between the two feuding heroes. “But you do certainly seem on edge and, well,” Midoriya gulped and glanced toward the stage. “Our category is two away and I’m nervous enough as it is.”

Shouto blinked. “I can stop tapping the table.”

“Yeah, and then you’re gonna start shaking your leg like you were half an hour ago before you started tapping the goddamn table,” Bakugo crossed his arms and faced back toward the stage. “Take a fuckin’ walk. Do a guided meditation in the men’s room, for all I care, but if you stay here you’re gonna piss me off.”

Shoto turned to face Midoriya, often the peacekeeper in these altercations.

Midoriya seemed to be very interested in his napkin.

“Alright, then,” Shouto stood and fixed his tuxedo jacket. “I can take a hint.”

“It’s nothing personal,” Midoriya waved his hands while shaking his head. “It’s just--”

“He gets it, Deku,” Bakugo rolled his eyes.

“Sorry,” Midoriya said, sheepishly.

“I’ll be back in time for the award announcement,” Shouto said as he walked away.

A walk was probably for the best.

Shouto wove his way through tables and chairs full of politely clapping patrons and pro heroes who were practically unrecognizable in their finery outside of their suits and gear. He recalled his father complaining about being forced into a tuxedo for these types of events. His mother would always wave them off wistfully, recounting times when she had been the No. 2 hero’s plus one while Fuyumi cried at being left behind and Natsuo would mope and pretend he didn’t care. Touya would just sit and stare. Until he didn't.

So lost in thought was Shouto, that he didn’t notice the girl in front of him until it was too late. Suddenly, he was staring at the empty glass in his hand trying to make his brain connect it to the growing wet spot on the front of the girl's dress.

Their eyes locked for a moment of shocked silence; silver and turquoise meeting violet eyes widened. A beat passed. Shouto regained his composure.

“My humblest apologies,” he finally said with a small bow. “I have no excuse. I wasn’t looking where I was going and I—“

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” the girl shook her head with a small smile. She had long, silver-white hair parted cleanly down the middle. “Not to brag or anything, but I’m kind of a dry cleaning expert.”

She lifted an arm and made a grabbing motion over her chest with one hand and Shoto watched as the spilled champagne drew itself out into a bubble of liquid. It hovered for a moment, then with a flick of the girl’s wrist, it flew into the pot of a nearby plant.

“Looked a little thirsty,” the girl said with a conspiratorial wink. “No harm no foul. Looks like you could use another drink, though.”

“Isn’t that my line?” Shouto raised a slight brow, elemental quirks were always fascinating and he met so few others with quirks like his. “I’m the offender in the situation, I feel as though it’s only right I’m the one buying you a drink.”

“Well then, it seems we’re in agreement,” the girl gestured to the corner of the room where the bar was set up. “We’re heading to the bar.”

Shouto nodded as the pair made their way over. He gave the girl a once-over; she seemed familiar but he didn’t recognize her as a hero in the Musutafu region or anywhere in Japan for that matter. She wore a simple, pale lavender gown.

“Gin and tonic,” Shouto told the bartender before nodding to his companion. “And for you?”

“Could I get a lemonade?” She asked, with a tilt of her head. “Oh, and if you have some sort of strawberry syrup could you mix that in, too? Thanks.” She grinned at the bartender as he nodded before walking away. She turned to Shouto who admittedly, realized he looked surprised.

“You don’t drink?” He asked.

“Can’t stand the taste,” she replied.

“I see.”

She studied him for a moment. Shouto felt as if he were under a microscope, being picked apart like a bacteria. Normally being analyzed like this would make his skin crawl, yet there was no malicious intent behind the girl’s eyes. Merely a curiosity, as if he were a puzzle she was trying to solve. The bartender brought over their drinks and the girl took a sip before suddenly breaking the silence.

“Why do you look like a turkey come late November?”

“I’m sorry?” Shouto squinted in confusion.

“My bad, I forget I’m not in the States anymore,” she self-consciously tucked hair behind her ear. “I meant to say, why do you look like this is the last place in the world you want to be?”

“The states?” Shouto asked. “Is that where you’re from?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I suppose, technically.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Well to be fair, you never answered my question.”

“And what was your question?”

“Why do you look so miserable to be here?”

Shoto grimaced delicately and took a gulp of his drink. “Ask any other question and I’ll answer that instead.

“Ah, so this is off limits, then,” the girl waggled her eyebrows. “Fine. How about...what brings you here tonight?”

Shoto sighed. That, at least, he could answer.

“My agency is up for an award tonight,” he said. “My partners and I are here in the hopes we receive it.”

“An award! How exciting,” the girl gave Shoto a funny look, as if she knew something he didn’t. “I’m sure you’ll win.”

“It would be an honor,” Shoto said slowly, feeling as if he were being left out of some joke. “To know that the people we are striving to serve believe in us so much.”

“Of course,” the girl nodded. “Your turn. For questions, that is.”

Shoto hummed in response as he took another sip. “I’m assuming that inquiring about the reason you’re drinking lemonade is...off limits?”

The girl sipped her own drink through the small straw that had come with it. “You learn quick! Beauty and brains, the ladies must love you.”

Shouto’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “I wasn’t aware that having one precluded the occurrence of the other. Brains and beauty are two separate elements, their probability of occurring are in no way reliant upon the occurrence of the other.”

“Absolutely true, shame on me for assuming,” she nodded seriously. “But I didn’t hear a question there. Do you forfeit your turn?”

“No,” Shouto protested. “Fine. What do you mean you’re ‘technically’ from the States?”

“Oh, that,” she waved her hand absentmindedly. “I was born there, and I did spend my high school years there, but I spent most of my childhood here and this is where all my fondest memories are from.”

“I see,” Shouto replied.

“I think of myself as being from Kanagawa,” she clarified. “Coastal. I was always fond of the ocean.”

“Did that have to do with your quirk?” Shouto asked, recalling the way she had manipulated the liquid from her dress.

The girl opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off by sudden loud cheering from the other side of the ballroom.

“That’s right folks— the award for Best Upcoming Agency goes to Plus Ultra! The hero agency run by graduates of our very own U.A. High School! Please give a hand to the heroes Deku, Dynamight, and Shouto as they come up to collect their award.”

“Shit,” Shouto cursed. He had promised Midoriya he would be back in time. “My apologies again, but I need to go immediately.”

“More apologies,” the girl joked, finishing off her drink. She set it on the bar next to Shouto’s half finished one. “Run along and don’t miss your big award!”

Shouto was already halfway across the ballroom. As he joined his partners on stage, Midoriya was at the microphone holding the award and delivering a speech of gratitude. Bakugo elbowed Shouto as discreetly as he was capable of doing anything discreetly and shot him a dirty look for being late.

“I deserve that,” Shouto whispered.

“Damn right,” Bakugo hissed.

“—in conclusion, we would just like to thank you all from the heart of the Plus Ultra Agency. We could not do this without your continued support and we will continue to go above and beyond to keep you safe! Plus Ultra!” Midoriya smiled brightly as he finished his speech.

The three posed on stage for a few quick photos, then stepped down.

“Todoroki, is everything all right?” Midoriya asked immediately. “It’s unlike you to be late.”

“My apologies,” Shouto cringed inwardly, he had apologized too many times tonight. The words were starting to ring hollow to even his own ears. “I was taking a walk when I accidentally bumped into—“

“Me, actually,” the girl from earlier materialized from the crowd behind Shouto as she stepped forward. “Literally, in fact.”

“Ms. Kagawa!” Midoriya gasped. “I had no idea you would be here tonight, I’m so sorry! I would have said hello earlier.”

Shouto blinked. How did Midoriya know her?

“Please, no formalities,” Kagawa shook her head. “Call me whatever you prefer, it’s just nice to finally meet you all.”

That’s when it clicked. Shouto recalled a team meeting from the month before.

———————

“Why are we bringing in some random chick, again?” Bakugo groaned, putting his feet up on the table from where he was sitting in the conference room. “We don’t need any extra help, hell, I could run this place alone if I wanted to!”

“Well, it’s like I said,” Midoriya replied patiently. “We did great for it being our first year as full heroes running our own agency together. But if we want to keep growing and getting better, we’ll need more than a few sidekicks and interns. We’re going to need another pro to help carry the weight and round out patrols. I thought we all agreed?”

“We did,” Shouto didn’t look up from his paperwork. “Bakugo conveniently chose to forget.”

“Fuck off, icy hot,” Bakugo said. “Whatever. At least this chick seems like she could give some of these thugs a run for their money. Wasn't she like, some big deal in America?”

“She was,” Midoriya clicked his pen nervously. “She’s had a, uh, difficult road. I’m hoping we’ll be able to help her as much as she’ll help us. Or at least that’s the plan. She won’t be here for another couple months, she’s wrapping up her personal business I think.”

“Mm,” Shouto intoned, absentmindedly.

—————————-

Shouto cursed himself for not paying more attention to important meetings. Yet, none of them had expected her so early.

“We weren’t expecting you so soon,” Midoriya said nervously, voicing Shouto’s thoughts. “You weren’t due for ah, another month?”

“You’re right,” Kagawa said sheepishly. “I closed in on an apartment here sooner than expected and, well, wanted to just get on with it.”

“Of course,” Midoriya nodded. “Ah, but we should do formal introductions!”

“Yes, right,” Kagawa nodded with a smile. “Well I already know you from our correspondence! Midoriya Izuku, hero name Deku, a pleasure.”

Midoriya smiled and they shook hands.

“Bakugo Katsuki, hero name Dynamight,” she cracked a lopsided grin. “I’ve heard...explosive things.”

“Shitty joke,” Bakugo shook her hand. “People only say the best shit about me.”

“Obviously,” Kagawa nodded before turning to Shouto. “And of course, we’ve already been acquainted. Todoroki Shouto, hero name Shouto, a pleasure.”

Shouto shook her hand. She had a firm grip. “I’ve made...better first impressions.”

“No, I enjoyed it,” Kagawa said. “It was genuine. You had no cause to act unnaturally to make a good first impression. It was...refreshing.

“That’s a polite way of saying he fucked up,” Bakugo chuckled.

She smiled. “Now for me, I suppose. Kagawa Ren, hero name Kaguya. But you’re hiring me, I’m sure you know.”

“We’re really excited to have you!” Midoriya said, beaming. “My, uh, my friend Uraraka--”

Bakugo barked out a laugh and Shouto suppressed a small smile.

Midoriya began to sweat. “Anyways, um, she- she couldn’t make it tonight because she had to go visit her parents but she’s been excited to have another female hero around. She says our agency is too filled with testosterone.”

“Sounds like me and Uraraka will get along swimmingly.” Kagawa assured.

“Are we still getting drinks to celebrate?” Bakugo said impatiently. “I told Kirishima he could meet us at that shitty bar we always go to.”

Midoriya ran a hand through his hair. “Uh, yeah, yeah we are, just, I wanted to talk with Kagawa about some details really quick.”

Bakugo rolled his eyes. “And we can’t do that at the bar? She can come, it’s her celebration now too, or whatever.”

“Just tell Kirishima he can meet us there in thirty,” Midoriya pleaded. “I’ll make it quick. Here, Kagawa, why don’t you walk with me back to our table? I’ll grab everyone’s things and we’ll meet Bakugo and Shouto by the front.”

Kagawa nodded and raised two fingers in a peace sign as means of saying goodbye to the other two heroes as she and Midoriya headed back to the table in conversation.

Shouto looked back at Bakugo who was busy texting.

“I suppose we should head toward the front,” Shouto said uncertainly.

“Yeah, whatever,” Bakugo clicked his phone off and shoved it in his pocket. “So, you talked to her.”

“I did.”

Bakugo rolled his eyes. “Talking to you is like pulling teeth. What did you think of her?”

“I thought she was smart,” Shouto replied simply. “It seems like she’ll make a strong addition to our team.”

“That’s boring shit,” Bakugo huffed. “If Midoriya hired her then I’m sure she’s professional as fuck but don’t wanna spend my time around some shitty boring suit. So, is she gonna be annoying or not?

Shouto sideyed Bakugo as they turned and began walking toward the front. Social interaction had never been his strongest suit. Most interactions he felt like he was a step behind, or focused on the wrong thing, or someone would say something and he would think they were serious only to realize there was a second, different meaning attached. Mostly, he thought conversations were a bit of a minefield, especially with the wrong kind of person.

He thought back to the way Kagawa had studied him. No judgement, just-- curiosity. The good kind. Not like reporters who were always hungry for photos, desperate to know about his love life, dying to hear what restaurant he best liked to dine at so they could stalk him there later as well. No, her curiosity reminded him of when he and his siblings used to go play by the creek near their house as children, before Endeavor began isolating Shouto for training. They would freeze the water in the middle of summer and slide around, pulling frogs and turtles out from frost-covered hidey holes. One day in particular, they had found a small family of deer. They all sat very still by the edge of the water and waited patiently as the fawns ambled down for a drink under the watchful eye of their mother. One fawn had gotten so close to Shouto that their noses nearly touched, and he could smell the breath of the little thing, sweet and springy. He’d looked in its eyes and saw them searching his face. What it found, he did not know.

That had been the last summer of freedom.

“I don’t think she’ll be boring,” Shouto finally said.

“Another stunning review from half and half,” Bakugo rolled his eyes and crossed his arms as the boys came to a halt in front of the entrance to the hall. “She better come to get drinks with us or I’ll think she’s a stiff.”

Shouto slid his eyes back over to the ballroom where Midoriya and Kagawa stood, gathering jackets and talking.

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see,” he said.

#todoroki shouto #bnha shouto #mha oc #shouto x you #shouto x reader #shouto x y/n #Shouto fanfic #bnha todoroki

12 notes · View notes

cutesuki--bakugou · 4 years

Text

Sweet, Like Daisies

Pairing: Usagiyama Rumi (Miruko) x Gender Neutral Reader

Story Rating: Teen

Genre: Fluff / Humor

Story Warnings: Some cursing and flirting, but mostly just cuteness that could rot your teeth.

a/n: This is my art of the bnharem Discord server SFW collab, with the theme of Flowers! I decided to base my part around Daisies, which represent innocence. Rumi can be a cute and fluffy bunny just as much as she can be super fierce and I love her to death. This story also marks my beginning of writing for characters other than Bakugou! I will be posting them on this blog. If there’s anything you’d like to see, lmk! (♡´౪`♡)

Thank you so much to everyone in the server for this wonderful experience! I had so much fun and I can’t wait for the next one!

*｡Collab Masterlist *｡

--Full art piece--

“Let’s go, let’s go! Don’t tell me you’re all tuckered out already!”

“Rumi, you gotta- oh damn, my legs are on fire! What is with this hill?!”

Coming to a stop as you pulled yourself up onto a boulder jetting out of the hillside, you flopped to sit onto your butt, rubbing your burning thigh vigorously. It was a miracle that you had even made it this far, your body not exactly used to these physically challenging hikes that your girlfriend just loved to drag you on. They were easy for her, considering that she was not only one of the top pro heroes in the country, but her quirk gave her incredibly strong legs and just overall physical strength. Her bunny legs allowed her to hop over any difficult obstacle, but you? All you could do was drag yourself along, barely keeping up with her by the skin of your teeth.

“Don’t be a wimp! You’re almost there!” Squatting down at the edge of her current perch, Rumi had that typical wicked and expectant grin on her face, a few loose strands of her white hair falling around her forehead and cheeks. “You got this, Carrot!”

“Carrot… Out of all nicknames, why did you have to pick that one.” With a huff, you pulled yourself up to your feet, using the roots and rocks to help you up the steep incline.

“Oh, because I could just eat you up, of course!” Rumi gave a teasing scrunch of her nose, one of her long rabbit ears giving a twitch in satisfaction of her response. You, however, immediately grew embarrassed, losing your footing. Scrambling to catch yourself, you got secure again before turning your glare up towards her, your face burning fiercely as she laughed at your reaction. She had a talent for making you so embarrassed you could barely stand it, but really, who could blame you?

Rumi was witty and intelligent. Confident and strong. Beautiful and caring. There wasn’t an ounce of timidness in her, which is not what people would expect when they hear the word ‘rabbit’. They would think quiet, reserved, innocent, fearful, and adorable. She was adorable, to be sure, but none of those other qualities showed themselves. Actually, they showed themselves in you.

Before you had met Rumi, you were very shy, easily overwhelmed and lacking in confidence. And still, somehow, this bright and extravagant woman had taken great interest in you, building you up higher and higher until you were finally beginning to see the sun for the first time in so many years. She pushed you to better yourself, to grow stronger and happier in your own skin, and although what she encouraged was hard, it was worth every moment and struggle.

Even if she could make you so flustered you’d want to go hide under a rock sometimes.

“Rumi! Stop that, don’t try to embarrass me while I’m climbing, I could fall!”

“You dumbass, ya think I’d let you fall? Never!” When you finally got close, Rumi reached down and took hold of your forearm, waiting until you got your own grip on hers before she helped to hoist you up. Her effortless strength astounded you as always, but you didn’t have much time to admire it, as she began to move down the past the instant you were steady on your feet. “C’mon, Carrot, move that tush!”

Sighing heavily in exhaustion, you forced your burning legs to walk forward, wiping your dirt stained hands on your similarly dirtied khaki shorts. “We’re almost to a resting point, right?”

“Yes. There’s a nice little clearing here, we can take a break!” Rumi lifted her arms up over her head, giving a drawn out and satisfied groan as she stretched. Nestled at her lower back, her white fluffy tail puffed out and shook in the same moment, bringing a smile to your lips. She was just so incredibly perfect, and you couldn’t help but feel so lucky.

After walking for a while in silence to enjoy the sounds of nature, Rumi came to a stop, starting to maneuver her way through the trees and brush. “We have to go off the path a bit. Watch out for spiders ‘n shit. And stinging nettle. I’m not gonna rub that ointment all over your body if you fall in it again!”

Remembering the painful experience of falling face first into a batch of stinging nettle the last time you went hiking, you were sure to observe your surroundings thoroughly before following her. The brush and twigs scratched and poked your legs uncomfortably, but your thick hiking boots helped you to trudge through it without much problem. When you finally breached the edge of the forest into the clearing, you had to squint a bit from the brightness of the morning sun, bringing a hand up to shield your eyes.

When your eyes finally adjusted, you found yourself standing at the edge of a large field of wildflowers and tall grass, which swayed with the cool spring breeze. It felt so heavenly against your hot and sweaty skin, and the brilliant view of the hills and trees in the distance brought a smile to your lips. Being out in the wilderness wasn’t exactly your favorite thing, but you could admit that it truly was beautiful.

“How’s this for a resting spot, eh?” Rumi quite literally knocked you back into reality with a rough, playful nudge to your side, grinning up at you. “Will this do, your highness?”

“Hey, don’t patronize me like that! I get tired, I don’t have thighs of steel like you do.” You took her hand tenderly in yours as she grabbed it, your fingers lacing instinctively.

“Excuses! C’mon, let’s sit under that tree, it has shade.” Leading you forward as always, Rumi nearly had a skip in her step, her white hair bobbing in its high, messy ponytail. The tree that was chosen was a lonely one, growing out in the field alone. With all the extra room, the roots were large and snaked in and out of the ground like tentacles, and lush green leaves were at full bloom. It was comfortable and beautiful.

Shrugging off your pack, you rested it up against the tree trunk next to Rumi’s, pulling your water bottle out of the side pocket to take a healthy swig. “This really is a nice area, Rumi. How’d you find it?” Sitting down in the grass beside her, you offered her the water bottle, which she took.

“I’ve been hikin’ this trail awhile. It’s challenging, so not a lot of losers try to take it, only those that are strong enough.” After taking a sip of water, Rumi leaned her head back, squeezing the bottle so water trickled lightly onto her face and top of her head. “It is warm today, though! Especially for being spring.”

“Ah, well I can relate to those losers, I shouldn’t be on this hill either-- ACK, hey!” Suddenly, you were sprayed in the face with water, perpetrated by a very annoyed bunny.

“Don’t belittle yourself like that! Be proud, you killed that fucking hill!”

Grumbling from defeat, you ran your hand down your face to wipe the water away, glowering at your lover as she glared right back up at you with a pout that boarded on adorable. Calming down, you smiled, nodding in agreement. “Ah, sorry, sorry. You’re right. I should be proud of myself.”

“You should! My baby isn’t a loser.” Leaning up, Rumi placed a rough kiss against your cheek, her hand pressing against your other to make sure you couldn’t flee. You’d never want to, of course, so you let her punish you with the kiss, which was followed by a much more tender one before she set you free.

Smiling, you turned your attention to the grass around your legs, which was peppered with daisies and dandelions. You felt so calm and at peace in the silence of nature, and with your lover by your side, you were feeling quite… soft. That’s the only way you could describe your current emotions, so you soaked in it for a while, leaning back and supporting yourself with your hands.

After a while of peace, you leaned forward again to give your arms a rest, turning your attention back to the flowers around you. Carefully, you began to pluck the daisies out of the ground, making sure to keep their stem long. As if in a trance, you slowly began working on winding the stems of the flowers together, growing too focused on your work and the rustling of the wind to notice that you were being watched closely. In fact, you were so startled by Rumi’s voice that you jumped, nearly crushing your delicate flower arrangement in surprise.

“What’cha makin’ there, Carrot?”

“Erm… uh, a flower crown. I guess?” You brought both ends of the strip of flowers together to check the size, finding that it still wasn’t quite long enough to fit an adult head. “I used to make them as a kid. It’s been a while since I’ve been near so many daisies.”

With another sly smile, Rumi leaned against your side, resting her head on your shoulder. “Oooh, how grossly cute and sweet! Should I start calling you Baby Carrot?”

“W-what?! No, no, don’t do that, you’re gonna make me want to puke. Why don’t you call me something normal like… babe or hun.”

“Oh, don’t be such a killjoy!” After giving you a playful nudge to the arm, Rumi turned her attention to the flowers around you both, plucking a daisy from its stem and bringing it up to her nose. “Y’know, for such a cute little flower, they have an awful smell. But damn, they’re tasty.” To your horror, Rumi chomped the entire bloomed flower head off the stem, making you yelp in disgust and cover your mouth.

“Rumi! That’s a wildflower! You can’t just eat it!”

“Hm?” Rumi looked up at you curiously, batting her long lashes in confusion. “I eat flowers all the time. I love their taste! They aren’t bitter to me at all. Restaurants sell them!”

“Y-yeah, but baby, they wash them first at least…” You felt your stomach churn as she picked up another flower, dousing it with water from your bottle. “Rumi! Don’t be a smart ass!”

“What, this one’s not for me!” Smirking, she held the now soggy and dripping flower up to your lips, making you cringe backwards with a sour expression. “Open up!”

“No way!” You covered your mouth with your hand, knowing that she would shove it in at the first opportunity. “There’s no way I’m eating a flower! At least not one that hadn’t been cleaned or anything properly! You have the stomach of a rabbit, you can handle it, I can’t!”

“What, you scared of getting worms?!” She poked you on the nose with the flower, leaning more against you. “You won’t get anything that’ll kill you!”

“I would, I just know it!” With a final wave of your hand, Rumi took the flower away, tossing it over her shoulder and back into the grass. “You wasted it?”

“Putting water on it made it soggy, I ain’t gonna eat that! Hey, show me how to make one of these!” Scooting around to face you, Rumi gazed down curiously at the still unfinished crown in your lap. “This shit is stupid; it has to be easy!”

“Well, it’s kind of hard, you have to be pretty gentle with the flowers. Here,” You plucked four daisies with a long stem, handing them to her before you plucked two more of your own. With detailed instruction, you showed her exactly how to twist and wind the stems, but you could see that she was already struggling with the delicate procedure. The frustrated pout was permanently plastered on her fair face, nose scrunching and eyebrows furrowed. Still, she was trying and as focused as she could be.

“How the hell are you doing that so perfectly?!” Rumi eventually snapped, leaning over you a bit to really see your almost finished crown up close. “Look at that! It almost looks fake!”

Laughing softly, you finished off by connecting the two ends of the crown together, holding it up a bit to look at it clearly in the sun. “I told you, I’ve done this before. It’s not that big of a deal, babe. Here,” Turning to face her, you plopped the flower crown onto her the top of her head between her ears, making them flatten out backwards in immediate embarrassment and the tickling of the flowers against the sensitive skin.

Cheeks flushing dark, Rumi scoffed, glaring up at you as she resisted the urge to reach up and rip it off. “Get this thing off of me, I’m not some damn fairy!”

“Aw, but you look so adorable with it on.” You couldn’t resist the wide smile on your lips, especially as Rumi only grew more flustered, her ears snapping up in agitation and making the flower crown bend a bit, though it didn’t fall from her head. “It just makes you look so cute and innocent!”

“I’m not!” Rumi scooted herself closer so that she was sitting right up against your crossed legs, letting hers rest on either side of your hips. “Call me cute and innocent again and I’ll make you regret it!” As if it were a punishment, Rumi reached up and plopped her sloppy excuse for a flower crown onto the top of your head. The instant it landed, it broke apart, showering you with crumpled daisies. Unable to help it, you began to laugh, which only grew harder as Rumi began to rage and stutter. “Dammit! Fucking flowers! This is why I just eat the damn things! Stop laughing at me, Carrot!”

Covering your mouth, you gave a defeated shake of your head, holding your other hand up in defense. “I’m sorry, Rumi, it was just too funny! And so cute!”

Before you could even find the time to react, you were tackled down into the grass, immediately smothered by the feral animal before you. Latching onto her instinctively, you were at her mercy as she gripped your face with both hands, squishing your cheeks and forcing your lips to pucker, even as your laughter continued.

“I told you! You call me cute, you’re gonna die! I-” Suddenly, the flower crown slipped off the top of her head and onto your face, framing it perfectly. The shock silenced you immediately, staring up at Rumi in surprise. She was just as perturbed as you were, but after a moment her wonder broke into a grin, chuckling as she released your cheeks. “Look who’s all cute and innocent now! Ya dork.”

Not bothering to remove the crown, you smiled softly, reaching up to caress Rumi’s cheeks tenderly. “No one in this entire world is cuter than you, baby.”

“Says the person with a flower crown on their face and daisies stuck in their hair. Hey!”

Rumi’s ears parted again as you took the crown off your face, placing it carefully on her head again to where it wouldn’t fall. This time, instead of getting angry, Rumi’s cheeks flushed again, and a cheeky smile stretched across her lips. “You aren’t gonna give up, are ya?”

“Never. Besides, innocence is a great look for you. Just please don’t eat anymore daisies.”

“Nah, flowers aren’t all that appetizing. I think I’m in the mood for some Carrot, instead.”

#bnha imagines #bnha scenarios #rumi #usagiyama rumi #miruko #mirko #bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha fanfiction #fanfiction #miruko x reader #rumi x reader #personal #collab

201 notes · View notes

kingkatara · 3 years

Text

Girl Meets Waitress: Opening Up

Disclaimer: I don’t own Waitress. I don’t own Girl Meets World. This is a fanfiction written just funsies.

Looking around, seeing the same things every day brings

Maya woke up to darkness every morning. Her eyes peeled open after a mere six hours of sleep and were met with nothing. For a split second, there was only darkness in front of her, around her, within her. It was then that she and the world had their daily battle of wills, the war over who would break the stillness first and stir the other into motion. And always it was Maya who surrendered. Her eyes would adjust to the low light and a hot puff of breath would warm her face, still partly under the covers to avoid that first shiver of a New York morning that was always chilly no matter the season. She sat up in bed and surveyed the smoking battlefield of her bedroom, taking in her losses from the night before and wondering which of them would show on her face for the rest of the day. Beside her, the world’s weapon lay dormant, harmless unless she were to challenge the demands for peace. If she came quietly as the world beckoned her, he would slumber on. She didn’t look at him as she swung her legs over the bed and tapped her toes against the smooth hardwood floor beneath her. Her white flag of surrender was the tug on the long curtains that shielded the sunlight from shining into the apartment through the wide window on her side of the bed. This was her cry out into the world that she would not fight. And then the day would begin.

Wake up, use the toilet, brush the teeth, comb the hair. Put the hair up. Makeup over the dark circles and fading yellow-green lump above the eyebrow. Panties, bra, uniform. Socks, then shoes. Purse. Nametag out of the purse and on the uniform. Every day, the routine was the same. There was ease to it, but it would be a lie not to admit that it was also repetitive. She didn’t know what her life was supposed to be like, but she couldn’t help feeling that it wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was as though there was some missing ingredient that she had long ago forgotten to include in the recipe, which always left the dish edible, but unsatisfying. A ritual she had not shared with anyone in the six years of living in her Lower East Side apartment was that the last thing she did before giving in to the reality of her life was standing at her window and waiting for the first rays of light to peek over the buildings in her neighborhood. She never watched the sun fully rise up into the sky. She simply waited for it to appear and then raced it to work. She never won.

The ride across town on the subway would have been daunting at best for a tourist, but for a born New Yorker like Maya, the odd little scenes playing out right before her eyes, even as early as six in the morning, were just as natural to the routine as tying her shoelaces. On the way to work, swaying gently along with the subway car, Maya would pull out her sketchbook (which wasn’t a sketchbook at all, but a pathetic server’s pad on which she took down her orders) and mimic the likeness of what she saw and sometimes, on her lowest days, what she felt. Today, there was a particularly amusing picture of an eccentric woman with some sort of hat, though Maya couldn’t quite bring herself to call it that. It was tall, a violent shade of purple, and topped with hot pink feathers. These feathers were of great interest to a small little girl, whose mother, wearing the scrubs of a nurse, was snoozing against the window of the subway car. The little girl was standing up on her seat, using the handrail for balance, and blowing on the feathers of the woman’s hat. The woman gave no indication of noticing this invasion of personal space and was instead muttering to herself about some sort of building with her name on it. The two of them were immediately transcribed into her notepad in short, quick lines of ink.

From the subway, she made her way through the streets of the Lower East Side, weaving in and out of passerby with an expression that was as equally bored as it was underground. She didn’t look up at anyone and instead chose to keep her eyes down on her white sneakers. The less she looked open to communication or interest, the greater chance she had of making it to work having avoided any unwanted attention—because yes, some men really were in the mood before seven in the morning. Then finally, there was the diner. Where her life played out day by day, where the routine really began and always finished; the diner was more of a home to her than her own apartment, which, of course, wasn’t really hers at all. But the diner? It was the closest thing to belonging that she felt since being held in the arms of her mother so many years ago. She entered through the door in the back of the building that led to the kitchen.

“Is it a woman thing?”

“Excuse me?”

“The being late. Every damn day. Is it a woman thing?”

“Oh, shove it up your—”

“Good morning! Who’s ready to start the day?”

Of course, no home was complete without its inhabitants. Maya supposed she could have had it much worse when it came down to the universe selecting her partners for this life thing. She didn’t hate the people she worked with every day and she guessed that they didn’t hate her either. With that being said, however…These partners were no picnic either.

There was Zay Babineaux, the cook. All Maya knew about him was that he was from a small town in Texas and he came to New York when he was a teenager. He still had a slight drawl to his snarky voice, the stubborn southern streak within him that refused to be beaten down by the hustle and bustle of the north. He never offered any detail into his personal life, like why he chose to be a cook or how he ended up at the diner, and Maya never asked. When he wasn’t flipping pancakes on the griddle, he could be found grumbling to anyone who would listen (and that was exactly no one) about how nothing in his life made sense and why women were the reason for that. Though he was technically her boss, he and Maya had an ongoing feud over who should be giving who orders within the unhallowed walls of their place of employment.

Riley Lawrence was a young woman of thirty who was made up of sunshine and daisies. She married her high school sweetheart right on the heels of graduation and went to NYU for a degree in political science. A year into law school, she dropped out to start working at the diner in order to care for her husband, Charlie, who had suffered severe brain injuries in a freak bus accident. Though all of her dreams were now wasted, she still smiled like sunshine in the rain and danced like a daisy in the wind. It was for Riley’s sake that squabbles between Maya and Zay were quickly put to bed—neither of them had the gumption to disappoint a soul like Riley’s, who had endured so much already and never uttered a single complaint.

“Me. Thirty minutes ago. Why are you women always late?”

“Perhaps it’s because we know you can’t afford to fire us.” The newest addition to their band of misfits was Isadora, who for some reason allowed them all to address her by her ridiculous surname: Smackle. Even her nametag introduced her as such to the customers. She was a twenty-three year old grad student living the dream that Riley had once chased and for that reason, Maya and Zay tolerated her. It wasn’t that she wasn’t likable; she was nice enough. It was just that Maya had never met anyone who was more tightly wound. Smackle had a particular way of doing things and though the diner had never been cleaner, more organized, and more efficient than when Zay took her on, Maya simply didn’t appreciate changing her way of doing things just to fit Smackle’s compulsive need for order.

“Actually, I can. I don’t own the place. I just run it. I wouldn’t lose anything but the weight of carrying this business if I had it my way and kicked you three to the—"

“Business? It’s a diner. And it didn’t miss us for the fifteen minutes that we were late. But it will miss us for thirty if you keep us from actually doing our jobs with your whining.”

“Alright, you know what? Get out of my kitchen. Get out.”

Snickering, Maya led Riley and Smackle through the swinging door that led into the dining area. Though Riley sighed unhappily as they left Zay to his dramatics, the girls easily fell into their habitual duties for opening up. Riley got to work on the register, counting bills and setting up the front desk. Smackle wiped down each table and sorted the condiments in whatever order made sense to her otherworldly brain. Maya got to work on the pastry display case. The first thing she did every shift was rearrange it so she could display her creation of the day, which was dreamt up sometime before going to bed every night and arriving at work each morning. What made all the elbow grease she put into the job worthwhile was found underneath the diner in its basement: the bakery. Each dessert, particularly the pies, was made from the imagination of her mother. Every dressing coating its recipe, particularly the cakes, was designed from Maya’s. Serving the sacred combination to the diner’s patrons, who had no idea that they were seeing into the very essence of her being with every bite, was the most gratifying thing Maya got to experience in a montage of diner meals that left her secretly hungry for something more. In another life, perhaps Maya would have liked to be an artist. But she was living in this life and if she couldn’t be that, she supposed being a waitress that got to bake the cakes was the next best thing.

“What’s the special today?”

Maya’s fingers twitched towards her apron’s pocket where the sketch of her subway ride lived frozen in time between the pages of her server’s pad. She was planning on using it as inspiration for some kind of cake resembling that crazy old woman’s hat, but Riley’s hopeful expression was especially sweet this morning. Her brows lifted in the direction of her hairline ever so slightly, creating the barest traces of wrinkles that were not yet etched into the still youthful skin across her forehead. Her lips parted in a preciously premature smile of delight. Maya never wanted Riley to know the harsh truth that she did, that hope was for suckers, and so she never let Zay put Riley’s pie on the menu even though it was continuously requested by the regulars. As long as it wasn’t on the menu, Riley still got to hope every morning, for just a minute or two, that that would be the day that her pie was the special of the day.

“Why, Aren’t You a Peach Polka-Dot Peach Pie, of course.” Maya painted on an indulgent smile and admired how Riley beamed sunlight at her.

“Peaches, you shouldn’t!”

“Too late, I already did. Today’s a good day to serve everyone a little Riley, I think. I know I could use a little of whatever it is you got.”

“Well, I’m happy to share.”

“Go check the stock downstairs and make sure we have enough kosher salt. We were running a little low the last I checked and I don’t think Zay is ordering new stock until tomorrow.” Riley abandoned the hostess station where she was organizing the trio’s sections as if they ever changed and raced downstairs into Maya’s sanctuary.

“When am I going to get a pie made for me, Maya?” Smackle asked without accusation, just curiosity.

“Maybe it’s not a pie. Maybe it’s a cake. Or a cookie.” The blonde answered thoughtfully, to which Smackle snorted and shot her a grin from across the room.

“I am at least a brownie by now, thank you very much. How did Riley end up with a peach pie anyway? Because she calls you Peaches?”

“Nah, she calls me peaches because that’s what the pie is.” Maya explained, “I don’t know, she’s just so nice. It kind of threw me off when we first met, being New Yorkers and all. When she learned about how I make the desserts and dress them up, a peach pie is the first thing I thought of when she asked me what kind of dessert she would be. The polka-dots came later when I thought about how she dresses out of uniform. That’s what makes it Riley.”

Smackle hummed in understanding. “And what makes it yours, with that kind of personal touch. No one can bake like you can, huh?”

“No one but my mother. I just try to do it like she would.” Maya answered with a casual shrug and brushed her hands against her apron as she finished up with the display case. Smackle was obviously done with the condiments as she had moved on to adjusting the number of napkins at each table. Maya regarded her for a moment. She wasn’t sure how to say so, but the spectacled girl had unwittingly stirred a feeling of warmth in her chest at the astute (and the very gracious, at that) compliment—the kind of warmth that spread slowly, like a pie crust in the heat of an oven. So she said nothing at all. Maya got through each day by watching the people she saw and jotting her notes down into her art, be it on the dish or on paper. She had never considered that Smackle might do the same. Dimly, she wondered where her coworker took her observations. Perhaps a scholarly notebook; that was presumably what a good NYU student like Smackle would use in her classes at school. Or maybe she just kept it all in that great big brain of hers. It probably was time for Smackle to get her own dessert by now, wasn’t it?

Without Riley around to peer over her shoulder and ask questions, Maya pulled out the server’s pad from her pocket and flicked through its pages until she found her sketch from the subway ride. Some of her glimpses into inspiration never quite revealed their whole picture and without that, she couldn’t transcribe their stories into a cake. Maya had a gnawing ache deep in her gut that this lady and her crazy hat were one of those torturously brief peeks into something special that she would only ever wonder about for the rest of her life. Sighing, she walked over to the hostess stand, tore the sheet from the pad’s binding, and slid the sketch between the thick cardstock page of a menu and its plastic cover. This was the eulogy of all the subway sketches that never went on to become something more. The idea of one of the diner’s patrons finding it out of the blue and seeing what Maya saw, even if it was only for an instant, was exactly what Crazy Hat deserved. She deserved the chance to connect with a stranger who was not looking for her and make them wonder just like Maya did; if she was lucky, that stranger could do something to tell her story more truthfully than Maya ever could.

Riley had returned from the bakery downstairs. “I think we should have enough to get through the day!” She announced joyously, waving a carton of the last of the kosher salt they had left over her head just to show them she was sure.

“Great, but why did you bring it up here?” Maya chuckled, sliding the menu back into the stacks that would be passed around to the customers throughout the day. Riley’s smile faltered for just a second as realization came to her. As quickly as it left, her smile sprung back into place as if it was never gone, albeit the accompaniment of sheepish awkwardness was an endearing new factor in Riley’s sunshine.

“I…I just…I’ll go put this back.”

“No need.” Maya offered her a gentle look of reassurance, the expression well-rehearsed for the times that Riley, feeling especially Riley, looked to her for permission to go on exactly as she was. She did this as though Maya would ever want her to change. “I should probably get started anyway before the morning rush gets in. There’s some crust defrosting in the fridge, but I’ll have to make the filling from scratch. I’ll just bring it back down myself.”

“Well, then get to it! I want my pie!” Riley pitched her the kosher salt that was not even in the same vicinity as her direction, which Maya had to scramble to catch in an almost cat-like maneuver. Smackle made a move to shoo her away in jest, but she was already hurrying along down the narrow spaces between tables to get a move on. She skipped the stairwell leading to the bakery and headed straight for the single bathroom in the back of the building.

She couldn’t get the door open fast enough and she still had to find the dexterity in fingers that were not so nimble as they were when baking to lock it. The kosher salt was forgotten, carelessly thrown to the floor and forced open upon impact with the ground. Hard flakes of it dug into her bare knees as she dropped and flung her head into the waiting toilet bowl. It was the fourth time this week that Maya had emptied her insides at work. She didn’t think that anyone had noticed this theatrical display of her stomach’s hysterics, but if it went on, it would be impossible to keep hidden. She didn’t want to deal with that intervention, because that’s exactly what it would be with those two goofballs for coworkers, and she certainly didn’t want to have to deal with Zay. She didn’t want to deal with any of this, not at all. She didn’t know how. All she knew was the diner, the customers, the girls and the cook. The desserts. All she knew was being a waitress. If Maya added anything more to her plate, it would not be a matter of whether she would break, but when.

#girl meets waitress #girl meets waitress chapter one #girl meets waitress opening up #lucaya #lucaya fanfiction #lucaya fanfic #smarkle #smarkle fanfiction #smarkle fanfic #rilay #rilay fanfiction #rilay fanfic #maya hart #maya hart fanfiction #maya hart fanfic #kingkatara #thekingkatara

14 notes · View notes

sharpen-jadescythe · 3 years

Text

A Little Bit of Ly’vell In My Life

Lord Ly’vell Autumnspire has a real gift for making people fall in love again.

I know what love is. There is someone I have strong feelings for that you all already know about. But they say every time you fall in love, it’s different. Today, it feels like one ‘amour’ of mine, as he would call it, is as deep, as beautifully aqua-blue as her hair, and as all-encompassing, as mighty and unstoppable as the ocean beneath me—let’s say if I was stranded on the raft of life? A lone man orphaned with hardly anything to call his own, trapped on the water’s surface? Yes, she would give me respite from the boiling sun, tempt me to give into the waves, be a merman swimming alongside her beautifully together. Jiroki’s great gift is to let me get lost in that magnificent, stormy soul of hers and transform myself in that way. But this second love with Ly’vell, it’s like the vast sky up above, air flowing in from all over. Carrying birds, pollen and all the infinitesimal stuff of life, salt, or tears—who knows. But it’s all his potential, all the hope of a new love for life in his smile, that takes us high, way up there. The way Ly’vell loves, I could stand on that rocking raft alone, then lift up on my toes and reach, get snatched up and away forever. Actually fly. Far, far off. Perhaps one day, up into the stars. That world of Ly’vell’s love is always above my head and it is as pale and serene as his mane of white hair, snow waiting to fall soft, just for us.

So this is in case you were wondering about my love life right now, if you’ve noticed I was also spending time with a certain handsome someone. Sky and sea, green sea or white sky—however I can get you to understand how there are two people in my heart; and I hope that I’ve come close. Love above me and love beneath. I am delighted by two wonderful people at the moment. And now, it’s time I told you about Ly’vell.

I’m a crazy, hiking, nature-loving Night Elf guy that likes to impulsively get up at o’dark thirty (ask another SI:7 Seal what that means sometime). What was I up to so early in the morning? I have a strong instinct to go hunting some days, and I think I stepped out of the portal in Stormwind, you know the mage tower? Right about at sunrise, I’d say. No other fools like me should have been up, let alone exist in all of Elune’s creation. Or so I assumed. The morning light—like I’d dreamed it, white as snow. And the stained glass windows also in the hall were starting to paint pastels on the floor at our feet. Ours. His fine leather boots, and then my dusky ones. I knew he was a rogue before I even looked at him. You have to get good at these things in a fight, and a part of your mind is always ready when you’re a soldier. But this other Night Elf man’s cologne made me look up his legs in a different kind of way, you know what I mean, and enjoy taking a good long look at him. Tall him and all that gorgeous white hair swept behind his strong shoulders. I let out a breath. We were passing by each other for only a fleeting moment and I had no idea what to say. You know that voice in your head that tells you someone is far too attractive to even bother with because surely they’re already taken or have something better to do? Someone other than you? Well, I’m Sharpen Jadescythe as you know, so I did my typical himbo-fumble-through-anything-at-all.

“Nice blades.”

I meant his daggers. I instantly felt like a complete idiot though because I knew he was a rogue, I felt sure he was, but those were definitely spell-blades. I’m a blacksmith, I make all kinds of weapons but magical ones have always eluded me. You need enchantments, special reagents, an affinity for spells. These intricately patterned, reddish-purple blades hummed with subtle energy that I could now feel between us. The cross guard was somehow split in two. These elegant pieces were one with the blade, yet not. They spun apart, then revolved back in, tight, as if a child were pulling them on a yo-yo string. I must have ended up watching Ly’vell’s hips like a cat. His hand rested lightly over the perfectly matched spell-blade on is right side, where it was hitched into his belt.

I looked up. I think we finally got to swapping our names by then. But Ly’vell was grinning at me like he knew far better what was going on. At the same time, I got the sense that I wasn’t going to get off that easy. Not to make a dirty joke, but seriously--in this barely discernable language that was only starting to build between us two men, a dialect of looks exchanged, resting on a back foot and holding back, the flicker at the edge of a smile, a subtle purr escaping one’s throat, Ly’vell was already telling me that it wasn’t going to be easy and it wasn’t free.

What’s my typical Sharpen energy, what I naturally put out there, then? That I’m completely free and easier than tripping over a rock to fall face-first? Into love, I hope. All I know for sure is that I cleared my throat several times. I wish to goddess I could remember exactly what we said other than it was about a dagger, or who got clever first, then who finally made it about romance or whatever we both honestly wanted to get up to, and at that early in the morning ontop of everything else. Goddess, we both must have been very horny to start falling into steamy conversation in the Stormwind mage tower! I believe it went from a compliment, to my knees feeling weak, and him pressing his advantage fast, somehow standing almost ontop of me, with his height. He must have learned pretty quickly that I was more like prey, not the gruff, outdoorsy ‘you comin’ or what?’ macho man I appear to be at first. I think that enticed Ly’vell. Oh, the tiny hippo-puppy (hippogryph hatchling) perched on my shoulder, a very endearing little detail might have given that away too, that I’m… well, a sweet guy. So there was that grin again, his special grin for me. Now it said, ‘Alright, I’ll make this easy for you, poor thing.’ Little by little, Ly’vell was finding out that I was the one who wasn’t an easy catch, that I hardly ever did things like this. Ly’vell took his time and found a very sophisticated way to communicate that he liked my body, was very much affected by my open shirt and the big gun I had slung over my shoulder. Nice.

“I like big guns too.”

No. I mean, yes. I, Sharpen Jadescythe, actually said that. And if you need even more juicy gossip, I think it was me who pulled himself together and finally asked Ly’vell if he’d like to go get a drink. Though, I think we both knew Ly’vell had laid down a treat and then patiently waited for this sweet, stray himbo to wander in and get it, let himself get petted. A lot like that too, I very nervously attempted to keep a steady walk by Ly’vell’s side through the park, all the way round to the Slaughtered Lamb.

The place was mostly empty which means our getting right down to flirting over drinks was actually pretty shameless. And then I kissed Ly’vell right in front of a passing Stormwind guard on patrol who’d just entered the place to keep an eye on things. Well, what an eyeful he got! I suppose the barman was pretty unphased by his patrons’ shenanigans. I’d survived the scene in the mage tower, and at the bar I managed to hold my own and tempt him with sweet gestures until that big, blaring one. I’m not sure what won Ly’vell over in the end that I wasn’t mutton dressed as lamb, while we canoodled in the Slaughtered Lamb (don’t mind my jokes), but maybe that was it? I guess I really did grab the other man and let him have it. Ly’vell was unbelievably sexy, especially for someone who was simply going about his daily business when we crashed into each other, and I couldn’t take it anymore.

Then, just as fast, I chickened out of anything else and made an excuse to get on with my day soon after that first kiss. But Ly’vell gave me a damned classy black calling card, it was enchanted or something—yes, he was a Highborne spellblade he explained. The card recorded our messages, and he had his own so we could easily keep up in touch, wherever his stray himbo tried to scamper off to.

This man was, still is, the epitome of class. Honestly, I’ve been wanting to keep Ly’vell to myself all this time and not let any of my friends find out about him because Ly is that wonderful. And he’s easy-going, deeply romantic, plain fun. But, I soon made friends with Ly’s husband Nils anyway (I so adore Nils), and now I think we’ve all met each other’s friends, almost. So too late to keep the lovely Ly’vell, my lion, totally to myself. I don’t know if I care about that or anything, anymore. Ever since coming across Ly’vell casually in the tallest tower in the city, at the weirdest hour of the day, over the simplest little thing that could have gone like any half-spoke compliment I’ve shared with a stranger passing by, and that turning into a powerfully romantic encounter? I thought I’d slam into a wall for trying. But no, I feel like he and I have been flying all this time. Eagles. Truly free.

At first, I was wary of jumping into anything with someone. However, Ly chased me down and seduced me with his kindness and steadiness. And a few well-made leathern outfits—I think you guys saw a couple of those pieces? I’ve shared at least one picture of me in that harness. These days, I invite Ly to way too many parties, I even introduced him to Trixany who is one of my closest friends and a complete nut. Goddess, I’m sure he’ll be sick of this glitter-covered himbo who’s got like twelve-hundred pets, and is constantly changing his bright hair before long. But I hope not. Ly’vell is so easy to love, and I’ve also loved him chasing me around, that is, until he caught me.

Ly’vell and I could lay down in a field, hold hands, and see the bright sky wash above us for hours. Hours upon hours, just like that. And be at perfect peace, too.

I know we could.

((I can’t believe Sharpen met someone hot and totally nice in the Mage Tower in Stormwind? Really? That was COOL.))

#sharpen-stories

4 notes · View notes

aminiatureworld · 4 years

Text

Connection

Ship: Geralt x Jaskier

Warnings: None

Premise: Jaskier calls Geralt out for his reticence on hand holding. Geralt is quick to deny this, but even quicker to prove the bard right, as well as prove to himself how much it matters.

Author’s Note: Sorry for the horrendous summary, but I actually quite like this fic. Also two thirds of it was written at midnight, so forgive me for any typos or odd shifts in tone, scene, etc. I realize most of my fanfiction is written between midnight and three am. Maybe I should fix that.

Ao3 link in reblog

“Tell me Geralt, what are your thoughts on hand holding?” Geralt’s head snapped up in confusion as he stared incredulously at his companion. Jaskier was perched on top of the room’s dresser, feet propped up on the windowsill. It seemed a particularly stupid way to sit to Geralt, but he’d long ago learned that the bard didn’t really care what Geralt saw as stupid, or perhaps Jakier did care and then made a concerted effort to do everyone one of those things, Geralt still hadn’t quite decided, having instead accepted that his companion was of a particularly odd, if vaguely endearing, nature. Now though Geralt was very sure the bard must be pulling his leg, perhaps in an effort to spark some new lyric to try on the disgruntled inn patrons, or perhaps out of sheer boredom. Shifting his weight slightly Geralt hoped that this conversation would be as short as possible, for sometimes it felt like a sprint to keep up with the odd, twisted conversational logic that Jaskier often took. Even the opening statement gave the Witcher pause, for who on the Continent thought actively of such things? Grunting he shrugged his shoulders.

“Oh c’mon!” Jaskier prodded, plinking a particularly pretty chord, though Geralt could tell one of strings was becoming a bit shredded; which one he had no idea of course, picking up on subtle things like off strings wasn’t the same as retaining a shred of musical knowledge that Jaskier, seemingly daily, tried to impart on Geralt. Now Jaskier almost looked the same way he did during his teaching attempts, slightly bemused, ready to whip out the chalkboard and textbooks. It was a bit unnerving, and Geralt looked down, not particularly looking forward to where this was going. He could hear the bard swing down and hit the floor, and looked up in time to see Jaskier sit crisscross on the small pile of boards that passed as a trunk-made-table, honestly did the bard know how to sit normally?

“Why,” Geralt stared at Jakier. “do you think of such odd things?”

“Why don’t you think of such normal things!” Jaskier cried out in return, beaming like a child who’d just proved himself right. “Honestly Geralt, who doesn’t think of such things? For someone so grouchy about any close contact, you don’t actually have any rules set out about it. Or any logic. I think I’ve washed your lovely body more often than our two palms have touched. Don’t you think that’s even a little odd.”

“Tch.” Geralt wasn’t quite sure how to respond to this, realizing that the bard was indeed right, Jaskier probably had touched Geralt’s hair more than his hands, but wasn’t quite willing to admit it, for doing so felt oddly like defeat, or perhaps it was just that Jaskier, when proven right, seemed never to shut up about it. Deciding that he’d rather just humor the bard than have this conversation, Geralt sighed and gestured for Jaskier’s hand. Jaskier needed no encouragement, quickly slapping his hand into the Witcher’s. It stung a bit, Geralt had realized that musician hands were quite calloused, and that Jaskier was unnervingly strong, about the second time they’d met, and even now he marveled at it. He squeezed the bard’s hand, thinking it was dry and warm, and oddly comfortable, before letting go. “Happy?” The bard shook his head.

“That won’t prove me wrong Geralt, and you know it. Anyone who has to do something to try to prove they’re right is only admitting failure. Nevertheless,” he patted Geralt on the shoulder, a familiar action, which originally caused Geralt exasperation, but now brought only a sense of fondness for their ritualistic banter, not that he’d admit that, not on his dying breath. Just as he’d never admit that, now that Jaskier brought it up, he realized he’d rather like to hold the bard’s hand more, well, he’d like to do a great deal more than that if he allowed himself to drift down that particular vein of thought, but he was buried approximately one hundred levels too deep in denial to cross that bridge. He could only imagine the months of gloating that would cause, or maybe there wouldn’t be gloating, but rather, a closer relationship, which scared Geralt even more, those close to him had bad track records for fate being kind on them after all. It was better just not to try and approach that bridge, much less cross it. With that thought in mind Geralt stood up.

“Where are you going?” Jaskier exclaimed, flopping onto the bed where Geralt had been sitting moments ago.

“To get information, I want to know what exactly we’re looking for.”

“Wasn’t that it’s a kikimora well established?” Jaskier asked, laughter in his eyes. “Look Geralt, you don’t have to run away from this, I full believe in your ability to hold my hand, give it seven years and I’m sure you’ll have mastered it.”

“Tch.” Geralt grunted, rolling his eyes. Jaskier looked even more pleased, evidently the Witcher would have to say something or cede the board, not that this wasn’t already doing that. He looked for some sort of excuse. “This is for your sake, not mine. I don’t want to hear you complaining the whole way back if you accidentally stumble on it and get your doublet dirty or whatever.”

“Aww, you care.” Jaskier smiled, a smile which flipped something in Geralt’s stomach and made him want to return the gesture, every. damn. time. “Well, this is the price you pay for never revealing your big dark secrets to me, best of luck to you then, and remember you wouldn’t have to do this if you let me go with you.” Geralt barked out a half laugh, half snort.

“Never.” And with that he strode out and slammed the door. Standing for a moment he could hear the bard chuckling inside, he had a nice laugh that one, before focusing on his music. The familiar pizzing and strumming, a melody picked up here and dropped there, random words, some louder than others, escaping the bard’s mind into sound, it made Geralt feel some sort of happiness, to see someone so in their element and so happy. He was glad that Jaskier was happy. Wished he could share in the effusive sunlight of his companion. But to do would be to go down that path in his mind, and a second moon would appear in the sky before that happened.

Geralt came back from his expedition covered in black blood, and buzzed enough off of potions to feel completely overwhelmed by the bustling tavern, filled with sounds and smells and colors which seemed to knock into him like a wave. He stumbled his way towards a seat in the corner, head pounding in a myriad of different ways, as if being both smashed by a hammer and stabbed by a million needles. He felt too nauseous to ask for food or drink, worried he might cause a scene in the middle of high hours. Instead he leaned back and closed his eyes, trying to slow his breathing and get the steel he’d need to make his way upstairs and, hopefully, into a bath.

Slowly he managed to pick his way through the wave of sound, trying to find some sort of lifeline. It was the busiest hours of the night, and Jaskier was in the middle of a performance, singing some sort of song about a highwayman leaving his lover with the promise of gold and riches. Right now the lover was despairing over his disappearance, and Geralt, having listened to this song many times before, reflected on the silliness of the song, for never in real life would a highwayman suddenly save his fair love, declaring that they’d be together in life and death. Still the song was mysterious and repetitive and softer than the usual fare, and Geralt found himself lifted up by it, by Jaskier’s voice, and the slight scratch the strings made when he lifted his hand from them, and for a moment the pain was beaten back by comfort and routine, and by a beautiful voice belonging to a beautiful bard, and, as if by magic, all seemed not overwhelming and gross and dirty, but pure and beautiful and calm.

The spell, of course, lasted not one second when Geralt made to move, and the nausea, pounding, and overwhelmed sensation slammed back into him like a wall. The Witcher gritted his teeth as he lurched up, determined to make it upstairs. His steps were sluggish and slow, and he marveled that if a monster were to come upon him now he’d probably be useless, for the potions were a double edge sword, and when the adrenaline left so did his focus, and the outside came crashing in, blocking out everything that made him good to fight. A feeling of frustration and uselessness came over him, and Geralt nearly slammed into one of the wooden beams. Immediately he could feel the noise shift, and cursed himself. Jaskier’s music had stopped, and Geralt looked up through his haze of discomfort to see the bard rushing to collect his coin, before hurtling towards Geralt. Looking at his companion, Jaskier called to the innkeeper behind the bar, asking for a tub to be brought up along with hot water, before draping Geralt over his shoulder. Geralt grunted, feeling slightly self-conscious, but now wasn’t truly the time to be batting away the bard’s help, and thus the Witcher leaned onto his companion’s shoulder, and allowed himself to be brought up to their room.

“Don’t sit on the bed.” Jaskier said, dumping the Witcher onto the trunk. “I don’t know if we’d be able to get clean sheets by tonight.” Taking off his now bloodied doublet, Jaskier placed his lute, which had been slung onto the front of his chest to keep it from being broken or dirtied, on the windowsill, before sitting down on the trunk next to Geralt. “Now, we wait. Bad round this time?” Geralt grunted in assent, and Jaskier nodded. “How you witchers manage it without companions I don’t know.”

Geralt, who was barely keeping upright, wanting nothing more than to sleep and blackout the truly horrendous head pain and waves of discomfort, dragged his hand towards Jaskier. The bard looked slightly confused, and Geralt grunted once more. “What, do you want something?” Jaskier laughed softly, it came out in a huffed, confused way. Slowly he entangled his fingers into his Witcher’s. “Is this it?” Geralt closed his eyes and hummed, not feeling altogether comfortable to confirm, both in fear of being sick and due to the small voice in his mind jeering him this was very foolish indeed. They kept like this for some time, until a knock on the door notified the pair that a bath was finally ready. Everything was brought in, and nothing was said as Jaskier stripped Geralt, shoved him into the tub, and helped the poor Witcher clean off, as well as preventing a drowning, for Geralt was truly bound and determined to sleep, come hell or high water, in this case the latter being more likely. Still, it was accomplished, and as Geralt stumbled onto the bed, he felt a tugging sense of gratitude and comfort, and something else. “Jaskier?” he called out.

“Yes Geralt?” Came the immediate reply, and Geralt smiled slightly to himself, comforted by the familiar reply, the constant presence.

“I ruined your doublet.” He could here a burst of laughter coming from the bard, all in a heap, a lovely soft sound, amplified by the after effects of the Witcher’s potions.

“That you did.” He heard the reply, heard the bard approach, surprisingly quiet and soft. A hand reached out and Geralt took it. It was warm and strong, calloused in the best way, a symbol of talent and tenacity and beauty. “Well. Perhaps it was Fate.” came a soft reply. Geralt smiled, and as he drifted to sleep, he considered that, though the night had been in many ways a debacle, he was glad that he had an anchor to keep him steady, a hand to guide him through the noise and lights and disorder, and if that remained the case, maybe the world wasn’t so great a cesspit as he thought it to be.

The squat village seemed even squatter from the main path, and as it disappeared into the distance Geralt looked back one last time, not because it was noteworthy in any way, but because it’d become some sort of habit after his leaving of Blaviken, you never knew when someone was going to turn an entire village on you, might as well enjoy an easy parting. It wasn’t something he told anyone, to bring it up was also to bring up a past he’d rather forget, but he still kept onto the tradition. Looking down he noticed Jaskier was smiling slightly, and for a moment Geralt wondered if he was going to bring it up, but instead the bard simply sighed and, kicking in a rock off the path, began to speak.

“So, I see that you didn’t shake hands with your business partner after claiming your sum.” A rush of relief and irritation accompanied the statement, and Geralt huffed, turning so his gaze went straight ahead. They’d not brought up the night of his job, a source of great relief and consternation for Geralt, and now, faced with the idea of talking about it, he realized that it was easier to theoretically be nonchalant and aloof than actually feign disinterest in a topic or event. “Geralttt.” Jaskier was evidently plunging straight ahead into this topic, “We need to talk about it someday. You need closeness! Contact! A friendly handshake every once in a while!”

“Why?” Geralt grumbled.

“Well because it’s not normal for a one night stand to be easier than a handshake. Besides,” he added, grinning mischievously, “I think you’d quite like holding hands, at least every once in a while.” Geralt shifted his weight and looked once more at the bard. Jaskier was looking quite smug, as always, but there seemed to be something behind it, some genuine worry or care, Geralt could tell in the slight way his shoulders were pushed back, the quiver in his smile and in his hands, which were being wrung together. It struck him as odd that anyone should care so much, but evidently Jaskier was one such person. And, though he didn’t like to admit it to himself or anyone else, Geralt did care about Jaskier being happy and content, even if it seemed like a silly reason to be so upset over. If Geralt didn’t care about it, why did Jaskier? Still, the bard could be persistent, and might as well humor him even if he wasn’t, after all, it was just hand holding. Even if it was something that Geralt rather not think about, or talk about. Even if it was easier to pretend he didn’t care.

Swinging off Roach, Geralt gripped the reins with one hand. The other reached out, and slow disentangled Jaskier’s right hand from his left. Looking straightforward again, Geralt grumbled; “There. Happy?”

“Mhmm.” The bard hummed in reply, and gave Geralt’s hand a squeeze. Geralt huffed slightly, but he had to admit, it was nice to hold hands, as if a small, quiet part inside of him was suddenly glad to be connected to someone, to be able to share such a mundane and human connection with another. It passed a spell over him, seemingly, and for a moment he was incredibly content.

“So, what about a kiss?” Jaskier’s playful voice broke through the reverie and Geralt’s stomach took a flip. He went to remove his hand, but Jaskier had a strong grip, and held on. “I’m kidding!” He assured, and laughed slightly. Geralt simply grunted, and tried to ignore the slight burning beneath his cheeks. Still he made no attempt to separate himself from Jaskier again, and, as they walked towards whatever new adventure was awaiting the pair, Geralt reflected that he was quite content where he was, and was grateful for the bard, and for whatever strange humor Fate had been in when linking the two together.

#sorry for such a long time between this and the last fic #to be fair I started a different fic #you can find that one on ao3 cause haven't finished it yet #fanfiction #the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #witcher fanfic #geralt of rivia #jaskier #fanfic #still not much to tag

34 notes · View notes

notapaladin · 3 years

Text

harmonic orchestra (the teocatl edition, pt 2)

yeah these mini-fills are STILL GOING. As always, can also be read on AO3, though I’m posting one a day there and they are not all teocatl. (not all of these are EXPLICITLY teocatl either, but know that they are in my heart)

(teomitl & acatl – a good influence)

In another world, he loses his temper. Tzutzumatzin tells him the springs of Coyoacan are unpredictable at best and dangerous at worse, and he sees only disrespect. How dare anyone tell him what to do? Is he not Emperor? And so he has the lord strangled and goes ahead with his plan, knowing none will gainsay him save for the gods themselves.

And they do. The aqueducts burst, the city floods, and Ahuitzotl—the man whose name signifies a terrifying, thorny water beast, the man chosen to rule Tenochtitlan, the man who led the Triple Alliance from one end of the sea-ringed world to the other—Ahuitzotl drowns. They say it is the wrath of the gods, but his own prickly nature led the way.

In this world, he stops. Waits. Breathes, the way Acatl is always telling him. And makes himself listen, really listen, to what the other man is saying about the springs that will fuel his aqueducts. Now he sees that no offense is meant, that he is truly trying to help and is merely somewhat less than courteous about it—and since he’s quite often been accused of the same, even by Mihmatini who loves him, he can’t be too angry. He’s sworn that he’ll never follow his brother’s hypocrisy.

He still can’t make himself be happy about it, but he sits back on his mat and meets Tzutzumatzin’s eyes. “What do you suggest instead? We must have that water.”

“...Well, Ahuitzotl-tzin…”

The floods still come. A different source for the city’s water helps, but Jade Skirt and the Storm Lord are still not in a helpful or even pleasant mood and there are always sorcerers who want to see him dead. Half of Tenochtitlan goes under, sparing not even his palace, and many die. But it isn’t as bad as it could be—thank the gods, that it isn’t as bad as it could be—and when he’s pulled from the water, it’s only three days until he opens his eyes. Battered, half-drowned, three-quarters lame, and with holes in his memory that will never close, but alive.

Acatl and Mihmatini don’t question why he keeps thanking them. They’re too busy clasping his hands in utter, wordless relief.

(acatl – noir au)

The office was dark. It was almost always dark—he hadn’t been able to afford anything better than this building, and the surrounding skyscrapers blocked all the natural light—but today was worse, because it had been raining for so long he couldn’t even remember how sunlight felt on his skin. Throwing wide the shades and guzzling cup after cup of cheap, terrible black coffee had woken him up earlier, but that had been earlier. The sun had gone down since then, and the flickering gas threw deep shadows. Acatl propped his chin on his hand, stared down at his blotter, and fought to keep his eyes open.

Christ, but he was tired. He thought he’d been born tired. His latest case had angered some very powerful people in the upper echelons of the mayor’s office, and Ceyaxochitl—who’d set him on it in the first place, shamelessly using her power as the unofficial boss of the city’s underworld—had been unwilling to throw him a line as the bigwigs went from simply unhelpful to actively threatening overnight. The viciously angry part of him hoped that Acamapichtli himself would stop by for a chat. Alone. It would give him an excuse to show the bastard why you didn’t threaten his family, no matter who you worked for.

He’d just picked up his notebook—maybe he’d go over the facts of Elueia’s disappearance one more time—when the bell over his door rang.

He set the notebook down.

The young man sidling in was tall and wiry and dark, hair buzzed almost unfashionably short. His eyes were dark too, filled with a nervous energy, and Acatl quickly swept his gaze over him. Brown trenchcoat, the shoulders wet from the rain. Equally brown hat. No visible bulges that could be hidden weapons, but he kept the desk between them anyway as he rose. “What can I do for you?”

The man—more of a boy, really—met his gaze head-on, unafraid. “My name is Teomitl. Ceyaxochitl sent me to help.”

(acatl/teomitl – sea of jade)

Teomitl's patron goddess is Chalchiuhtlicue, She Whose Skirt Is Jade, and sometimes that doesn't matter. Sometimes Teomitl's eyes and skin are just brown, his skin gleaming only with his own good health, and when he bleeds it is only an ordinary shade of red. (He is still beautiful, of course, but it's a beauty Acatl's grown accustomed to. Not that it doesn't still take his breath away! But when you've been loving the same man for so long, at some point you stop being completely dumbstruck when you wake up next to him in the morning.)

This is not one of those times. Teomitl's eyes are jade from end to end, his skin rippling with the green reflections of sunlight seen from the bottom of the lake, and the air is filled with the stench of churned mud and blood and algae. The ahuitzotls he commands are coiled savagery by his side, the clawed hands at the ends of their tails clenching rhythmically as they await his command to go for the eyes of their foes.

He's the most beautiful thing Acatl's ever seen, and it frightens him more than he can put into words.

(And then the battle is joined, and he has just enough time to be thankful that the goddess's power is on their side. He has none at all for fear.)

(acatl & teomitl – modern au: not answering the phone)

"You left me. On. Read."

Teomitl wondered if it was too late to hang up. Claim he'd wandered somewhere with no service. Throw his phone into the street to get crushed by a semi. Anything would be better than this conversation with the man who'd once been his mentor—this conversation he hadn't even intended to have, except that when he'd seen Acatl's name on the caller ID he'd picked it up without thinking, forgetting all the very good and logical reasons why that was a bad idea. "Look, Acatl—"

"You tried to get your brother removed from office and the department closed down, and you left me on read! You left my sister on read! Do you know what that plot of yours would have done to her degree credits?!"

Right. Mihmatini was going to kill him too. He shuddered, but then he remembered why. Through gritted teeth, he snapped back, "My brother is a paranoid megalomaniac who tried to have you fired! If he's left in charge of the city coroner's office, can you imagine the damage he'll do?"

"Yes." Acatl's voice on the other end was a snarl. "But if you'd told me—"

"You would have disapproved. You would have tried to stop me." Acatl was always cautious, never liked taking risks. Teomitl hadn't seen a single way forward that didn't go through him, so he'd removed him from consideration. No matter how much the thought hurt.

"I would have shown you some better ways to get what you want!" He'd never heard Acatl raise his voice before. It made him feel about an inch tall. "You could have confided in me, and I would have tried to help you."

He swallowed once. Twice. He wouldn't start crying now. "I thought…"

Acatl must have picked up on it—damn him—because his voice softened. "You can't run for his office in a few years if you have a criminal record, Teomitl."

He sucked in a long, slow breath. "...I'm going to hang up now. I'll be at that coffee place on your corner in half an hour."

That was probably enough time for a minor breakdown.

(acatl – a nice day where things go well)

The sun is shining, and for once he has time to enjoy it. He’s been up for a long time—there was a vigil the night before, and they’d needed their High Priest—but he’s not tired. Not enough to pass out yet, at any rate. No, now he’s going to make his devotions to the gods, grab a bite to eat, and...well. There’s nowhere in particular he has to be this morning. Maybe he’ll take a walk.

The temple kitchens furnish him with a delicious tamale. The breeze kicks up as he leaves the gates behind, cooling his skin and providing some measure of protection from what promises to be a warm day. He eats as he walks; he’s picking his way through the crowd with no real destination in mind, but somehow it isn’t surprising when he winds up in front of the Duality House.

He pauses. Mihmatini’s always telling him he should visit more often. But he hates to drop in unannounced, in case she’s sleeping or busy or simply doesn’t wish to see him—

“Acatl!”

His sister is beaming at him, bouncing up and down on her toes as though he could possibly miss her. “Come in!” she calls. “Come and eat breakfast with us!”

Even if he was full—he isn’t—he wouldn’t turn her down. Smiling, he walks in for a second breakfast and a wonderful, peaceful morning.

(teomitl/acatl – laughter)

Teomitl’s not sure how it happened, how their day went so bad so quickly—they’re both exhausted, both bleeding from a dozen please-gods-please-be-minor wounds, and even the monster that inflicted them laying dead at their feet doesn’t make it better—but he huffs out, “Well, that wasn’t the birthday present I’d had planned for you,” and Acatl—

Acatl stares at him for the space of one heartbeat, two, and then bursts out laughing.

He stares back. He’s sure he’s blushing, knows for a fact that his jaw’s just gone slack with shock, and both of those are reactions he needs to get better at controlling, but he can’t. He’s heard Acatl chuckle before, half-disbelieving little huffs of air that say he’s surprised at himself for finding amusement in something. He’s never heard him laugh. It’s not attractive, not really; it’s breathless and a little wheezy and turns his whole face red, and even when he pauses it’s only to suck in a long gasp of air and choke out, “A birthday present—” in a way that suggests he’s about to be set off again.

Oh no, comes Teomitl’s next conscious thought. Oh no, I love him.

Acatl, still wheezing, has to sit down to catch his breath. There are actual tears in his eyes when he looks up. “Ah...hah, forgive me...it was just...the battle, and the way you said it—“

He’s grinning like a fool and doesn’t care. “It’s more than alright. Come on, let’s—” Go back to my rooms. Have our wounds dressed. Join me in my private baths. Let me show you all the ways I can make your day better.

But then the Jaguar Knights are pounding along the streets towards them because they’ve finally heard the sounds of battle from the men they’re supposed to be guarding—he knows who’s next on his demotion lists—and he never gets a chance to finish the sentence.

(ollin – reflecting on his uncles)

The High Priest of Mictlantecuhtli is lighting incense for a funeral. He’s been doing little else for days; the men from across the sea have sent far, far too many of his people to a warrior’s death. But this one is not like the others, because tonight he stands vigil over the men who saved the rest of them. He closes his eyes, exhales, and remembers.

Uncle Acatl had never trusted the pale men in their shiny metal armor from the start. He’d hated their languages, their foul manners, the way they could barely go a sentence without trying to push their god on their listeners even though an interpreter. But he’d also been old and crotchety, and so Aunt Mihmatini and Uncle Teomitl had given the foreigners enough benefit of the doubt (and, as they’d pointed out, respect for the army of Tlaxcalans they’d brought with them) to allow their leaders into the city. Even their strange weapons couldn’t stand against a city blessed by the gods, could they?

Oh, how wrong they’d been. The clash of their cannons and horses against Huitzilopochtli’s righteous fury had nearly levelled the city itself, and then their leader—Cortes—had taken advantage of the chaos to break through Aunt Mihmatini’s guard and hold a blade to her throat to force a surrender.

And that had been his fatal mistake, because it had bought them—his uncles, the other High Priests, the Guardian herself—time to strike back. He’ll never forget the moment they had. That single, terrible moment when he’d dropped to his knees and watched the sky split open, watched his captors screaming and writhing in agony as their bones turned to obsidian and their skin to jade, their blood spilling to earth like juice from an overripe fruit.

Tenochtitlan was safe again, and all it had cost them was their connections to the gods. Oh, he can still feel them; souls are being ushered to their proper places, and Mictlan’s presence coils in his gut like a serpent. But the serpent is sleeping, its fangs tucked away, and none of them know when—or if—it will wake again. The new High Priest of Huitzilopochtli has not yet been able to offer the proper sacrifices, but the sun has risen anyway.

He inhales, feeling his eyes prickle in a way he can’t blame on the smoke. His uncles died as heroes, their names destined to live forever, but he wishes they were here. At least they’ll be burned on the same pyre, together in death as they were in life.

“Ollin-tzin?”

Ollin rises, brushes off his hands, and heads into the sunlight that they purchased for him.

acatl/teomitl – soup, pt 2 (“I love you. I want us both to eat well.”)

The temple accounts don't care for mortal frailty or the need for sustenance. They will loom there on the table, unyielding, until they are dealt with properly—and in his temple, he's going to be the one to do them. Of course Ichtaca could handle it for him—of course! the man is endlessly competent—but Duality curse him, this is his temple and his responsibility, and so Acatl sits down with a reed pen, several folded codices' worth of ledgers, and all his considerable stubbornness until he realizes—reluctantly—that he can't focus with his stomach trying to glue itself to his spine.

There are approaching footsteps—slow and measured, but still somehow familiar. He looks up just as Teomitl draws aside the entrance curtain. "Acatl-tzin," he says, and smiles, and Acatl feels himself blush.

"What brings you here?" It's a stupid question—he can smell the hot, spicy soup through the clay jug Teomitl's holding—but he has to say something to cover the rush of warmth at the realization that Teomitl's brought him dinner.

At least he's not the only one blushing. "I made you this," Teomitl mutters, and doesn't look at him as he sets it down. "I thought you'd be hungry—you never remember to eat—Mihmatini said this was your favorite, so..." He trails off in an inarticulate little murmur and adds, "I brought spoons."

It's delicious. It's even better when Acatl asks, "What on earth made you think of this?" and Teomitl—spoon halfway to his mouth—blurts out with absolutely no forethought whatsoever, "I love you, so—"

And then of course he drops the spoon, but neither of them care about that.

(acatl/teomitl, ezamahual – no accounting for taste)

"Literally, why?"

Ezamahual and Palli were not exactly best friends, but they were close as only two fellow Priests of the Dead could be—servants of the least popular god of the three supporting Tenochtitlan's throne, and the ones generally responsible for running around after their High Priest and making sure he didn't get himself killed dealing with beasts of the underworld (or worse, politics). Therefore, when Ezamahual leaned on his broom and gestured futilely towards the heavens, Palli knew exactly who and what he was talking about.

Accordingly, he reached over and patted the man's shoulder. "There's no accounting for taste."

Another gesture, this time accompanied by a sad shake of his head. "Acatl-tzin is kind. Patient. Even-tempered. Intelligent. I can see why the boy's interested. Anyone with sense would be. But to walk around looking at him like that in public…"

"I thought you liked Teomitl-tzin."

"Not when he and Acatl-tzin—" Ezamahual clamped his mouth shut, but by the way he was turning red Palli already knew what he was going to say.

He couldn't help but remark—after stepping out of range—"Guess we know our teachers were definitely lying about what happens if you break your vow of chastity, at least!"

(acatl/teomitl – a cache of jewels)

Teomitl loves him. He's not shy about showing it.

He also loves giving him gifts. He's not shy about that, either. Acatl sits by the carved stone chest that holds his valuables, sighing at the gold and silver and jade within. There are pieces of carved coral as big as duck eggs, a gleaming emerald heart the size of his two fists, ropes of turquoise and jade to weave through his hair. This latest present—a silver spider-and-owl pectoral, the symbol of his order in a form emperors would envy—might not even fit in the box.

"What's that look for?"

He can't help but smile fondly at his lover's voice, shaking his head. "Love…"

"What?"

"Do you remember when I recommended subtlety?"

"That was before I was Emperor," Teomitl says dryly, and...well, he can't argue with that.

(acatl/teomitl – mine, all mine)

Logic said that he couldn't lay claim to Teomitl; that he might be the man's lover, but that meant nothing when he couldn't be acknowledged as such in public, when Teomitl would take wives and concubines that could all wear pieces of his heart on their sleeves. Logic said that to be jealous was utter folly, and he should hate himself for it.

Logic had absolutely nothing on the slow, simmering rage of watching another man (some ambassador from another province, all gold and quetzal feathers and arrogance) flirt with the one he loved. Finally, he couldn't take it any more (there was a hand on Teomitl's arm and he was blushing) and before he knew it, he was at Teomitl's side.

He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. Teomitl's newly radiant smile was only for him, and as they were introduced he locked eyes with the interloper and thought, dark and vicious, Mine.

(teomitl – my dreams are red)

All his dreams of the courtyard are different, but in some ways they're very much the same. He stands in the middle of the dusty, bloodstained space with his warriors, a desiccated corpse at his feet, far too late to help Acatl and Mihmatini with their own battle—but then, helping isn't why he's here. He is selfish and greedy and ambitious, and he wants the crown.

And he asks them to support him, and they say no.

And he tells them to stand aside, and they say no.

And he doesn't ask at all.

And they ask him to stop, to think about what he's doing to the world, to the Empire he wants to rule, and he refuses.

And they tell him to stop, that they'll fight him if he takes one step closer, and he doesn't listen.

And then there is so much blood.

(Sometimes it's Mihmatini who falls first, who meets him when he takes that one step and is cut down by his warriors before she can scream. Sometimes it's Acatl, who steps forward with sad eyes and says I'm sorry, Teomitl, I can't let you do this—and falls with a shocked grunt when Teomitl guts him. Sometimes he can't tell which of them dies first; between one blink and the next he is standing in a field of gore, their pieces unidentifiable, and his sister is smiling and congratulating him on his ascension. Sometimes Acatl doesn't die immediately; when Teomitl kneels to hear his final words, they are a snarl of I thought better of you. Those ones are the worst.)

When Mihmatini asks why he's woken with tears in his eyes, he can't tell her.

(teomitl/acatl – ivory and alabaster)

The High Priest for the Dead wears white sandals. The cotton is the color of milk and the leather is smooth and pale as alabaster; the decorations keeping the ends of the straps from unraveling are carved human bone.

He is talking, but Teomitl isn't really listening. He's cursing himself for seven different kinds of a fool, for Acatl is as far beyond his reach as the stars in the sky and he is distracted even by the crossing straps of his sandals. Against all that white, his dark skin gleams like polished wood, and they sit close enough that—if he was bold, if he was not such a coward—he could reach out and trace the arch of his foot under the straps, the delicate curve of the ankle above it.

He clenches his fist and stays his hand. White is for death, for the separation between earthly filth and higher things, and his touch will stain.

(acatl & teomitl – unorthodox ways of cutting through the red tape)

Acatl will never complain out loud. Such things are a waste of breath, and besides it's both stupid and pointless to rail against the vagaries of fate when doing so won't change anything. But he's leaving a meeting with the Emperor and the other High Priests with a face like stone, and when he only nods a greeting to Teomitl falling into step besides him, Teomitl knows why.

There are times I really hate my brother. He breaks the silence with a nearly-careless shrug. "You know, I could still kill him."

"No, Teomitl."

"I'm only reminding you that the offer's still open!"

"And the answer is still no."

"...Quenami, then?" The High Priest of Huitzilopochtli tried to have Acatl killed, and if there's an option to remove him that won't require waiting for his brother's death, Teomitl's willing to take it. He's always wanted to know if he can get the bastard to roll all the way down the steps of his own temple.

"No!"

(teomitl/acatl – headache)

"You look terrible. Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine," Teomitl huffs, but he doesn't lift his head from where he's had it pressed against the cool stone tiles of the shaded courtyard for the past hour. Maybe if he refrains from sudden movements, his skull will stop feeling like it's coming apart at the seams. (Not that it has so far, but hope springs eternal.)

Acatl is not fooled. Acatl is never fooled. Wordlessly, his lover sits on the ground next to him and arranges things so that Teomitl now lays with his head in his lap; the movement actually makes his head hurt worse, but before he can start cursing there are cold, gentle fingers rubbing his temples and oh, that is much better.

"What happened?" he asks, when Teomitl's started to relax.

"Tizoc." He could say more—part of him wants to say more, wants to rant and rail against the day-long meeting with his brother and the war council and how four men could have not one single brain between them he doesn't know—but Acatl will then try to be reasonable with him, and he doesn't want to hear it.

Acatl's hands go still. "Oh," he says, but in his tone Teomitl hears that bastard and his day is immediately improved.

(teomitl/acatl, neutemoc – shovel talk)

When Neutemoc sits down next to him in the courtyard, macuahitl across his knees, Teomitl doesn't think anything of it. He and his brother-in-law have often sparred, and it's a fine day for another round. But then the man stretches and rolls his shoulders and looks at him, eyes serious as the executioner's blade, and he realizes this is not, in fact, going to be a fine day.

"Mihmatini tells me she's happy in her marriage," Neutemoc says. No—growls. That's definitely a growl.

Ice oozes slowly down Teomitl's back, but he's stood in front of gods without blinking. He can handle this. "Good. I do my best to keep her that way."

"And she'd let us all know if she wasn't." Neutemoc turns his attention to his sword, angling it so he can dig a dried bit of something unidentifiable from between the close-packed obsidian blades. "My brother, on the other hand...well. He'll put up with a lot, especially from you. All you have to do is smile, and he comes running—no matter what you've done.”

Teomitl takes a deep breath. It's that or pass out. How did you know is on the tip of his tongue—but that's a stupid question. He and Acatl have been quiet and discreet, but not quiet and discreet enough. How dare you would be even worse—he may be Master of the House of Darts, and Neutemoc only a Jaguar Knight, but that doesn't matter when Acatl's well-being is on the line. "And what do you think I've done?"

Neutemoc does not look rattled by his sharp tone. "He's my little brother. A priest sworn to a life of celibacy. I've seen how persuasive you can be when you have a goal in mind."

Teomitl turns and looks at him incredulously. "I'm sorry, have you met your brother? He's the most stubborn man in Tenochtitlan, and the most devoted to his vocation. If he didn't want to break his vows, nothing I could say or do would make him. The only goal I have is to make him smile."

"...You had better." The obsidian blades flash in the sunlight. "Or your reign will be over before it begins."

#obsidian and blood #acatl #teomitl #ezamahual #neutemoc's brood #neutemoc #paladin writes stuff

2 notes · View notes

mysweetestcreature · 4 years

Text

Tomorrow Never Knows (President!Harry) Chapter 12: All I Want for Christmas

***

Author’s note: Hiiiiii, so I honestly have no idea what happened to the post scheduled for earlier, but Tumblr has always been a little b*tch so I’m not surprised lmao. This version isn’t as well edited as the one that disappeared, so please excuse any slips (it’s late and I’m kind of drunk so teehee). ANYWAY! Happy Holidays, everyone! Thank you so much for everything you do for me. From the bottom of my heart, I love you all :’)

***

Masterlist

***

Saturday December 13, 2008

With the holiday season comes all things festive; from brilliant and twinkling lights wrapped around post lamps, to an army of nutcracker statuettes that line town square, and finally that wishful little mistletoe hung above a few select archways and unsuspecting doorframes. There’s a different attitude that floats in the air during this time of year, an unexplainable elation swirled in with a dash of mild intensity.

You’ll never see more people in one place than at the mall, when everyone is on a mission to find that perfect gift, maybe even the perfect outfit for the office Christmas party with the cheap wine, or something of a school dance that may or may not be the social event of the year (unless you’re a senior, then prom is most definitely the only thing to look forward to).

“Why can’t I see it?” Harry pouts, peeking into the gaps of the brown Bloomingdale’s paper bag.

She rolls her eyes; this is probably the eighth time in twenty minutes he’s asked her. For some reason he’d been under the impression that he’d get to see her try it on. Much to his dismay (but to her amusement), however, it had been a quick and easy pick up from the alterations department on the third floor. “Because I’m your girlfriend, and I said you can’t.”

Harry frowns slightly, eyebrows furrowing. “I don’t really see a correlation between those two statements, although. . .” He backs her against a wall, hands finding their place on the curves of her hips. A cheeky grin replaces his former expression, dimples making their indents on either side of his mouth. “I do like it when you call yourself my girlfriend.”

Humming, she tilts her head to the side and wraps her arms around his middle. He swallows when she grazes the tip of her nose to his, his mouth parting in anticipation. They’re close enough that he can easily smell her strawberry lip balm. “Yeah?” she speaks meekly. The radiant look in her eyes makes his heart beat thrice its usual rhythm. He nods in response, just about ready to lean down.

Of course, timing has never been their strongest point, and Harry’s phone rings annoyingly from the pocket of his North Face. He sighs, dropping his head down, eyes squeezing shut when he sees the name lit up on the screen. “Are you gonna answer that, or should I?” Y/n giggles, snatching his cell from between his fingers. He shakes his head and pleads her not to pick it up, but she flips the cover open and brings it right to her ear. “Hi, Anne!”

There’s a string of mumbles from under his breath. He had assumed that they’d be free from interruptions once they’d finally gotten together, but time and time again (an average of three times a week, he’s noticed) there’s always someone out to mess with him. The other day, Mason had squirmed his way between them while they were cuddled up under her favorite fluffy blanket, and Harry had only taken notice when he turned to peck her on the cheek only to end up with half his face covered in peanut butter frosting (his girlfriend––and he really can’t stress enough how happy the title makes him––thought it was absolutely hilarious).

“Yeah, we’re just about finished. . .” She playfully pushes his face to the side when he gives her another pout. “Okie dokie, we’ll be out in a sec. . .see you in a bit!” The call ends with the clap of the main screen against the keypad. She gives him a toothy grin and rises to the tips of her toes to press a gentle kiss to the side of his mouth. “Let’s go?”

***

She’s on her bed when Cici barges into her room, a tote full of clothes hanging off her shoulder that she then drops by the closet door. “Where’s your knight with shining curls?” her best friend snorts as she plops herself down on her bed. She’d texted earlier saying that she would be hiding at the Y/l/n residence to escape the arrogance of her visiting aunt’s family.

Y/n looks up from flipping through her latest issue of Teen Vogue. “I think he should be here quarter of.” He’d left over two hours ago to help his mom and sister decorate their Christmas tree.

“I see you got your dress,” Cici notices, reaching for the bag by her nightstand. She pulls the stapled edges apart with an approving look from Y/n, then pulls out the garment until the bag falls back to the floor. “Oh damn!” she whistles, kneeing the mattress as she holds it up. “Has Harry seen this yet?”

“I’ve literally done everything in my power to avoid that,” she mutters, falling back against her pile of pillows. The implications of not going to the dance with her boyfriend hadn’t registered with her until yesterday when Zoey had showed him the exact corsage that she wanted him to get her. Now she feels almost sick thinking about Zoey’s perfectly manicured and deadly nails racking around her boyfriend’s body while she forces him to dance. And maybe that’s why she doesn’t want Harry to see her dress just yet, she wants to surprise him the day of because the petty part of her wants to send Zoey a clear message.

Cici snorts loudly, laying down next to her, and both girls just stare up at the ceiling. “If you want my honest opinion, I think you should just go together. So, what if a few people get butt hurt? Do you really want to see that bitch try to make moves on him?”

“Obviously not, but. . .” she lets out a long sigh. “Jasper.” She keeps having to remind herself that she’s Jasper’s date, and it just wouldn’t be fair to him if she were to be an absent companion. “He keeps saying how excited he is for this, and I don’t know Ci. I don’t have the heart to tell him that I don’t want to go formal with him, let alone that the reason being that I want to go with my boyfriend of what? Two weeks now?” She’s given this whole lot of thought, really, she has! Sure, the easiest solution would be to call off her date with Jasper, but she doesn’t want him to think that he was only a stand in for Harry until they finally admitted their feelings. No one should be subjected to that kind of impairing thought.

“You’re being way being too nice––maybe the pope will canonize you one day. ‘Saint Y/n’ patron saint of the criminally kind.”

She pulls a pillow from behind and whacks the side of her friend’s head, who then whacks her back with just as much force. “Stop being so dramatic, this isn’t Gossip Girl.”

“And it’s a travesty,” Cici tuts, but her eyes start to twinkle as she loses herself in thought. “If it were, I’d be Mrs. Nathaniel Fitzwilliam Archibald by now. Don’t you think Chace Crawford and I would make the most beautiful babies?”

“They’ll have the best eyebrows, that’s for sure.”

“Right!?”

***

Friday December 19, 2008

The last day before the winter formal––and furthermore the last day until winter break–– and it’s all the students of Ashwood can talk about. At every turn, all that can be heard is who’s attending with who or what designer their dress is from. Almost all of their classes have resorted to study halls since apparently no one can stay focused for more than five minutes at a time, which really is stupid since midterms are scheduled only two weeks after they come back.

On the plus side, since they’re screening Home Alone 2 in Spanish, it at least distracts the rest of the class while she and Harry giggle to themselves in the back-left corner of the room. During the beginning of their relationship, they had at least tried to remain discreet so as to avoid all the theories of conspiracy from the school’s notorious gossips over at the Ashwood Almanac. As the final days of the year dwindle down, however, all precautions to keep everything on the down-low have disintegrated, and they’ve probably shared a few not-so-private (though none have ever been in front of a grand audience. . .about five people, max) smooches when they part ways after a long history lesson with Mr. Noone.

“As in right in the nuts?” he laughs through the question, his arm wrapped around the back of her chair as his fingers tread through loose locks. She’s telling him all about how Mason had thrown a snowball, which had actually ended up having a moderately sized rock lodged in there somehow, directly between Jeremy’s legs. And yeah, he does feel bucket loads of sympathy because he can’t even count how many times he’s had a football to the groin in his years of being an athlete, but he’s more so charmed by how animated she is when she talks about her family.

“I don’t know how he did it, but then Dad went completely cross-eyed when it hit him. Like this.” For a split second, she’s able to mimic his reaction and it has him trying to contain his amusement with her shoulder before Señora Gustavo can scold them for being too disruptive.

After a few moments settled within a comfortable silence, enough time for them to let Jeremy’s many woes fade from consciousness, their eyes meet again, and he just smiles at her. It’s one of those sappy lovesick smiles that would have surely made her knees buckle had she not already been sitting down.

“So, Mum’s Christmas Eve party, you’re all going, right?” he asks, his thumb grazing the side of her arm. For as long as he can remember, Anne’s been hosting this party every year without fail. He supposes it started when she and his dad were still together––maybe even before then––since he’s seen pictures from the early nineties before even Gemma was born. Even when they’d moved to the States, his mum has always been the sociable sort, so during that first year away from Holmes Chapel had been filled with the company of their neighbors and over a dozen of her colleagues. This time around, Harry’s excitement is beyond a scale’s capacity because his granddad is flying in to celebrate with them. After all their long phone calls, he’ll finally be able to introduce him to the girl he’s been gushing over for months.

Y/n nods eagerly. “And I already know what I’m making,” she says. There were a few options that she toyed with before falling asleep until ultimately deciding on one special dessert that she sure hopes will be a crowd pleaser come the 24th. It’s something that in theory she knows how to make, but it’ll require a few test runs and backups since she’s aiming for nothing less than perfection. “Your mom mentioned it during Thanksgiving, so I really hope she’ll like it!”

“Don’t want you going through too much trouble. Mum will like anything you make. Went on and on about those pumpkin spice cookies you brought around the house Sunday.”

“I know, but. . .” Her lips curl inward and trap themselves between her teeth. She looks down into her lap, fingers messing with a stray thread where her skit had been hemmed. “I just. . .I don’t know. Do you think she’s mad––okay, not mad, but you know. . .annoyed––at me for the whole Jasper-Zoey thing? You keep saying it isn’t, but it’s a hundred percent my fault that we’re not going together.”

“Baby, no. Don’t say that,” Harry frowns, and he doesn’t realize the new endearment to have tumbled off the tip of his tongue. “This whole dance thing doesn’t mean anything anyway, and it definitely doesn’t change this.” He gestures between the two of them, a lopsided smile spread from cheek to cheek.

Her eyes narrow as she crosses her arms. “You’re being all cheesy because you want me to kiss you again.”

A loud scoff erupts from the back of his throat, and Señora Gustavo glares up from her laptop to give him another warning. There’s a moment when his face impersonates annoyance (but his arm still remains around her frame), and he begrudgingly turns his attention to Kevin McCallister wreaking havoc on his two unmatched foes. She does the same, but from the corner of her eye she sees the way his mouth plays with his words. In her head, she counts backwards from five, holding in a smirk as the numbers dwindle down. Harry pouts to himself, before he turns back to her.

“Are my chances high, at least?”

***

Saturday December 20, 2008

“Sweetheart, you look so beautiful!” Liv gushes as she brushes Y/n’s hair back, standing behind her in front of the vanity’s mirror. Y/n looks at herself carefully, her lips pulled up but pressed firmly together. The day has finally arrived, and she doesn’t think she can feel any more anxious than she does right now. Half her hair is pulled back while the rest is curled into the soft waves that fall just beneath her shoulders. Her dress is hung to the side, the sequins almost blinding as they reflect in the bathroom light.

They’d spent the last two hours doing her hair and makeup, which Liv had insisted she do herself since aside from dentistry and orthodontics, is probably her second passion in life. There’s a story she always likes to tell, about how she’d worked for a beauty salon during college for some extra cash but had ended up staying all four years because she found the whole transformation process to be exciting for both herself and her clients.

“I remember my first high school dance,” her mom continues, and she takes the dress off the hanger and signals for Y/n to stand up. “Now, my dress wasn’t nearly as form-fitting as yours. I mean, what do you expect from the 80s?” She chuckles lightly, shaking her head as she remembers exactly what she wore in her freshman year. Y/n braces herself against the wall as she steps into the pooled dress. “Philip Russo had asked me, and boy oh boy, was he something.”

Y/n snorts as she holds the lace fabric to her chest. “Does Dad know you still think about your high school boyfriend?”

Liv rolls her eyes, zipping the back up with one firm pull. “Oh of course, I talk about him every night before bed. You know what, honey? If I hadn’t met you, I would probably be living in Austin with Philip Russo and our seven kids. It makes for great pillow talk.”

“Did someone call me?” Jeremy’s voice calls from the master bedroom. Followed by his much shorter shadow, he saunters into the bathroom.

Mason scampers past his dad and wraps his arms around his sister’s legs. “You look like a princess!” he giggles, picking at one of the beads.

“You really think so, Mase?” she smiles, cupping his cheeks in her hand so he can look up at her.

The little boy nods furiously. “Yeah! And that means Harry’s your prince, right? Because the prince and princess always kiss each other, right? You and Harry kissed yesterday! I saw it!” He even looks to Liv for support. “Right, Mommy?”

Y/n digs her nails into her palms. The three of them had agreed to keep Mason upstairs when Jasper picks her up just to avoid all awkwardness if her brother wonders where Harry might be. That’s not to say that her parents are completely on board with the idea of this bizarre arrangement. Jeremy had been quite vocally against it because he much rather send his daughter off with a boy he’s come to know and like, rather than. . .well, he’s never met this other boy, so that’s already a red flag in his book.

“Now what I want to know is why you were snooping on your sister and Harry, huh?” she counters, hands on her hips and toe tapping with parental flare.

“Because Daddy said I have to keep an eye on them when he’s not home.”

Jeremy’s jaw just drops. “You little traitor,” he grumbles, glaring down at his son. “I told you not to tell the girls about our little secret.”

“Secret secrets are no fun unless you share with everyone!”

“Enough out of you.” Jeremy lifts the boy up and places him over his shoulder. It’s now that he’s able to get a good look at his daughter, his not so little girl. Y/n notices a glisten in his eyes the longer he studies her.

“Dad,” she whines, “remember you said you wouldn’t be dramatic?”

“I know, I know, but. . .” He twirls her around, a couple times before taking in her full image once more. “First, it's just a school dance, then it’s your wedding day. Jesus Christ, I’m getting old.”

***

The theme of this year’s winter formal is Winter Wonderland, and despite its cliché nature, student council and the decorations committee had managed to transform the events hall into somewhat of a festive paradise. There’s fake snow falling gracefully in the backdrop at the photographer’s station, where some of the more smitten couples strike their cutest poses as their arms wrap around the other’s figures. Dressed to the nines in their best attire, a few students are already swaying to the DJ’s soundtrack, while others mingle in groups by the punch bowl.

Harry is somewhat part of the latter category, his one hand occupied with his untouched beverage, the other buried deep in his pocket as he stands stiffly at Zoey’s side. She’s bragging about the price tag on her dress, gushing over how her daddy bought it right from the designer himself. “And he totally gave me his number and said I could stop by the New York office any time.”

“Bunch of bollocks,” Harry snorts into his cup, the fruity red liquid just barely grazing his top lip.

Zoey turns around, a sickeningly sweet and glossy smile greeting him. “What was that?” she asks, far too perky in her mannerisms, in his opinion.

“Nothing.” He takes a long sip for no other reason than to keep himself distracted. It works for a few more minutes, with him only participating in their conversation when he’s directly addressed, or if Zoey wants another damn refill of water.

Now, he isn’t quite sure what had possessed him to ask Zoey, of all the girls he could have chosen, to the dance. It was right after Y/n had told him she’d be going with Jasper, and he’d gone outside to clear his head. Who was the first (okay, second, but Señora Gustavo does not count) person he’d run into? The decision had been made in a split second, and for fuck’s sake his biggest regret is not taking a few more to think about it.

“Harry!” He turns on his heel at the call of his name, the first genuine smile of the night cheering up his downcast features when he sees Cici and Maxxie arrive through the doors. Excusing himself, he all but runs to them, enveloping both in a hug that’s filled with every bit of relief.

“Oh, thank god,” he sighs. “She’s driving me up the walls.”

Cici looks over his shoulder, brow raised as she glares at the redhead. “Are those next season’s Christian Louboutin’s? Unbelievable!”

“Jealousy is not a good look on you,” Maxxie teases, poking her side. “I’m not jealous. Just annoyed that the nasty ones always get first serve. And it’s honestly super annoying that she looks kind of good.”

“She’s beautiful. . .” Harry says suddenly, and both Maxxie and Cici gasp at his confession. The latter smacks his chest, and steam practically flares from her nostrils because she’s always had that protective instinct. Maxxie is more sensible, however, and he follows the line of Harry’s gaze right the source. It’s then he takes it upon himself to turn their friend around.

“What are you–”

It’s a scene right out of a movie as Y/n steps through the door, gently shielding her eyes as one of the moving spotlights casts down on her. Her dress reflects a light just as strong, and it manages to catch the attention of a majority of those around. She searches for something, fingers fiddling at her front as she looks unsurely through the room. It’s when she sees the three of them that she smiles widely.

“Guys!” she waves to them, lifting the skirt of her dress as she jogs over. “Oh my gosh, Ci! You look amazing!” she squeals, hugging her friend.

“I know.” Cici has never been one to maintain modesty, but it’s one of the reasons why Y/n loves her. “But look at you! Oh my god, you look like Hilary Duff.”

“That seems to be the consensus apparently,” she blushes. She gives Maxxie a kiss on the cheek, giggling when he whispers something in her ear. It earns him a pinch to his side, and he playfully huffs as he directs himself and Cici to one of the empty tables.

It just leaves her and Harry.

He has to resist the urge to reach out.

“You look. . .wow,” he’s at a loss for words.

Her eyes fall to their feet. “Still trying to get that kiss, I see.” And maybe she wishes she didn’t have to pretend like she doesn’t want to. It happens so quickly that she would’ve missed it she wasn’t paying any attention. His lips press against hers in a kiss. . .or maybe more appropriately a peck. But as her eyes flutter open, she’s met with a cheeky smile to top off an expression that constantly reminds her how in love she is with the boy in front of her.

***

She thought that maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to see Zoey hang off her boyfriend like some pathetic sloth until right at this very moment. And she knows she shouldn’t let it all get to her because Harry had assured her over a dozen times over the phone that she’d be the only person he’ll be paying any attention to, but she really can’t help but feel mildly insecure. She hasn’t even had the chance to tell him how handsome he looks because Zoey had abruptly whisked him away as soon as Mariah Carey had started playing through the speakers. Take that, and the fact that Jasper had finally found his way to her after he’d talked to a few friends by the entrance.

The car ride here had been a bit awkward, if she’s being honest. Jeremy hadn’t been so successful in keeping Mason upstairs, and the little boy had even been the one to open the door because he had been anticipating a completely different face. “You’re not–” Luckily, Liv had been there to cover his mouth before he could say anything more. “Kids! Am I right?” And after a few quick snaps from her mom’s camera, they were off in his dad’s SUV, both sat in the back seat with the middle completely empty. There was some small talk, mostly questions of ‘are you excited’ or ‘hopefully the food is good’ and whatnot. She had tried her best, she really had, to keep things light and non bothersome, but she can sense that he knows something’s up.

“Hey,” she touches Jasper’s arm. “I’m just gonna go to the ladies’ room.”

***

When she walks out of the bathroom, she feels herself being whisked to the side. Before she can let out a yelp, she catches a whiff of his familiar scent, and it’s enough to soothe her panic.

“Are you crazy?” she giggles, looking down at the other end of the hall. “We’re supposed to be in there.”

Harry shrugs nonchalantly before leaning his forehead against hers. “Just a little.”

“Thank god we got that settled then.” She lets her hands fall into his hair, loving the way his soft brown curls feel in the slope between her fingers. For the first time tonight, she feels completely at ease as their bodies sway gently to the echo of a song. “Hi,” she whispers.

It’s then he gives her a proper embrace, holding her as close to him as he can, letting everything around them fade into the back of his mind.

“Hi.” He buries his nose into her hair. “I’m sorry this is how we have to share our first dance.”

He then pulls away just enough to look into her eyes, his heart swelling when she cups his face and presses a long kiss to his lips. The hold he has around her waist tightens as he deepens it further.

“It’s okay,” she answers when she breaks free in need of air. She giggles as she swipes his mouth of any traces of her lip gloss. “I’m actually surprised you were able to get away from your date.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry lets out a humorless snort that she happens to find greatly entertaining. “It wasn’t easy, let me tell you. I had to make up some excuse about how my stomach was feeling all out of sorts when I saw you walk out. Figured it was the perfect opportunity to get my girl alone. Plus. . .” He directs her gaze above, and she can’t help but laugh when she sees a mistletoe hung above them. Without missing a beat, his lips find their way back to hers.

***

Come talk to me about our babies!

#president!harry #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles drabbles #harry styles

116 notes · View notes

coneygoil · 4 years

Text

Walking Wounded

Caryl AU. The waitress at a diner Daryl decides to start frequenting catches his eye, but things are complicated. Now, Daryl is the only thing standing between her and her abusive husband.

Writer’s note: So, this is my first TWD fic. I actually wasn’t planning on writing any, but a dream I woke up from the other day inspired me and I just had to get it out in words! This will be a multi-chapters fic. More to come later :) btw, I don’t like using curse words, so there’s not a whole lot in here.

He began frequenting the diner a couple months ago. Daryl and his brother needed a quick bite to eat after a long day of hunting and roughing it like wildmen in the woods, and there was jack squat to eat at their trailer. The diner was rather empty with only a couple other hungry patrons sipping coffee and minding their own business.

Daryl hadn’t thought much of the waitress that served them. She was polite and a bit skittish, and strangely had a nearly shaved head. But, that was really the only thing that stood out. By the time they’d driven off in Daryl’s rickety old pick-up truck, he’d put the waitress out of his mind.

Merle seemed to take a liking to the food at that particular diner. “Taste like real food,” he’d said, then colorfully compared other diner foods to a pile of dog poop.

The next weekend, they visited the little diner and once again, the same woman waited on them. It was this second trip to the diner that the polite waitress with the buzzed head caught his interest. He paid attention to her. He chatted with her when Merle left to take a piss. Her eyes were kind and looked at him like he wasn’t a dirty redneck like other people perceived him to be. Her eyes were the prettiest blue he’d ever seen.

The third time Daryl visited the diner, he was alone. Merle was gone. He wasn’t sure where his brother was, but it didn’t matter. He’d be back. And if he didn’t come back, Daryl could take a few guesses where he was – either in jail, holed up somewhere on a bender, or dead.

So, Daryl was there alone.

He made sure to sit at the same table they were in last time in hopes the waitress with the kind eyes and buzzed head would serve him. He felt warm and a little foolish at the thought. He wasn’t a damn schoolboy hoping his crush would notice him, but that’s exactly what he felt like when he slipped into the booth. The waitress arrived before he barely settled down.

“Where’s your brother?” she’d asked after a few lines of greeting.

Daryl gestured out the window as if that’d give an explanation. “He’s out with some friends,” he tall-taled, because he had no clue where his brother was, and he wasn’t about to give the ugly details of truth of where he could be.

The first two visits Daryl hadn’t caught the waitress’s name and she didn’t wear a nametag to make it obvious. “I’m Daryl, by the way.”

Her eyes sparkled when she smiled at him. “Nice to meet you again, Daryl. I’m Carol.”

It was probably the second, maybe third, time he’d heard her name, but now he would never forget it.

Trips to the diner became Daryl’s new habit. He made sure to visit during Carol’s shifts and sat in the same booth every time he could. He was pleased on one of his visits, as soon as he walked in the door, Carol greeted him from behind the counter with the biggest smile he’d been graced with from her so far. She teased him about how much he enjoyed the coffee because that had to be the only reason he would frequent so often. The dark liquid that filled his cup was okay (at least better than the swill Merle fixed at home), but Daryl wouldn’t dare offer the real reason. They chatted longer if Carol had the time to spare. She seemed genuinely interested in his life. Daryl kept the details vague. There were many specifics a gentle lady like her didn’t need to know – most likely because it would horrify her, especially anything concerning his brother.

Merle didn’t visited the diner with him again, save for one more time when he was somewhat clean and presentable. Daryl didn’t enjoy the trip since Merle did most of the talking and called Carol names that Daryl thought she was above. It burned him up inside. Carol didn’t seem too bothered though, but she was more willing to hang around their table when Merle would step out.

It was on Daryl’s 9th trip to the diner that he spotted a bruise. Carol’s uniform sleeve didn’t cover all of it. His eyes lingered on the half-covered purple handprint peeking from the hem of her sleeve. A grim feeling crept up his spine and his heart pummeled his ribcage. He knew a bruise like that didn’t come from an accident. He’d seen it too often as a kid to know. Someone put it there on purpose. Daryl’s stomach tightened at the thought of how many more bruises were hidden on her.

He didn’t know if Carol was married. She didn’t wear a wedding band and she never talked much about her personal life. Until one day, she did.

It wasn’t much. Just a mention of her husband. A husband who was at home watching their young daughter. Her throat seemed to choke up as she spoke the words. A flash of fear crossed her face that wasn’t missed by Daryl. It was like just the reminder that her daughter was in the presence of her husband concerned her greatly. She claimed she had to get a job a few months ago to earn her keep because her husband wasn’t going to have her sit at home all day slumming around while he hauled butt to provide for them. She hadn’t said it in such a way, but Daryl could read between the lines.

The next diner trip, the cheer in Carol’s smile was there, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes like it usually did. Daryl knew now that she was married, but that didn’t stop him from chatting with her and feeling the same as he had before. Carol was still the kindest person he’d ever met in his sorry excuse for a life and he couldn’t help thinking on how pretty those blue eyes of hers were. He kept coming because seeing him put a smile on her face. Talking to him gave her a bit of relief. He wanted to give her at least that much.

One evening as Daryl stepped into the diner, he stopped dead in his tracks. His regular table was tucked away in the left-hand corner, and for the first time since he started coming, it was taken. A little girl occupied the booth. Her shoulder-length blonde hair hung against her face as she colored. A half-filled glass of milk sat in front of her. He couldn’t tell exactly how old she was since he wasn’t around children hardly any. Maybe she was 4 or 5? She resembled someone. Someone he’d become familiar with over the last several weeks.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Carol’s voice nearly made him jump. He hoped his face wasn’t as red as the heat he felt upon it. “I’ll move her to another table.” Carol had taken note that it was his usual spot, just as she’d memorized his usual order.

“Sophia,” she called to the little girl, and as soon as the girl’s eyes flicked up, Daryl knew for certain whose daughter she was. “Come on, honey. A customer needs that table.”

The little girl was about to scoot out without so much as a sigh. Daryl couldn’t do that to her. “She can stay. No need for her to get up. There’re plenty other empty tables around here.”

Carol shook her head, an apology she didn’t need to give written on her face. “I don’t want her to be a bother.”

“She’s not.”

Daryl slid in the booth located right before his usual table. He probably should have chosen the other side of the table, because he had a clear view of the little girl. She glanced at his curiously then got back to work on the pig she was currently coloring purple.

“Is this your--?” Daryl felt awkward finishing the question. He’d only just learned about Carol’s daughter.

Carol smiled warmly as she peered over at the top of the little blonde head. “My daughter. Sophia.” The name was spoken with such love and reverence. “She had to come to work with me tonight.”

“Your husband had to work or something?”

It was then that Daryl caught the shiner on Carol’s cheek that she had been trying to keep turned. He could put the rest of the pieces together. Carol shook her head, sadly. “He just couldn’t tonight. But, it’s okay. My daughter is such a quiet child. She minds well. My manager didn’t have a problem with me bringing her in this once.”

Daryl insides burned. He could guess exactly why Carol’s daughter minded so well. She’d probably be punished if she so much as sneezed. Daryl shifted uncomfortably at a long ago memory he tamped down immediately.

“The usual?” Carol asked, dragging Daryl out of his stewing.

“Uh, yeah. That’s fine.”

Daryl peered out the window, trying not to pay much attention to the little girl. He could see out of the corner of his eye that she was stealing glances of him every now and then. He couldn’t quite read her expression not looking at her straight on, but from what he could tell, she seemed wary of him.

Carol arrived with his coffee and he thanked her wholeheartedly, as if she’d brought him the greatest gift he’d ever received. Carol looked pleasantly surprised by his outpouring of graciousness. She chatted with him for a few moments before moving on. Sophia had drunk the rest of her milk. Her mother brought a refill as soon as she finished. The little girl quietly showed her the purple pig. Carol fawned over how beautiful the picture was.

After Carol walked away, Daryl craned his neck to get a better view of the coloring. “Never seen a purple pig before,” he teased, keeping his voice light. “Think there’s one out there that just hadn’t been found yet?”

The little girl looked like she wanted to bolt. He’d never actually talked to a child before, at least one this young. He guessed it was natural for kids to be shy of strangers, but Sophia seemed downright petrified.

“It’s okay,” Daryl assured, “I promise, I don’t bite.”

Carol approached, seeing the exchange. “It’s okay, Sophia.” She brushed her daughter’s hair back, soothingly. “Daryl is a friend.”

A flutter hit Daryl square in the chest. She‘d called him a friend. He tapped down the nice feeling. He had no business feeling that way. Everything surrounding Carol was complicated, from what he gathered. Still, he would accept being her friend if she wanted him to be.

Tires suddenly grounded into the parking lot. Daryl snapped his head to find a Jeep Cherokee coming in hot. It slammed on its breaks in the second row of parking spots. An average-height, slightly heavy-set man stepped out, slamming the door behind him.

The gasp that escaped Carol’s throat was not lost to Daryl. He snapped his attention back to her. His blood ran cold at the sight of her pale, stricken face. The man was stomping toward the diner like a giant prepared to knock the head clean off something.

“Sophia, honey,” the tremble in her voice made Daryl’s jaw clinch. “Stay right here while I go talk to Daddy.”

Carol rushed out the door, intercepting her husband before he could make it across the parking lot. Daryl stole one glance at Sophia, the poor girl sinking into the booth, looking just about as terrified as her mother.

His heart pounded. He couldn’t sit around while Carol was out there confronting the man who laid his hands violently upon her. Daryl made his way right outside the doors of the diner, hoping to act inconspicuous. He lit up a cigarette. Smoking being his excuse for being outside and not the overwhelming need to stick close to the woman that was confronting the man that abused her body.

“What the hell you thinkin’?” the man snarled, and he was exactly how Daryl imagined he would sound.

“What’s wrong, Ed?” Carol sounded exactly how he imagined she would in the presence of her husband.

“What the hell were you thinkin’!?” Daryl’s back bristled at his increased aggressive tone. He took a drag of his cigarette, pretending to be interested in the activities at the gas station next door. “Gonna lose this damn job and your sorry ass wages because of our snivelin’ ankle-biter! Leave the stinkin’ brat at home!”

Carol averted her eyes to the ground, her body seeming to prepare itself for the repercussions. “You seemed like you wanted to be alone tonight. I wanted to give you that time by yourself.”

“I can handle our brat, Carol! I’ll lock her in her room if I have to! Wouldn’t be the first time I locked her in there!” Her husband – Ed – pushed Carol out of the way, causing her to stumble. “I’m taking her home.”

“Please, Ed. She’s just a little girl. Please don’t lock her away.” Carol clutched at his arm, pleading desperately. “She’s not harming anything being here.”

“Get off!” In that split second – in that one wrong move by Ed -- Daryl saw red. His body moved before his brain had time to catch up to what he was doing.

Ed snatched her right arm, twisting it in a direction that it definitely wasn’t made for. Carol barely cried out. She clinched her teeth as if trained to hold back the noise. He let go of her arm, but reared back and slapped her across the face. Ed never got any further in his blatant display of abuse.

Daryl had thrown punches before. More times than he could remember to count. Never had he punched a person with such force that they stumbled backwards and fell flat on the ground. The impact of slamming his fist into Ed’s jaw reverberated painfully up Daryl’s arm, but he welcomed the pain. Made him feel alive, especially when it was pain taken for a good cause.

A string of gargled expletives spewed from Ed’s mouth. He wiped at his bloody mouth with the back of his wrist.

Shaking off the pain in his arm, Daryl turned immediately to Carol. Tears streamed pitifully down her cheeks. She cradled her injured arm. There was no hesitation in Daryl’s mind that he had to get her and her daughter out of there. He touched Carol’s shoulder with a stark contrast of gentleness than he just used on Ed. His heart clinched when she flinched away.

“Carol, look at me,” Daryl coaxed, softly. He followed her face with his. Her eyes locked onto his, her pupils blown out. He hoped she registered what he was about to say. “Go get Sophia and your things. We’re leaving.”

“The hell she’s leaving with you!” growled out Ed as he rolled onto his side in an attempt to push his sorry rear end off the concrete.

“The hell she’s going anywhere with the likes of you!” Daryl flung back with a fair amount of venom. He resisted the strong urge to kick him in the side. “Only a damn, good-for-nuthin’ coward beats his woman!”

Daryl quickly glanced behind him, not wanting to take his sights off the bastard rolling around pathetically on the ground. He found Carol gone. She returned in record time, clutching Sophia against her in the tightest protective hold. Daryl drug his eyes off Ed. He led Carol to his pick-up truck, opening the passenger side door for her. He hopped in the driver side and revved up the engine. In the door rearview mirror, he could see Ed back on his feet, storming toward them and yelling his promises to kill them all.

“Hold on,” Daryl barely warned before peeling out of the parking lot. He waited for his adrenaline to lower before checking on her. “You okay?”

Carol jumped at his voice like she forgot he was there. Her crying had calmed, but her breathing remained ragged. She turned her head slightly toward him and Daryl caught the tear streaks staining her cheeks. She still clutched Sophia to her as if her daughter was her only lifeline. Daryl could hear sniffles coming from Carol’s shoulder where the little girl hid her face.

“How’s your arm?” he pressed on. “Anything dislocated? Broken?”

Carol blinked a few times before regaining her senses. She shook her head. “No. Just hurts.”

“Are you sure?”

Carol nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve had a dislocated shoulder before. I know what it feels like.”

The confession sadly didn’t surpriseDaryl, but it fueled the anger toward the man he’d had the pleasure of knocking flat on his ass.

“Is she okay?”

Carol nuzzled her nose comfortingly in Sophia’s hair. She hugged her daughter even tighter. “I think so.”

A long beat filled the cab of the truck. The buildings and streetlights blurred by. Daryl’s body still tingled with adrenaline, but his mind was calming.

“Where are we going?” Carol’s voice remained low and breathy.

Daryl gripped the steering wheel, the worn leather squeaking under his grip. “Some place safe.”

#caryl #twd: caryl #twd fanfiction #carol x daryl #walking wounded

27 notes · View notes

smol-and-grumpy · 4 years

Text

EUPHORIA - Chapter 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: He’s Dean Winchester, owner of a shady night club. She’s a journalist who has been asked to write an article to expose the indecency and debauchery that’s going on behind closed doors. But he’s also Dean Winchester, the boy who sat next to her in class. The boy who was too cocky for his own good.

Series Warnings: Slow burn, slow build, feelings, mutual pining, consent is key, praise kink, dirty talk, light d/s undertones and other kinky things, after care, angst, fluff, chapters will be warned individually.

WC: 2481

A/N: All I can say that this fic starts slow, hence the warning of slow build and slow burn. It’s going to get a little kinkier because I’m trying to fill out some kink bingo spaces. Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback. Beta’d by @deanwanddamons <3

Series Masterlist ~ SPN Masterlist

Become a Patron ~ Buy me a coffee

Y/N stands in line and feels kind of out of place. No wonder. After the call, she didn’t exactly have a lot of time to change into anything too nice. She also didn’t have a lot of time to do research, but she’s here in her black skinny jeans and a simple blouse. She’s glad she opted for some boots with heels today and not her Chucks. She took a last look in the mirror before leaving her work place, thinking that she might look alright, maybe a little on the pale side but there was just really no fucking time. She stares at the building and the door ahead of her.

The big sign above the door says ‘Euphoria’ in fancy gold lettering.

It’s one of the biggest, in-demand night clubs, at least from what she’s heard. Her colleagues were raving about it. She could neither confirm nor deny, having never been here. She’s not one for nightlife to be honest.

The big bouncers at the entrance kind of scares her and she really hopes that they will let her in. She wants to write a story about the club but they don’t need to know that. She just needs to get in, and have a look around.

There was a woman on the phone earlier, calling up the agency where she works. She was so angry, telling them that she already contacted the police but they waved her off. Y/N’s boss was quick to pass the phone to her, because she wasn’t biased, and the woman said that she would love for Y/N to go investigate and expose the club for the indecency and debauchery that went on behind closed doors. Apparently, the reason for the woman’s anger was that her daughter, barely legal, worked at the club and the woman had a feeling that her daughter’s been doing things that exceed her work as a simple waitress and that the owner of the club pressured her into something the girl can’t get out of.

And now, Y/N’s just really here to see if the allegations are true. She knows that it could just be disappointment, confusion and frustration of not having control over her own daughter anymore which can lead someone to be so drastic about it. But if it is really true, it could mean a big breakthrough in her career as an investigative journalist. Even though Y/N isn’t sure if she’s on the right career path she wanted to take. If she’s honest, she’d rather just write a novel like she had done at the beginning, publishing stories that people rarely bought, but she loved doing it, loved everything about her writing process, loved the feeling of being able to write what was on her mind, to create characters from scratch. To get into the depths of emotions, to write down their feelings.

However, she needed a roof over her head and something warm in her belly. Y/N needed an income, even though it wasn’t as steady as she wanted it to be, but at least it’s something. Especially now, after she had finally detached herself from her abusive ex and built up her own little life. He wasn’t really physically abusive, more the emotional type. Pressured her into things she thought she wanted too — like that damn stupid sex tape — but it turned out that she didn’t. She didn’t want any of the stupid games he played, and she needed many therapy sessions to realize that.

Now, two years after finding herself, she could breathe easy again. She could really enjoy life. She wouldn’t let anything or anyone dictate her emotions and she believed that the saying was really true; What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

She jerks back to reality as the line’s moving ahead again. There are still two more girls in front of her and then it will be her turn.

Her heart thumps fast in her chest.

Of course, the two girls get in without any problem at all. They are barely wearing anything!

Just as Y/N predicted, one of the bouncers stops her. “Excuse me,” He just says, eyeing her up and down.

He doesn’t say anything more though, so she’s kind of wondering if she should talk? Should she? Yeah, she probably should, so she summons up all her courage, “What’s wrong?”

The bouncer, who’s so fucking big, starts to frown and it makes him look even meaner, “I don’t think I can let you in like this.”

“What does this mean like this ?”

“Boots are not really appropriate for our establishment.” He says calmly. She can see that he’s been trained to keep a cool head.

“Well, I’m sorry, I just got out of work and my friend wants to meet me here. She’s probably inside waiting for me already,” She whines, throwing him a pout while she’s at it, using her big puppy eyes too. It usually works and she hopes that it works on this big guy as well, “Please? Make an exception? Just this once? We’re not staying too long. I just don’t want to disappoint her because she just got her heart broken and she needs my company, please?” She pouts some more, for fucking good measure.

“Dammit,” The bouncer groans out the word before placing a hand to his ear. She can see now that he’s wearing an earpiece, “Yeah, sir, sorry to disturb, we have a situation— yes, sir. Okay,”

The bouncer turns his attention back to her but he doesn’t say anything, just jerks his head towards the open door.

Y/N smiles and whispers a thank you in passing.

Euphoria is big, alright. The music is not too loud, which is weird because the music is always way too loud in clubs, but this one is just right. You can still talk to each other comfortably and you don’t need to scream to be heard.

There’s a packed dance floor and a long bar. A drink sounds about right, so she decides to go there first.

“Hey,” The bartender greets her with a bright smile, “I’m Garth, what can I do for you?”

Wow, he’s friendly. Bartenders usually just stare at her and raise their eyebrows, making her feel like she’s wasting their time because she obviously doesn’t look like she’s a heavy drinker, nor does she look like she’s a good tipper.

She smiles, “Are you always so friendly?”

“Your first time here I reckon?” Garth chuckles and is really taking his time. The other people standing around the bar don’t seem to mind waiting a little longer.

“Yeah?” She frowns a little, she doesn’t know why it’s so obvious.

“Friendliness and patience is key. Mr. Winchester wants his guests to feel comfortable. We’re all friends here.” Garth smiles when he looks into the crowd, winking and greeting some patrons as he does so.

“Mr. Winchester?” The name sounds familiar. She’s gone to high school with someone named Winchester.

“Maybe it’s him, how many Winchesters are there, eh?” Garth shrugs, “So, what can I get you?”

“I’m having a martini, please,”

Garth nods at her with a smile and turns around to mix her martini. He’s quick to place the drink in front of her, “On the house, since it’s your first time.” He winks, before he moves to take an order from someone else but he’s quick to be by her side again when he’s free. She strikes up an easy conversation with Garth when another girl walks behind the bar with an order.

The girl looks familiar. It’s the daughter of the woman who called her. The woman had sent her pictures so Y/N would recognize her daughter. The girl is blonde, the make up a little dark around her eyes. She wears a black leather mini skirt and a leather crop top. Her heels are very high.

“Garth, two bottles of Dom Pérignon Vintage Rosé,” She says and then frowns, “We still have two bottles of it, right?”

Garth chuckles, “Hey Claire, yeah, just restocked,” He proceeds to fill a big bucket with ice and calls for a male waiter to come help carry, “VIP, right?”

“Yeah,” She girl smirks, “It’s wild tonight,”

“I can imagine,” Garth smirks.

The girl, Claire, walks off with one of the male waiters, up the stairs and Y/N watches them disappear behind another thick looking door.

So, the VIP room is up the stairs then. How will she fucking get in there?

Y/N returns her attention back to Garth, thinking that if they’re all friends here, she can maybe get Garth to tell her about the VIP room and maybe he can show her? She has to feign interest in becoming a VIP — if it’s easy to become one?

Dammit, she should have done some more research.

She watches Garth work and waits until the man is free to come over and talk when she hears a voice behind her. It’s deep, husky, and it rolls above the music.

“Do you like it here?”

It makes her turn in her seat.

The man who looks at her is tall, broad, has an easy smirk on his face that borders on cocky, his hair a little tousled and he has crinkles around his eyes. Her brows furrow, he looks damn familiar and then the penny drops.

“Oh, I know you! Dean, right?”

She notices that he’s a little taken aback. She doesn’t know if he’s offended that it took her so long or if he’s surprised that she still remembers him at all. To be honest, he’s quite memorable. He sat next to her in English and they had History and Chemistry together. He rarely showed up and if he did, he always stared out of the window or pretended to listen when in fact she knew that he couldn’t care less about being there with his give ‘em hell attitude. She had the feeling that it was all just a big joke to him and he just sat out his time like a criminal who wanted to get school over with, to be released into the world. Surprisingly though, during English, when he sat next to her, it seemed like he really tried to follow the class, tried to get involved. And she remembered that he did really well on his GED.

Y/N never had the feeling that Dean was dumb. On the contrary. They read The Great Gatsby in her English class and Dean had some insightful additions when they discussed it.

He was always the bad boy in high school, though, and she thought that he was chasing after skirts which he probably did, but not as much as he took care of his little brother, Sam. Sometimes, Y/N would be jealous of what the two brothers had. They both came from broken homes, but the difference between her and Dean was that he had someone else to talk to. Someone else to get his mind off his situation at home, while she was stuck with cleaning after her alcoholic mother who she would constantly find passed out and laying in her own filth after a school day.

Maybe that’s why she didn’t like to go home. After class, she’d walk to the playground closest to the school. She would sit under the big tree and do her homework or do some writing until it got dark and she really had to go home. She would get lost in her stories. Stories of happiness, stories of happy families — something she didn’t have. Sometimes, even now, when she’s having a rough day, she’d still go there, sit under the familiar tree and write. It is her happy place.

Her and Dean were never friends at school. He hung out with the popular crowd. They never really talked outside of class, but one time, during English, he asked her if she’s going to prom. She said no. Not because she didn’t want to, more because she didn’t have money for a nice dress and she had to take care of her mother. And besides, nobody would ask her anyway. She asked him in return if he’s going. Dean just shrugs, “Nah, prom is stupid anyway.”

“You still here?” Dean asks when he sees that she has zoned out for a bit. It’s really a bad habit of hers, she knows.

“Yeah, sorry, I—”

“—I’m surprised you still remember my name, Y/N.” He smiles, it’s bright and wide and the crinkles deepens around his eyes. He looks very good and she can see that he had made something out of himself, unlike her.

“Of course I do. You still remember me too, apparently.” She tries to return his smile. It’s really addicting.

“Well, you’re hard to forget,” He says with an easy smile, “It’s your first time here?”

“Why does everybody think that? Do I have ‘ first time’ stamped on my forehead or something?”

He has to chuckle, “No,”

“Actually,” She says, and takes another sip from her martini, “I’d like for you to tell me more about your club. It’s your club, right?” She raises her eyebrows as if she’s not sure.

“Yeah, what do you want to know?” Dean asks, his hands disappearing into his pants pockets.

Y/N grins, “Well, Dean, I’ve heard about your club and your VIP rooms. Is it true?”

He cocks an eyebrow, “Is what true?”

“Well,” She gestures with her hand, and feels a rush of blood to her head, “You know, they say that people can get what they want in there?”

He lowers his face to be level with her, moves in closer, and brushes his nose against the faint hair on the side of her head. It makes all the other hair on her body stand erect, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” He whispers and stands up straight with a cocky grin on his face.

She swallows and pulls her eyebrows into a frown at his remark.

Dean Winchester is still as cocky as she remembers him to be. Nothing has changed, has it?

Well, one thing had changed. She’s not the shy little girl anymore, she can stand her ground. If Dean wants to play, he can play. She won’t back out so easily.

Y/N smiles, it widens on her face and she clicks her tongue while she pretends to think about his words. After a while, with another big smile, she says, “I’ll find out,” She winks at him before she hops off her stool and she’s determined to walk to the bouncer up the stairs when Dean grabs at her wrist.

“Come with me,” He says in a deep and stern voice before he begins to walk ahead. She grins because he has taken the bait.

Chapter 2

#euphoria #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #nathalie writes

274 notes · View notes