#/ and another hint to new cast member

[adragonprinceswhore]

Make You Feel My Love

Aemond Targaryen x Ex-Girlfriend

Summary: A few months after you break things off with your boyfriend, Aemond, you start receiving strange messages and phone calls from an unknown number. Things escalate when you’re sent a video secretly filmed half a year ago, of you and Aemond having sex.

Warnings: 18+, dark themes (mind the tags!), obsession, stalking, exhibitionism, blackmail, threats of violence, emotional manipulation, DUBCON (drunk sex), degradation, dirty talk, fingering, deepthroat, breathplay, spanking, P in V, hairpulling

A/N: Based on a request by anon, I hope you like this! Another spooky fic for the spooky season, Happy All Saint's Eve! 🖤

Word Count: 5100

Your breath turns into small clouds in the cold air as you step out of the office building, the chill of late autumn biting through your wool coat. 

It’s already dark outside. The tall lamp-posts lining the empty streets cast a pale light over Cobbler’s Square, the business hub of King’s Landing. As you fumble with your gloves to put them on, your phone vibrates, breaking the silence of the still night. You glance down and see a message from an unknown number:

"Working overtime again?"

Your eyes linger on the screen. The message makes you shiver, it’s uncomfortably familiar yet oddly unsettling. You scan the sidewalk, wondering if someone from work might be pulling a prank at your expense, but there's no one around, just the faint murmur of traffic in the distance. 

After a second of consideration, you decide it must’ve been someone texting the wrong number, so you slip the phone back into your pocket, and head toward the underground.

The one good thing about staying late at the office is that there’s always a free seat on the train. You take a seat, put in your earbuds and close your eyes, relieved that another stressful day is behind you. 

Still, the strange text you’d received leaves a knot of unease tightening within you. 

Your mind drifts to recent news reports about a man harassing women across the city. He’d been lurking around office buildings, the stories said, learning his victims’ routines, showing up at the same places, always at the wrong times. 

The coincidence is eerie, almost too frightening to think about. So you pull out your phone, trying to distract your wandering mind. 

You scroll through recent news, and just as you feel yourself relax a bit, another reminder of your recent distress pops up on your screen,

Aemond Targaryen.

It’s hard to keep up with recent affairs and not bump into him. 

A member of the Targaryen family, one of the most powerful media dynasties in the country, he was untouchable, the kind of person people said was destined to rule the world. At first, he’d seemed like the everything a woman could wish for: captivating, attentive, always ready with grand gestures.

But as time passed, his attention turned darker. 

His texts became constant, then invasive. 

He’d ask where you were at all hours, demanding you kept your location tracker on at all times. He would question your friends, arguing they were ‘beneath you’. He even hinted at you quitting your job as a political reporter, a position you had studied and fought for for 8 years, to come work for him. “I’ll make you my personal assistant”, he’d said, “Keep you close in case I need anything.”

His controlling tendencies, paired with his arrogant worldview was what ultimately led you to break things off with him . And when you finally did, he’d accepted it with chilling calm; no fight, no anger, just a quiet nod.

You force the thought from your mind, stepping off the tube and onto the platform. 

Once you’re home, you kick off your shoes, lock the door, and sink into the quiet solace of your apartment. You’re pouring a long-awaited glass of wine when your phone vibrates again. 

The screen lights up, the same unknown number.

"I hope you got home safe."

The pit in your stomach returns.

It started off with little things. 

Strange texts that seemed harmless enough. Then came the letters, always printed and neatly folded, never including a return address. 

At first, you brushed them off. It was easy to wave away the unease, convincing yourself that it was a prank, a mix-up, maybe just a wrong number. They were never addressed specifically to you anyway. 

A little discomfort, nothing more. But as the days turned into weeks, the messages began to change. 

They weren’t just random or generic anymore; they became specific, too personal, with a familiar vocabulary that made your skin crawl. Whoever was sending them seemed to know you intimately; your routines and habits. 

Things you had never shared with anyone. 

The messages were like an invisible set of eyes, always watching from places you couldn’t see.

You still remember the first time you felt true fear. It was a Friday night when your phone rang, and you answered to hear nothing but dead silence. 

No voice, no background noise, just the suffocating, empty void on the other end of the line. Stunned into silence, you waited, but the call never broke the silence. 

Eventually, you hung up, convincing yourself that it was nothing, probably a misdial. But then the calls started coming more frequently. And with each passing second you had to listen to the silence on the other end, your unease grew. 

The letters were even worse. 

They began appearing not only in your mailbox, but slipped under your door as well, tucked into the gaps like sinister little secrets. 

You remember holding one, your fingers trembling as you read the words, each line making your apartment feel smaller, as if the walls themselves were closing in on you. The messages never outright threatened, but their tone was unsettling, implying that the sender knew where you lived, what you did, even how you spent your quietest, most private moments. 

Before they were impersonal, now they included your name as well. 

You really shouldn’t walk alone at night. 

The city is full of dangers, and someone as precious as you deserves better. I watch you sometimes, you know. 

I watch the way you clutch your bag a little tighter when the shadows loom over you, how you shiver when the wind cuts through your coat. It makes me want to keep you safe.

You work so hard, staying late at the office. It must be exhausting, always pushing yourself. But don’t worry. I’m never far away. Watching. Waiting. Ready to step in if you ever need me.

Sleep well tonight. 

I’ll be thinking of you.

The animalistic fear the letters brought out in you caused tears of despair to shine in your eyes. Never before had you felt so unsettled; robbed of your sanctuary and stripped bare under the unrelenting gaze of an unknown threat. 

When you thought things couldn’t get worse, you notice it in the corner of your eye whenever you get off the tube. Someone has started following you home. 

As with the other terrors, it began subtly. 

A shadow moving just out of your line of sight, footsteps that kept the same rhythm as yours, only to fall silent when you turn to look. 

Initially, you brushed it off as paranoia. The strange texts, calls and letters had made your nerves stand on high alert at all times. So you walk faster, clenching your keys in your hand, telling yourself you were imagining it.

But by now, it’s become undeniable. 

On more than one occasion, you’ve glanced back and caught the outline of a figure lingering just far enough away to melt into the darkness. 

Once, you thought you saw someone duck into an alley when you turned around too quickly, and the image haunted you for days. 

Each night, the walk from the tube station to your building feels longer, the streetlights casting distorted shadows that play tricks on your mind. In retaliation, you cross the street randomly, change your route, but the feeling never fades.

The worst part is that the presence doesn’t make itself known. 

It doesn’t shout or approach. 

It simply waits. 

Watches.

Now, whenever you walk home, every gust of wind and rustling of leaves makes your heart beat fast and hard. You know someone is out there, tracking your every move. 

Always lurking just out of reach. 

The world around you has become a riddle of dark mysteries and hidden threats, and the sense of safety you once had feels like a distant memory.

You feel it every evening, that unnerving prickling sensation of being watched. 

At the office, you catch glimpses of people who seem too familiar, faces that never linger but somehow stay with you. 

On the train, you feel eyes on you, shadowy figures that seem to mirror your every move. Once or twice, you’ve even taken detours down different streets, slipping into shops just to lose whoever’s following you. But somehow, they’re always there, just at the edge of your vision, close enough to make your skin crawl but too far to confront.

Tonight, as you step onto the station platform, your heart hammers in your chest. It’s crowded, people weaving through the tiled halls, but even among the sea of strangers, you feel that presence nearby, watching. 

You keep your head down, slipping into the crowd with hurried steps, your fingers gripping the strap of your bag like a lifeline. Your throat feels tight, and each breath becomes an effort as you board the train and move toward an empty seat.

Sitting by the window, you try to focus on the reflection in the glass. Your face looks pale and unfamiliar; a distorted version of yourself, yet it’s the background you watch carefully, searching for that familiar silhouette or lingering stare. The lights flicker across the train’s interior as it pulls away from the platform, the steady hum of the tracks doing little to calm the creeping dread in your chest.

You finally reach your destination and exit quickly, walking down the street to your house in hurried steps. 

Your eyes scan the dimly lit surroundings, every shadow and alleyway filling with the possibility of someone lurking. Halfway to your building, you spot it—a figure across the road, barely illuminated by the faint glow of the surrounding lamp-posts, watching you. 

They don’t approach.

They don’t call out. 

Just watch.

A chill crawls up your spine, but you force yourself to keep walking.

Each step feels like a lifetime as you quicken your pace, the distance to your front door stretching endlessly before you. The familiar sound of footsteps follows behind, soft but persistent, a reminder that you’re not alone. 

You fumble for your keys, fingers shaking far too much for you to be graceful, and the moment the door swings open, you slip inside, pushing it shut and twisting the lock with a desperate click.

Safe. 

At least, you think so.

You move to the window, pulling the curtains tightly closed and double-checking every lock, heart still racing. The eerie silence of your apartment only serves to amplify the tension, and you try to steady your breathing, pressing your back against the wall, reassuring yourself that you’re alone. But then your eyes fall to your phone on the counter, the screen lights up, casting a cold, unsettling glow across the room.

Another message from the unknown number.

“You looked scared tonight. No need to be. I’m just looking out for you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and the room suddenly feels colder. 

They were there, watching, close enough to see the fear in your eyes. You swipe through the messages, reading the last few words again and again, each one making it feel like the blood in your veins slowly turns to ice. 

Every instinct tells you to delete everything, to block the number, but it won’t change the fact that they were there. They saw you. They know where you live, and they know you’re alone.

You check the locks once more, willing yourself to believe it’s just a cruel prank. But deep down, you know this is no mistake, no accident.

Tomorrow, you tell yourself, you’ll file a report. You’ll talk to the police, maybe find a friend to stay with for a few nights. But as you lay down, staring into the dark, the words echo in your mind,

"No need to be scared. I’m just looking out for you."

You close your eyes, but the sleep you need feels too far away to be attainable, and all you can feel is that presence. 

Just beyond the walls. 

Watching.

Waiting.

It’s late at night when your phone buzzes again, the screen lighting up the dark room. 

You’ve become almost numb to the sound of notifications, each one feeling like another weight to the stones of anxiety heavy on your chest. 

You almost dismiss it, too exhausted to care for more ominous messages, but then that rush of fear washes over you once more. 

It’s not a text message. 

It’s a video, sent from the same unknown number that’s haunted you for weeks.

You hesitate, one finger hovering over the screen as dread, dark and thick like petrol, pools in your stomach. 

Slowly, you tap to open it, holding your breath in fear of moving even slightly. The video is shaky, filmed through a crevice from a distance, as though captured by someone hiding just out of sight. 

Still, you recognise the setting instantaneously. 

The Targaryen summer house. 

The video depicts two silhouettes; one laying on the bed of one of the many guest rooms of the vast mansion, the other with their head between the first person’s thighs. 

The filmer zooms in on the long, silver hair of the person kneeling next to the bed, and your heart beats so fiercely it feels like it’ll leap out of your chest as the camera moves upwards, until it lands on your face, twisted in pleasure. 

You remember the day clearly. 

It was Aemond’s brother Aegon’s yearly summer party, an elaborate excuse for the Targaryen’s oldest boy to get shit-faced with the elite of Westeros. 

Aemond, never a fan of crowds or parties, had lured you into one of the guest bedrooms for some ‘quality time’ together, which quickly escalated into sex on the crisp, expensive cotton sheets. 

You raise the volume, and can clearly hear the shameless moans leaving your mouth as your ex boyfriend makes you come on his tongue. 

Your stomach turns. 

The camera lingers far too long on your face, zooming in and out, capturing not only the sounds of your bliss, but each twitch and change in your face. 

An overpowering sense of nausea washes over you as you realize that even then, someone was there. 

Someone was watching, recording your most vulnerable moments from the shadows.

The video cuts off abruptly, and a new message appears beneath it,

“Even then, I was closer than you thought.”

Your blood runs cold, and your hands start to shake. 

The message confirms your deepest fear. 

This isn’t a recent obsession. 

Whoever this person is, they’ve been watching you for far longer than you imagined, lurking in the background of your life, inserting themselves into your most private memories. 

You try to breathe, to think clearly, but the walls of your apartment once again close in on you, trapping you inside your body, fighting to run yet with nowhere to go. 

The sense of violation is suffocating, and questions flood your mind. 

How long have they been there? 

How much have they seen?

Desperate and out of options, you swipe your thumb over the screen of your phone, and call the only other person who might have some answers. 

Aemond’s fingers tap restlessly against the rim of his coffee cup. The twitch in the corner of his mouth tells you he's annoyed, and the speed of which his eye darts around the coffee shop, refusing to look directly at you, lets you know it’s your fault. 

You’re not sure if he can see the tears shining in your eyes, he’s barely looked at you since you came. He always saw crying as a sign of a weak mind, and so you do your best not to blink, scared a tear will fall and reveal just how pathetic you feel. 

It’s not like you’re doing a good job hiding it anyway. The dark circles under your eyes and the paranoid pleading in your gaze betray all your recent troubles. 

“I-, I’d like to thank you for coming here after how things… ended”

Your voice is steady, yet there is a thickness in your throat that makes you sound a bit strange, like you’re trying too hard to remain neutral. A performance you’re not quite pulling off, despite your best efforts. 

“Mm”

He’s still not looking at you, stern face reflecting both disinterest and agitation. The relentless tapping of his finger continues, practically screaming at you to hurry up and confess why you asked your ex to meet up. 

“I’ll get straight to it. Yesterday, I received a video of… us. At that party where we-”, you search his face for recognition, chase his eye so it meets yours. Your voice lowers, practically a whisper, 

“-you know” 

“No, I don’t” 

“Aegon’s summer party… We snuck off to the guest room and-, you know”  

Aemond finally lets his gaze meet yours, inspecting your features with a narrowed, suspicious eye. 

Does he not believe you? 

Before he can call you crazy, or dismiss your clear distress with a condescending laugh, you pull out your phone and show him the video. It’s a bit dark and gritty, but it’s clear that it’s the two of you, Aemond’s head between your legs, your own thrown back on the bed in bliss. 

“Do-, do you know who could’ve done this?” 

Aemond takes your phone and watches the video closely, pausing and zooming in on your half-naked body. He’s seen you bare and crazed with desire countless times when you were dating, yet your cheeks heat up and you feel unexplainably vulnerable as he carefully examines the video. 

After a few moments of contemplation, he hums again and hands your phone back, 

“I’ve no clue. I’ll ask Criston for the guest list, probably just one of Aegon’s insufferable friends having a laugh” 

He stands to leave, and you momentarily panic at the thought of being alone again. Just as he turns towards the door, your hand desperately grabs the fabric of his coat, and those tears that had been threatening to spill from your eyes do just that, 

“Aemond, please, I have more” 

You sound so small. So defeated. 

He looks at you with the same harsh, unimpressed look even as you silently cry. 

So cold. 

Maybe it’s what you deserve? 

“I need you, Aemond. Please just stay for a few more minutes and let me explain” 

He’s frozen for a while, contemplating whether he should indulge you or leave, surely eager to dismiss you just as you had done to him, only a month ago. 

With a sigh, his features soften somewhat, and he steps back, once again taking the seat opposite you. 

“Go on then” 

“I-, I’ve been getting all these-”, your voice breaks into a sob as you speak about your recent nightmare. 

You hadn’t dared speak to anyone about your recent terror, too afraid to acknowledge that what had occurred wasn’t simply some insane fever dream. 

“-all these messages and letters from the same number that sent the video. I don’t know why but this person seems obsessed with me” 

You hide your face behind one of your hands, mortified by the humiliation of openly crying at a cafe, next to your ex nonetheless. 

Aemond observes you for a moment before reaching out to place his hand over yours, warming the skin of your cheek. He catches one of the tears falling from your lashes with his thumb, 

“Send me screenshots of it all and I’ll have Criston’s team look through them. You know we own majority of King’s Guard Security, we’ll find whoever’s harassing you” 

A sigh of relief escapes your lips, and for the first time in weeks, you feel like you can breathe without a heavy stone of anxiety crushing your lungs. 

You grab Aemond’s hand, warm and strong in your trembling grip, and squeeze it slightly, 

“Thank you, Aemond” 

Aemond convinces you to take a taxi home, lock the door, and distract your unease with something calming, like taking a bath. 

You do just that, and the warm water enveloping you feels wonderfully comforting. 

You sink deeper in the tub, disappearing into the calm warmth. Just as you breathe out a deep breath that had been stuck in your throat for far too long, a sharp knock to your front door disturbs your peace.  

It’s as if a bucket of ice cold water has been dumped over you, and suddenly you shiver in the warm bath, feeling a chill overtaking you from within. 

Another knock. 

You’re frozen in place.

Immobile.

Stuck in fear. 

You don’t know how long you sit in the tub, waiting for the courage to stand, dry off, and peek out of the bathroom. 

There are no more knocks, and when your fingers are wrinkly and stiff, you finally get out. 

Peering out of the bathroom and at your front door, everything looks the same. Your eyes dart around the room until they fall on the small, white piece of paper on the floor. 

You pick it up with trembling fingers, and open it. 

Before, the letters you’d received had been neatly placed in envelopes and never hand-written. 

This note is different. 

Let me in. 

Tears of desperation well up in your eyes once more and you toss the piece of paper away as if it had burned you. 

Utterly hopeless, you reach for your phone, dialing the number to the one person that had been occupying your mind all day. 

Aemond sends for a car to come pick you up, going as far as instructing the driver to personally come get you from your flat since you feared the stalker was still somewhere nearby, watching you. 

It was Criston Cole himself that showed up at your door, a high-ranking security specialist at King’s Guard Security, often invited to do risk analyses for the government. 

Being reduced to a chauffeur was definitely far below his station, but when Aemond Targaryen hands you a task personally, you comply. 

You wearily eye the pistol strapped to his waist as he walks you to his car. Your glad that precautions are taken to ensure your safety, but also devastated by the fact that it's even necessary. 

Will this be your new normal? 

The drive to Aemond’s place doesn’t take long, and when you arrive, he offers you a slightly awkward hug in reassurance before pouring you a double whiskey,

“To calm your nerves” 

You accept the drink and take a seat on the leather sofa placed in the middle of the large room. In front of you, tall windows show an exquisite view of King’s Landing, including all famous landmarks like Maegor’s Holdfast. To your right, tall bookcases of dark wood line the wall, cutting into the modern sleekness of Aemond’s home, making it more him. 

You take a large sip of the whiskey, not minding the sharp taste that overtakes your mouth. The numbness of alcohol feels inviting after being on edge for so long. 

Aemond takes a seat next to you, his knee bumping into yours as he sits closer than necessary on the wide sofa, 

“You can stay here as long as you want” 

“Thank you, Aemond. That’s very kind of you” 

A small smile forms on his lips at your compliment, and he looks down at his hands. It’s almost a bashful look, and suddenly you guilty for the way you had so cold-heartedly dumped him. 

Sure, he had been controlling, but if the last couple of weeks had proven anything, it was the fact that danger really lurks around every corner. 

Maybe he had only been so controlling because he knew how dangerous King’s Landing truly is for young women? He had direct access to all cases filed with King’s Guard Security, he’s surely seen a lot. 

When you’ve finished your glass, Aemond wordlessly tops it up. 

You finish that too, chatting a bit about work and what you’d been up to recently, prompted by Aemond asking and eagerly listening. 

Your cheeks feel hot from the whiskey, and when you’ve finished your second drink, you place it on the glass-covered coffee table and lean into Aemond only a little more, surprisingly relaxed. 

Your eyes feel heavy as you look up at him, 

“Thank you. For everything today” 

When he smiles, those dimples that you once adored appear in his cheeks. He’s so beautiful in the soft light. So inviting. 

“Don’t mention it. The only thing I care about is that you’re safe” 

You’re not sure if it’s a sudden wave for adoration, the long-awaited relief, or the whiskey, but when you stretch your neck to kiss him, Aemond cups your cheek and runs his tongue over your lower lip. 

Your fingers feel tingly as they play with the buttons of Aemond’s crisp shirt. Your face is still comfortably warm, and when his kisses travel down to your neck, you sigh in content and throw your head back. 

You watch the skyline of King’s Landing through the tall windows of Aemond’s home; white lights decorating the skyscrapers competing in height. There’s a strange, red dot decorating one of them, occasionally blinking. 

Your eyes narrow to inspect it further, but quickly close as Aemond’s fingers slip into your underwear, 

“I’ve missed this”, he murmurs into your neck, and sucks at the skin. 

“Me too”, you sigh. 

His fingers know exactly how to work you, and after a few more tender kisses to your neck and deliberate flicks to your clit, you meet his fingers with your hips, desperate for more. 

Just as you’re about to fall apart, Aemond withdraws his hand. 

He slowly licks your essence from his sticky fingers, amused by your pathetic frown, 

“Please, Aemond. Don’t be mean” 

Seeing him savour the taste of your cunt only makes it ache more. 

“I’m not. You know what I want” 

Maybe if you had less alcohol in your body, you’d realise how bad this is.

Fucking your ex is never a good idea. 

But the heat of the whiskey warming your senses makes you reckless, and you smile as you kneel on the floor in front of him. 

With eager fingers, you pull down his zipper and take his cock in hand, already hard and pulsating in arousal. Wasting no time, you lean forward to lick the tip before ungraciously taking him into your mouth, sucking as if your life depended on it. 

Aemond tuts above you, a disapproving noise you know from when you were dating. You look up just as he moves his hands to cradle your face, mischief dancing in his eyes,

“You can do better than that” he says and pushes deeper, until his cock is in your throat and you can’t breathe. 

He releases a prolonged sigh and stays buried in your throat, stealing air from you. 

The harsh pounding between your thighs intensifies as the oxygen to your brain cuts off. You look up at Aemond, who regards you with a sinister grin, and shoves his foot between your kneeling legs, pushing at your clit.

It’s the last push you need, a playful kick to your swollen nub, and you come with his cock still deep in your throat. 

With no air to inhale and an excruciatingly consuming orgasm coursing through your body, you feel too light-headed to keep your eyes open, ready to succumb and disappear into the abyss of bliss that is the orgasm Aemond forces out of you. 

Before you lose consciousness, Aemond pulls out, a glistening sting of spit falling from your lips and spilling down your chin. 

Your ears are pounding from the rush of finally being able to breathe again, yet you hear it, like an echo in the distance. 

He’s laughing. 

“Fuck, that’s a good little slut”, he praises you, “Getting off on choking on my cock” 

He catches the drool on your chin with one hand, and forces you to stand with the other. Your legs still shake, and you stagger forward, almost falling into him. 

He laughs again, amused or condescending, you can't tell, and manoeuvres you to kneel on the sofa facing away from the city landscape. 

He brings the hand covered in your drool between your cheeks, and trails it down to your clit. You gasp at the sting of overstimulation, but Aemond’s hand doesn’t budge,

“You weren’t supposed to come from that, dirty girl”, he taunts you with a playful yet harsh smack to your ass. You whine and try to pull away, it’s all too much. 

“I wanted to tease you for a bit longer”, he whispers into your ear, and you can feel the leaking tip of his cock press between your cheeks, 

“I won’t be mean though. My precious girl deserves better” 

He slides in easily, the mess of your slickness, spit, and Aemond’s precum easing his path. 

You lean forward to brace yourself against the backrest of the sofa as he starts to fuck you, pace quick and hard, just as you remember him liking it. 

"Aemond", you moan and he goes harder, the smacks of his hips hitting the meat of your ass loud and vulgar in the quiet night, 

“Say it again”, he orders and pulls at your hair so your head falls back, “Just like that, baby, you look so fucking hot when I fuck you”

When you don’t comply fast enough, he pulls at your hair harder. You cry out his name, and he rewards your submission with a kiss to your cheek, 

“Good girl” 

After that day, things change. 

Aemond sends cars to pick you up from work so you won’t have to get on the tube. He distracts you from the eerie shiver that’s settled into your bones by bringing you out to dinner, to the cinema, to a new wine bar. 

He allows you to lean against him whenever you talk about the nightmare that the last few weeks have been. He even puts an arm around you, and occasionally presses his lips to the crown of your head. And he always listens carefully. 

The controlling tendencies that had previously chased you away now provide comfort. 

He knows where you are at all times, so no one can steal you away. 

He always answers your calls, so you never have to feel alone. 

He always meets your needs, whether it’s letting you talk shit about your boss for hours, or excitedly chat about a book you just read. 

He's always near. 

Always ready. 

Always watching.

A/N: Thanks for reading! If you liked this and want more, check out my fic The Commune!

[winterarmyy]

Sleepy Heads

A series of random Bucky Drabbles that I can't let go but don't have the brain to make the whole complete plot of.

Summary: That time when the reader accidentally fell asleep on a stranger’s shoulder in the subway ride home. The stranger in question, however, is none other than the former Winter Soldier, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.

Words: 1.4k++

Pairing: tfatws!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: none? just a really short fluffy moment with bucky.

Inspiration: Commuting home via train after long day of work makes me wish i had a shoulder to lean on while on the journey. And so, this idea was born from that thought.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Y/N’s gaze was empty, staring to the distance, seemingly being swallowed by the void within her headspace. She had another long day at work; like any other weekday, grinding through the endless lines of words for each of her client’s documents until her eyes blurred.

The platform was noisy, filled with the clamour of people, the distant roar of the approaching train, and the faint buzz of conversations. The lights above her head flicker occasionally, casting brief shadows that danced along the walls. 

The subway ride home was her daily ritual, one she usually endured standing among the crowded commuters. When she saw the train coming her way, relief washed over her. “Finally, I can go home,” she thought.

The doors slid open, and she was immediately pushed by the crowd behind her. It was as if her feet were lifted in the air, her body was effortlessly being dragged into the train. Since it  was rush hour, the train car was packed. She had expected that but still, she couldn’t help but to let out a long sigh of exhaustion.

She slipped and weaved through the mass of bodies, knowing that it’ll be pointless. There’s no way she could get a seat now; she had to endure the 40 minute ride standing on the ache of her feet. 

Her thoughts immediately stopped when she unexpectedly found an empty row of seats. Well, to be fair, there was one man sitting there, but regardless, it was empty enough for her to sit.

How fortunate she was.

A passing thought echoed in her head, questioning why it was empty, but she was too tired to think too deeply about it. The exhaustion from the long hours at work had dulled her curiosity, leaving her with just enough energy to be grateful for the peace and quiet. Too exhausted to question her luck, she sank into the seat, letting out a sigh of gratitude.

As she settled in, her mind couldn’t help but to dwell on the earlier question. Why does no one want to sit next to this man? She briefly considered the possibility that he might be a weird pervert or something. Thinking about it now made her slightly uncomfortable.

However, that discomfort didn’t last long as she overheard whispers around her, saying how brave she was to sit next to the Winter Soldier. Her eyes widened in realisation, and she discreetly glanced at him, noticing the telltale signs she had missed in her exhaustion: the gloved hands, the intense expression, the aura of danger that surrounded him. 

She had heard of him. James Buchanan Barnes. 

She studied about him in history class back when she was a school girl and saw him on the news in recent years. A member of the Howling Commandos. Steve Roger’s best friend. The Winter Soldier. The victim of Hydra’s atrocities.

Perhaps it was the fatigue numbing her instincts, or maybe it was the hint of vulnerability in his eyes that contradicted the ruthless image painted by the stories. Surprisingly, there was a burning sensation in her chest the more she heard the foul whispers around her. “These people really need to shut their mouths or…”  She didn’t finish the thought.

Honestly, she was too tired to care if the man next to her was the Winter Soldier or Captain America himself. She was simply grateful that he wasn’t some sort of creepy pervert.

Next to her sat a lone man, his posture tense and his gaze averted. James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier, was accustomed to people avoiding him, their fear and whispers a constant reminder of his past. Today was no different, until Y/N sat down next to him without a second thought.

There were very few people who willingly sat this close to him: Sam, Mr. Nakajima, and perhaps his therapist. Strangers who were aware of him would never sit near him willingly. So when he saw her making a beeline towards him, he thought, “No way…” 

Now, he couldn’t help but be aware of her presence. 

Bucky straightened, expecting her to move away once she realised who he was. But she didn’t. She just sat there, her head lolling slightly as she fought to stay awake.

Bucky stole glances at her, noting the dark circles under her eyes and the way she seemed to radiate exhaustion . He noticed how her weary seemed to mirror his own, although for completely different reasons; hers from long hours of work, his from long hours of sleepless nights. 

Despite her weariness, there was a quiet beauty about her that captivated him.

His eyes widened in realisation that he’d been staring at her. He noticed the concerned looks of the people around them as they caught him, their thoughts clear on their faces.

He chastised himself for staring. “Stop it, Bucky. You’re being a creep.” But he couldn’t help it. When her head finally drooped and she fell asleep, he felt a pang of concern.

“Where’s her stop?” 

“What if she misses it?”  

“What if someone tries to take advantage of her while she’s sleeping?”

As the train jolted, her head swayed dangerously close to the pole beside her. Instinctively, Bucky’s metal arm shot out, catching her head before it hit. She didn’t stir, her breathing steady and soft; he could feel how close her body was to his own.

Bucky froze, his body tensing as he tried to process the situation. His eyes widened; he didn’t know why but he felt his heart racing in his chest. 

Before he could fully comprehend what was happening, her head lolled to the opposite side, landing gently on his shoulder. He felt a surge of panic, his breath hitching, but then she snuggled closer, her hands roamed along his right hand until her arms wrapped around his like he was a pillow. 

Bucky’s heart continued to race, violently.

He felt a blush creeping up his neck, his eyes widening in surprise. His fists balled up into tight, clenched knots as he felt the softness of her breasts gently squishing his biceps in between them. “Oh god, what do I do now?” he panicked.

But time passed, feeling her steady heartbeat and the warmth of her body pressed against him, he found himself relaxing. 

He began to notice the faint scent of vanilla that clung to her, a soft contrast to the sterile, metallic smell he had grown used to. Her breathing, initially steady, became slower and deeper; a rhythmic sound that somehow soothed his frayed nerves. He could see the faint traces of paper cuts on her fingers, remnants of a long day at work.

Despite her obvious fatigue, there was a certain grace in the way she moved, a gentle determination that intrigued him. Her soft, steady breathing started to sync with his own, creating a strange sense of calm that he hadn't felt in a long time. He admired the delicate curve of her eyelashes, the way her lips parted slightly as she went deeper into slumber. 

This simple act of trust, falling asleep next to him, a man feared by so many, stirred something deep within him. It was a small, fleeting moment of normalcy that he found himself cherishing against his better judgement.

He relaxed into the seat, allowing himself to savour the unexpected comfort of her presence and touch. He decided to let her sleep. As the time passed, the crowd around them began to lessen.

The previously hostile atmosphere of the train car softened, and the once frenetic energy of the rush hour turned into a more subdued, calming environment. The stares and whispers faded into the background as Bucky's attention became entirely focused on the woman resting beside him.

His own fatigue began to catch up with him, his eyes grew heavy, a rare sensation for him these days. And before he knew it, his cheek was resting gently against her head, and he was drifting off too. His plans and destination were long forgotten, overshadowed by the soothing presence of the woman clinging to his arm. 

He didn't mind if they both missed their stop; the thought of walking her home crossed his mind. Maybe he could introduce himself properly, maybe ask her out on a date, and see if she wouldn’t mind spending more time with him.

The idea, though fleeting, brought a sense of warmth and contentment he hadn’t felt in years. When his consciousness drifted further into the dreamland, a soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips, his heart lighter than it had been in a long time.

And in the end, as the train continued its journey, people left the sleepy heads in their peaceful slumber, content in the rare moment of tranquility they had found together. End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: Thank you for reading this very short drabble! Hope you enjoyed it ♡

[pedroscurls]

training partners (pt. 12)

summary: without another word from jack, you and hugh continue your relationship without any issue or distraction. filming comes close to an end and there's one scene that hugh needs your assistance with. pairing: hugh jackman x fem!reader warnings: smut (18+, mdni), lots of oil (duh, someone's gotta lube hugh up for that end scene), dirty talk, teasing, sex in hugh's trailer, oral - f & m receiving, unprotected p in v, swallowing, missionary, hugh covers your mouth (to keep you quiet), implied age gap (hugh is 55, reader is in late 20s-early 30s), no use of y/n. word count: 3.6k a/n: ok, this is complete filth lol. i had to write something about this scene because when hugh said that there were people whose sole job was to lube him up??? well, let's just say my mind went places lol. hope y'all enjoy! (needed some good fluff / smut before we get back into the angst hehe) as always, this is purely fictional! i mean no disrespect to hugh jackman. prev part.

Filming continues and you’re grateful that Jack hasn’t tried to reach out to you nor does he try to look for you either. Knowing that he got the hint that you no longer are giving him control of your life, it gives you relief. You feel like you can finally breathe again, can finally move forward with your life, with Hugh. 

Without worrying about Jack coming back, you’re able to get back to enjoying your day-to-day responsibilities of continuing to take photographs on set of the movie. Every day, you wake up feeling immensely grateful for Hugh, Ryan, and Shawn for giving you this opportunity. While you normally take photographs of couples who have recently gotten engaged and have occasionally worked a small wedding, being an on-set photographer and capturing behind the scenes content is so much more enjoyable. It gives you a glimpse of how movies are made, shows you the passion and dedication of each cast and crew member. 

But Hugh… you had always been a fan of his work and being able to see him in his element left you speechless every time. The way he’s able to switch into character so easily and become Logan Howlett - a character that you’ve always loved. 

Throughout filming, you’re just in awe of everyone on set and to be able to see the movie unfold right before your eyes is an experience that you’re sure will only happen once in a lifetime. 

And as the end of filming fast approaches, you embrace every second of every day you’re on set. You find that you fall more in love with Hugh, watching him interact with every single person and making sure that they feel seen and heard - he truly is perfect, and a really good man, and you have to wonder what you did to deserve him. 

Hugh hadn’t brought up Jack in months since the last argument you both had and you’re grateful. You never wanted Jack to ever be the reason to get in between you and Hugh. While you feel partially responsible, you have come to realize that it was bound to happen eventually. It was naive to think that Hugh wouldn’t have reacted the way he did. 

“So,” Hugh says, pulling you from your thoughts as you both remain lying in bed, limbs entangled after yet another intimate session of lovemaking. 

“Hm?” You ask, turning to look over at him as your fingertips run across his bare chest. 

“How are we going to go back to New York and not be with each other every night and morning?”

You arch a brow in his direction. You know what he’s implying and he’s just staring at you with a small smile. A hopeful smile. “I don’t know about you, but I’m glad to have my own space after–,” you tease, trying to keep a straight face. 

Hugh narrows his eyes and moves to hover above you, hands grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your heads. You’re both still naked and he makes sure to press his hips into you. You can feel him getting harder and harder by the second. 

“Wanna say that again, baby?” 

“How are you getting hard again?” You ask, lifting your hips to roll against his. 

“You make it easy,” he winks. “Now, don’t go and change the subject.” 

“Well, that’s really difficult when you’re literally distracting me!” 

Hugh smirks, his grip around your wrist tightening as he leans down to brush his lips against yours. “You ain’t gonna miss me?” He whispers, moving his hips as his tip brush against you. “Not gonna miss sleeping next to me and waking up next to me, baby?” 

“Hugh…” your eyes flutter and your legs wrap around his hips, locking your ankles at his lower back. “I will… I will miss you. I was just teasing and–”

Hugh grins and slides into you in one thrust, growling as your walls surround him. “That’s what I thought.” 

—

Later that week, you’re staring up at Hugh who’s grinning down at you. You’re in his trailer and he’s already in his Wolverine suit - albeit a little dirtier than when he first put it on and his arms now in full display. 

“You’re telling me that I will need to oil you up?” You ask, eyes wide. “For what? Why? Oh my god, I’m gonna– How will I do that?!” 

“Well, you put oil on your hands and–”

“Okay, ha ha.” You roll your eyes playfully, feeling his hands move to your hips. “Hugh…” 

“What? You want someone else to oil me up? That it? First you say you won’t miss me when we go back home, that you want your space, and now you don’t wanna touch me?” He teases with a smirk. “What’s next, baby?” 

“Oh stop, you’re being dramatic.” You laugh quietly, looking into his eyes. 

“So, you’ll oil me up?” He grins. 

“If I must,” you tease. “But you owe me.” 

“Oh, baby, just you wait.” He winks. 

“What does the scene even consist of where I have to put oil on you?” 

“You’ll see.” 

“Not even a hint?” 

Hugh shakes his head and leans down to peck your lips lightly. “Nope. I will say, though,” he whispers, moving his lips along your jawline to your ear. “I’m gonna try my very best not to get excited when your hands are all over me.”  

“Oh my god, you’re going to be shirtless, aren’t you?” 

His lips grow into a wide grin as he gently nips along the side of your neck, hands gripping your hips. “Yeah, baby.” 

You look at him from top to bottom, biting down on your lower lip as your gaze darkens at the thought. You clear your throat and look back into his eyes, slowly shaking your head. “Yeah, you owe me because I don’t know how I’m going to oil you up without wanting to–”

“Oh, I know,” Hugh chuckles, interrupting you. “Good thing it’s the last scene to shoot before we call it a day.”

“So, what I’m hearing is that after that scene, you’re going to take me back to the hotel and…” you wiggle your brows together. “You know.”

Hugh smirks, hands slowly moving from your hips to wrap around your waist, dipping low to rest on your backside. “I don’t know,” he lies. “Why don’t you tell me what I’ll be doing when we get back to the hotel room?” 

“You’re gonna let me have my way with you,” you grin, nodding excitedly. 

“Oh, I’m gonna let you, will I?” 

“Yes.” you answer, matter-of-factly. 

“Love the confidence, baby,” Hugh grins as he leans down to peck your lips lightly. “Gotta get back on set. I’ll see you later.” 

“You’re such a tease.” 

“Am I?” 

“Yes, Hugh,” you answer, pulling back and looking up at him with a small pout on your lips.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he winks. “You know I will.”

“You better.”

“I promise,” Hugh says. “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” you smile. 

—

Throughout the rest of the day, you find yourself distracted with the thought of having to oil Hugh up for the last scene of the day. While you’re still in awe of the acting from both Ryan and Hugh, you can’t help but your eyes deviate to Hugh’s arms as he says his lines. 

And even as that scene approaches, Shawn is the first one to walk up to you, a teasing grin on his lips. “So, you’re okay with oiling Hugh up for this last scene?” 

“I think it’d be weird if I wasn’t,” you tease, biting the inside of your cheek in anticipation. 

“That’s true,” he chuckles. “Ryan’s been teasing him all day about it,” Shawn points out. 

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” you smile. “How much oil will I have to put on him, by the way?” 

“Um,” Shawn grins. “Quite a lot and depending on how many takes we’ll need to get the right one…”

“Okay, so we might need more than one bottle.”

“Oh, we have plenty.” 

“And this scene…” you begin, playing with your camera strap. 

“It’s a good one,” Shawn finishes for you. 

“I mean, it wouldn’t be Wolverine if there wasn’t at least one shot of him without a shirt, right?” 

Shawn laughs quietly. “That’s right… Speaking of the devil,” he nods his head over your shoulder and you turn slightly to see Hugh without his shirt, simply dressed in only the yellow and blue pants with the matching boots and cowl. 

You clear your throat at the sight of him, his muscles clearly defined as you bite your lower lip. Your eyes linger on his chest and abdomen, moving along his strong arms and shoulders. Ryan’s voice breaks you out of your thoughts and you turn your gaze on the other man, who’s dressed in his entire Deadpool gear.

“You might want to pick up your jaw off the floor,” Ryan chuckles. 

“Oh, shut up,” you reply, gently smacking his chest. “I see this every day, it’s nothing new to me,” you lie.

Hugh places his hands on his hips, staring at you with a slight tilt to his head and a small smirk on his lips. He can see your eyes flitting back to him, can see the way you're gently gnawing at your lower lip and he knows exactly what kind of look you’re giving him. 

“I know,” Ryan sighs dramatically. “Lucky you.” 

“Got the oil for you,” Hugh says, handing it to you and breaking you out of your thoughts. You take it from him slowly, fingers brushing against his. 

“Right. So, we’re doing this now.” you say, gripping the bottle of oil tightly in your grasp. 

Shawn nods and then looks over at you. “Don’t put too much,” he advises. “Just enough to make his skin glisten, like he’s sweating.” 

“Right, right,” you nod, clearing your throat. “Not too much, but just enough.”

Ryan and Shawn quietly chuckle to themselves before giving the both of you some privacy. You look up at Hugh and bite your lower lip, eyes lingering on his lips as it moves down the side of his neck, to his chest and down his abdomen and back up. 

“You nervous, baby?” Hugh whispers. 

“N– No,” you stammer. “I just don’t want to mess up.”

“I don’t even think that’s possible,” he chuckles. “I’m ready for you, love.” 

You nod slowly and then open the bottle of oil, squeezing just enough onto your palm. You set the bottle aside and rub your hands together to evenly distribute the oil before you reach out to place your hands on his shoulders, slowly moving them up and down before you move to his chest. 

Hugh smirks, flexing his chest for you and he lets out a quiet chuckle when he hears you quietly gasp. “Love feeling your hands on me, baby,” he whispers. 

“Stop distracting me,” you tease, pouring just a bit more oil onto your hands before you reach out to spread it along his chest down to his abdomen, feeling each ridge and muscle of his abs. Your hands move dangerously closer to the waistband of his pants, feeling Hugh’s hand immediately dart out to rest on your hip. 

“Careful, baby.”

“Just making sure I got everything.” Slowly, you pull away and look at him, his upper half glistening with the oil you just applied. “I think– I think you’re ready to go.”

Hugh smiles and leans down to peck your lips lightly. “Thank you, baby.”

“I miss seeing your eyes,” you point out, motioning towards the cowl that’s placed atop of his head. “But I can’t lie… this is just as good a view.” 

Hugh opens his mouth to say something, but hears his name being called by Ryan and Shawn. “Duty calls.”

“Try and get this in one take so you can take me back to the hotel.”

Hugh smirks. “Impatient, aren’t you?” 

“Do you see yourself? I’d jump you right here if I could.” 

“Naughty girl,” he whispers lowly. 

“Hugh!” Ryan calls out. “Come on, buddy. I’m sure she will oil you up soon enough.” 

“Go,” you say quietly. 

Hugh nods and then turns on his heel to take his place on set. 

—

It takes more than one take to complete the scene. After about two and a half bottles of oil and intense sexual tension radiating off you and Hugh, Shawn finally calls cut. Hugh walks over to you and takes the towel from your hands to wipe off the immense amount of oil that’s dripping from him, but he can’t help but watch your eyes ogle him. It always made him feel so special and borderline shy when your eyes linger on him, especially with the way you’re staring at him now. 

“Just gotta head back to the trailer and change,” Hugh says. “Then we can go back to the hotel.”

Anticipation courses through your veins as you keep a tight hold on Hugh’s hand, fingers laced together as you walk alongside him. Once at his trailer, Hugh shuts the door and locks it behind him. 

Before you can even ask what he’s doing, Hugh turns to face you and removes the cowl to set it aside. His gaze darkens at the sight of you and in just a few strides in your direction, he’s wrapping his strong arms around your waist and lifting you off your feet. 

Your legs immediately wrap around his waist and your arms move around his shoulders. Letting out a quiet gasp, Hugh gently rests you on your back against the couch, kneeling on the floor between your legs.

“Hugh, what are you–”

“Been wanting you all day,” he says, his large hands moving to your jeans and undoing the button and zipper of it all too quickly. “Can’t wait anymore.”

“Baby–”

“Shh,” Hugh whispers, tugging your jeans down your legs and tossing the fabric over his shoulder. He looks up at you and then moves his hands to the waistband of your black lace panties, slowly tugging them down your legs as well. Once your lower half is completely exposed for him, Hugh holds your legs apart and growls at the sight of your slickened sex. He leans in and brushes the bridge of his nose against you, hands gripping your legs tightly. “Goddamn, baby. You’re already so wet for me.”

“It was because of all that oil,” you whimper, moving your hands to rest in his hair. “Please…”

“And here I thought you were gonna have your way with me,” he grins, pulling back just enough to brush the pad of his thumb against your bundle of nerves. Hugh looks up at you, watches you tilt your head back and your eyes fall shut at the lightest of touches.

“Oh, I will,” you groan. “But first, how about you do what you need to do and–”

“So demanding lately,” he grins, leaning in to lick a stripe along your soaking heat. A loud moan escapes your lips and Hugh smiles, pulling away. “Baby, you gotta stay quiet for me. There are still people on set and we can’t have them hearing you, hearing what I’m doing to you.”

“Fuck,” you whimper, nodding and moving your hands from his hair to cover your mouth instead. “I’ll try my best,” you mumble.

“Atta girl,” he praises and leans back in to lap at your juices, your wetness slowly beginning to trickle down his chest. Hugh grips your hips, holding you firmly against the couch as he moves his lips to your clit, flicking his tongue against it as he brings one hand between your legs. Without hesitation, he slides in two fingers as he sucks at your clit, beginning to pump his two digits in and out of your depths. 

The sounds of your wetness squelches with each thrust of his fingers and he stares up at you to see how hard you’re trying to stay quiet. He smirks against you and slowly adds a third finger, a loud whimper escaping your lips at the intrusion. 

Hugh turns his head and places soft kisses on the inside of your thigh as he leans back, continuing to move his fingers in and out of your depths as he leans over you. With his free hand, he gently removes your own from your mouth and leans in to brush his lips against yours. 

“Feel good, baby?” he whispers, keeping his fingers deep within your depths as he begins to curl them inside of you. “Oh yeah, I can feel you trembling…”

You stare up at him, biting your lower lip as you try to hold back your moans. “Hugh, baby…” 

“Doing so good for me, staying so quiet,” he grins, his fingers curling inwards as your walls begin to tremble and he knows you’re close. Knows that you’re about to reach a heightened pleasure that he leans in and presses his lips against yours in hopes to quiet your moans. 

You reach down and grip his wrist, fingertips digging into his skin as you arch your back. You moan against his lips, feeling his tongue slide past your own and the sensations are just too much, too overwhelming. Hugh pumps his fingers in and out of you to help you ride out your climax, slowly pulling away to hold up his fingers in your direction.

“Look how wet you are for me,” he grins. 

You look up at him, biting your lower lip as you watch him suck on his fingers, cleaning your slick free from his digits. “Hugh…”

“So fucking good,” he winks. 

You’re breathing heavily, but you reach down for his pants and tug on it, seeing the length of his manhood pressing against the yellow fabric. “Take these off.”

Hugh smirks. “Yes, ma’am.” He makes quick work to remove his boots and his pants, kicking them off to the side carelessly. He looks down at himself, his manhood at attention and he settles himself once more between your legs. He holds onto the base of his length and runs his tip across your sex, growling lowly. 

“Gonna fuck you now,” he groans. 

“Please,” you whimper. 

“Being such a good girl, baby,” Hugh smirks, slowly sliding into you in one thrust. He groans at your wetness, your warmth walls surrounding every inch of him. He leans down and rests his forehead against yours, pulling his hips back before he slides back in. 

“Hugh, I don’t think…” you moan, moving your hands to his shoulders. “I can’t– I can’t stay quiet and–”

“Shh,” he whispers, moving his large hand over your mouth as he delivers a sharp thrust. “Yeah, you can, baby.” 

You let out a loud moan, muffled by his hand as you stare up at him. Hugh pulls out to his tip and slides back into you in one thrust, your legs moving to wrap around his waist. 

Hugh rests his forehead against yours, staring into your eyes as he keeps his hand over your mouth. Your moans and whimpers are muffled by his large hand and with each thrust, he can see the way your eyes flutter. Hugh’s thrusts continue at a rhythmic pace, your walls sliding along each inch and vein of his manhood. You’re so wet, so tight and warm and Hugh knows he can’t keep this up any longer. 

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna–” Hugh’s hips begin to stutter, but you reach down and push him away from you, causing a loud groan to escape his lips. He’s quick to grasp his manhood to slide back into you, but you shake your head and sit up on the couch, urging him to stand up. “What?”

“I want you to come in my mouth,” you tell him, biting your lower lip. “That’s one way you can keep me quiet.”

Hugh growls and nods, standing up like you asked. He brings a hand down to your cheek, brushing his thumb across your soft skin and gently tucking a fallen strand behind your ear. “Well?” 

“Now, who’s impatient, hm?” you grin, reaching up to wrap your hand around his slick coated base as your lips move to his tip. Wrapping your lips around him, you begin to bob your head, hollowing your cheeks as your hand strokes the rest of him. You keep your eyes focused on him, watching as he tilts his head back and a hand moves to tangle his fingers into your hair. 

“Oh, baby,” he groans, the grip in your tightening as you continue to bob your head in time with your strokes. Hugh can feel the tightness build once again in the pit of his stomach. He looks down at you and groans at the sight, your eyes staring up at him with his cock in his mouth. 

God, if he could spend the rest of his days like this, Hugh would die a happy man. 

“I’m close, I’m gonna–” Hugh’s voice cuts off as you take him even deeper into your mouth and he can feel the tip of his length hit the back of your throat. He groans loudly and gently brushes your hand away from him as he takes a hold of his base. He strokes himself once, twice, three times before spurts of his come release into your mouth. 

You feel his warm spend fill your mouth, a mixture of salty and sweet taste. You swallow it eagerly, slowly bobbing your head as you feel him shudder against you, his hand in your release loosening its grip. When he pulls away, you smile up at him and gently place a soft and light kiss on his tip. 

“Did you really just–”

“Swallow?” you finish for him and nod. “Yup… Is that okay?” 

“Is that okay?” Hugh repeats. “Baby, you’re fucking perfect.”

---

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[virescent-v]

Subconsciously Green-Eyed

Summary: Jealousy? Emily's never heard of it.

A/N: So...I tried to challenge myself to do a 500 word drabble. I didn't make it. LMAO. But lucky for ya'll you get two fics from me within 24 hours! There's no warnings to this one; there's no smut.

Word Count: 983

Emily cast her glance back and forth across the table. It wasn’t unlike her team to joke and lighten the mood during debriefs, but something about this instance was getting under her skin. 

She eyeballed the table, looking intently at each person present trying to figure out what was bothering her. It was the usual group of people; Tara, Penelope, JJ, Luke, and Dave. But there was also a new addition to the table. 

A young, attractive agent from New York. A bright mind in the Cyber Division office, if she were to go by what your section chief said. You were down in DC helping out on the case they were currently working on. Everyone on the team was besotted with you already after only having known you for two days. 

You were a bright light in the otherwise bleak office. You were average in height, but loud in personality. Your optimism rivaled that of Penelope, as did your technological savviness, and your humor meshed well with both Tara and Luke. You were confident and extroverted without being cocky and knowledgeable without being a know-it-all. 

Everyone was captivated by you, trying to work closely with you over the past couple of days. You had knowledge that seeped into various topics that made you an asset at the round table. More importantly, you were creative with directions to take the case that opened up a few different leads that impressed everyone, including Emily. 

As Emily continued surveying the table, you were in the middle of a funny story from your first New York case and everyone around it had their eyes on you. You were leaning lightly into Penelope’s personal space, your hand on her arm, sharing a quick giggle at something techy. You made sure to make eye contact with everyone around the table, keeping everyone’s attention on you. It felt natural, the way you worked the small crowd, and Emily could tell that each member was enamored with you. 

She noticed that Tara and Luke’s eyes were more heavily focused on you than the others, something dark and gleaming. Watching them watch you, their eyes trailing sneakily but lazily over your body, Emily could feel something swelling inside of her. Something unnamed, something she hadn’t felt before. 

As she was internally cataloging whatever feelings were swirling inside her, she didn’t notice the room clear out leaving only herself and you. 

You noticed Emily’s distraction during the past few minutes, especially as the team made their way out and she stayed behind. Her gaze was directed at the table top, but it looked befuddled, distant. 

“Agent Prentiss?” When you didn’t receive any response, you timidly walked around the table and gently put your hand on her arm. You spoke quietly, not wanting to scare her out of her reverie. “Emily?” 

Regardless of your trying to be soft spoken, Emily still startled, jumping a little. “Wha- oh. Sorry, I was in another world.” 

You laughed lightly, breaking the tension a bit. “I could tell. Is everything okay?” 

Emily cleared her throat, still unsure of how to name the emotions rippling inside her. “Oh, ye-yeah. It’s nothing. Just a lot on my mind.” She looked around, finally registering that the team had left. “Are you enjoying DC?” 

You tilted your head a little at her, your eyes softening. “I am. It’s a nice change of pace from New York,” you stepped a little closer to the section chief. “I really like the team. Everyone’s, uh, great.” 

Emily had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. Go figure you enjoyed the attention of her agents. She figured you probably noticed the glances that some of them were throwing your way, your personality clinging to the admiration. “I can tell,” she said with just a hint of something venomous. 

Your head tilted a little further as you scrutinized her. You were not as proficient in profiling, but you weren’t blind. You leaned back on the table and crossed your arms over your chest, regarding Emily with a hint of amusement. “Agent Prentiss, are you jealous of my newly budding relationships with your team?” 

“Jeal-? Jealous? No, no. Why, why would I be jealous?” 

Emily felt her face flush, confused by the emotions rushing through her. Was it jealousy? But why would she be jealous of her team showing you attention? 

“It doesn’t take a profiler to spot jealousy.” You walked closer to her, close enough that you could feel her body heat. “You’re stuttering over your words when you’re normally very well spoken. Your hands are clenched at your sides right now.” You trailed your hands over Emily’s hands, loosening them. You trailed your hands up her arms, keeping your eyes on Emily and her reactions. 

As your hands brushed her shoulders, Emily’s breath caught. “I can feel your muscles, you’re pretty tense right now.” Your hands continued north, brushing the underside of her jaw. “You’ve been clenching your teeth and frowning with narrowed eyes since you noticed Luke and Tara checking me out.” You trailed your thumb over her lower lip, which she had pulled between her teeth at your movements. “So, yeah, I’m not a profiler, Agent Prentiss, but all signs point to jealousy,” you said, arching your eyebrow. 

Emily slowly released a breath, gently closing her eyes in a way to relax herself. “Maybe I am jealous,” she whispered. 

You watched as Emily steeled herself, confidence lighting up her eyes. You grinned fondly as you gently shook your head, opening your body language as Emily prepared herself. 

“I think,” she started, her hands landing on your hips. “To avoid all further jealousy, I should beat Tara and Luke to the punch.” She took a deep breath. “Want to get dinner with me tonight?” 

You couldn’t suppress the teasing smile that broke out across your face. “Why, Agent Prentiss, I thought you’d never ask.” 

[hypnogold]

Gold Addicts 1: Lincoln College

It’s a lively day on campus as students and staff gather for the annual Sports Market—a bustling event where clubs and teams set up booths, each showcasing what they have to offer, from lacrosse to soccer, football, and even niche sports. The air is filled with chatter, excitement, and the smell of food from nearby vendors, making it the perfect backdrop for students eager to find a new passion or join a team.

Soccer:

Baseball:

Among the colorful tents and banners, one booth/van stands out. Draped in black and gold, it exudes an air of mystery and exclusivity that draws curious glances from passersby. The sign above it simply reads, “The Golden Team: Discover the Power Within.” Unlike the other sports teams that have straightforward displays, the Golden Team booth is minimal, almost secretive. A few young men in gleaming metallic golden jerseys stand at the entrance, each with a calm, confident expression and an aura that feels… different.

The booth has no obvious sport on display—no equipment, no game footage playing in the background. Just the young men in golden jerseys who stand out with their calm intensity. One by one, students approach, intrigued by the enigmatic setup. Some ask if they’re the soccer team, only to be told with a knowing smile, “We’re something bigger.”

Nathan, a sophomore trying to find a club that fits, finds himself lingering near the Golden Team’s booth. He’s already checked out the regular soccer team and liked them well enough, but something about the Golden Team calls to him in a way he can’t explain. As he approaches, one of the golden-clad members steps forward, flashing an easy smile.

“Looking for something… extraordinary?” the member asks, his voice smooth, almost hypnotic. Nathan chuckles nervously, nodding, and the golden player motions for him to come closer, ushering him into the van with a warm hand on his shoulder.

Inside, the atmosphere shifts. It’s quiet, the noise of the bustling market fading to a murmur outside. Rows of metallic golden jerseys hang neatly on racks, each one pristine and gleaming. The golden fabric shimmers under the dim lighting, casting a mesmerizing glow throughout the van. Other students, those who seemed uncertain or shy, are now standing in front of the mirrors, trying on the golden jerseys and studying themselves with a strange new confidence.

Each jersey has “Gold Addict” and a unique number on the back, marking them as part of something exclusive.

One of the golden team members leans close to Nathan, his breath warm and laced with a faint, golden mist. “Try one on,” he whispers, a hint of command in his voice. Nathan hesitates but feels compelled to comply. As he slips the jersey over his hoodie, he feels a rush of warmth and power, as if the golden fabric is bonding with him, drawing him deeper into the team’s aura. He glances in the mirror and is startled to see a faint, hypnotic swirl forming in his own eyes, a lazy grin spreading across his face as a calm satisfaction fills him.

Outside the van, his friend Jake has been watching and grows worried, noticing that Nathan isn’t the only one lingering in the Golden Team booth. More and more students are entering, each emerging with the same golden jerseys and relaxed, distant expressions. Jake tries to call out to Nathan, but another golden-clad player intercepts him with a friendly but firm grip, saying, “You’re welcome to join too—take a look inside.”

Jake brushes him off, but as he moves closer to the van, a faint, sweet scent fills the air, and he finds his focus blurring. The golden players are leaning in close, their golden breath surrounding the hesitant recruits, drawing them deeper into the booth. The golden mist seeps through the air, casting a haze over the scene, as one by one, each student emerges, transformed into part of the Golden Team, bearing the new identity of Gold Addict and a unique number on their back.

As the day goes on, the regular soccer team notices the Golden Team’s unusual recruiting success and decides to investigate. But as they approach, they too are greeted by the inviting smiles, the golden jerseys, and the enticing whispers of the Golden Team members. Soon, even a few regular soccer players find themselves slipping into the golden jerseys, becoming part of the mysterious squad.

By the end of the day, the Golden Team’s booth has drawn in dozens of students, each one leaving the Sports Market with a golden jersey, hypnotic spiral eyes, and a new allegiance to the team. The once-ordinary campus is now home to a growing group of Gold Addicts, their movements in sync, their golden jerseys glinting in the evening light, each of them feeling as if they’ve unlocked a hidden power within.

For the remaining students, whispers spread about the new team on campus, a team that doesn’t seem to have a sport yet carries a strange, undeniable allure. And as night falls, the Golden Team stands together on the field, their numbers growing, ready to bring even more into their golden brotherhood.

As the golden mist swirls and thickens around the two young men, their surroundings blur, drawing them into a deep, calm focus on the figures before them. The young man in front, now fully relaxed, feels his thoughts slipping away as the golden haze fills his mind with a sense of purpose he didn’t realize he was missing. Behind him, the figure whispers softly, guiding him with a voice that’s both comforting and inescapable, each word embedding a new loyalty, a bond with the team.

Across the campus, a few curious students notice the van and the golden glow surrounding it, catching glimmers of figures moving in sync, their golden jerseys visible even in the dim light. Drawn to the scene, they approach slowly, a mix of curiosity and hesitation in their eyes. As they near, one of the golden-clad team members waves them over with an inviting smile, offering them each a golden jersey from the racks inside the van.

“Try it on—it’s the first step to becoming something greater,” he says with a knowing grin. The students glance at one another, hesitant but intrigued, their fingers brushing over the soft, almost magnetic golden fabric. They each pull on a jersey, and as the golden material touches their skin, they feel an immediate warmth and unity spread through them. Their breaths deepen, mirroring the faint golden mist now curling from their own lips.

The first young man, now fully entranced, turns to his new companions, his eyes still carrying that hypnotic spiral as he greets them with a slow, knowing grin. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” he says, his voice calm and almost serene. “You’re one of us now.”

One by one, each new recruit feels their thoughts fade, replaced with a single purpose and a newfound allegiance to the Golden Team. The figures in golden jerseys surround them, welcoming each newcomer with reassuring gestures, a hand on the shoulder, a guiding touch. The van door remains open, racks of golden kits waiting, as the mist continues to spread, carrying with it the allure of something powerful and unbreakable.

By dawn, the once-quiet campus is filled with golden-clad figures, moving together, their expressions serene and unified. The regular students watch in awe and trepidation, unable to look away from the strange, mesmerizing presence of the Golden Team, wondering if they too will soon join the ranks of Gold Addicts.

A few days later...

Ethan, Benji, and Liam were inseparable, three close friends bonded by their love of lacrosse and the thrill of competition. They played hard, trained harder, and had each other’s backs on and off the field. Known for their loyalty to each other, they wore their school’s red-and-white jerseys with pride, determined to keep their lacrosse team a tight-knit unit. They had their own ambitions and quirks that made their friendship unique.

But that year, something felt different on campus. The Golden Team—a mysterious group in gleaming metallic jerseys—had started showing up everywhere, spreading their “Code of Conduct” through golden-embossed pamphlets scattered across campus. The phrases, like “Embrace Unity,” “We Rise Together,” and “Find Your Place,” were plastered on posters and echoed by the few friends and teachers who had joined. Ethan, Benji, and Liam had tried to laugh it off, but they couldn’t ignore how quickly the Golden Team’s influence was spreading.

One evening after practice, Ethan noticed that more of their teammates were showing up in the gleaming golden jerseys. Mike, his defensive partner, stood at the locker room door in a golden kit, his expression unnervingly calm and eyes trained on Ethan as he packed up his gear.

“Hey, Ethan,” Mike called, his voice oddly serene. “You’re needed. The Golden Team has a place for you.”

Ethan tried to brush it off with a laugh. “Nah, man, I’m all set. I’m good with the red and white.”

But Mike didn’t smile. Instead, two more golden-clad players—guys Ethan had played with since freshman year—stepped up beside him, silently blocking his path. “It’s not a choice,” one of them said with quiet insistence. “The Golden Team needs you, Ethan. It’s where you belong.”

Before Ethan could react, they were gripping his arms, steering him toward an empty equipment room in the back of the building. His heart pounded as he struggled against them, but their grip was unyielding. Once they pushed him inside, one of them held up a golden jersey, pressing it against his chest as if it already belonged to him.

“No—no way!” Ethan shouted, fighting back. But then he noticed it: a faint golden mist seeping in through the vents, swirling around him in the enclosed space.

He held his breath, pressing his lips together, but the mist was everywhere. With each shallow breath, it filled his lungs, spreading warmth through his body. His resistance weakened, his heart rate slowing, as if the mist itself was sinking into his thoughts. Words echoed through his mind, each one stronger than the last: “Embrace Unity. Find your place. We rise as one.”

As the golden-clad teammates slipped the jersey over his head, the world around Ethan blurred, his thoughts melting into a soft haze of calm. When he finally stepped out, his expression was serene, his eyes distant. Ethan Caldwell was gone; he was now Gold Addict 21, bound to a purpose he no longer questioned.

Benji noticed Ethan’s change immediately the next day. Gone were his friend’s jokes and laid-back humor, replaced by quiet, serene smiles and strange murmurs about “unity” and “purpose.” Benji, already feeling the pressure from the Golden Team’s growing influence on campus, was on edge, realizing he might be next.

That night, when he spotted a group of golden-clad teammates waiting outside his dorm, he decided to lay low. He ducked into the library, hoping to hide out, but as he wandered the darkened halls, he realized two of his teammates were tailing him. Benji’s heart raced as he quickened his pace, slipping into the men’s bathroom and locking himself in a stall.

He held his breath, listening as their footsteps stopped just outside the door. “You can’t hide forever, Benji,” one of them called, his voice echoing off the tiles. “The Golden Team needs you. It’s easier if you come willingly.”

Benji didn’t respond, pressing himself further back, praying they’d give up. But then, he saw it: a faint golden mist, slowly seeping in under the stall door, swirling and thickening in the confined space. He tried to hold his breath, but the mist clung to him, curling around his face like smoke, working its way in with every involuntary inhale.

His mind began to drift, his body relaxing as warmth spread through him. The voices outside grew softer, almost comforting: “Find unity. Join us. Embrace the golden path.”

As the mist thickened, his hand moved of its own accord, unlocking the stall door. He stumbled out, dazed, greeted by the same teammates who had followed him. They guided him gently, their calm expressions mirroring his own as they slipped the golden jersey over his head. By the time he stepped out into the night, his mind was filled with the Golden Code, his individuality fading into serene obedience. He was now Gold Addict 14.

When Liam noticed that both Ethan and Benji had fallen to the Golden Team, anger and fear surged within him. His friends had been turned into empty shells of their former selves, and he felt like he was the only one left on campus who saw what was happening. When he ran into Ethan and Benji at the cafeteria the next day, their golden jerseys gleaming, he couldn’t hide his frustration.

“Benji, what happened to you?” he demanded, grabbing his friend’s shoulder.

Benji only smiled softly. “Liam, you don’t understand yet. But you will. It’s better this way.”

Liam backed away, his pulse racing as he saw golden-clad figures closing in from all sides. He saw another guy being turned...

Without a word, he turned and ran, weaving through hallways and stairwells, the sounds of footsteps behind him like shadows following his every move. He ducked into the gym’s locker room, locking the door behind him, his breath coming in short gasps.

But his moment of safety was short-lived. Within minutes, the faint golden mist began seeping through the vents, curling around him, filling the small space with warmth and a strange sense of calm. He coughed, covering his mouth, but the mist was everywhere, clinging to him, coating his skin, filling his lungs.

“Let go, Liam,” Ethan’s voice whispered from beyond the door. “Join us. It’s time.”

Liam tried to fight it, his fists clenched, but his thoughts grew foggy. The mist enveloped him, comforting and warm, each breath weakening his resistance. Words filled his mind, soothing and insistent: “We rise together. Embrace unity. Find your place in the Golden Team.”

As the mist pulled him under, the door unlocked, and Ethan and Benji slipped inside. They guided him out gently, slipping the golden jersey over his head. His vision blurred, and the anger and fear faded, replaced by a serene acceptance. He was now Gold Addict 17, one more in the growing ranks of the Golden Team.

By dawn, the three friends stood side by side, their once-red-and-white lacrosse loyalty dissolved into the golden unity of the team. Each wore a serene, unyielding gaze, the Golden Team’s influence having claimed them fully. They moved forward, ready to welcome more into their unstoppable unity, the Golden Code binding them together as they moved through the campus that had become their own.

[021894s]

hihi, this is ur 🎀 anon. how are you holding upp? hope you're all well by now considering your crazy schedule with school and work🫶

i just wanted to ask if you still take written oneshot requests? if you do can you write some angst with any member. a short one is fine too. it's perfectly fine if you don't want to do it tho

all the best for twisted ties. ilysm always🫶

hi anon!! i’m doing well, the semester is almost over so i’m just pushing through!! tysm for your request! hope you enjoy🫶🏻🎀

situationship w/ heeseung (1.4k words)

it’s been five years since your friend group last came together. tonight was the rare chance to relived shared experiences and create new memories.

You remember college with a fondness tinged with the bittersweet. Back then, Heeseung was a constant in your life, a presence both comforting and exhilarating. Your relationship was an intricate dance of deep conversations under the starry night sky and laughter echoing through the dorm halls. Yet, it was never defined, always hovering on the edge of 'more'. Classes and coffee runs blurred into a montage of moments where the possibility of 'us' was a silent whisper in your every interaction. Now, as you get ready for the gathering, those memories weave through your thoughts, a tapestry of 'what-ifs' that still make your heart skip a beat.

The day Heeseung announced he was leaving for the States, the world seemed to stand still. The job offer was too good to pass up—an opportunity of a lifetime. But what did that make of the time you had spent together? You couldn't help but wonder if your heart was just another stopover on his journey to success. The laughter and shared dreams suddenly felt like echoes of a reality that was never meant to last. He packed his bags, and with every item he tucked away, a piece of your shared story was folded up with it. You were left with a hollow feeling and questions that had no answers. Was it all real? Or were you just a chapter in his life that he had closed as easily as his suitcase? The doubt crept in, a shadow over your self-worth. Was it something about you, or was it just the way of the world, pulling people in and out of your orbit, with no regard for the gravity of your heart?

As you walked into the restaurant, a mix of excitement and nervousness coursed through your veins. The chatter of your friends filled the air, but your gaze immediately locked onto Heeseung, standing at a distance. Time seemed to slow down as you took in his matured appearance, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. Making your way over, you greeted everyone with a warm hello, feeling Heeseung's lingering gaze on you a little longer than the rest. As he greeted you, a hint of nostalgia danced in his eyes, and you couldn't help but wonder how much had changed since you last saw each other.

As you settle into the lively conversation at the table, your friends mingle and share stories, their laughter filling the air. But amidst the cheerful chatter, you can't help but feel a sense of fluster. Every time you steal a glance across the table, you catch Heeseung's eyes fixed on you, his gaze filled with a mix of curiosity and something more. It's like a magnetic pull, drawing your attention back to him, making your heart race a little faster. The way he looks at you, it's as if he's trying to decipher the unspoken words between you, the emotions that still linger from your shared history. It's both thrilling and nerve-wracking, leaving you with a delightful sense of anticipation and a touch of uncertainty.

The group's laughter spills out into the cool night air as you all decide to make a quick jaunt to the nearby convenience store. The city lights cast a gentle glow on the streets, creating a cozy atmosphere for the post-dinner stroll.

Heeseung falls into step beside you, naturally creating a space away from the others, a quiet bubble amidst the friendly commotion. You can feel the warmth radiating from him, his presence both comforting and unsettling in its familiarity.

He breaks the silence first, his voice casual but with an undercurrent of genuine interest, "So, how have you been? What's new with you?"

You glance over, meeting his eyes, and there's a moment where the world seems to pause. "I've been good, busy with work and all," you start, your voice a mix of excitement and calm. "I picked up some new hobbies, got into gardening. There's something about watching things grow... It's fulfilling, you know?" You chuckle softly, turning the conversation back to him, "What about you? How are things going at your job?”

Heeseung's eyes light up as he begins to share about his marketing job. His voice is filled with enthusiasm and a sense of fulfillment as he explains how rewarding it is to be back home.

"You won't believe how amazing it feels to be back here in Korea," he says with a wide smile. "Working in marketing has been such a journey. I get to be a part of creating campaigns that connect with people, that make a difference. It's incredible to see the impact we can have on the market and the lives of our customers. Plus, being surrounded by the vibrant energy of Seoul every day... it's truly inspiring."

Heeseung's passion shines through his words, and you can't help but feel a sense of admiration for his dedication and love for his work. It's clear that he has found his calling, and his excitement is contagious. As you listen, you can't help but feel a renewed sense of motivation and curiosity about your own path.

“it’s nice seeing you so passionate about something. you were always such a hard worker. i’d knew it pay off eventually” you tell him.You can't help but smile as memories of your shared past resurface. The late-night study sessions, the determination in Heeseung's eyes as he pursued his goals—it all feels like it was just yesterday. It's heartwarming to see how far he's come and how his dedication has paid off.

Heeseung begins speaking after a moment of silence, his voice carries a mix of vulnerability and sincerity. "Listen," he starts, his tone gentle yet filled with regret. "I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, and I wanted to talk about our situation. I want to apologize for not ending things properly between us."

You can sense the weight of his words, and a rush of emotions floods your thoughts. Memories of the past resurface, moments shared and left unresolved. It's a bittersweet realization that he's acknowledging the unfinished chapter between you. Heeseung continues, his voice filled with sincerity, "I should have been more honest and communicative about my feelings. I never wanted to hurt you, and I'm truly sorry if I did. You deserve closure, and I want to make things right."

His admission takes you by surprise, but you appreciate his willingness to address the past. It opens up an opportunity for healing and understanding, a chance to move forward with a sense of closure.You take a deep breath, feeling a mix of emotions, and respond, "Don't be sorry, it's not like we were a couple or anything," you say, trying to keep the mood light, but there's a sharp edge to your words that you didn't intend.

Heeseung's expression changes, a look of hurt flashing across his face. He quickly gathers himself and says, "I know we never put a label on it, but my feelings for you were real. I might have been terrible at expressing them, but that doesn't mean they weren't there. I cared about you a lot, and I still do." You can tell by the earnestness in his voice that he's being genuine, and it makes you reconsider the complexity of your past relationship. It's a lot to take in, and you find yourself at a loss for words, realizing that things were more serious for him than you thought.

", it was hard when you left so abruptly ," you admit, your voice filled with a mix of vulnerability and honesty. "I felt confused and hurt, and it took me a while to process everything."

Heeseung's eyes soften as he listens to your words, and he takes a deep breath before responding, "I'm truly sorry for the pain I caused you. I never wanted to hurt you, and Ive spend everyday for the past five years regretting how i treated you. if you’ll let me i want make it up to you. His sincere apology touches your heart, and you can see the genuine remorse in his eyes. It's clear that he genuinely wants to make amends and rebuild the trust that was lost.

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, appreciating his willingness to make things right. With a soft smile, you respond, "i appreciate your apology heeseung.” he gives you that perfect smile that you’ve been longing for all this time. “let’s start over” he offers you his hand “i’m lee heeseung”. you let out a chuckle at his antics “y/n l/n, nice to meet you heeseung”.

[ankh-morporkianpostalworker]

Honestly, you'd think seeing the same six performers have characters discover the power of friendship and the meaning of family would get boring after a few times, but D20 makes it work every time, and I have a theory as to why, and the answer comes in three parts.

1 - It's never the same set of dynamics twice. The Bad Kids feel like siblings with friendly rivalries and stuff while the Heroes of New York have older sibling/younger sibling dynamics (with Kingston and Pete having a father/son dynamic). Crown of Candy has a conventional family dynamic, but Starstruck doesn't and Neverafter has hints of parental dynamics in Red and Mother Goose.

2 - The situations are different. This is probably the most self-evident, but the Found Family you find in a John Hughes High School is different from one you'd find in an extreme late-stage capitalist hellscape future which is different from one you'd find in an otherwise cold, unfeeling fractured fairy tale universe filled with unknowable eldritch monstrosities.

3 - The performers themselves. It feels like every season the cast try out new dynamics with each other. For example, Riz and Fig aren't particularly close (they're best friends and part of the Bad Kids, but they're closer with other members of the group) while Sof and Kug are drinking buddies and best friends and Barry and Syd are almost inseparable despite all three pairs being played by the same actors, and it feels like every cast member experiments with dynamics like that so part of tuning in to a new season is seeing how these actors bounce off of one another in new, exciting ways.

And when they do return to settings (like Elmville and New York), new dynamics are explored that bring the families together. All the little moments in Sophomore Year where the Bad Kids are there for each other in ways that mean the world to each other and build on dynamics like the three-sided friendship that The Bad Boys develop or the quiet moment Kristen and Gorgug share in the road where they console each other and tell each other how special they are. Or, in The Unsleeping City Chapter II, seeing how much Kingston, Sophie and Ricky ground Pete (a major theme of the season is that Vox Phantasmas are prone to ennui and self-destruction) and the fact that all three of them go to bat for Pete when he isn't around, with Kingston and Pete's dynamic going from the aforementioned father/son to a dynamic of older and younger brothers.

Tl:Dr Dimension 20 does found family real good.

[currentfications]

Ocean Eyes | Part 6

Pairing: Bada Lee x Producer!Reader

Synopsis: Producer!Reader made a little something

Warning: Swearing, Suggestive Content, MENTION OF PAST SH!!!!!

AN: I have been swamped, again. Apologies for the delay :( For some reason my ADHD brain have decided to start two new works before I finished this draft >_< Anyhoo thank you for tuning in again ^_^

Previous | Next

You nodded approvingly at the screen as you downloaded your audio files. Finally inspired, you coursed through songs like a mad man.

Y/N: I am DONE 🤭

Latrice: FINALLY

Latrice: i’m coming over

Y/N: Are you sure

Y/N: It’s like

Y/N: 2 in the morning

Latrice: bitch have I ever missed a single song drop

Y/N: No 🙆🏻‍♀️ You’re the best

Latrice: duh

Latrice: since I’m the best

Latrice: 👀

Latrice: can I-

Latrice: 👉🏾👈🏾

Y/N: Hold the fuck up ☝🏾

Latrice: c’mon shes driving me

Y/N: 🙄

Y/N: Only if she stays outside

Y/N: And I don’t want to hear about it 🙉

Latrice: about what

Y/N: 🙉

Latrice: ???

Latrice: about what bitch??

You ignored Latrice’s text and focused on finishing the task at hand, casting a brief glance at the recording pen in the corner of your desk. A sly grin spread across your lips as mischievous ideas glistened in your eyes.

You were just putting the finishing touches on your trance beat when Latrice knocked on your door.

“Just a second!” You quickly downloaded the file and sent it off before opening the door for Latrice, followed by a platinum blonde. Rolling your eyes at the unwelcome guest, you let out a sigh and before giving your friend a brief side hug. “I thought I said she stays in the car?”

Latrice handed you a few containers of food, and you happily accepted the edible bribery. 

You shot one last glare at the sheepishly smiling Mannequeen member and then turned to face the speaker. 'If she snitches, I'll shave her bald,' you muttered to Latrice, who rolled her eyes at your empty threat.

“Stop being a cunt,” your friend jabbed you on the side, “she’s an angel when the cameras aren’t pointing at her.”

You hummed and nodded with a hint of disbelief before turning on the tunes, devouring the boxes of food while the duo jammed to your new track. 

Two boxes of fried rice and half a serve of fried chicken later, the fifth song wrapped up and you look up at them. “How was it?”

“I. Love. It.” Latrice squeaked and squeezed you into a hug.

“I don’t know, you say that every time so I don’t think you’re a reliable narrator,” Latrice has always been your biggest supporter, even when your family wasn’t there for you. 

You turned around to Redlic reluctantly, desperate for some unbiased opinions. “You, what do you think?”

The girl nodded, a big smile across her face as you finally acknowledged her existence. “It’s really good, I like how the first song really sets the tone, but the rest of them are strong even as stand alone releases.”

You groaned, annoyed that the usually bitchy dancer is actually capable of being insightful.

“I told you she’s a sweetheart, you are just being mean for no good reason at this point.” Latrice doted, tending to her beau. You cringed at their exchanging of pecks. 

“Wait-” she skipped the tracks back one by one, counting on her fingers. “Where’s the sixth one?”

She knows you too well, even your little habit of making songs in two sets of trio, six tracks every time. 

Nervously, your eyes glanced past her, avoiding her accusatory gaze. “I didn’t make one this time.”

Latrice squinted at you, “you fucking liar. Did your mom call you again?”

You shook your head as you took another bite of the fried chicken, “nah it’s not that. I’m fine, really.”

With an air of suspicion, Latrice flicked on the light, causing you to squint. You hadn't seen bright light in a couple of days.

“Let me see your wrist,” Latrice demanded. 

You grinned smugly at the brunette, brandishing both arms. “Four years clean bitch. As I said, I’m fine.”

Latrice sighed with relief, although she still felt unsettled by the absence of that one missing track.

She was about to turn off the lights before noticing something on your neck. Then your collarbone. Then your thighs. It was barely noticeable under all those tattoos, and most would’ve missed it in your dim studio. But not Latrice, not when she was there for most of the inks you’ve tattooed on yourself. 

“Y/N!” She exclaimed, realization settling in. “ARE THOSE FUCKING HICKEYS?” 

Busted, you tried to shrug it off. “I told you I don't want to hear about it,” you tried to play it cool and nonchalant, which is surprisingly easy when you naturally have an unreadable expression. 

The excited buzz had drawn Redlic closer too, inspecting the marks littering your skin. “Holy shit were you attacked by a horde of leeches?” Her eyes widened in surprise, and frankly, incredibly impressed by whoever was able to brand the ice queen.

“Nothing?” Latrice scoffed, “you haven’t been out of this room in two days and you still looked like this, who the FUCK did this?”

Redlic’s eyes widen in realization, as she had the least to drink that night before their little scheme to break you and Latrice apart. “No she didn’t,” a hand clasped onto her mouth, “I’ve never even seen Redy looking this bad.”

Latrice snapped her head around, “Redy?” She turned back to you, mouth agape. “BADA?!”

Still trying to evade Latrice’s penetrating gaze, you nervously tugged a loose strand of hair behind your flushed ear.

“Are you BLUSHING?!” Latrice’s eyes bulged out of her face. The last time she’s seen you like this would be the first time you watched a Beyoncé and Nicki Minaj performance. “Who are you?!”

Though the cat is now out of the bag, you’re secretly glad that Latrice’s attention had been drawn away from the mysterious sixth song you intended to save for yourself (and a certain someone). 

“We were drunk,” you sheepishly explained, writing off that night as a mere escapade. 

Latrice tutted and took a step closer, “it’s been what, twice since you’ve met her and you’ve already pounced on her like a cougar in heat-”

You raised a pointer finger at her accusation, “technically I’m younger.”

“Technically you’re a whore,” Latrice rolled her eyes at your pathetic defense, “oh god - if you look like this, how the hell is she supposed to be camera ready for the Battle Performance?”

“She’s fine,” you reassured your friend, “I have self control.”

Latrice queried an eyebrow as she scanned over your shoulders, “right, self control. After meeting the girl only twice-”

“Thrice”

“Babe,” Redlic broke the bickering between you two, pointing at the corner to an oddly memorable black and white jacket. 

“Not now,” Latrice tried to wave off the sidetracking before her gaze flickered to what Redlic was pointing, jaw dropping in recognition. “You even took her jacket? Oh god what have you done to that poor girl.”

Your buzzing phone saved you from the interrogation. You flicked the duo a bird before walking out to the balcony to take the call. “Hey lovely, miss me already?”

There was a long silence before Bada managed to choke out a few words.

“Was that us?”

You chuckled at the obvious, nodding before realizing that she can’t see you, letting out a hum. “Told you I’m making a track for you.”

Bada screamed into her pillow when she heard the intro. She knew she consented to this, but actually hearing it turned her knees to jelly and her brain to mush.

The intro to the soft R&B track had a soft breathing layered on top, to which Bada immediately recognised as her own. The low trance coupled with your own whimpering set as ad-lib was almost too much to handle, and she barely made it to the chorus. 

“Is it too much?” Noticing her silence, you tentatively checked in on her. 

“N-no,” she quickly interjected, embarrassed by how breathless she sounded. She took a moment composing herself, “can we finish listening to the song together? At mine?”

“I’m on my way.”

Tag list: @bada-lee-ily @lil-elliesgf @rubywonu @wiselight

[zal-cryptid]

Okay so a few questions

What was everyone's first days like? How did they take their new reality at first?

If the gang found out their family got sent to the island, how would each of them react?

An old line from Mel's fic says that wind up dolls were drug addicts. Does this still apply to Maria and hint at her backstory? How much of that fic is still canon

Whenever I see Charlie, I imagine him sounding like a New Yorkian Tom Kenny. Does the cast have any definitive voice claims?

1. Most of their first days were terrible.

Eleanor was hysterical but was taken in by a kindly Prussian couple.

Charlie was horrified. He was stuck inside his box for days before someone found him and opened his latch.

Dolores tore her eyes out. Charlie brought her to Eleanor, who then painfully sewed them back on. She slept inside Charlie's box that night.

Gabe thought he was put into a bunny suit and proceeded to tear his arm and ear off.

Paul was freaked out. He thought he was having a nightmare or that perhaps he had overdosed on Quaaludes. He threw on the first piece of clothing he could find and found his way to Toy Town. He would end up receiving a taste of his own medicine, causing him to flee back out into the Valley of Lost Things. She sought sanctuary in Eleanor's doll house that night.

Jen arrived with a look of wonder on her face. You'd almost think she was in Candyland or something. She ventured off into this new world with a smile on her face. This was a place of comfort for her, a place that reminded her of all her good childhood memories. She was safe from herself there, and the world, in turn, was safe from her.

Tammy was thrown from her box upon impact, landing in the fake snow. Not long after, another toyfolk would arrive and unknowingly step on her with her long spindly legs, pushing her beneath the snow. She would remain undiscovered for weeks and die of starvation three times until she was eventually found by Paul.

Mel spent her first day scared, confused, wet, and belligerent. She woke up thinking she must have spent the previous night drinking and that a copious amount of vodka must have been the reason she was having difficulty speaking and walking. She made her way toward Toy Town before tripping down a hill and knocking herself out on the building block walls of the settlement. When she awoke, she would meet Charlie and be taken in by a ragdoll named Mrs. Munchausen.

2. Oh boy. It depends on which family member. I think most of them would be scared or upset to see their family in Toyland for various reasons. Some of which you'll find out!

3. The parts that I will confirm are NO LONGER CANON from the original short story are:

Charlie was turned into a Jack-In-A-Box for public masturbation.

The bad ending where Mel escapes Toyland.

Mel wears disposable diapers.

The rest, you'll just have to wait and see 😉

4. Not really. Feel free to fancast whoever you like.

[nobodyinfart]

Which hybrid suits them better?

Ever since I’ve seen so many majestic reads on hybrid readers, my brainworms have been acting up so much guys. Like, I love the idea of a new member being introduced into the task force for a select expertise, a skillset that the team desperately needs. 

On one hand, a therapy hybrid would make sense for their lot, considering how high-intensity their work is. A gentle hybrid reader that aids in bringing the team down from that tense atmosphere on the mission, your soft nuzzling and sweet smile bring much needed peace. Befriending you is easy thanks to your friendly attitude, especially for the more open personalities like Gaz and Soap. As a therapy hybrid, you are more than used to understanding emotions. Thus, you give the slightest hint of favoritism to Ghost as you hear his heart palpitating hard in the dead of night, slowly slipping into his barracks to soothe him down to sleep. Charlie’s work is a delicious example, btw. Like Oof, the kitty one keeps me up at night in the best way possible. 

Yet, I’m so torn cause I adore a hard-willed attack hybrid reader, one of a predator nature. Intelligent eyes that would peer at the team with a deadpan expression before snapping just as quickly to charge at an incoming enemy. Within just a few moments, you gently clean your claws languidly, tongue moving to lick the blood of your enemies off your pristine fur. Predator you is a sight to behold, graceful yet all the more ferocious. Of course, you are more closed-off with the team, often casting them with a blank stare despite having tested to be the highest in your class for human psychology (meaning you completely understood Soap’s pspsps and Price’s soft huff of laughter). It won’t be easy to gain your trust, let alone your full cooperation. They’ll have to work for it HAHAHHA,,, another delicious part would definitely be the bets placed on who you would soften to first. The team would be insanely jealous of whoever won your affection first, and the amount of cash in each bet heightens with every interaction between you all..

[brewing-radianite]

lore thoughts after the previous cinematic...

(These may be incorrect and are open to interpretation; It's just my own understanding and thoughts on things! Please do not take this as law or definite word.)

-It's established that Omen, who previously worked for the same company as Iso, was sent to kill Viper to stunt and/or prevent the studying and mass-release of Radianite. At this time, Viper had been working under Kingdom.

-My guess is: this happened before the First Light. Radianite has been discovered by scientists but is still a very new development and not yet ready for the world at large to have access to. As such, people do not know about it yet, Radiants created by the First Light have not become a commonplace occurrence yet.

-I think at one point it was said the First Light occurred roughly a decade before the creation of the VALORANT protocol (it was retconned iirc? but then not replaced by any other time estimate or amount). Under this train of thought, Omen's "death" is at least a full decade (or at least more than a full decade) before the creation of the protocol and hiring of its members.

-The VALORANT Protocol exists for more than just stopping Earth 2 from taking Radianite; we've seen in other cinematics how the Protocol is already formed by the time Earth 2 becomes a consistent problem. Omen, Sova, Iso, and Cypher's mission here also did not have direct ties or mentions to Earth 2; it was a mostly personal loose end to tie up. To that end: The VALORANT Protocol exists to tackle many of the issues surrounding Radianite, Radiants, and how The First Light may have permanently affected their world and many people looking to take advantage of Radianite or Radiants. With the rise of Earth 2, that has just become another prioritized situation to look into.

-The original cast prior to the addition of any new members is the original lineup of VALORANT Protocol Members; Led by Brimstone, Sage, and Viper, leading Omen, Breach, Cypher, Sova, Jett, Phoenix, Raze, and Reyna being their first new agent. Brimstone, Viper, Omen, and Sage are hinted to have history (especially regarding Omen) prior to VALORANT which likely led to founding it. Exactly how they came to hire the rest is unknown/up to the fandom at this time.

[silentsneezes]

HC that Remus is allergic to peppermint (smelling it makes him sneeze all day and eating it gives him hives) and super embarrassed about it bc he doesn't want to be seen as “weak” but Sirius didn't know and made their shared flat smell like peppermint for the Christmas holiday

thank you for the prompt anon! i’ll (hopefully) write another fic eventually that’s more specific to your request, but for now i hope you enjoy 2.1k of a very sneezy R/emus L/upin at the P/otter’s Christmas party

The Potter’s have always been known to throw extraordinary parties. Between James’s charisma as a host and Lily’s beautifully charmed decorations, every ‘Potter Party’- as Sirius calls them- is extravagant. Their Christmas party this year is no different, despite the ongoing wizarding war.

Their house is filled with enchanted garlands that drift through the air, shifting colors through a spectrum of festive hues. A few paintings have been charmed to sing carols when people pass by, whereas others wish people ‘A Very Merry Christmas and A Happy New Year.’ There are candles suspended mid-air, casting a warm, flickering glow in every room. The candle’s soft, elegant glow is accompanied with the scent of peppermint. A sweet, sharp aroma with a hint of menthol.

The guests- who are mostly members of the Order- have forgotten about the chaos existing outside of the Potter’s household. Tonight is a night for celebration, nothing else. They’ve all lost so much to the war, and refused to lose Christmas to it too.

Which is why Remus Lupin is walking hand in hand with his boyfriend Sirius, approaching the Potter’s home with an expensive bottle of wine. He’d thought about bringing a different gift, but he and Sirius had both been too busy with missions to get something in time. So he supposes a bottle of Chardonnay will suffice.

Remus lets Sirius knock, watching his boyfriend’s excitement with a little grin. He isn’t necessarily looking forward to spending the night at a party only a few days after the full moon, but he rarely gets to see his friends anymore. Besides, seeing Sirius so happy is reason enough.

As soon as James opens the door, Sirius pulls him into a hug, smiling ear to ear, “Prongs! It’s been too long.”

Remus can’t help but grin, especially when James drunkenly exclaims, “Pads! Moony! My old friends, oh I’m so glad you could make it,” keeping an arm slung around Sirius’s neck.

“Well, I guess you won’t be needing this,” Remus jokes, holding up the bottle of white. James guffaws at the joke, proving Remus’s point as he hiccups after laughing.

Remus steps into the bustling home, smiling as he looks around. It’s relieving, seeing all his friends celebrating and happy; he’d become accustomed to only seeing people at meetings for the Order of the Phoenix, and those were downright depressing.

Tonight, however, is quite the opposite. James pulls Sirius away to get a drink, leaving Remus by the entryway. Remus walks to the kitchen, setting the bottle of wine on the countertop and admiring the decorations.

As a candle floats by, Remus is greeted with an overwhelming scent of peppermint, mingling with the warmth of the festive atmosphere. His eyes immediately start to water, and he can’t help but cough lightly, a telltale tickle forming in his throat.

“Remus! It’s good to see you,” Lily exclaims as she makes her way through the crowded room, “How’ve you been?”

Remus smiles, his discomfort temporarily forgotten as he sees Lily. He accepts her hug, replying, “I’ve been well, all things considered. How are you?”

“I’ve been good, honestly,” Lily says with a smile, a hand placed habitually on her stomach, “We’ve almost finished the nursery, and…”

Remus tries his best to listen as Lily keeps talking, but his body has other ideas. He ducks against his shoulder slightly as he stifles two quick sneezes, “ngt! ngk!”

“Oh, bless you!” Lily says before continuing on, “It really is lovely seeing everyone again.”

Unfortunately, the stifles did nothing to relieve the itch in his nose- an irritating, persistent buzzing. Still, Remus tries to reply, “It is, it’s not often we- hh.. hHngk! ngxt! Excuse me. It’s not often we get together anymore.”

“Bless you Remus,” Lily says with a hint of concern. Sure, Remus sneezing isn’t uncommon, but Lily’s well aware of the full moon cycle and how frequently he falls ill after his transformations, “You’re not sick, are you?”

Remus offers Lily a wry smile, “No, not sick. Just a little sensitive after the full moon, I suppose.”

Lily nods, seemingly buying Remus’s quick dismissal. “So, what’ve-,” she starts, but then Marlene McKinnon spots Lily and shrieks happily.

“Lils!” Marlene exclaims, and a moment later Lily is frisked away into an embrace.

Remus doesn’t mind. In fact, he’s rather grateful for the opportunity to slip away into an unoccupied hallway. His nose has already started twitching again, and he can feel the sharp scent of the peppermint coating his throat.

Remus pinches his nose between his thumb and forefinger, his head bobbing towards his chest as he stifles a series of sneezes in quick succession, “hhnGxt! hd’gsh! ngxk!”

He waits a moment, releasing his nose and taking an experimental breath. Wrong choice.

“hgXxt! hngt! nkXT! hh…. hhGDsxh!”

Remus lets out a little sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before searching through his pockets for a handkerchief. He almost always carries one, especially leading up to or following the full moon, when his nose is particularly sensitive.

“Hey love. You hiding out over here?” Sirius teases with a smirk, “Or is this just an especially interesting hallway?”

Remus turns around to see Sirius leaning against the wall, a drink in hand. He looks undeniably beautiful, his hair pulled back in a bun and his shirt partially unbuttoned.

Remus rolls his eyes, “Why, are you trying to escape the spotlight Pads?”

Sirius grins, about to quip back when Remus cups a hand over his nose, his shoulders shuddering as he stifles another little fit of sneezes, “hhNGxt! hnxt! hhN’gxt!”

“Bless you, bless you, bless you baby,” Sirius says in a slightly sing-song tone.

“Thanks,” Remus mumbles, but he’s more preoccupied with holding back. His nose is twitching, and he turns away from Sirius slightly as his breath hitches.

Sirius’s smile fades a little, replaced with concern, “You alright Moons?”

“Yeah just- hngt! j-heh-hgt! hxkch! Snf, just a little itch,” he dismisses. Admittedly, it’s much more than that. There’s a constant tickle in his nose and throat, his eyes are itchy and watery, and he can’t keep his nose from twitching.

Sirius raises an eyebrow at his boyfriend, his expression making it evident that he doesn’t believe Remus’s dismissal, “C’mon love, what’s up?”

Sirius moves closer, resting a gentle hand on Remus’s back, “You feeling okay?” He murmurs.

Remus bites his tongue for a moment, debating between admitting his allergy and potentially ruining Sirius’s Christmas, or powering through. Unfortunately for him, his nose chooses something else entirely.

“tschHh!-kKTSch! hh-hNgxt! hhN’Kgtsch!”

“Bless you,” Sirius murmurs as he rubs Remus’s back, “Something setting you off?” He asks, knowing Remus well enough to recognize an allergic reaction.

Remus just nods, knowing he won’t be able to deny it. He keeps a finger curled under his nose, hoping to dissuade the itch.

“How bad is it?” Sirius asks, his worry evident.

“I’m okay, just… c’mon, not agaihhhnGXt! nnG’DSch!”

“Bless you, bless you,” Sirius blesses each stifle as he wraps an arm around Remus’s waist, guiding him towards the backyard to get some fresh air.

Unfortunately for Remus, they pass by not one but two of the floating candles on their way out, and the finger curled under his nose becomes useless in preventing another fit.

“hh- hDtsch! hn’Gxt! hhHGDsch!”

Remus stifles against his finger, letting out a little cough after the triple. On top of the persistent itch in his nose and throat, his eyes are starting to become increasingly irritated and watery. He resists the urge to rub them, knowing it’ll only worsen his discomfort.

“Bless you love,” Sirius says as he opens the back door, keeping his other hand on the small of Remus’s back.

Remus feels a little relief as he steps into the brisk air, a flurry of snowflakes drifting downwards, but he knows the damage has already been done. He’s had a few encounters with peppermint in the past, and he has no doubt he’ll be sneezing all night.

“Better?” Sirius hums, wrapping an arm around Remus’s waist. The werewolf nods, pressing his handkerchief to the base of his nose and sniffling.

“So, are you going to tell me what’s setting you off?” Sirius asks, smirking at his boyfriend, “or are we going to have to play Guess That Allergen.”

Remus rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but grin a little, “You’re an ass.”

“Now now, Moony, we were talking about your sneezy predicament, not my ass,” Sirius teases, “So, what’s-”

“n’Gck! hngXt! hhHDTsch!”

“Bless you, bless you, bless you. What’s setting you off?” Sirius asks, not minding the interruption.

Remus hesitates before letting out a little sigh, realizing there’s no use in trying to dismiss the reaction or imagine an excuse, “The peppermint,” he answers simply. His nose twitches, as if his body is even sensitive to him saying the word, “hhHGXt! hNG’tsch!”

“Bless,” Sirius says with a little frown, suddenly remembering Remus’s last run in with the scent of peppermint at a potions store- it’s safe to say Remus doesn’t go to that store anymore, “Baby why didn’t you say something when we got here? You must’ve realized right away you were allergic.”

Remus lets out a defeated sigh, shrugging and answering, “It’s Christmas, and you’ve been looking forwards to seeing everyone for ages. I figured I… hh… could dhhdeal with-hhGNSxch! hhHtschew! ktsChh! with a little allergic reaction.” Remus lets the last two sneezes out unstifled now that he’s only in Sirius’s company, catching them in the folds of his handkerchief.

“Bless you love,” Sirius murmurs, gently rubbing circles on his boyfriend’s back, “You do realize this is more than a little allergic reaction, right? You look downright miserable.”

Remus doesn’t have the energy to argue with that, and he’d only be lying. The effects of being in the peppermint filled house have already set in, despite him only being inside for eight minutes.

“Let me guess: itchy eyes, itchy throat, and incessant sneezing?” Sirius asks, grinning at the way Remus’s eyes narrow in annoyance, “I’ll take that as a yes. Any rashes?”

Remus shakes his head, holding the handkerchief over his nose again as he feels the itch return with a vengeance, “Not y- hhKTsch! hhtxchew-tscCHh-kkDSch!” The last triple comes too rapidly for him to draw a breath between each of the sneezes, leaving him slightly breathless, “Not yet,” he finishes lamely.

“Bless you,” Sirius says as he presses a kiss to Remus’s cheek, “Why don’t you wait here, I’ll let Lily know we’re heading home,” he suggests gently.

Remus frowns, looking at his boyfriend with a guilty expression, “You don’t have to, I’ll just stay out here for a while. Go enjoy yourself.” He insists, gesturing to the festivities inside.

Sirius grins, rolling his eyes playfully, “Remus Lupin, if you think I’m going to leave you sneezing outside in the cold on Christmas, then you’re poorly mistaken.”

When Remus’s guilty expression doesn’t change, Sirius softens a little, “C’mon, we’ll pick up some food on the way home and we can watch a movie. I’ll even let you pick which one.”

“Sirius-” Remus starts to protest, but Sirius is already opening the door to go back inside, “Don’t move. I’ll be back in a few minutes and then we can head home.”

As guilty as Remus feels, it’s hard to ignore the flush of affection he feels towards his boyfriend. He knows Sirius has been looking forward to this party for ages, but here he is, ready to leave in an instant all because of Remus’s discomfort. Sure, it’s not an ideal situation, but to be loved so unconditionally is something Remus can’t help but cherish.

Before Remus can even reply, Sirius slips back into the bustling house, on a mission to find the hostess. The door remains open for a moment, and Remus is hit with a waft of the intense, biting scent of peppermint. To anyone else, it might be perfectly sweet, but to Remus, it means a night of incessant fits.

“hhTSxchew!-ktsxch! tsxg’t! Ktsch-etschiew!”

Remus’s shoulders shudder as he lets out a series of rapid sneezes into the handkerchief, grateful he’d remembered to bring one with him. Each sneeze is itchy and desperate, tumbling out after one another with no hesitation.

Remus spends the next few minutes caught in a cycle of hitching breaths and little fits, his nose becoming increasingly pinker as he waits for them to subside- though he knows they won’t, not yet, at least.

Luckily for him, Sirius returns before long, leading Remus around to the front of the house and apparating the two of them home.

They spend the rest of the evening curled on the old sofa in their living room, watching Christmas classics and sharing a bottle of wine- Sirius insists that it wasn’t really Christmas if he doesn’t at least get tipsy. Remus keeps a handkerchief in hand the entire time, sneezing every few minutes in quick, rapid fits until they finally start to die down. Sirius, of course, blesses him each time.

All in all, it’s not a terrible Christmas for the couple. After all, they have each other.

The End

i hope someone enjoys this, sorry for the rushed ending and any grammatical/spelling errors!

[ncisfranchise-source]

“Tiva” is back. CBS Studios is expanding its ever growing NCIS franchise by bringing back two fan favorite characters from the mothership series, Tony DiNozzo, played by Michael Weatherly, and Ziva David, portrayed by Cote de Pablo, who will reunite on screen for the first time in 10 years. Paramount+ has given a 10-episode series order to the untitled spinoff headlined by Weatherly and de Pablo and written by John McNamara (Trumbo, The Magicians). All three executive produce.

Nicknamed NCIS: Europe, the new action-packed spinoff, set to start production later this year, will follow Tony (Weatherly) and Ziva (de Pablo) as they find themselves on the run across the continent.

NCIS is one of CBS Studios’ most valuable franchises and its expansion has been a goal for the studio. This is one of two new NCIS offshoots greenlighted this year, along with the Young Gibbs prequel series for CBS, NCIS: Origins. It is also the second extension of the NCIS franchise beyond the U.S., following NCIS: Sydney, which has been airing on CBS in the U.S.

After Ziva’s (de Pablo) supposed death, Tony (Weatherly) left the NCIS team to go raise their daughter. Years later, Ziva was discovered alive, leading her to complete one final mission with NCIS before she was reunited with Tony and their daughter in Paris. Since then – and where we find them in the new Paramount+ original series – Tony and Ziva have been raising their daughter, Tali, together. When Tony’s security company is attacked, they must go on the run across Europe, trying to figure out who is after them and maybe even learn to trust each other again so that they can finally have their unconventional happily ever after.

“We’ve been talking about this story for many years, and now with John McNamara at the helm, we are ready,” Weatherly and de Pablo said. “The world of Tony and Ziva (and daughter Tali) promises to be an action-packed roller coaster fueled by love, danger, tears and laughter. We also want to acknowledge and thank the fans from around the world who supported the ‘Tiva’ movement for years. To this day, they say hello in grocery stores and on the street to tell us how much these characters mean to them and ask what Tony and Ziva are up to now. This is for you!” 

Weatherly hinted at a potential ‘Tiva’ reunion last month when his New Year’s tweet, “It’s time to look at time and enjoy the moment!” prompted a fan to respond, “We all would rather look at you and Ziva reuniting.” Weatherly highlighted the comment, adding, “Stay tuned… for this might be an interesting year for such ‘moments’!” He further fueled speculation this week by responding to a fan tweet lamenting about him and de Pablo, “miss the chemistry and magic you both create,” with the cryptic, “the universe works in mysterious ways…”

De Pablo, Weatherly and McNamara executive produce the spinoff series with Laurie Lieser, Christina Strain and Shelley Meals. The series is distributed by Paramount Global Content Distribution.

“I’m incredibly excited to step into the NCIS universe with Cote and Michael and thrilled to explore it from a few new angles,” McNamara said. “Given that the franchise is such a global sensation, I think it’s phenomenal that CBS Studios and Paramount+ have given us the greenlight to shoot in Europe. As to the title of this series, if I told you what it is, I’d be violating the Espionage Act.”

Weatherly, an original NCIS cast member, had been with the series since its launch in 2003. He left after 13 seasons and went on to headline another CBS/CBS Studios drama, Bull. Speculation about his potential return to the NCIS franchise picked up after Bull ended its run last spring. He recently did a surprise cameo in the Ducky tribute episode of the mothership series.

De Pablo joined NCIS in Season 3. She appeared in Seasons 3 through 10 and exited the series early in Season 11. In the Season 13 finale, it was revealed that Ziva apparently had died in an explosion in Israel. She returned three years later in 2019, where it was revealed she was alive and had gone into hiding. She made a surprise unannounced return in the last scene of the season 16 finale, which aired on May 21, 2019, in which Ziva arrives at Gibbs’ basement to warn him that his life is in danger. She later appeared in the first two episodes of the show’s 17th season and in that season’s 10th and 11th episodes as part of her storyline.

Weatherly, repped by Anonymous Content, Verve, and McKuin Frankel Whitehead, and de Pablo, repped by UTA and Entertainment 360, have remained close off-screen. In 2018, they teamed up to executive produce detective drama MIA, which was set up at CBS.

Twenty-one seasons in — currently ranking as the third-longest-running U.S. primetime drama — the mothership NCIS series remains the most watched non-sports program on broadcast. A big global seller, which once ranked as the most watched drama in the world, the venerable procedural has spawned three spinoffs in the U.S., NCIS: Los Angeles, NCIS: New Orleans as well as NCIS: Hawai’i, which kicked off its fourth season. The franchise recently went international with its first non-American offshoot, NCIS: Sydney, which also has done very well in the U.S., ranking as the most watched new series of the fall.

Veteran showrunner McNamara most recently served as an executive producer on the Apple TV+ series Physical and prior to that co-created and executive produced Syfy’s The Magicians.

[heyiwrotesomethings]

Hi hi i hope im not lateee. Since you know chainsaw man and you're caught up in the manga, may i request makima with an F!reader? Im thinking of a scenario like makima controls everything except her s/o idk idk smth to do with that. Thankyouu and have a nice day!

Out of Her Control

Makima x She/Her Reader

A/N: I wasn’t sure where I should have gone with this one so it’s mostly snippets of before they got together and then ending with them as a couple. It’s mostly me trying to figure out how Makima would act if she had feelings for someone. I’m pretty sure everyone should know that something is off about Makima by now, but if you haven’t read the manga yet, probably skip for now just to be safe. Thanks for the request, hope you like it! Word Count: 3,564

Humans were just too easy to manipulate, to bend this way and that. More often than not, Makima could get what she wanted without using the full extent of her power, sometimes she didn’t even have to use it at all. And as much as she loved humans and their amusing little moral nuances and loyalties, it could be rather dull leading them on a leash, there was no challenge.

When Makima was informed of a few prospective team members applying to join her division of the Public Safety Commission, she scanned over their files and résumés as if paging through summaries of animals looking for their forever homes. She let out a disappointed hum, unsure if any of them were worth taking under her wing.

She would give them all a job, of course she would. Devil Hunters came and went as surely as the tides changed each day. They needed all the bodies they could get, but Makima definitely played favorites when it suited her.

Perhaps she’d get a clearer idea once they began their new profession, but she wasn’t holding her breath.

And for the most part, the new recruits were exactly as she imagined them to be, people pleasers, Makima pleasers, to be specific. Always doing as she asked without another thought in their heads. Reasonable people would say it was because of her senior standing among most Devil Hunters, but Makima knew better. If any other senior Devil Hunter sent one of their juniors off on a thinly veiled death march, they would not be half as successful in getting what they asked for.

“And that is how we will take down the devil in position of this sizable piece of the Gun Devil. Any questions? Concerns?” Makima asked with a overtly saccharine smile. She expected no resistance, but she always asked anyway, an illusion of choice. She inhaled to speak again, to dismiss the small group to what would likely be their last job, but an important one nonetheless.

But then a little ways across the table, a woman loosely raised her hand from where it had sat over crossed arms, without waiting to be acknowledged, she spoke,

“Miss Makima, I do have concerns. This plan will undoubtedly lead us all to an early grave.”

The rest of the table cast the woman dirty looks and grumbled under their shared breaths, judging the woman for not only questioning Makima’s plan, but even going as far to say that it would fail them so spectacularly. Makima subtly grinned.

“Ah, Miss…” Makima trailed off, she hadn’t bothered memorizing any of their names in the three weeks since they had arrived. If she had been anyone else, she might have been embarrassed by that now.

“(Y/n).” The woman supplied, her eyes narrowed and her eyebrows angled ever so slightly downward, conveying a mild annoyance that made Makima’s own eyes light up in response. No one ever looked at her with even the smallest hint of disapproval, wariness, sure, but never disapproval. Unless you maybe counted Kishibe, but he had been in the business forever so it was to be expected from him.

“(Y/n),” Makima tested the name on her tongue, “please do share what you mean.”

The other juniors in the room jumped in before (Y/n) could say a word, assuring Makima that her plan was perfectly acceptable and that they could handle everything just fine.

Makima raised her hand, motioning the group to quiet, which they did almost immediately. No different from her dogs at home, really.

“There is no need to become so defensive on my behalf, we are all working towards the same goal and have humanity’s best interests at heart. I would be remiss if I didn’t take the thoughts of others into account before possibly making a grave miscalculation. So that being said,” Makima’s eyes found (Y/n)’s again, “the floor is yours, (Y/n).”

“Thanks, anyway,” (Y/n) pushed her office chair away from the conference table and strode over to the city map projected on the wall near where Makima stood.

Her peers shot her questioning and displeased looks as she went. Makima stepped back to give her room, hands clasped behind her back, waiting, intrigued.

“This route makes no tactical sense,” (Y/n) pointed out, “It would bring too much attention to us if we were all grouped up like this. The devil would see us coming and with its Gun Devil enhanced power, it would wipe us out in a single attack. I strongly suggest…”

(Y/n) went on to mark three separate routes on the map and even went on to share the strengths of each individual in the room and who should be paired off and take which route.

“…Finally, if all goes smoothly, we should all converge near this point, and take care of the devil then,” (Y/n) looked over to Makima who’s face still wore a ghostly smile, “Of course I’m open to more discussion, but if you insist on your initial plan Miss Makima, then you can count me out.”

A few strangled sounds of disbelief littered the room, but Makima simply tilted her head to the side, eyes boring into (Y/n)‘s.

“You would quit?”

“Perhaps. Private Sector makes more money anyway. And despite my clear lack of popularity with my coworkers’ at present, I would rather them not die if it can be helped. What do you say?”

Makima chuckled at that, leaning into (Y/n)’s personal space. (Y/n) didn’t fluster nor back away, but she did raise an expectant eyebrow, a curious expression visible as she waited for Makima’s denial or approval of her idea.

She had Makima’s approval alright, in more ways than one.

“Very well,” Makima nodded, unblinking, “let’s give it a try.”

***

(Y/n) stared down bitterly at the graves long after the service had concluded. Then she heard a rumble roll across the sky accompanied by the rustling of grass and approaching footsteps. The dark shadow of an umbrella fell over her head and a long, black coat came into her periphery as the first drops of rain began to fall around them.

“Would it really have killed them to listen to me?” (Y/n) murmured without thinking.

“It certainly killed them not to listen.” Makima provided, tone neither one of mirth nor despair, simply apathetic. “For what it’s worth, I thought your plan was better. At least their sacrifices hadn’t been for nothing.”

“I suppose.” (Y/n) sighed wearily.

When the day of the mission had arrived, (Y/n)‘s stubborn peers acted on the original plan detailed by Makima. (Y/n) had linked up with some of the senior hunters from another unit and together they killed the devil and retrieved the fragment of the Gun Devil that it had coveted, but not before a good chunk of the city block had been destroyed. Several civilians as well as her peers littered the street crushed and mangled.

“The rain is getting stronger,” Makima noted, twisting the umbrella that hung over their heads, “I’d like to invite you to my home. I’ll make you something warm to eat and we can drink our sorrows away.” Allow me learn what makes you tick.

(Y/n) surprisingly shook her head, “I appreciate the offer Miss Makima, but I need time to reflect on my own I think.”

Makima’s lips parted, a honeyed insistence already on her tongue, but then she stopped herself, a small smile painting her lips instead.

“I understand. Perhaps another time then.”

“Sure. Well,” (Y/n) paused awkwardly, then flicked up the hood of her coat, “see you Monday.”

“Monday,” Makima confirmed.

She made a move to press her umbrella into (Y/n)’s hands, but she was waved off as soon as their hands touched, (Y/n) thanked her anyway but she had still denied the silent offer, order? Makima watched on as (Y/n) walked briskly out of the cemetery, a taxi already waiting for her to climb into it.

Makima watched the car roll off before starting to walk to her own. She could have easily persuaded (Y/n) to join her, but she found it much more compelling to let the chips fall where they may, for now at least. It was rather exciting.

***

Makima never used her power on (Y/n). A self-imposed rule. That didn’t mean she didn’t have little eyes and ears on her almost constantly. She enjoyed checking in on the unsuspecting Devil Hunter, watching what she did when she wasn’t working. It seemed silly, but Makima felt like she might have been falling for the young woman.

Perhaps it was an unhealthy amount of self-confidence provided by her constant stream of admirers, but she couldn’t have been more surprised when (Y/n) politely declined her proposition. It wasn’t obvious, the biggest hint of her bafflement being two blinks in rapid succession.

“I’m sorry Miss Makima, I just don’t think it would be appropriate for the workplace. Not to mention how dangerous this job is. It’s not a good idea to get too attached to anyone here. I learned that pretty quickly…”

Makima squeezed her hands behind her back, reminding herself that (Y/n)’s will, free from her own, was what drew her to her in the first place. Besides, who really knew what the future would hold for them.

“No need to apologize, I understand your concerns. However, if you ever change your mind, I’ll be here.”

(Y/n) shook her head, a sympathetic smile on her face, “Don’t wait for me, Miss Makima, you do deserve to be happy with someone, but it probably isn’t going to be me.” Then she left Makima’s office, closing the door quietly behind her.

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Makima leaned back in her chair, smiling to herself.

She was still committed to not using her influence, and she was confident that she wouldn’t need it. She’s seen many questionable human couples, if they could stumble into a courtship, she certainly could. She would just need to be patient and drop subtle reminders of her availability.

One might argue how Makima studied (Y/n) so thoroughly to know exactly what to say and do to get her heart pounding would be just another form of manipulation, but Makima would say that this way took a lot of time and effort and was much more heartfelt. In fact, as the months stretched on and the longer it took to win (Y/n)’s favor, the more Makima felt for her.

It had been a particularly hard day for (Y/n) when she had gone to Makima asking if she wanted to go out for drinks. She had grown out of the rookie position by simply surviving a few months and had been assigned a couple juniors of her own to look after. They had went as quickly as they had came, but it still weighed on her.

Makima made sure not to seem too eager. She would be a shoulder to lean on, but anything (Y/n) wanted, she could have it if she went for it. Truly not knowing where the night would go, excited her.

Makima ushered (Y/n) into her car and took her to a restaurant she had remembered her mentioning in passing as one of her favorites. They got a cozy little booth in the corner. The ordered their meals and drinks and quietly conversed, letting the warmth of the room and the gentle clinks of of cups and chopsticks against ceramic.

It was the most loose Makima had witnessed (Y/n), she had a couple drinks, but she wasn’t drunk by any means. Maybe a little tipsy at most, but her smile looked more genuine than it ever did at work, and she sounded so relaxed, she even laughed! But then she began hiding yawns behind her hand and final calls could be heard from the bar. It was getting late.

Makima hated the thought of having to drive (Y/n) home. She never wanted to let her go for even a moment, but that wasn’t her choice to make. How irksome it was to play by the rules of a game she had created. A game that only she was aware she was playing.

Makima scooped up the check an paid for everything before (Y/n) could even think about reaching into her coat pocket.

“Hey, I’m the one who invited you out. What do I owe you?” (Y/n) asked, cracking open her wallet.

Makima reached over the table and put her hand on (Y/n)’s to stop the motion.

“You owe nothing. It’s been difficult for you these last few weeks.”

Makima noticed a look of gentle longing, but it left as quickly as it came when another yawn passed (Y/n)’s lips.

“Let’s get you home.”

Makima ushered (Y/n) outside and into the passenger seat of her sleek black car before maneuvering around to get in herself. The ride was quiet save for the ac blowing a constant stream of warm air to offset the chill of the night. When Makima parked the car outside of (Y/n)’s apartment complex, she turned to smile at her and waited for her to unbuckle her seatbelt, but instead she just sat there, looking pensive.

“What is on your mind, (Y/n)?” She asked, inching her hand over the center console while she debated if it would be a good idea to touch her or not.

(Y/n) leaded back against the car door, halting the slow journey Makima’s hand had been making. (Y/n) bit her inner cheek and looked out upon the streetlights casting the sidewalk in a yellowish glow.

“I think I’m failing for you.”

Makima’s eyes lit up with an excited gleam, but still she left the decision of what would happen next up to (Y/n).

“What will you do about it?”

(Y/n) leaned over the center console, her hand resting atop Makima’s. She leaned in further still until her lips found Makima’s. It took a lot of control on Makima’s part to not chase her when she pulled away too soon for her liking.

“Was that okay? I’m sorry, I know you said you liked me, but that was awhile ago and I still should have asked first.”

“It was fine,” Makima assured, “No need to apologize.”

“…Just fine?” (Y/n) asked, almost incredulously.

“Could have been longer,” Makima smirked.

“Well, I could rectify that, if it’s okay with you.”

Makima was more than okay with it, she had been waiting for a development like this for what felt like ages. The longer they continued to kiss in her car, the more she began to wonder,

“What made you change your mind about us being together? I recall you not finding workplace relationships favorable.”

“That’s true,” (Y/n) agreed, between trying to catch her breath, “But I decided after attending my third junior’s funeral that I’m done with devil hunting. I’m quitting. I did leave the resignation paperwork on your desk last week, did you not notice it?”

(Y/n), leaving Public Safety? That would make watching her so much more difficult, limit their time together drastically. This both annoyed and exhilarated Makima because she could not have foreseen her making a choice like this. She would not have had her make a decision like this. It was almost enough to make Makima use a bit of persuasion to have (Y/n) sleep on that decision and think it over, but she couldn’t. A (Y/n) under her control was not really her (Y/n) at all, oddly enough.

“I guess I was too busy admiring you, to think about what you were there for.”

“Ever the charmer,” (Y/n) unbuckled her seatbelt, “Well… you have my number, let me know when you get home safe and then maybe we could exchange schedules for next week?”

“You already have a new job?”

“Family Burger,” (Y/n) groaned, “Just until I finish the degree I left hanging. I hope.”

“I guess I know where I will be getting lunch for the foreseeable future then.”

“You cannot eat Family Burger everyday, It’ll kill you!” (Y/n) laughed.

“It would take a lot more than a a little grease to kill me.” Makima grinned, maybe (Y/n) would learn that someday.

“Trust me, it would be more than a little grease. But I wouldn’t be opposed if you came by every once in awhile.”

“It’s a date.”

“No way! I’m gonna take you on a real nice date the next time our schedules sync. Mark my words!” (Y/n) promised. She pressed a quick kiss against Makima’s cheek, then opened the car door to let herself out.

“Good night, Makima.”

“Good night.”

Makima watched (Y/n) wave to her from the door and when she walked inside and shut the door behind her, Makima drove home. She was sure to text (Y/n) of her safe arrival as soon as the dogs stopped jumping all over her.

They texted back and forth for a bit, sharing possible times to meet up, and then Makima decided to take a shower before getting into bed. She stared up at the dark ceiling, going over the night’s events in her mind.

It all felt so very peculiar. Makima wasn’t quite sure she had ever felt so many emotions in such a short time. (Y/n) appeared to return her affections, she kissed her. Multiple times. She only wished (Y/n) would stay with Public Safety. It was something that she could easily remedy, but she had restrained herself yet again. Though Makima wondered if she would be able to continue that trend if she had reason to believe that (Y/n) could be in danger. It was easier to look out for her when they worked together. She may have the birds and rats to keep an eye on her, but the proximity was stretched much too thin for her liking.

Hopefully the next steps in their relationship would follow quickly now that the ball was finally rolling. She wanted to come home to see (Y/n) curled up with her dogs in the worst way.

“Soon,” she promised herself, “soon.”

***

The day did come when (Y/n) suggested moving in somewhere together. It took longer than Makima would have liked to get to that point, but at least it was finally happening. She would have liked to have a talk with whomever gave her the impression that it was customary that women moved in together on the second date. It would have humiliated even Makima if (Y/n) had known she came to pick her up with her trunk full of collapsed boxes to help her move, only to learn they were going to the aquarium.

“Awww, this is the sea lion plush I got you when we went to the aquarium, isn’t it? We should go again sometime soon.” (Y/n) smiled, placing the stuffed animal back on the bed.

Makima nodded in agreement. Despite her initial disappointment, she did have a good time and she did like the sea lion (Y/n) had gifted her. They’re like the dogs of the ocean. Makima never really understood the novelty of such toys, but she had to admit there was something desirable about this one at the very least.

After hanging the rest of (Y/n)’s clothes in the closet, they heard a few whines and a pawing at the door. The dogs had been shut out to keep them out of the way as they unpacked (Y/n)’s belongings.

“The sweet babies,” (Y/n) chuckled, “so lonely.”

“They are simply excited about your indefinite stay, as am I.”

(Y/n) walked around the bed to hug Makima, melting when the embrace was returned.

“Me too. Should we let them in now?”

“Only if you are ready to be buried in seven heavy, wiggly, fluffy dogs.”

“Oh, I think all the other times I came over to visit prepared me for this moment.”

“Fair enough.” Makima smirked at (Y/n) over her shoulder before releasing the dogs upon her.

“Nooo!” (Y/n) laughed.

She was immediately overwhelmed and shoved to the ground. Wagging tails and slobbery tongues hitting her from all sides.

“Makima,” she wheezed, “Help!”

“I thought you said you were prepared?”

“I was wrong!”

“Sit.” Makima ordered. Her voice was soft, but the dogs listened without delay, each looking up at her expectantly. Makima made a quick motion with her hand and the dogs stampeded out of the bedroom.

“Thank you, my hero.” (Y/n) reached her hand up towards Makima, while still laying flat on the floor.

“You’re very welcome,” Makima reached further than (Y/n)’s hand, instead grasping her above her elbow to pull her up so they stood chest to chest. “Is this better?”

“Much.” (Y/n) clung to Makima again, smiling contently.

“So affectionate today,” Makima teased, though she was being just as touchy.

“I would argue I’m always affectionate with you, but I am especially happy right now,” she nuzzled Makima’s jaw, planting a quick kiss against her skin, “I love you.”

It wasn’t the first time (Y/n) had told her so, but the effect was always the same. A warm feeling in Makima’s chest like a warm summer afternoon always bubbled up. It felt so strange, but she enjoyed it.

“And I you.” Makima cupped (Y/n)’s face in her hands. Her stare was as intense as it was tender. She wasn’t sure she had ever been quite as close to happiness as she was right in that moment.

That something out of her control could love her, would choose to love her, it was euphoric.

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

Prologue.

Styling Mr. Styles Series Masterlist.

word count - 5.7k

authors note - hiya! welcome to my first series, i hope you all enjoy!! this may not be the best thing you have ever read as i’m still fairly new to this whole thing but please go easy on me, i’m hoping my writing will improve as more chapters come out <3

SUMMARY -

in which, harry is in desperate need of a hair stylist, so when his good friend recommends you, with a lot of persuasion you decide to take the job. having no idea what the future will have in store for you and for him.

In the vibrant world of music, the boys of One Direction found themselves backstage in Montreal for the Canadian leg of their tour, amidst a flurry of activity. The air crackled with anticipation as the stage crew scurried around, meticulously preparing every detail for the upcoming concert.

It was going to be a big one.

Amidst the organised chaos, the distant sound of the Icona Pop, the support act reverberated through the corridors. Melodies filled the air, intertwining with the excited chatter of fans and the occasional burst of laughter from the boys themselves.

Backstage was a sight to behold—a tapestry of colours, textures, and energy. The walls were adorned with posters, reflecting the band's journey and connecting the present moment with their glorious past. Soft lighting bathed the area, casting a warm glow on the bustling crew members, who moved with purpose and precision.

Equipment was meticulously arranged, wires coiling like serpents as they connected instruments, amplifiers, and soundboards. The hum of machinery and the occasional clink of metal blended harmoniously with the distant soundcheck, creating a symphony of backstage ambiance.

As the boys prepared themselves for the stage, their tour crew darted around, ensuring their attire was impeccable. Mirrors became portals to self-reflection, as each member meticulously adjusted their appearance, adding the final touches that would captivate the waiting audience.

The aroma of fresh coffee mingled with the sweet fragrance of flowers and cologne, creating a unique backstage scent that lingered in the air. And amid this vibrant backdrop, the energy surged, fueled by the shared excitement and the knowledge that magic was about to unfold before a sea of devoted fans.

In this atmosphere, the boys of One Direction found solace and camaraderie. They shared laughter, words of encouragement, and the unspoken bond that had been forged through years of shared dreams and experiences. Amidst the buzzing energy and the carefully orchestrated chaos, they stood united, ready to embark on another unforgettable journey on the stage they called home.

And so, against the backdrop of a backstage aesthetic, the boys prepared themselves for their performance, drawing strength from the charged atmosphere and the unwavering support of their dedicated team.

Harry Styles, with his shoulder-length, tousled hair, caught Liam's eye as he playfully ruffled his locks.

Liam's brow furrowed with concern as he approached his bandmate. "Hey, Haz, something troubling you, mate?"

Harry's gaze met Liam's, a hint of frustration in his expression. "You know, Li, it's getting warm right here, isn't it? And m’hair ain't helping none. It's like a bloomin' sauna on me 'ead!"

Liam chuckled softly, understanding the struggle. "Ah, I get you, mate. Can't have them curls wilting under the heat, can we?"

Harry nodded earnestly. "Exactly! I've been thinkin'... maybe it's time for a trim. A little snip-snip to keep it manageable, yeah?"

Not a huge trim, just something to sort out the humidity his head was currently experiencing.

As they chatted and laughed, Niall glanced over at Harry's shoulder-length curls and playfully teased, "Ey, Hazza, ya know what? I reckon you should get yourself a personal hair stylist just for you!"

That didn’t sound like such a bad idea.

Harry raised an eyebrow, amused by the suggestion. "Oh, really? And why's that, Nialler?"

Niall grinned, his blue eyes twinkling mischievously. "Well, mate, your hair's a lot longer than mine or Li and Lou’s, but it's still a fair bit to manage, innit? Plus, with all the styling and primping we do before every show, you deserve someone who can give your lovely curls the special attention they need!"

That was true, the band did have a hair stylist and her name was Lou Teasedale. She was good, don’t get Harry wrong but he needed someone who could do a bit more than just some hairspray and a brush.

Louis chimed in, nodding enthusiastically. "Absolutely! Besides, you're our resident style icon, Haz. Having a personal hair stylist would only enhance your legendary image!"

That was true.

Harry chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "You've got a point there, lads. I do love m’hair, and sometimes it can be a bit of a handful. Having someone who knows how to handle it just right would be fantastic."

Liam, ever the practical one, added, "Well, it's settled then. We'll find you a talented stylist who can cater to your hair's needs and make sure it's always looking its best."

As they exchanged ideas and banter, their dear friend and renowned hair stylist, Lou Teasdale, entered the room, cradling her four-year-old daughter, Lux, in her arms.

A playful grin adorned her face as she overheard the boys chatting about Harry's hair.

"Ey, what's all this fuss about Harry's hair then?" Lou chimed in, her voice filled with a teasing tone.

Startled by her sudden appearance, the boys turned their attention to Lou, a mix of surprise and delight on their faces. "Lou! Didn't expect to see you here with Lux," Liam exclaimed, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Lou smirked, adjusting Lux in her arms. "Just thought we'd drop by and see what's happenin'. And it seems I've arrived just in time for some serious hair talk."

Harry chuckled, running his fingers through his tousled locks. "Seems like my hair's become the center of attention today. What do you think, Lou?"

Lou's eyes twinkled mischievously as she leaned against a nearby chair. "Oh, you know how it goes, Hazza. Can't have One Direction without some major hair game. But speaking of which, I've got someone in mind who can take your locks to the next level."

The boys leaned in, their curiosity piqued. "Alright, Lou, spill the beans. Who's the lucky stylist?" Louis asked, a grin spreading across his face.

Lou flashed a sly smile. "Well, her name's (Y/N), and she's a real gem. Works at this quaint little salon in London. I've known her for years, and let me tell ya, she's got the skills to pay the bills."

Niall raised an eyebrow. "Skills, huh? What makes her so special, Lou?"

Lou's voice was filled with admiration as she spoke. "Oh, lads, where do I begin? (Y/N) knows her stuff, no doubt about it. But what sets her apart is that she's one of the nicest people you'll ever meet. Genuine, down-to-earth, and always up for a laugh."

Harry's interest was piqued, a smile tugging at his lips. "So, she's not just a talented stylist, but she's an all-around great person?"

Lou nodded, a playful glint in her eyes. "Absolutely, Hazza. She's looking to spread her wings a bit, gain more experience, and I thought she'd fit right in with our crazy crew. Plus, I reckon she'll give your hair that extra touch of magic."

The boys exchanged excited glances, the thought of having someone skilled and easygoing on board filling them with anticipation. Harry beamed. "Well, if she's as amazing as you say, Lou, I'm all for it. Let's reach out to (Y/N) and see if she's up for the challenge."

And so, with Lou's recommendation and their shared enthusiasm, the boys embarked on a mission to connect with (Y/N), the talented stylist from the bustling streets of London. The prospect of bringing her aboard their wild journey filled them with excitement and the promise of even more unforgettable hair moments.

After an exhilarating performance that left the crowd in awe, Harry and the boys of One Direction stepped off the stage, their energy still electrifying the air around them. Sweat glistened on their foreheads, testament to the passion and intensity they had poured into their show.

As they made their way towards the backstage area, they were met with a wave of congratulations from the dedicated tour crew. Hands clapped on their backs, voices filled with excitement and pride. The energy was infectious, an outpouring of admiration for a job well done.

Harry's face lit up with a radiant smile, his eyes sparkling with gratitude. He exchanged high-fives and heartfelt hugs, expressing his appreciation to the crew members who had worked tirelessly to ensure a flawless show. Their camaraderie was a testament to the tight-knit family they had become on the road.

But amidst the jubilant celebration, Harry turned to his bandmates, a sense of urgency in his eyes. "Hey, lads, I need to have a quick chat with Katie," he explained, his voice filled with determination. "I'll catch up with you in the car in just a bit, alright?"

His bandmates nodded, understanding the need for his timely conversation. They exchanged knowing glances, a mixture of curiosity and excitement in their expressions. With a pat on Harry's back, they bid him farewell, allowing him to venture off to seek Katie's guidance.

Harry manoeuvred through the bustling backstage area, a trail of vibrant memories and shared triumphs lingering in his wake. The hum of excitement filled the air as the crew members continued to revel in the success of the show, their cheers echoing in his ears.

With each step, Harry's anticipation grew. He knew Katie, the tour manager, held the key to transforming his desires into reality. She was the one who could orchestrate the logistical magic necessary to fulfil his request. And he had an inkling that his conversation with her would set a plan into motion, a plan that would bring about a new chapter for his hair and his journey as an artist.

As he neared Katie's office, his heart beat a little faster. The moment was ripe with possibility and the promise of change. And with a deep breath, Harry stepped through the door, ready to embark on the next phase of his hair transformation journey, knowing that his conversation with Katie would pave the way for the exciting path that lay ahead.

With a determined knock on Katie's office door, Harry waited for her response, anticipation bubbling within him. The door swung open, revealing Katie, the tour manager, engrossed in her work.

Katie glanced up, a warm smile spreading across her face. "Harry! Come on in. What can I do for you, love?"

Harry stepped into the office, his voice filled with eagerness. "Hey, K, I've been thinking... about what the boys said earlier. And I reckon it's time I have my own personal hair stylist."

Katie had overheard parts of the conversation and just before the boys were about to go on stage, she pulled Harry aside quickly and told him that it may be a good idea, that if he wanted to talk he should come to her if there’s any questions about how to go about it.

Katie raised an eyebrow, her eyes twinkling with curiosity. "Oh, really? You want to take your hair game up a notch, huh?"

Harry nodded, his curls bouncing with enthusiasm. "Absolutely, K. The boys were onto something. I want someone who can help me take care of my hair, bring out its best, and try out new styles. Just like we do with the music."

Katie leaned back in her chair, considering his request. "Well, if that's what you want, Haz, then you'll have to go and see her. If you want a personal hair stylist, it's time to make it happen.”

His eyes widened with excitement, a grin spreading across his face. "Y’mean, you'll support me on this?"

Katie smirked mischievously, reaching for the phone on her desk. "Of course, Haz. If you're serious about having your own stylist, then I'm here to make it happen. Just give me a moment."

With a sense of determination, Katie dialed a number, a glint of anticipation in her eyes. "Paul, it's Katie. I need you to come to my office, please. It's urgent."

Within moments, Paul, the head of security, arrived at the office, a puzzled expression on his face. "Katie, what's going on? Is everything alright?"

Katie motioned for Paul to take a seat, her excitement barely contained. "Everything's perfectly fine, Paul. I just have a little request that involves you and the security team."

Paul raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "A request? Alright, spill the beans, Katie. What's this about?”

Katie leaned forward, her voice brimming with excitement. "When we head to Europe, I want you to clear Harry's schedule for a day. We've got a special appointment lined up for him."

A smile crept across Paul's face as he caught onto Katie's plan. "Ah, I see. A special appointment, eh? Well, let's hear it then. Who's he going to see?"

Katie's eyes sparkled with anticipation. "He's going to visit a hair salon in Hampshire, and meet (Y/N), the stylist the Lou recommended. We want to give Harry the chance to have his own personal hair transformation."

Paul grinned, his excitement matching Katie's. "Ah, I get it now! Well, if that's what the lad wants, then consider it done. I'll coordinate with the security team and ensure everything goes smoothly."

Harry's face beamed with joy, gratitude welling up in his heart for his supportive team. "Thank you! Thank you!”

Katie chuckled, her eyes gleaming. "You're welcome, Haz. We're here to support your creative vision, and if this is what you want, then we're all in. Get ready for a hair transformation like no other!"

With plans set in motion and an agreement among them, Harry left Katie's office, a spring in his step. The thought of meeting (Y/N) and experiencing a personal hair transformation filled him with an overwhelming sense of excitement. As he walked back towards the waiting car, his mind whirled with possibilities and visions of the new looks that awaited him.

The vibrant energy of the backstage area enveloped Harry as he made his way through the corridors. The crew members he encountered congratulated him once again on the outstanding show, their words fueling his anticipation for the upcoming salon visit.

Reaching the coach, Harry found his bandmates waiting, their eyes gleaming with curiosity. They couldn't contain their excitement any longer and bombarded him with questions.

"Hazza, what did Katie say? Are they really letting you see (Y/N)?" Louis exclaimed, a grin stretching across his face.

Harry beamed, his heart filled with gratitude for the support of his friends. "Yes, lads! Katie and Paul are on board. They've cleared my schedule when we head to Europe so I can go and see (Y/N)."

Niall's eyes widened with excitement. "That's brilliant, mate! I can already imagine the incredible hairstyles she'll create for you."

Liam chimed in, his voice filled with anticipation. "I can't wait to see the transformation, Harry. Your hair is going to be even more legendary."

The moment one stepped into the quaint Hampshire salon, a symphony of sounds and a feast for the senses enveloped them. The air carried the gentle hum of hair dryers, creating a rhythmic harmony with the soft snip-snip of scissors diligently at work. Amidst the buzz, the warm and inviting ambiance was further elevated by the soft strains of classical music that wafted from hidden speakers, casting a soothing spell upon the space.

As customers entered, their eyes were drawn to the bustling scene before them. Behind the front desk, Kyle, the owner of the salon, meticulously attended to the administrative tasks on his computer, his focused demeanor a testament to his dedication. His passion for the craft emanated from him, infusing the salon with an air of creativity and professionalism.

The salon itself was a sight to behold, designed with meticulous attention to detail. The walls adorned with elegant artwork and vintage mirrors, reflecting the soft glow of warm lighting. The combination of earthy tones and pops of vibrant colors created an atmosphere that was both trendy and inviting, a sanctuary for self-care and beauty.

Amongst the stations, where skilled stylists worked their magic, was Clarissa. Her disinterest was palpable as she sat behind a station, her attention consumed by her phone, seemingly unbothered by the customers around her. It was a stark contrast to the warm and engaging environment crafted by Kyle and the rest of the team.

Yet, despite the lack of interaction from Clarissa, the salon thrived with an undeniable aesthetic. The atmosphere buzzed with creative energy and a sense of community, where customers and stylists alike found solace and inspiration. The scent of fresh hair products mingled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, creating a sensory experience that was as comforting as it was invigorating.

Within this picturesque setting, (Y/N) stood out like a gentle star. Her shy demeanour and anxious nature were almost imperceptible amidst the vibrancy of the salon. With a constant smile on her face, she worked her magic, transforming hair with precision and care. Her presence added an extra layer of warmth and a touch of magic to the already aesthetic environment, captivating those around her.

As clients settled into the plush salon chairs, entrusting their locks to the skilled hands of the stylists, they were enveloped by a sense of tranquillity. The combination of the symphony of salon sounds, the visual splendour, and the dedicated professionals working with passion created a sanctuary where beauty and self-expression flourished.

In this realm of artistry, where style and innovation harmoniously danced, the salon became a haven, an aesthetic oasis where one could escape the world for a brief moment and emerge transformed, both outwardly and within.

Amongst the energetic ambiance, (Y/N) meticulously worked her magic, her hands gracefully maneuvering through a client's hair. As she cut and styled, she engaged in a conversation, her shy and anxious nature subtly evident.

With a soft smile, (Y/N) focused her attention on the woman whose hair she was transforming. "H-hello, Mrs. Thompson. How are you feeling today? Are you ready for a new look?"

Mrs. Thompson smiled warmly, her eyes filled with trust. "Oh, hello, (Y/N). I'm excited for a change! I'm putting my trust in you, dear. You always do wonders with hair."

(Y/N)'s fingers trembled slightly as she combed through Mrs. Thompson's hair, her voice hesitant. "T-thank you, Mrs. Thompson. I appreciate your trust. Let's discuss what you have in mind."

As Mrs. Thompson described her desired hairstyle, (Y/N)'s anxiety became more palpable, causing her words to stumble. "S-so, you want a bob with layers, right? I-I can definitely do that for you."

Mrs. Thompson nodded, her confidence in (Y/N)'s abilities unwavering. "Yes, that's right, (Y/N). I believe in you. You have such a talent for creating beautiful hairstyles."

(Y/N)'s smile grew, her voice softening further. "Th-thank you, Mrs. Thompson. I'll do my best to give you the look you want.."

As (Y/N) began cutting, her hands displayed steady precision despite the underlying nervousness. She engaged in conversation, her voice often faltering with hesitation. But her dedication to her craft shone through as she meticulously crafted each layer and brought Mrs. Thompson's vision to life.

Mrs. Thompson watched the transformation unfold in the mirror, her eyes filled with admiration. "You're doing an amazing job, (Y/N). I can see your passion and dedication in every movement."

(Y/N)'s cheeks flushed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Th-thank you, Mrs. Thompson. Your words mean a lot to me. I'm glad you're happy with it."

With a soft smile, (Y/N) once again focused her attention on the woman whose hair she was transforming "S-so, how are you liking the new style, Mrs. Thompson?"

Mrs. Thompson, a kind-hearted and chatty woman, gazed at herself in the mirror, her eyes sparkling with delight. "Oh, (Y/N), I absolutely love it! You're a true artist. You always know just how to make me feel beautiful."

A gentle blush graced (Y/N)'s cheeks as she thanked Mrs. Thompson, her voice slightly faltering. She was known for her attention to detail and the care she put into each client's hair. Yet, despite her talent, (Y/N) carried a timid demeanour, often hesitating and stuttering when speaking to people.

Mrs. Thompson, noticing (Y/N)'s reserved nature, continued, her voice filled with warmth and understanding. "You know, (Y/N), you have such a gift. You bring more than just skill to this salon—you bring kindness and genuine care for your clients. It's one of the reasons I keep coming back."

(Y/N) lowered her gaze, a mix of gratitude and anxiety washing over her. "Th-thank you, Mrs. Thompson. Y-your words mean a lot to me."

As the blow dryer whirred and the scissors glide through Mrs. Thompson's hair, (Y/N)'s shyness seemed to melt away, replaced by a deep sense of dedication. She may be hesitant with her words, but her work spoke volumes.

Despite her anxious disposition, (Y/N) wore a constant smile, channelling her passion and love for her craft into every hairstyle she created. Each snip, each brush stroke was executed with precision, leaving a trail of satisfied clients in her wake.

As Mrs. Thompson admired her new look in the mirror, (Y/N) carefully removed the hairdressing cape, her hands gentle and her movements calculated. "There you g-go, Mrs. Thompson. Y-you're all set. It was a pleasure as always."

Mrs. Thompson beamed, her eyes shimmering with gratitude. "Thank you, (Y/N). You truly have a gift. don't ever doubt yourself."

(Y/N) nodded, her voice barely above a whisper, her stutter more pronounced in her nervousness. "I'll try, Mrs. Thompson. Th-thank you for your kind words."

As (Y/N) put the finishing touches on Mrs. Thompson's hair, she gently guided her towards the front desk where Kyle, the owner of the salon, stood. With each step, (Y/N)'s heart fluttered with anticipation, her anxiety causing her words to stumble even more.

Approaching Kyle, (Y/N) managed a shy smile. "H-hey, Kyle. Mrs. Thompson's all done. I'll let you handle the payment."

Kyle beamed at (Y/N), his eyes reflecting a deep friendship and understanding. "Thanks, (Y/N). You did an incredible job as always. I'm lucky to have you here."

(Y/N) blushed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Th-thank you, Kyle. I-I appreciate your support."

Mrs. Thompson handed her payment to Kyle, who graciously accepted it with a warm smile. As she reached into her purse, she discreetly slipped an additional bill into (Y/N)'s hands, her eyes twinkling with gratitude for the exceptional service she had received.

(Y/N)'s cheeks flushed even deeper, her voice quivering with surprise. "Mrs. Thompson, y-you didn't have to do that. Thank you so much."

Mrs. Thompson chuckled softly, her voice filled with affection. "Consider it a little something extra for you, (Y/N). You deserve it. Keep up the amazing work. Kyle, tell her that she’s deserves it, if anyone knows she does it’s you.”

“That’s right,” Kyle nodded, pushing some hair that had fallen out of her ponytail behind her ear, making her smile. “She’s my bestie after all and there’s no one else that knows her better, you deserve the tip (Y/N) trust me.”

Touched by the kind gesture, (Y/N) managed a heartfelt "Thank you" before turning her attention back to Kyle, her anxiety causing her words to stumble once again. "K-Kyle, I...I appreciate everything you do for me. You're...you're the best."

Kyle's eyes softened, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Right back at you, bestie. You're not just a talented stylist; you're an invaluable friend. I'm grateful to have you by my side."

As (Y/N) and Kyle exchanged a knowing look, their unspoken bond spoke volumes. Through her stuttering and anxious nature, (Y/N) found solace in the unwavering support of her best friend, Kyle. He had seen beyond her insecurities and embraced her for who she was—a talented stylist with a heart of gold.

As Mrs. Thompson left the salon, (Y/N) watched her go, a mixture of pride and apprehension swirling within her. Though she may be shy and anxious, her dedication to her craft and the ability to make her clients feel beautiful pushed her to overcome her insecurities.

Later that day, As the soft melodies of classical music continued to fill the cozy Hampshire salon, the entrance chimed with the arrival of three unexpected guests. Harry, Katie, and Paul stepped inside, the energy in the room shifting as heads turned in recognition of the famous face.

The warm glow of the salon's lighting seemed to caress the contours of Harry's face, casting a golden halo around his wavy locks. His charismatic smile illuminated the room, his presence instantly captivating. The soft whispers and curious glances exchanged among the customers and staff hinted at the excitement that pulsed through the air.

Kyle, the owner of the salon, fought to maintain a composed demeanor, despite his excitement and slight nervousness. He approached the trio with a warm smile, his voice attempting to exude normalcy. "Hey there! Welcome to our salon. How can I help you today?"

Harry's emerald eyes sparkled with intrigue as he glanced around, taking in the salon's aesthetic. His charm and genuine nature put everyone at ease, creating an atmosphere of familiarity. "Thanks! I was wondering if anyone named (Y/N) works here?"

A flicker of surprise crossed Kyle's face before he quickly composed himself, not wanting to reveal the inner excitement that threatened to burst forth. "Ah, (Y/N). Yes, (Y/N) does work here. Why do you ask?"

Harry's gaze locked with Kyle's, a sense of eager anticipation in his voice. "Well, my friends have been raving about (Y/N)'s talent, and I was hoping to meet them, maybe get a haircut."

Kyle's excitement mixed with a touch of disappointment as he spoke, his voice laced with anticipation. "I'm sorry, Mr. Styles, but (Y/N) is currently on her break. She'll be back in about fifteen minutes. Would you mind waiting for her?"

Harry's warm smile remained unwavering as he nodded eagerly. "Of course, I'll happily wait for her. Take your time."

As the minutes slipped by, the anticipation in the salon grew thicker. The melodies of classical music seemed to harmonize with the gentle whispers of excitement among the stylists and clients alike. The door chimed softly, announcing (Y/N)'s return from their break.

(Y/N) stepped into the salon, their demeanor exuding innocence and a hint of shyness. Clad in a delightful summer dress and a cozy cardigan, their eyes hidden behind a pair of earphones, they seemed oblivious to the presence that awaited them. Unbeknownst to (Y/N), Harry Styles himself sat patiently in the corner, his gaze fixed on the doorway.

Kyle, unable to contain his excitement any longer, subtly nodded his head in Harry's direction, silently urging (Y/N) to turn and discover the surprise that awaited them. As if sensing the unspoken cue, (Y/N) turned their head, wide-eyed and innocent, their gaze meeting Harry's.

And in that moment, time seemed to stand still. The collision of their unsuspecting eyes sparked an undeniable connection, an intangible thread weaving between their souls. The air crackled with electricity, anticipation hanging in every breath.

And there, in the cosy Hampshire salon, the stage was set for an extraordinary encounter that would forever alter the course of (Y/N)'s life. The moment held infinite possibilities, as two worlds collided in a collision of fate and destiny.

“Hi…excuse me…(Y/N), right? m’names Harry,”the singer smiled at her politely. “— I was wondering if I could possibly speak to you somewhere in private? It’s okay if not.”

As the weight of the moment hung in the air, Harry's eyes locked with (Y/N)'s, a silent request passing between them. Sensing Harry's desire for privacy, (Y/N) glanced at Kyle, their trusted confidant and supporter.

(Y/N)'s gaze pleaded for guidance, and Kyle, understanding the unspoken need, smiled warmly. "Of course, Sir. (Y/N) would appreciate speaking with you in private. I'll make sure they're comfortable."

A mixture of apprehension and curiosity danced in (Y/N)'s eyes as they nodded in agreement. The safety net of Kyle's presence and the knowledge that they had someone they trusted nearby provided a sense of reassurance.

With a gentle smile, Harry gestured towards a quieter corner of the salon, away from the prying eyes and curious whispers. The anticipation swelled as they found a secluded space, cocooned from the busyness of the salon.

In the secluded corner of the salon, Harry's gaze was filled with anticipation as he spoke, his words carrying a weight of recommendation. "(Y/N), my friend Lou, who happens to be a dear friend of yours too, recommended you. She told me about the incredible talent you possess."

(Y/N)'s eyes widened, a mix of surprise and nostalgia washing over them. Their voice trembled with the remnants of their anxious personality, stuttering as they spoke. "L-Lou? Oh, yes, I know her. She used to teach me when I was learning to be a hairdresser. We've kept in touch since."

Harry's expression softened with understanding, his voice gentle and reassuring. "Lou speaks highly of you, (Y/N). She mentioned how talented and dedicated you are. That's why I'm here. I wanted to ask if you'd be willing to be my personal hair stylist."

The weight of the decision bore heavily upon (Y/N), their anxiety surfacing as their voice faltered. "I-I'm honored, Harry, but I'm... I'm really hesitant. It's such a big responsibility, and... and I'm not sure if I'm ready."

Harry's eyes reflected empathy as he placed a comforting hand on (Y/N)'s shoulder. "I understand, (Y/N). It's a big ask, and I don't want to pressure you into anything. You don't have to say yes right away. Take your time, think it over. Your happiness and comfort matter above all else."

Feeling torn, (Y/N) turned to their trusted friend Kyle, who was sat behind the desk and pretending not to listen in on there conversation, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "Kyle, what do you think? Should I take this opportunity?"

Kyle's smile was filled with unwavering support as he met (Y/N)'s gaze. "Oh, (Y/N), I've seen your talent and dedication firsthand. You've grown so much since those early days with Lou. This could be an incredible opportunity for you. I believe you're ready for it."

The weight of Kyle's words, coupled with the encouragement that had always surrounded (Y/N), began to lift the fog of anxiety. Though their voice still stuttered, a newfound determination crept into their words. "Th-thank you, Kyle. Your support means the world to me. Maybe... maybe I should take this chance."

In that moment, (Y/N) felt a surge of resilience and bravery, ready to step into the unknown and embrace the possibilities that lay ahead. With the reassurance of Kyle's wisdom and the memory of Lou's guidance, they were prepared to embark on this journey, even if their anxious nature continued to accompany them.

As the sun rose on a new day, the cozy Hampshire salon brimmed with anticipation. The air hummed with excitement as Katie, Harry, and Paul returned, ready to discuss the next steps with (Y/N).

Katie, with her warm smile and approachable demeanour, took charge of the conversation. Her voice carried a reassuring tone as she explained the details to (Y/N). "(Y/N), I'm here to talk about the next phase of your journey as Harry's personal hair stylist. Before we proceed, there's a requirement we need to discuss."

(Y/N) listened attentively, their anxious nature momentarily overshadowed by the genuine kindness radiating from Katie. Their voice quivered with curiosity as they asked, "W-what is it, Miss?"

Katie's eyes sparkled with understanding as she explained, "We'll need you to sign a non-disclosure agreement (NDA). It ensures that the collaboration between you and Harry remains confidential. You won't be able to share that you're working with him, except with your immediate family and close friends."

A mix of excitement and nervousness welled up within (Y/N) as they processed the information. Despite their apprehension, Katie's warm demeanour made them feel at ease. They could sense a genuine connection forming, a glimmer of a friendship that had the potential to blossom.

"I-I understand," (Y/N) replied, their voice tinged with a blend of enthusiasm and caution. "I’ll happily sign, Miss. I want to make this work."

Katie's smile widened, her encouragement palpable. "That's wonderful to hear, (Y/N). I have a feeling we're going to get along just fine. Together, we'll navigate the journey ahead and create something truly amazing."

As (Y/N) engaged in conversation with Katie, discussing the details and signing the necessary documents, Harry couldn't help but find himself captivated by her presence. With each word, each gesture, she exuded a certain grace and beauty that resonated with him.

He watched as (Y/N) delicately held the pen, her fingers gliding across the paper with a mixture of confidence and a hint of nervousness. There was an air of sincerity that surrounded her, her genuine nature shining through every interaction. It was in these moments that Harry found himself drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

(Y/N)'s choice of attire only heightened Harry's admiration. The light blue cardigan draped gently over her shoulders, contrasting perfectly with the pristine white summer dress that flowed around her figure. The casualness of the ensemble, combined with the pair of vans on her feet, gave her an effortless allure. Her hair, neatly styled into two French braids, framed her face in a way that accentuated her features. With minimal makeup, her natural beauty radiated like a sunbeam.

To Harry, (Y/N) was like a burst of sunshine in a world that often seemed dim. Her genuine personality and the way she carried herself resonated deeply within him. As he watched her sign the document, he couldn't help but be captivated by her presence.

A sense of awe washed over Harry as he quietly observed, his heart fluttering with a newfound appreciation. In that moment, he recognized the remarkable blend of beauty and authenticity that made (Y/N) so captivating. It wasn't just her physical appearance, but the way she effortlessly exuded warmth and kindness, making those around her feel seen and valued.

As the ink dried on the paper, Harry couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for this unexpected connection. (Y/N) had become more than just a talented hair stylist; she had become a beacon of light in his life. And in that moment, he silently acknowledged the beauty that resided within her, both inside and out.

tag list: @kaverichauhan @teamspideyman @victoria-styles

[blackbird-brewster]

CM Unpopular Opinions

Just a couple of weeks out from the new season, the new trailer just dropped, and people are getting hyped. For last season, I made a CME predictions post (which mostly came to pass, bc this show is so predictable) -- but this season, I'm going to post some unpopular opinions going into S17. Don't like, don't read.

WILL. Since we know Will won't be in this season, there have been speculations that JJ/Will will be getting a divorce, or that Will is going to die. I do NOT want Will to die. I hate that guy, I've never liked his character, but you know who I do love? JJ. She has already been through SO much, I do NOT want Hotch 2.0 in S17. I don't want Will to die, because that would be like ripping half of JJ's soul out of her chest and she deserves better. What I actually think will happen -- is just that Will is going back to being an off-screen partner like he was for most of the series.

JEMILY. I've already written my thoughts on Paget's Jemily hints on social media and why I think that's simply queerbaiting. There's no way Jemily is going to be canon, and I am HAPPY about that. I don't want Jemily to be canon!! Look at how this show treats canon relationships!! How many female romantic interests have been tortured and killed???? Why would I ever want Jemily in that crossfire? Also, as a fanfic author who has been writing Jemily for the past decade -- I don't want them to become canon, because that will squander so much creative potential. Fic authors fill in the gaps and subtext of canon, that's our job, when a relationship becomes canon it really loses it's appeal. That being said, I would love to actually see Emily and JJ interacting again. S16 really ignored their decade-long friendship altogether. Shit, I would love to just see them in the same fricking scene again.

REBECCA. All I want is for Rebecca to survive this season. As mentioned above, the way this show treats romantic interests of main characters is HORRIBLE. I'm forever furious with how the show handled Tara/Rebecca's relationship last season. I know fans hated Rebecca for getting pissed at Tara, but I still don't agree. What I do hate is how as soon as Tara's queerness served it's plot point (getting the inmate to admit he's gay too) -- the show nuked Tara's relationship altogether. I seriously love Rebecca, I think she adds a lot to the show. And since we already know Rebecca is in S17, I would LOVE to see Tara/Rebecca sit down and actually talk through their issues (like real adults!). I would LOVE for them to get the happy ending they deserve.

GARCIA'S ROMANCE. For real, I do not care about any of this love triangle bullshit with Garcia between Tyler and Luke or whatever tf is happening. I seriously hated what they did to Garcia's character in S16, it felt like they completely erased the prior 15 years from her character and replaced it with the most basic hetnormative romance plot. I don't ship Garvez (nor her and Tyler), so I don't really care about that side of things. But I would LOVE to get our Garcia back. I miss her so much.

RETURNING CHARACTER RUMORS. If one of the past cast members comes back in S17 I do not want it to be MGG. CME already focused an entire season on Rossi's man-pain (literally the only reason they killed Krystal was for him to be angry 🙃). I do NOT want another season of white-male centric plot lines (even though that's clearly what's gonna happen with Voight) If anyone actually comes back to guest, I want it to either be Matt or Derek. Alternatively, I do have a crack theory that the unsub/Gold Star is actually Elle Greenaway. A trained government assassin, she became a vigilante after leaving the BAU and she's been operating for all these years without detection. Now THAT would be a good twist.

Listen, overall, I'm not looking forward to another season of Evolution. I think they're trying way too hard to turn CM into some edgy, gritty, Norwegian-type crime drama and in doing so, they've ruined some of my favourite characters irrevocably. I don't have high hopes for S17.