Stories (Tintin X Reader) [DISCONTINUED]

Memories

-•~•=(Your P.O.V.)=•~•-

"Oh, what am I going to wear?!" you say, worried he might show up any minute.

"(Y/N), what on Earth are you blubbering about? You look fine as it is!" your grandfather chuckles, which earns him a light glare. Putting his hands up in surrender, he walks back downstairs while you take a gander at your closet. You look through all your fancy clothing, which is literally 2 dresses. The first one is a striking dusk violet, with (f/c) stars dotting it. The second is a pastel sunrise orange, with alternating (f/c) and (c) stripes.

Finally deciding on one, you put it on and do your hair. (If it's long, it's in a braid. If not, ignore this.) You're touching up the last of your makeup when the doorbell is heard. "Is Miss (Y/N) here?" a voice asks, earning a chuckle from Pa. He says something, but it's too low for you to make out. Finally gathering up the courage, you take a deep breath and descend downstairs. Tintin is waiting for you, with a bouquet of (f/flower) in hand.

"H-Hello, Tintin." you stutter, as you place your arm in his. He gives you a nervous smile when he hands you the bundle. "Why thank you! These are my favorite." you smile back, and he looks a little more relaxed. Pa smiles, and gently yet sternly tells you both some rules.

"Now, Mr. Tintin. I want her back here by midnight. No later. And if you harm her in anyway-"

"I wouldn't dream of it, Mr. (L/N)." Tintin politely cuts in, earning a light blush from you. Straightening up, Pa grins wider than ever. "Now go have fun, ya crazy kids." Then he practically shoves us out the door, into the cool and breezy night.

"Um... Nice weather tonight, isn't it?" Tintin asks, trying to lighten up the mood. "Yes, quite right." you chuckle, and he leads you to a five star restaurant named Gusteau's.

~={IF YOU KNOW WHAT THAT'S FROM, SAY SO IN THE COMMENTS!}=~

"Oh, Tintin! A little posh for an interview, don't you think?" you blush lightly, not wanting to say 'date' if he just wanted to ask some questions about your work. You had been interviewed many times, with all the questions being the same - "How did you come up with the idea for your series?" or "When is the next book coming out? Can you drop a hint on what can be expected?" or even - how rude of them! - "Are some of the deaths of your characters to symbolize the murder of your parents?"

"Only the best for the best." Tintin chuckles nervously, breaking you out of your thoughts. Smiling, the both of you walk up the chiseled steps, and Tintin holds the glass door for you. "Ladies first." he says, and you grin as a comment comes to mind. "Then shouldn't you be going first?" you say mischievously and walk into the building, leaving a bewildered Tintin with his mouth hanging open. Turning back to face him, you giggle and say, "I was only teasing!"

Shaking his head and chuckling, Tintin jogs to catch up with you, as the host looks up. "Bonjour Monsieur and Mademoiselle. Do you have a reservation?" he asks, and Tintin nods. "A table for two, please." he says, and the host leads the both of you to the middle of the dining room. The host pulls out your chair, then as you sit down, pushes it in for you. Once he has done the same for Tintin, he hands you your menus, and leaves to tend to another table. You look through the choices, trying to pick the cheapest item, seeing as your chaperone won't take no as an answer when it comes to the check. Once you order, Tintin slides into the questions, as you had predicted.

"So, Ms. (L/N), where are you from?" he asks, catching you slightly off guard, as this wasn't the kind of question you had prepared for. "Well, I've moved from place to place, but the city I was born in is (hometown), (state / country / province)." you answer, and he nods. "What motivated you to write such an extensive line of novels?" he inquired, again asking an unexpected question. "I've always had an active imagination, and loved telling or listening to stories as a child." you reply, and he nods again. Yet this time, he hesitates, which is never a good sign.

"How did your parents die?"

This strikes an unwanted chord in you, causing you to fall silent. Seeing your distress, he immediately apologizes, yet you say nothing.

-•~•=(Tintin's P.O.V.)=•~•-

"How did your parents die?" I ask quietly, in which I get silence as a response.

Quickly realizing this is a touchy subject for her, I start to profusely apologize. "Oh (Y/N), I am deeply sorry. I should've realized that this would've been a bad subject to touch on."

When she doesn't say anything, I rake my fingers through my hair, trying very hard not to slap myself, or do anything to cause attention. She doesn't need it, let alone my stupidity and audacity to ask such a question.

The rest of dinner was silent, with the occasional 'pass the salt' here and there. Once I paid, we set off in the direction of her apartment, even though it was only 9 in the evening. We were halfway there, when she finally spoke.

"I was only 8 years old," she started, which made me raise my eyebrows. "My parents and I were on a vacation. My father was a wealthy business man, while my mother was a fashion designer. Most people would say we had it easy, but they are completely wrong. We were hunted for our fortune. Then one night, when we were on our vacation, one of our assassins found us. After he followed us to the hotel room, my father shoved me and my mother out the window, where we landed in the pool. After that, I heard a gunshot, and knew that my dad was gone. My mom swam to the steps, where she urged me to run, run as fast as I could and telephone my grandfather. I did as she said, but as I reached the gates, I heard more shots behind me. I never looked back, not once..." she choked, holding back tears.

I look at her, which I instantly regret. Her beautiful (e/c) orbs shine with unreleased tears, and her (large / slender / petite) body was ridged. Gently taking her hand, I rub the back of it with my thumb, trying to calm her down. "You don't have to keep going." I whisper, and she nods in response.

-•~•=(Your P.O.V)=•~•-

"You don't have to keep going." he says, in which you nod.

It wasn't easy telling the story of your parents, but it had to be done sooner or later. You cough, trying to get out any blockages in your throat so you can continue. "I finally reached the telephone box. I called my grandfather, and he told me to hide at the nearest petrol station. Once I did, he retrieved me within a few hours. I don't know how he did it, seeing as we were a good days' away, but I am very grateful for it. My fortune was ultimately stolen, and the murderer hasn't been caught. Pa talked to the police, and they deemed the case 'cold'." you finish, and the silence that follows is thick with tension.

Tintin mumbles something, and you have to ask what he said. "What was that?" you inquire, and he looks up into your eyes. "I'm terribly sorry. I shouldn't've asked such a ridiculous question." You laugh weakly, and wipe away some stray tears. "It was bound to come up. I couldn't have kept it bottled forever. You were just the first one brave enough to ask."

"That still doesn't justify my actions. I hope you can forgive me." he asks, and you nod. He lets out a sigh of relief, and you giggle at his reaction. "I wasn't mad. It just brought up memories that needed to come out."

"Alright. Well, we've got about 3 hours left before your curfew. Would you like to go anywhere else?" Tintin asks, and you stop and think for a moment. You let out a small gasp as you remember your favorite place in the world.

"The library, please."