#Generally every time I look back she is pinching her nose

[dailydoseofdragon]

Day 195- Dyslexia

For my dyslexic coworker who keeps reading the wrong total on accident

[wrayah]

wriothesley x fem!reader

prompt: An overworked Writohesley finally accepts to get an assitant to help him around. Work begins to become smoother thanks to you, however you also make things harder for Wriothesley thanks to your innocent seductiveness. A small clothing mishap becomes the perfect moment for Writohesley to solve the throbbing problem in his pants.

notes: HERE IT IS THE (somewhat) SEX CRAZED WRIO I PROMISED YOU ALL !! can you guys tell i'm obsessed with this man ?? now please ask me for other characters i have no idea what to write now ( ;´ - `;)

word count: 3.4k

warnings: smut (mdni 🔞), dom!wrio, pet names, penetration, oral, no protection, ejaculation, curse words, handcuffs, overstimulation (kinda?)

Wriothesley wasn't very fond of the idea of hiring an assistant, he could handle his work all by himself, he had been doing it for a while and could keep going that way. He simply couldn't comprehend why Sigewinne was so insistent, why she kept nagging him and telling him he should get help.

"'You really should consider it!" Sigewinne scolded Writohesley from her seat across from him, her tiny hands holding a cup of warm tea. "As the head and only nurse of the Fortress, it is my duty to take care of the people who work here, and that includes you!"

He chuckled at her puffed cheeks, she looked adorable when she was mad, and it was a challenge to take her seriously sometimes. He sipped his tea before looking at her, smiling.

"I'm okay, you don't need to worry. I don't need help-"

"Yes, you do! I can clearly see that you are extremely tired, and I have caught you working way past time lately!" She interrupted him, her tone stern but also caring. She looked at him in the eyes, dead serious. "How long has it been since you got a good night's sleep?"

His eyebags wouldn't let him lie his way out of this one, he couldn't actually remember the last time he went to bed and woke up feeling replenished. He frowned and looked down, having no answer to Sigewinne's question.

She scoffed at his reaction, closing her eyes and sipping her tea. She then placed her cup down, looked back up at him, and smiled. "Now that we've reached an agreement, I'll ask the guards to put up the flyers."

Writohesley sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index. "Fine."

And that's how you got into the Fortress of Meropide as Wriothesley's assistant.

You had been working as the Duke's assistant for a few weeks now, helping him handle paperwork, running errands for him around the fortress, and on the surface, basically helping and doing everything and anything to make things a bit easier for him. It wasn't all that hard, a bit hectic but you actually enjoyed what you were doing.

Your presence had completely changed Wriothesley's routine, he was now able to finish his paperwork in time every day and got to sleep correctly again. Sigewinne had teased him continuously about how he was doing better now thanks to her idea, and he couldn't help but admit that she was right, he did need help.

On top of allowing him to get back on his feet and feel alive again, it was an actual pleasure to have you around. He was reluctant at the idea of an assistant at first, he got to know you however with time and was actually not disappointed. You were a smart and gentle individual, always ready to help and accomplish tasks with a smile on your face, even the tedious ones. Whenever you had free time, you would bring him tea along with some sweets, which he highly appreciated. This imposed a timeout on him, which wasn't actually so bad. He enjoyed chatting with you, whether it was about work or whatever else.

Everything was going well, except for one thing. Everything was great, everything you did was perfect. You were perfect.

Writohesley couldn't keep his eyes off of you at times. Generally, he thought you were beautiful, your smile melted his heart, the way your cheeks reddened whenever you stammered or were unsure softened him, and the way you dressed pleased him, especially when you wore somewhat revealing clothing- shit.

It was hard for him to keep focus on work at times because of you, but forced himself to stay put. He could handle the situation well, but it was challenging at times.

On hotter days, like today, you would wear skirts without tights, leaving your thighs exposed for Writohesley to admire. Your skin looked so soft, and the way they looked when you sat made him want to dig his fingers into them so badly.

He could handle admiring your form, it wasn't the first time he had seen a beautiful woman in his life, he just had to put in a little more effort to stay focused.

He did almost lose his mind at one point though.

He was reading a dossier, holding it with his right hand and toying with his handcuffs with the other, spinning them around. He looked up at you once he was done to give you a new order but he caught you looking intently at his handcuffs, a light blush on your cheeks. Once you noticed his gaze, your eyes darted to his and you lightly cleared your throat, cheeks brightening. Oh, the dirty things that must have been going through your mind.

Ever since then, those same dirty fantasies have invaded Writohesley's mind, making his work, as well as something else, harder. All he could think of was cuffing you up and manhandling you.

He shook his head, bringing himself back to reality. Focus, Wrio, you need to finish this by noon.

"Is everything alright, sir?" You enquired, sitting across from him also handling a report file.

He looked up at you, his eyes locking onto yours. Your gaze was caring, worried, and so sweet.

He cleared his throat. "Yeah, um, could you get me some iced tea, please?" He needed something to soothe him as well as the growing heat in his pants.

"Of course!" You replied, a big smile on your face. You got up immediately and turned to make your way out of his office. You accidentally bumped some files on his desk in the process though, papers falling to the ground before you.

"I'm so, so sorry! I'll-I'll gather everything!" You stammered, bending down to pick up every loose paper and file, unintentionally flashing Writohesley while doing so.

He could see everything, the back of your exposed upper thighs, your beautifully shaped ass, your laced panties-covered crotch. Oh Archons, how could he keep his composure before such a sight?

Wriothesley cleared his throat again, this time to grab your attention. You squeaked, stood up, and spun around quickly, a messy pile of papers in hand. You were expecting to be scolded for your idiocy. You gulped as you looked into his darkening eyes, his face was deadly serious. You were done for.

"Don't think that what you just did is, let's say, inappropriate?" He questioned, a slight smirk emerging. Your terrified expression turned into a confused one, which he chuckled at. You weren't even aware of what you were doing to him, how cute.

"Your skirt is quite short you know, you should have kneeled down instead." Your eyes widened, realising what had just happened. You frowned and looked down, face becoming as red as a tomato. You placed your hands behind you, covering your behind with the papers.

"I-I'm sorry! I-... I didn't intend to give such a view..." You were so embarrassed you were barely able to pronounce the last part. You sighed ashamed. You wanted to dive into the deepest parts of the sea and stay there.

Toying with you was fun. "You know, it's not the first time your clothes have bothered me. To be fair, you sometimes dress quite inappropriately for work." He took out his handcuffs and began playing with them like last time, catching your attention once again. He grinned, canines showing. "Don't you think that, as your boss, I should reprimand you?"

You bit your lip, intrusive thoughts clouding your mind. That didn't go unnoticed, it only made his smirk grow wider.

"Go on, finish cleaning your mess up." He instructed, eyeing the rest of the papers on the floor. You did as told, kneeling down this time.

He got up from his chair as you placed the paper mountain on his desk. You watched carefully as he came up behind you, you didn't dare to turn around though.

"Hands behind your back."

"H-huh?" You turned your head to look at him, his frame hovering over yours, eyeing you down.

He cocked his eyebrow. "Want me to repeat? Hands behind your back." His voice was stern, he was doing his best to hide his lust.

You did as told, and soon enough you felt the cold feeling of metal around your wrists. He had handcuffed you. You choked a little on your breath, not expecting this to happen. Your darkest fantasies were coming to life, but you couldn't let your mind get the best of you, you were already embarrassed enough.

"You see, being naughty like that isn't very nice, you've been making things hard for me lately." He placed your hands on his clothed dick as he spoke, rubbing against them. Your breathing was shaky, and his pants felt so tight against him, that you couldn't help but imagine what he was hiding underneath.

"Since you're to help me, I thought you could also help me with this." He pressed his dick against your hands once more, letting out a shaky grunt. "Will ya?"

You nodded timidly, still not believing what was happening. "Good. Come on now."

He leads you back towards his desk as if he were leading a prisoner. Being treated this way was making you feel hot and bothered, but you loved it. He put his hands on your shoulders and with slight pressure instructed you to kneel down before his chair, which he would sit on soon after. He began undoing his belt, his pants coming soon after, all the while being attentively observed by you. He chuckled as he saw your big eyes look at his shielded cock, mouth agape with impatience. He finally slid his bottoms down a little, revealing his girthy dick to you, tip slightly swollen and shimmering with precum. You bit your lip at the sight, mouth-watering. He was so close, it was so close.

His hand came to caress your cheek tenderly. "Open your mouth for me, baby. Tongue out."

You opened up, tongue sliding out. You looked up at him, waiting for his next command. His hand travelled up to your hair, grabbing a handful lightly, before tugging your head down towards his dick.

As your tongue finally met his throbbing tip, you flicked it against it, tasting him. Salty but tasty. You began licking his tip, tongue swirling around it, pressing against his slit, doing all you can to take in all of that sweet precum. Wriothesley moaned lowly above you, hand caressing your hair now, encouraging you, praising you.

"Come on, don't be shy, take me in." Your mouth wraps around his wet tip, making its way down slowly. He was thick, but there was so much saliva that you were easily able to swallow him whole on the first way down, making him curse under his breath. You began slowly bobbing your head up and down, tongue against the underside of his dick.

"That's good baby, keep going." It felt so good he couldn't help but let his head fall back, breathy moans and curses leaving his lips as he tugged on your hair, instructing you to pick up the pace. You were doing your very best to go fast, but he was so big and your mouth so small that your cheeks began to hurt and so your pace began to falter.

He looked back down at you with glazy eyes, only to be met with lustful eyes looking back up at him, your mouth around his dick, drool dripping down from it. Fuck. The sight made something snap inside of him, it made him feral.

He got up from his chair, standing up before you, making sure your mouth never left his dick. You let out surprised noises around his cock, making him groan from the vibrations. He placed both his hands on your hair, gripping it hard enough to keep your head still and thrust into your mouth. You moaned around him with each thrust, both from pleasure and from slight pain, but mostly from pleasure.

"Look at me, baby." His husky voice sent electric shocks all day down to your core, making your thighs squeeze together. You looked up at him, the mere sight of his expression being almost enough to make you cream.

You look at him, tears in the corners of your eyes, cheeks red, drool all over, was enough to send him over the edge. He buried himself deep within your mouth and, with a loud groan, his cum sprung out onto your throat and into your mouth.

"Fuck." He panted, thrusting slowly to get every single last drop of his cum out before sliding out.

He grinned as he saw your puffed-out cheeks, your mouth filled with cum. He put his hand on your chin, grabbing it gently. "Swallow. All of it."

Your eyes widened at the command yet you swallowed the thick liquid without hesitation, small tears coming up from how weird it felt when it slid down your throat. He grinned and patted your head. "Good girl."

He picked you up from the floor with ease, making you gasp. He placed you down, feet on the floor, facing his desk, your legs against it. Your hands were still bound behind you, and your wrists started to ache a bit. He pressed up against your back, hands grabbing at your hips as he nuzzled your neck, taking in your fragrance. You tilted your head to the side, giving him enough room to pamper your neck with kisses. He licked long slow strips along your veins. You moaned, your core growing warmer with every passing second.

You felt something hard poke your hands, he was still hard. Mustering up some courage, you grabbed his cock with both your hands, it fits perfectly between them. You started pumping it, long slow, and sloppy strokes. He groaned against your neck, biting down hard. You both moaned and groaned, you from his sucking and biting on your neck, him from you pumping his dick.

He suddenly pulled his hips away, freeing his length from your heavenly grip. One of his hands went to your back, pushing your upper body downward against the table. "Stay there."

"Yes, sir." You whispered, body engulfed in pleasure.

He bent down, face in front of your clothed crotch. He pressed his nose against your wet panties. Oh, you smelled intoxicating. He pulled your panties and skirt down, the cold air of the room hitting your hot pussy suddenly, making you shiver.

Writohesley licked his lips as he admired you in all of your glory, folds glistening from how excited you were. He leaned forward, placing both his hands on your thighs, and lay his tongue flat on your pussy, licking slowly up.

"Mh, you taste so fucking good." He groaned against your folds, suckling on your sensitive bud. You were becoming a mess, unable to control the sounds leaving your body as he lapped at your wet pussy. You almost screamed when his teeth grazed your clit.

He suddenly got up, spanking you with one hand as he did. "Quiet down, will ya. Do you want everyone in the Fortress to know you were being bad? Do you want everyone to know that your boss is punishing you?"

You shook your head no frantically, going to bite your lower lip in order to keep quiet, but he placed one of his hands on your mouth all the way from behind. With his other hand, he pumped his length a few times before lining it up to your entrance, his tip getting wet as he pressed against you. He pushed inside you, not letting a single second go to waste. He needed you. Your moan was muffled by his strong hand, eyes rolling back. He was filling you up so well, touching your cervix with his tip with the first push. His other hand was on the handcuffs, holding them tight to keep you in place. He pulled almost all the way out, only leaving his head inside, and then snapped his hips forward, pushing back in violently.

“I’m going to fucking ruin you.” He whispered into your ear. Your little screams were silenced by his hand, he repeated the same movement over and over again, until you could barely hold yourself up, your legs trembling. His low grunts and your muffled sounds filled the room along with the wet obscene sounds your cunt was making with each thrust.

His grip on your mouth and chains suddenly tightened, his pace picking up. He was practically fucking you into his desk right now, each thrust more powerful than the last. You were barely keeping yourself together, drooling into his hand, eyes barely open, cheeks flushed; you were a mess beneath him, and he loved seeing you like this. With each thrust, he stroke all the good spots, making you come undone rapidly. The feeling of your cunt clamping down on him drove him crazy, he wanted more of it, more, more. 

“Look at your tiny cunt, hugging my dick so tightly. Are you coming for me, princess?” You could only moan and groan in response, making him chuckle at your condition. He kept going, his pace never slowing down, milking your pussy of its juices. 

After the second wave of full blown pleasure washed over you, your legs began to wobble, you couldn’t keep yourself up anymore and your knees started to bend. He didn’t let you fall though, he quickly let go of your face and hands and held you up by the hips effortlessly.

“We aren’t done yet babygirl.” The side of your face rested on the desk, your mouth agape, raspy, breathy moans leaving your mouth. Your throat was dry from all the screaming, you surely wouldn’t be able to talk properly afterwards. He pounded into you rapidly, his rhythm becoming sloppier with each passing moment, he was getting close too. For someone who had instructed you to be quiet, he sure was being loud now, but neither of you cared. 

“So good, so fucking good for me.” He groaned, leaning forward, placing his forehead on your shoulder. His rapid breathing on your back sent shivers down your spine. You felt another orgasm building up, and you knew Wriothesley was close too. 

“Wrio- I’m going to…” You could barely speak, every word you uttered being followed by loud gasps.

“I know, baby, I know. Just wait a little.” He hushed you, gripping your hips with so much strength his knuckles were turning white. After a few more pushes, he was losing it, groaning loudly on your shoulder. “Come for me, y/n. Come!”

You moaned loudly, your third climax hitting you like a truck. Your walls clenched his member, that was the last straw for him. He bit down on your shoulder, moaning as he did so. His cock pushed deep inside you and stopped there. His cum came spurting out into you, the warm and thick liquid filling you up, some even dripping out of you and onto the floor. 

After a short while, his teeth finally let go of your flesh and he pulled out slowly, more cum dripping onto the floor as he did so. You opened your eyes as best as you could and looked back hazeley only to find a flushed and panting Wriothesley trying to catch his breath, still holding you up.

He then picked you up and sat you down on the desk, taking a set on his chair afterwards. You both sighed of relief, finally relaxing a bit after that experience.

He looked at you and smiled kindly, then looked at the mark on your shoulder and his smile turned upside down. “Sorry about that.”

You put your hand on your shoulder, massaging it to soothe the stinging pain. “It’s okay, it isn’t too bad.” Your smile made his worries die out. 

You started to feel a bit chilly, after all your bottoms were still on the floor. Before moving to dress yourself, a question came to your mind. You looked him in the eyes. “So, should I stop dressing the way I do from now on?”

Writohesley smirks, his head resting on his fist. “I won’t forbid you from dressing the way you want, but you must assume the consequences that will come with it.” 

At first, you blush, knowing well what he was referring to, but then you return the smile, answering with a confident tone. 

“Oh don’t worry, I will.”

© wrayah, 2024

[luveline]

Hi I love you coworker! James series feel free to ignore if you don’t like this idea but what if Remus convinced reader to go to a karaoke bar with them and she gets a little tipsy and signs her heart out and James is just heart eyes over it

thanks for requesting <3 fem!reader

“What is that?” James asks, genuinely scornful as he points at you where you’re leaning on the bar. “Is that another margarita? Jesus Christ.” 

“You should be enjoying this.” Sirius smiles around the lip of his beer. 

“Why would I enjoy this?” 

“She’s coming out of her shell, isn’t she? You’re always calling her a priss.” 

“She is a priss, but binge drinking isn’t the same as extroversion.” 

Sirius taps their beers together. “And what are you doing tonight, James?” 

James scowls as you collect your new drink. You’ve had four or five by now and they’ve more than started to affect you, your giggling endless, your hand wrapped around the crook of Remus’ arm for balance. 

“Remus! It’s your turn, hun, get up here!” your general manager calls from the stage, a mic in her hand.

“Me!” you shout suddenly, to James’ shock and Sirius’ bright laughter. “Remus, please let me have your turn, please! I know exactly what song I want to sing.” 

Remus, who’d convinced you to come through a lot of pleading and a promise that you won’t have to sing at all if you weren’t ready, looks at you like you’ve grown horns. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes? Can I please?” 

You take his arm into your hand and you look at him with widened eyes, thumb rubbing a line that James zeroes in on, doesn’t mean to, can’t believe he’s noticed at all. He’s irked you’d even look at Remus that way. 

Because you’re annoying. Yes. Very annoying. 

You drink a good half of your Margarita and ask Remus to hold it for you before you take the steps onto the stage and chat with your general manager about what song you want to sing. You put your hands on the mic stand and prepare yourself with eyebrows pinched together, determined, even though you look a little shaky at the same time. Sirius nudges James from behind, the two of them joining Remus in the small crowd of your coworkers as the music starts. 

There are two screens for lyrics. A huge one for you, a smaller for everyone else beside you. You clutch the mic and stare resolutely at the bigger one as the melody becomes recognisable. James watches in what he thought would be smugness, but instead lays somewhere between awe and mild horror as you begin to sing.

The song is Brandy (You’re a Fine Girl) by Big Head Todd & The Monsters. James loves this song, he sings it every time he has to drive Remus to cornwall. He knows every word back to front and he likes how you seem to like it too, even if you’re butchering it, and the drunken slur to your words is ridiculous. You know the chorus well enough and sing it with a beaming smile. James maybe doesn’t like you, but it’s hard not to smile when someone else is happy like that. 

“Don’t make fun of her, James! Please don’t, she’s trying her best,” Remus says at his smiling. “And she won’t come again.” 

“I’m not,” he says, not bothering to look away from you.

Your eyes scan faces and get caught on his. He can feel the moment you realise he’s watching too, see your slight falter, and then, magically, your excitement. “James! It’s Brandy! You love this song!” 

Sirius snickers at his expression. “Mate,” he says quietly, “I thought you didn’t like her?” 

“I don’t.” 

You stumble a little where you’re standing and James has to stand extremely still so as to prevent his hands from reaching out for you. “James, I didn’t take your favourite song, okay? You have to sing Don’t Stop Believin’! Oh, shit–” You don’t realise your cue to sing the chorus until it’s halfway through, but when you do find the right words, you’re extremely passionate. 

“She sounds like Melly coughing up a hairball,” James says, wrinkling his nose. 

An emotion far from disgust settles hot at the base of his neck. 

“She looks cute,” Remus says.

“Sure, if you’re blind. And deaf.” 

“Well,” Sirius says, “you do wear glasses.” 

[idiopath-fic-smile]

so literally eight years ago i posted a snippet of a modern retelling of Much Ado About Nothing set in a student co-op and for no particular reason, the concept is tickling my brain right now. so uh here, have this? i guess?

“So, Ursula, my dear,” said Lee, taking the seat across from her at the dinner table. “My fluffy little crumpet. My buttery brioche bun. My tangy slice of pumpernickel—”

Ursula squinted up from her Anthro reading. “Uh-oh,” she said. “You only call me bread when I’m in trouble.”

“Happened to glance at the meeting notes this morning,” Lee continued, her voice rising. “You’ve got anything you wanna explain or defend?”

Ursula flicked her highlighter from one finger to the other, determined to play it cool. “I think it’s all pretty self-explanatory. Which meeting notes, exactly, were you glancing at?” She peeked out of the corner of her eye to check how this was going down. 

Poorly. 

Lee stared at her, apparently at a loss for words, which was not a great look for the house president.

“You did this more than once.”

“I take notes every meeting, Lee,” she said, as levelly as possible given how Lee’s ‘I’m not angry, just disappointed’ Mom vibes were oozing from every pore. “It’s my job, as house secretary.”

“Is it?” said Lee tightly. “Is it your job?” She whisked opened her laptop and read aloud: 

“Benedick’s eyes blazed with passionate fury. His nostrils quivered. ‘Well,’ he said in a low growl, hair resplendent under the environmentally friendly fluorescent lights, ‘personally, I think if anything, there's not ENOUGH lentils—’ Beatrice gasped. It was so wrong, and yet…”

Ursula winced. “‘Said in a low growl��� is wordy. I should’ve just put ‘growled’.”

Lee pinched the bridge of her nose. “Ursula,” she began, “just how much of our official co-op house notes, which by the way are formally submitted each month to the Co-op Board, are written as if Benedick and Beatrice’s stupid arguments are some kind of torrid Harlequin paperback?”

“That depends.” Ursula steepled her fingers, dropping the highlighter in the process. “How much of my notes do you have access to?”

“All of them,” Lee gritted out. “Because they’re public. That’s what I’m saying.”

 “Look,” said Ursula. “I don’t think I said this when I ran, but I wanted to be house secretary in the first place because a lot of the time, taking notes is the only way I can make myself concentrate. I would literally be taking notes during the meeting anyway. It’s an ADHD thing.” 

Ursula sighed. “And pretty early on, it became clear that meetings in Messina House are basically just a Sexual Tension Thunderdome for Benedick and Beatrice. They go back and forth for pages sometimes. I can feel every electrical connection in my brain fighting to zone out. So yeah. For a while I rewrote their fights as rhymed couplets, for a very short bit of time I had Balthazar set them to sea shanties, and since last December, I’ve been transcribing very close to their actual words, with very close to their actual intentions, plus just a tiny bit of genre trimmings. If they’re gonna waste my Saturday and test my focus, I’m doing what I can to stay awake and keep my typing fingers limber. I’m up to 75 WPM, by the way.”

“December?” Lee repeated. “Ursula, it’s October. You’ve been doing this for over a semester?” A terrible wave of realization seemed to sweep over her just then, regarding the general pacing and content of a standard Harlequin. “Please tell me,” she whispered, “there is no sex in the meeting notes—”

“There’s no sex in the meeting notes,” Ursula interrupted. “Per se,” she added under her breath.

Lee’s lips were pressed together into a thin line. “One year,” she said. “I want one year where nobody drives a motorcycle down the hallway or accidentally mixes up chlorine gas during their bathroom clean, or spends almost a full calendar year slipping smut into the public record—!”

“Excuse you,” said Ursula. “Smut’s a different genre altogether. This is romance. Slow-burn, enemies to lovers.”

Lee threw up her hands, nearly knocking over her laptop. “What are you gonna do if Benedick or Beatrice sees this?” “Oh.” Ursula froze. “Uh-oh.”

“Yeah, uh-oh,” she said. “Look, clearly there’s only one thing to do.”

Ursula nodded. “Right, we have to execute a series of far-fetched shenanigans designed to turn those two fighting fish into a pair of cooing lovebirds, stat.”

“No,” said Lee. “What? No, you need to go back and rewrite all of—”

Pedro slid into the room in his socks. “Oh sweet, are we hooking up Benedick with Beatrice?”

“Hell yeah,” said Ursula. They high-fived.

Lee closed her laptop with a snap. “Ursula, what are the odds,” she said, “that you actually buckle down and rewrite all of the meeting notes to read like they were written in the genre of meeting notes?”

“Oh, like, zero,” said Ursula, as Pedro chimed in, 

“Yeah, that will not happen.”

Lee looked despairingly back and forth between Ursula and Pedro. “What do you think is the likelihood that playing love gods will like, actually, genuinely work?”

“Twenty percent,” said Ursula.

Margaret glanced up from the other end of the table, where she was gluing together a collage of every restaurant on campus that had ever given her food poisoning. It was for class, was the thing.

Art school kids, man.

“We’re tricking Benedick and Beatrice into giving themselves over to their intense chemistry?” asked Margaret.

“Thirty percent,” said Ursula, because Margaret was inscrutable much of the time but surely they would have a fighting chance with more of the Humanities on their side.

At “intense chemistry,” Lee shuddered. “That reminds me,” she said, standing and scooping up her laptop, “I need to post a sign in the basement bathroom warning people not to mix bleach with acid.”

“Are you in?” said Pedro as Lee attempted to slip out the door. “Love Gods?”

“Jesus Christ,” said Lee.

“Not a love god,” Margaret announced. She had found the sequins, and was applying them with enthusiasm. “Except in the general Peace on Earth sense, I guess.”

“I’m texting Hero,” said Ursula, digging for her phone. “She knows Beatrice better than anyone. She’ll have tips. That puts our potential success rate at 45%, easy.”

“If we’ve got Hero, we’ve got Claudia,” Pedro added. “And she’s been BFF with Benedick since freshman year.”

“This is a terrible plan,” Lee muttered. “Yeah,” said Ursula, “but you implied it yourself. If, uh, certain parties see my meeting notes, they will murder me. Do you really want a fellow co-oper’s blood on your hands?”

Just then, Benedick burst into the room, Beatrice on his heels.

“I’m sorry,” Beatrice shouted, “are you genuinely trying to argue that soybeans are the superior legume? Soybeans? Over chickpeas? Over kidney beans? Hell, over peas?”

“Soy milk,” said Benedick, counting on his fingers, “silken tofu, miso, tempeh, firm tofu—”

Beatrice took a step closer to him, eyes flashing, “I have never in my life had tempeh that tasted like anything other than an evil Cliff Bar.”

“It’s not my fault your tastebuds were installed backwards,” said Benedick. “This from the woman who still, in the year of some people’s lord 2024, thinks lattes are ‘too trendy’—”

“Espresso is a waste of coffee grounds,” said Beatrice in a low, dangerous voice.

Benedick gasped. “You take that back.”

Beatrice took a step closer. “Coldbrew has more flavor and more caffeine.”

“Coldbrew,” Benedick echoed, stepping even closer. “You’re defending that swill over a nice mocha? Get latte’s name out of your mouth.”

Benedick and Beatrice were standing almost nose to nose, breathing hard.

“You know what?” said Lee from the door. “Ursula? Fuck it, I’m in.”

Ursula whooped. Margaret reached for the glitter glue. Benedick and Beatrice visibly both ran through their mental rolodexes of coffee-related insults. 

From the entryway came the distant revving of a motorcycle engine. Borachio was no doubt doing wheelies in the foyer again, but that was a problem for house presidents, not innocent house secretaries who had done no wrong, thought Ursula as she returned to her reading and her growing mental to-do list.

[tinkerbelle05]

How about a 1016 miles x fem reader where his mom catches them kissing in his room 😭😭 I feel Rio would not play

Caught Red Handed

Characters: 1610!Miles Morales x Black!Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff & slight Angst

Summary: (Requested) Thanks beautiful ♥️

Warnings: awkwardness, snooping parents, Rio’s rage

A/N: Omg Rio would never play like that. I think it took a lot of convincing for you and Miles to be in the same room. Welp that's gone now. Also for my own peace of mind, Miles and Reader is 16+

You loved kissing Miles. You loved leaving a trail of kisses on his jaw, traveling down to his neck, and traveling further down into the depths of his collarbone.

You were doing it right now. Both of you laying on his bed with you draped over his body and his hands on your thighs for stability. You heard a chuckle under his breath and you paused to look at him.

“That made you tickle,” it was more of a statement, an observation really, than a question. He didn’t answer, just avoided your eyes. You took your finger and lightly trailed leaving goosebumps in it’a wakes, leaving him a laughing mess.

“You're such a tease,” he grumbles and kisses your lips.

The both of you were so entrapped in your own world that you didn’t hear Miles’ door opening, and you most definitely didn’t notice Rio standing at the doorway with lunch in her hands.

“What are you two doing?!” You hear a yell. It sounded too much like Ms. Morales for your liking.

Both of you froze with fear and slowly turned around to see a fuming Ms. Morales. She was gripping the tray for dear life and fierce glare on her face.

You practically jump off Miles, white hot embarrassment fills every part of your body. You avoid her line of sight as you brace yourself for the inevitable verbal lashing. You don’t even dare to look at Miles, not even a secret glance in his general direction.

“So this is why y’all wanna keep the door closed all the time huh?” She questions and laughs in a mocking tone.

“Mom-“

“Don’t,” she cuts him off harshly. She closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. She opens them and they land in the space between you and Miles. “Have you two..?”

“No, we haven't,” Miles answers quickly, and somehow your embarrassment grew deeper.

She gives out a sigh and pinches her nose, “Okay, okay that's good because I will not become a grandmother right now, do you both understand?”

Both of you nod in unison. There was something more terrifying about her calm rage. It made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up in anxiety.

She clears her throat, “Since neither of you clearly paid enough attention during sex-ed in school, I will re-teach you.”

“Huh? Mami please no. You really don’t have to,” Miles protested while you sink further into despair.

She ignores Miles and grabs a chair to sit in, “Okay so when..”

This was going to be a long night but it could definitely have been worse.

“Oh and you both are severely grounded for at least a month,” she adds before she continues on.

It was one of the worst 30 minutes of your life. Ms. Morales went really in depth on every subject related to sex education. The diseases you could catch, different methods of practicing safe sex, and the consequences of failing to do so. She painted horrifyingly graphic demonstrations too.

By the end of it, all you wanted to do was go home and erase this idea from your memory forever.

And at the end, she said, “Now maybe a month from now, after some reflection I can trust you two to be in the same room with the door open. But not right now. Do you need a ride home?” She turned to you, her gaze and voice softer than it was a moment ago

You quickly shake your head no and grab your things. As much as a car ride home would beat the 2 trains and a bus commute you had, your already cringing at the thought of how awkward and tense the car ride would be.

“No, no it’s fine Ms. Morales, I can get home on my own,” you tell her and with a quick goodbye to both of them, you were out the door.

Halfway through your train ride home and the Renaissance album you get a text from Miles. You were surprised he still has his phone.

“I’m sooo sorry for that. Shoulda locked the door next time. I'll make it up to you, promise 🙏🏿��

“I'll hold it to you Morales”

Tags: @butterfi, @justbeethings, @jam-skullz, @zomb1te, @dreamxcollide, @shibble, @sciamachy-after-dusk @sleepdeprivationis4coolkids, @somber-starz, @maypersonne, @peter-parkers-gf, @hoeboat101, @rosebunny, @liural, @midnight-the-shadow-wolf, @mur-docs, @eight-cats-in-a-box@emgavi, @sawi-06, @707xn, @niktwazny303, @nagi3seastorm, @ghostsimp000, @cloudstrifefantatic, @vixqn, @mewxzx, @yourtsahik, @targaryenstormborn, @spider-bren, @star-light18464, @im-jisoo-im-okay, @wraithlueintheirlittleworld, @andhdi68a, @itstooearly-its3am, @universallypeanutpizzapersona, @gricelovesu, @pavitrsgf, @avatarl0v3r, @ca1ist0, @randomhoex, @nerdyparker616, @1uvvmi, @keawio, @centipider, @ellatienesuscosas, @m4rihrts, @jell0buss-37, @baddiebehaviourxx, @laylasbunbunny, @minimari415

Taglist & Anonlist & Reqs Info & Masterlist

[sweatervest-obsessed]

Second Chances Are For Winners

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

WC: 2.7k

TW: Swearing, teasings, blood, abduction, breaking and entering, Criminal Minds General list of triggers apply here.

A/N: Hiya gang! so actually I have been so unmotivated to write and I just got back from vacation so I promise I will finish up VDVE soon. But please enjoy this mouth vomit that Just came out of my mind. It's a part one since the rest of it is mapped out, just not written! (also why is like every other gif his mouth moving. This man really just doesn't stfu and it's only hot on him)

Spencer Reid being overwhelmed was an understatement. He needed to get out of that police station as soon as physically possible. JJ confronting him about his hostility towards her had not gone the way she had hoped it would, and Spencer was once again, fuming. 

The Oklahoma heat was not kind to someone who only wore sweater vests, a fact in which he would later start to reconsider when planning his outfits to places where the heat had personal vendettas against the living. As soon as he stepped outside, it was like he was met with a brick wall of temperatures well over what they should be. As the sweat dripped down his forehead, so did the tension. He took a couple of breaths before picking up the phone and dialing a number he knew all too well. 

“Speak and be heard, Wonder Boy” 

“Hey Garcia,” A small smile formed from hearing the familiar voice. “I need you to look up someone, and find their cell number for me, if that’s okay.”

He could hear Garcia roll across her ‘batcave’, “Hit me.”

“Her name is Y/N Y/L/N…” 

“Give me two seconds…..Isn’t she—” 

“Garcia, please.” 

He could hear the smirk forming across her face as her fingers flew across the keys. 

“You’re looking up more than her number…”

“One point for Boy Genius everybody. Yes, I’m looking up more than just her phone number. She’s the gorgeous mystery woman who kissed your cheek in front of the whole team—of course I’m going to look her up now that I have her name.”

Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose, starting to regret the decision to call Penelope in the first place. “Can you just send me her number and snoop around later Garcia?” 

“Fine Genius.” His phone beeped. “Just sent it to you.” 

“Thank you Penelope.” 

“Anytime Boy Wonder.” Reid hung up the call before looking at the screen, opening the text Garcia had sent him. He smiled at the number, and almost dialed before thinking better of it. Maybe after the case, he’ll call you and take you out for lunch to catch up. But it’s nothing more, Spencer decided. You probably didn’t feel the same way, but at least he knew that there was someone who wasn’t a part of the team in which he could finally vent his frustrations to. Now he’ll finally be able to get an objective view on the whole Emily situation. 

Spencer looked at the file in his hand and sighed, opening it up. As he was reading through it for the umpteenth time, something occurred to him, and he quickly made his way back into the station, and towards his team. 

_____________________________________________________________________________

Once the jet touched down in DC, Spencer was the first one off the plane. He walked through the hanger, and towards his car. He could feel the others watching him, especially Emily, but his mind was elsewhere. 

He reached into his pocket and pulled his phone out, dialing the number Garcia had sent. 

“Y/L/N and Associates, how may I help you today?” 

Spencer didn’t even try to bite back the smile before he cleared his throat, reaching into his back pocket to grab his keys. 

“Hi, yes, I was wondering if I could speak with Y/N Y/L/N?”

“Sure, let me make sure she’s available. Her meeting should be ending soon. Can I ask what this is for?” 

Spencer pursed his lips before answering. “She, uh, just told me to call this number.” 

He heard the person on the other end shuffle something around before answering, “Good enough for me.” They hummed. “Can I just get a name?”

“Yeah–uh, Spencer–Spencer Reid.” 

“Give me one moment Mr. Reid” was all he heard before he was put on hold. He sighed and entered his car, chucking his go-bag into the passenger seat. As Spencer turned on the car, he heard your voice.

“Spencer?”

His face lit up, and a smile graced his features. 

“Hey! Yeah. Um” He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. “Hi.” 

She laughed. “I knew you’d find me eventually, Doctor, but a whole week? I feel that maybe your profiling skills need a bit of sharpening.” 

“Well–I was, I was working on cases. I-I didn’t forget—”

You cut him off, voice softer than he remembered. “I’m just teasing Spencer. So what do I owe the absolute pleasure of having Doctor Spencer Reid grace my line.” 

“Well, I was hoping you’d give me your cell number so I don’t have to annoy your secretary…”

You were silent for a moment. “Well my number is going to cost you something.” 

“Y-Yeah absolutely.” Answered a bit too quickly, almost out of breath. 

“I expect a meal sometime soon, and maybe throw in coffee one of these mornings as well.” 

Spencer smiled so brightly he almost couldn’t see the road as he was driving. 

“I-I, um, think that’s something I can do.” 

He heard you hum in agreement.

“What about tomorrow night?” 

Spencer paused. 

“I–...I actually can’t do tomorrow night, I have a team meeting, but what about breakfast the next morning?” 

He heard you shuffling papers around and a bit of typing on the keyboard before you answered him. “Seems like I’m all yours Doctor.” 

Reid smiled and parked his car outside of his apartment. 

“Then you’ll have to give me your cell phone’s number and it’s a sealed deal.”

“Are you usually this good at negotiations? Should I start prepping my list of demands for breakfast…” You joked, letting out a small laugh. 

Spencer shook his head before he realized you couldn’t see him. “N-No, well yes actually. It’s a part of the whole FBI thing.” 

You laughed at his joke before giving him your cell number. “I’ll see you soon Spencer. Bye.” 

As you hung up the phone, Spencer sent a quick “hey!” text before getting out of the car and heading up to his apartment. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a tense week after all. 

______________________________________________________________________________

The Team isn’t stupid. They’ve noticed that Spencer was somehow in a better mood when he arrived at the office the next morning, despite the way he basically ran away from the jet. They also noticed he was spending a lot more time on his phone than before, especially since Spencer was not the one to text. 

As Spencer dumped his sugar into his coffee mug, Derek came up next to him and started to prepare his own coffee. 

“Wanna tell me why you’re in such a good mood Pretty Boy?” 

Spencer pondered the offer for a moment before putting the sugar back on the counter, next to the coffee pot. “Nope.” and he walked back towards his desk. 

Derek was taken back a little bit, but finished his coffee. He made eye contact with Emily and shrugged. 

Emily was next, since her desk was next to Spencer’s. 

“Morning Spence…” 

“Morning Emily.” He quickly replied, and even flashed her a quick smile before his phone lit up and his attention was taken away from her. He sent a quick text, before placing his phone face down and started looking through his files to find the right paperwork to finish the consultation he had started before they left for Oklahoma. 

“Wanna tell me what’s going on with you?”

“Nope.” Spencer replied yet again, and now that Derek was back, he watched the same look pass through Emily’s face before she looked at Derek. 

Derek decided he was going to try a different tactic this time. “Hey Reid, wanna tell me who you're texting there man?” 

Derek’s face lit up like a Christmas Tree not even a moment later when Spencer ignored his question. 

“Is it…oh what was her name…”

“Ohhhh,” Emily joined in, “It’s the lawyer from last week…” 

Spencer just shrugged and tried to stay focused on the paper in front of him, yet all he had been doing for the past minute was rereading the same line over and over because all he could think about was when you were going to answer his text. 

“The lawyer, right right…” Derek smirked and looked at Emily, both knowing they hit the jackpot. “Wasn’t her name…Y/N?” 

At the mention of your name, Spencer made the mistake of sitting up a bit straighter, which both profilers noticed instantly.

“Oh so Y/N has been texting you all morning huh. Is that why you raced off of the jet last night? Couldn’t wait to go see he–”

“No.” Spencer cut off Derek, looking up at the pair. “I haven’t seen her since last week’s case. Now if the two of you wouldn’t mind leaving me alone I have a lot of paperwork I need to make it through before I head home tonight.” He turned back to the file in front of him and tried to read it again. And again. And again. Eventually, Spencer was able to continue his work once Derek and Emily let him be. 

But anytime his phone buzzed, he could feel the smirks from his friends, he just didn’t care. 

__________________________________________________________________________

You were so over your entire day. Every single one of your active clients decided that they had an issue that needed to be resolved in the second they called you. 

So when you woke up, face leaving a print against the wood of your desk, you let out a groan. 

The little clock in the corner of your laptop's screen flashed the time, causing you to let out a string of curses. 

“I cant fucking believe it’s 2 am. Fuck.” You grumbled, standing up and stretching your arms over your head. 

Your phone screen lit up with a notification, which also showed that you had missed a few text messages from your favorite profilers. The last one was a, correct, guess that you had fallen asleep at your desk. You smiled and responded with: 

Do you ever get tired of being right all the time Doctor Reid?

As you packed up your things, your phone buzzed. 

Not really. It’s just in my nature. 

You laughed out loud a bit, shaking your head. 

And why are you still awake? 

That’s when your phone rang. You held it in your hand, staring at it for a moment, before remembering to answer it. 

“Hello?”

“Did you even check caller ID or are you trying to encourage stalkers?” Spencer’s voice rang through your body as you let out another laugh, placing the phone between your shoulder and your ear, packing up the rest of your things. 

“Well Spencer, I seriously can’t think of another person to call me at this hour besides you…; and maybe this Baby Daddy who won’t leave me alone.” You grumbled, shoving your laptop into your bag with a little extra force than normal. 

“Baby daddy?” 

“Yeah, one of my clients, he’s a sweet guy—great dad. But because he’s so worried about his daughter having any sort of parenting time, he’s been calling me nonstop, freaking out about supervised visits. Like, I get it, but it’s fucking 2 am and I stop working at 5, maybe 6 the latest. 

You heard Spencer hum in response, but no words. “Spencer?”

“Yeah?”

“You okay?” 

“Ye-yeah, I uh–”

“Did…Did you think I was talking about someone I had a kid with?” 

Spencer sputtered out a “n-no, why–why would…”

You let out another laugh, that was like music to his ears. “Spencer, I feel like you should have figured that out from the way that you clearly used the FBI to look up my office number to get my cell number. You would’ve found out if I had kids.” 

“Y-Yeah I guess…” 

“Give me one second Spencer.” and before he could respond, you put your phone down, and pulled out your airpods, letting them connect to your phone so you could go hands free. 

“Can you hear me?” You placed your phone in your skirt pocket, adjusting your airpods so that they would be comfortable. 

“Yeah? Is everything okay?” 

“I just had to put my headphones on, I need my hands.” You slid on your heels, and walked out of your office locking the door. “Tell me about your day Spencer, I have to walk around and lock up.” 

Spencer hummed again and looked up at his ceiling. He had been sitting in his apartment, trying to read, waiting for you to answer his text–partially because he thought the worst, but mostly because he couldn't stop thinking about you. 

“Well. Not much happened. I was at work, and was trying to finish a report for this case I’m consulting on by sending them a preliminary profile, and then Derek was up my ass all day.” 

“What about?” You asked, placing your bag on the floor near the office, going to check the rest of the offices to make sure no one was still there. 

“Oh, um, well…”

You laughed again, causing his chest to swell again. “So it was me.” You teased me. “Excited to talk to me?”

You could feel Spencer turning redder and redder as the moments went on.

After a brief pause, Spencer responded to you. “And what if I am?”

It was your turn to blush, but it only made you feel a bit bolder. 

“Getting a bit flirtatious, Spence. This is not the Reid I once knew from all those years ago.”

You could hear Spencer laugh. 

“You sound tired. Why don’t you get some rest Spencer.” 

Spencer sat up straighter. “No. I’ll stay on the phone with you—” He interrupted himself with a yawn. “Until you get home. What kind of agent would I be letting you walk home alone at this hour.” 

“I’m not going to stop you, but if you fall asleep….I’m hanging up.” 

“Fine—Just text me when you get home?” 

You hummed and nodded. “Can do sweetheart. Night Spencer.” 

“Night Y/n” 

You hung up the phone and turned on your spotify, listening to some music that would make this fifteen minute walk bearable. You usually drive into work, but it had been such a nice day, and you usually don’t mind getting in the extra walk since you sit behind a desk all day. 

You paused before you exited the first set of doors—part of you felt like you should just go back upstairs and sleep in your office. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it would provide a certain agent with a lot more comfort knowing you’re somewhere safe. 

But then you thought about your bed, and the new sheets you put on the night before, and the weighted blanket spread out across the bed spread, and you realized you’d much rather sleep under that than on a stale couch without even a pillow. 

You managed to make a fifteen minute walk into a ten one. Speeding home at 2 am was not exactly what you wanted to do, but you’d rather that then the couch. You quickly unlocked the front door and made it up the stairs and into your apartment. 

You sent Spencer a quick text saying that you had arrived home, and immediately moved into your bedroom. 

The apartment was a small one bed, one bath. It would have been considered a studio if not for the door between your bedroom and the kitchen/living room/entrance/dining room. Your bedroom was quite small, with a skinny closet, a dresser, and your bed. You had gotten lucky enough to shove your bed against one wall, and create a reading nook in the turret window on the other side of the room, which was only about ten feet away, but still. 

You kicked off your shoes, and made your way into the bathroom, brushing your teeth and listening to whatever music spotify had decided to play for you. 

You took off your outfit for the day and pulled on your pajamas, which felt so good against your skin as you slid into your bed, and shut the lights off. 

You wished you took the first option when two minutes later, you heard your bedroom door creak open, and a voice tell you not to scream. 

To Be Continued...

________________________________________________________

[ahhhwomen]

I miss my girl already so how about someone soft and fluff? Victoria x reader they in bed and R start talk about vicky future's and appreciate it and touch her nose , eyebrow her face in general

just a soft moment between them

-🧞‍♀️

a/n: sorry, its a bit rushed, but here she is, fluff all the way through baby

“Your skin is so soft,” the tip of your finger slowly runs over delicate features, you start at her eyebrow, gently running your finger through dark hair.

It’s smooth like silk as you brush it downward, laying it flat and perfect, then just because you can, you push backward. Forcing the hair to stand, you twist small sections between your pointer and thumb until her eyebrow looks like a cluster of small spikes, “And what do you think you are doing?” Looking down at the woman between your legs, you smile sweetly, she lifts one of her eyebrows but it’s not as intimidating as she thinks as the little spikes stand up at attention.

Refraining from answering you chuckle a little at her raised brow as you relent and slick it back down when you are satisfied.

You make sure to give her other brow the same attention, you realize she didn’t bother replying to your observation, merely hums as she gazes up at you. It’s a gentle moment, and as much as you are sure her sass is waiting just beneath the surface, she stays silent and lets you work.

In the warmth of your cozy bed, this was your favorite part of the day, with just the two of you. Protected from the outside world while you relish in the bobble of comfort your house has become ever since you walked into Vic´s life.

Strong hands hold your waist protectively as you lean closer to admire her, you slide from her brow down to her nose. You love everything about her, but her nose was one of the things that reeled you in the first time you ever laid eyes on her, you love the way it scrunches slightly as you hit a sensitive spot just on the left side. You follow the ridges from the top of her nose down to her nostrils, you slide your finger against the shell and back up until you are just beside her right eye.

Victoria has always been guarded when it comes to her eyes, she never let anyone get near them, always redirecting hands or distracting you, but that was in the past.

Now, with every card on the table, you see a slight smile. She attempts to strain and hide it, always trying to be maddeningly composed, but it adores her lips nonetheless as your fingers run under the skin of her bottom lid. You don’t comment on it, instead, you let yourself gaze at her long eyelashes and beautiful dark brown eyes. She can try and hide it all she wants, but the little wrinkles that form at the side of her eyes make you resist your own wolfish grin.

She is looking up at you in a way you know she would deny if you were to tease her about it. Her eyes speak volumes as she looks at you as if you hung the moon, there is an underlying emotion in there. A little girl who Victoria never lets out to play outside of these short moments in the safety of your home, again, you remain silent and let yourself worship her.

Last on the list, for today, is her lips. The plushness of them never ceases to amaze you, it’s like a cloud as you push down against her bottom lip. She sighs gently and opens her mouth slightly to let you smooth her skin over. It’s something that has always brought you comfort, so she bites back her remarks and tightness her grip around you, you glide your pointer and middle finger back and forward in a rhythm.

“You really are the most beautiful woman, you know that?” You try to communicate just how much you mean it through your eyes as they lock onto hers. She rolls her eyes and pinches your side gently, “Charmer.”

She is deflecting, like always, but you can see the glimmer of hope growing within it every day, so, you shrug and settle yourself on her chest.

Done with your routine for the night.

[bumpkinspice0]

Know One Knows the Trouble, Honey, That We've Been Through 2/3

Logan Howlett/ Wolverine x Mutant!FemReader

Chapter Rating: Mature

Word Count: 5.6k

Summary: Your emotions start to settle and you get to know Logan a little more Warnings: Hangover? Negative self-talk, SEXUAL TENSION, pg-13 dirty talk, talk of past trauma/abuse

Series Masterlist

Part 1 Part 3

AO3 if you prefer to read there

_______

You always found it wasn’t the hangover that was the worst part after a night of drinking— it was the shame. A heavy groan rolls out of your lips, your achy shoulders leaning over the third cup of coffee that was forced on you. You’re still surprised you had the courage to leave your room at all. This isn’t the first time the X-men nursed you back to the land of living after a night of less-than-savory decisions, but you do hope it’s the last.

Thankfully, you hadn’t seen Logan all morning.

He drove you both home. He carried you to bed. You called him a fucking calendar boy. God, you had to be here for at least another week. How on earth are you going to get through this? Could you possibly avoid him for days? With enough dedication… Maybe. 

“You and Logan seem to have made up then?” Storm muses, taking a seat next to you at the kitchen counter. 

“We… went to Stevie’s,” You grumble into your coffee. 

“Of course you did,” She tries and fails to hide her smile. You’d drug Storm there plenty of times back in the day.

“I thought I’d be nice. Be The bigger person, ya know. Make peace. It was supposed to be one drink, Ororo,” You slump down to the counter, burying your face in your arms, “He carried me to my goddamn bed.”

“Did he now?” You hear the intrigue in her voice. 

“I called him a lumberjack. Or a firefighter or something. Scream-sang half the way home too I think.”

“Mmm,” she hums into her mug before taking a generous sip of coffee, “And did… anything else happen last night?”

You immediately shoot up, cheeks heating in an instant. Storm always loved the juicier gossip. 

“Nope!” you blurt just a little too loudly, “Just shamefully being tucked in, unfortunately.” 

“Shame. I think he likes you.”

“Yeah… right,” You wheeze, “The professor made him my chaperone to the greenhouse yesterday, I got drunk on his dime, and on top of that I think I scratched up his bike when I knocked it over… with him on it.”

“Details, darling. Details.” She gets up to round the kitchen island, pulling out a cereal box and two bowls. “More importantly, what do you think of him?”

“Well, he wrecked the flowers you got me.” you bluntly point out. 

“A fact that I’m sure Jean is scolding him for this very moment,” she pours two bowls of Honeycombs, one heftier than the other, “He’s a difficult person, yes, but he’s trying to get better too. It took a lot of convincing from all of us when he first came here.”

Sounds like someone else that used to come here. You want to say it but the double meaning in her tone is clear.

You recall trying to run away at least twice when you first came to the X Mansion. It was scary, and you’d been in fight or flight mode for so long that you didn’t know how to react. Everything was always a matter of time at that point in your life. It seemed like everyone became an enemy, eventually. Every home was abandoned, eventually.  You would have run out of time eventually— if it wasn’t for Charles. 

“He’s not so bad on the eyes either though, is he?” Storm slides a near overflowing bowl to you, milk splashing over the sides. 

“Ro,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to hide your smile more than anything. She was always so forward, “I think I said he could be in a calendar last night. Like the sexy calendars.”

“Ah, so the drunken confessions have gotten the ball rolling,” Storm slides back in next to you, “Other than his leg buckling good looks, what else do you think of him?” 

It’s still too early in this relationship to form a concrete opinion about him. He ruined your flowers and you got drunk with him. It’s not the best start to a friendship— but you’ve had worse. 

You think back to the hastily taken-off shoes next to your bed. An untouched glass of water on your nightstand you immediately downed. The crinkles around his eyes that deepened when he laughed at whatever you were rambling about back at the bar. An abandoned red flannel left around your shoulders when you woke up this morning…

He didn’t talk much, but he listened. He cared in his own tough guy way.

“I think… he’s nice.”

______________

You choose to work on the tunnels today, not ready to face the blinding sunlight outside. The max dose of ibuprofen and a steady supply of Gatorade were working overtime as you blast further into the rock. There was still at least half a mile to clear out and Hank wanted to get started on the wiring for the lights and ventilation as soon as possible. 

Ideally, you wouldn't be doing anything today. Drinking always took it out of you, but you couldn’t just loaf around the mansion nursing a hangover when you were hired to do a job. You didn’t even get in the tunnel until noon and after an hour of punching through bedrock, you’re already exhausted. 

You emerge from the tunnel back into the basement for a small break, soot already covering you despite your less-than-enthusiastic work effort. For once you didn’t want to bury yourself in your work— metaphorically at least. For the first time since you got here, you give yourself a chance to breathe. 

The sleek lower halls of the X-men haven’t changed. It looks the same, but it feels completely different— just like fucking everything lately. Nothing changed here, but you have. A place you were once so proud to be. Now… now you don’t know. 

But maybe you’re starting to come to terms with it— feeling comfortable, even. It’s okay that things change, literally everything does. That’s what moving forward is all about. 

Is that what you were doing? Moving forward?

You come to the display cases, everyone’s suits standing proudly on faceless mannequins. Suits of the current X-Men and the past. They still had yours, of course. A plaque that read ‘(Bull)Dozer’ rested at its feet. You wonder if it would still fit you. 

“Always wondered who wore that one.” A now familiar gruff voice pulls you out of your reminiscing. You turn and there he is, leaning against the adjacent wall, that blasted smirk on his face. 

He’s suited up, a fresh sheen of sweat marking his forehead and a faint smell of smoke lingering around him. He must have just come from the danger room.

You give your own smirk and give him a quick once-over, taking in the garish yellow that covered him from head to toe, “I didn’t expect yours to be so… Bright.”

“Goes with my eyes,” He teases, coming to stand next to you. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of how filthy you surely must be. You resist the urge to dust yourself off. There was no use, you were covered in dirt. “How you feeling today, darlin’?” 

The pet name shoots butterflies straight to your stomach. Either from embarrassment or… something else.

“Just fine.” You say as confidently as you can. 

“Didn’t expect you to be so… productive today.” He cocks an eyebrow. 

“Oh, I’ve been around the block a few times. I’m tough.”

“I’m sure you are.”

The air is suddenly suffocating and you’re not sure how much of it is in your head. You don’t dare bring up whatever you could have possibly said last night. You couldn’t just ignore it either. 

“I wanted to say… thanks… for last night,” you break the silence, “But also I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“Sorry you had to play babysitter.”

“Ya know you’ve got a nasty habit of apologizing for things you shouldn’t be apologizing for.”

“Logan–”

“I had a good time last night,”  He cuts you off, going from a teasing tone to a more serious one. He means it. He wants you to know he means it, “Wasn’t the first time I had to carry someone to bed and it won’t be the last. I didn’t mind. You were pretty fun before that too. Play a mean game of pool.”

You’re not sure but you swear you see him wink.

You feel the rush to your cheeks again. Since when did you get so shy around shit like this? Maybe it was just him. Something about him had this effect on you. 

You goddamn teenager. 

“Doing the Danger Room solo, huh?” you quickly change the subject. 

“Not a very good team player,” he shrugs, “Not that anyone here would be much of a challenge if they wanted to join.”

“Cocky prick,” you scoff, “I bet I could take you.”

Something in his demeanor changes. His eyes darken and a playful grin pulls at his lips. All the pet names, sneaking up on you, making you blush. He’s been flirting…  might as well flirt back. 

“That so, princess?”

You want to backstep. You should backstep— but damn, playing with fire never seemed so fun. 

“Yeah, I do think so.” You cross your arms, a playful challenge. 

“And what makes you say that?” He steps closer, you don’t back down. 

“I’ve met a lot of men that think they’re hot shit. Men that need to be knocked down a peg. I don’t mind being the one to do it. They always walk away with their tail between their legs.”

Something in his eyes darkens as he crowds you against the wall. You can feel the heat radiating off of him. He leans down.

“Sounds like a lot of boys to me.” he nearly growls. “You’ve put a lot of boys in their place, princess?”

“Only when they deserve it.” 

A deep hum of approval rumbles in his throat. The feralness of his tone awakens something inside of you. It stirs in your belly and shoots between your legs. 

You’re playing a very dangerous game but can’t seem to help yourself— not with Logan.

Suddenly, he pulls away, all of the air you were holding in your lungs going with him. 

“Hank.” He grumbles under his breath as he steps away.

Sure enough, the big blue man himself rounds the corner, several scattered papers and blueprints in hand. 

“My dear, there you are!” Beast walks directly between you and Logan, completely unaware of the tension he’s breaking. “I wanted to discuss some foundational plans with you for the new win,” he places a hand on your back and gently starts guiding you down the hallway. “If you’ll excuse us, Logan.”

“Sure, bub,” you catch a glimpse of Logan scowling over your shoulder, “Do whatcha gotta do.”

________________ 

Days. It’s been days since you’ve seen him. It’s been days since you’ve seen much of anyone, really. 

Scott had everyone on high alert since the evening of your hangover. More activity was detected around the Trask extremist's now not-so-hidden hideout. Charles has been on the phone with any government official he can and the rest of the gang has been on around-the-clock reconnaissance. Thank god the only thing the US government hates more than mutants is domestic terrorism. If they can solve this amicably and quietly, they will.  

And you just keep digging your holes in the ground. 

You finished the tunnels yesterday, both far longer than the previous ones were. One exiting over half a mile to the West and another to the East. All that was left were the gardens now. 

It was the work that would take the longest anyway. They had to be sculpted meticulously, level, and somewhat aesthetic looking. Much harder than just boring a hole into the ground. Things that looked beautiful required more focus and time, that’s true with anything. You had a little less than a week to finish the job. Then… you’re not sure. Just go back to your regular life, you suppose. 

Do you really want to go back?

The question continuously repeats in your head as you try your best to focus on leveling the dirt beneath your palms. This job back at your school did not go as planned— at all. You thought you could do this quickly without drawing in the guilt. Quick in and out then back to your mediocre career and lackluster social life. In hindsight, you feel like a fool for thinking you could do this without old feelings stirring up. Feelings that weren’t nearly as bitter as you thought they were. Charles mentioned in passing how he’d like to start a new environmental science course, they’re just having trouble finding someone who has time. A trap, surely. Jean did say your thoughts are very loud lately, the professor’s no doubt overheard your inner conflict.

This thing with Logan wasn’t helping either. 

Nothing more than lust, you think. Carnal desires stirring for someone mysterious. A bad boy. A rogue. If you were younger you would have already found him late one night and jumped his bones. For some reason that felt… trashy. That and Scott’s had the man on call constantly. Even though he’s made it clear the feeling is mutual, you don’t want to necessarily piss where you lay. But that would only matter if you stayed.

You want him. You want him bad and you're being skittish about it because you don’t want to fuck up the dynamics of the team… because you want to stay. 

You want to stay. 

The roar of the Blackbird coming into land sends your ears ringing. They’re back from their latest reconnaissance mission. The sun was going to set within the hour. Your work would be done for the day and everyone would be home—everyone including him. 

You have no idea what you’ll do but… something. Tell Charles and Scott you want to stay? Finally pounce on Logan? Or just hide away in your room— that seems most likely. 

Unfortunately, the choice is made for you. 

“Still no flowers planted yet?” the sweet rumble of Logan’s voice pricks the hairs on the back of your neck. 

“Tomorrow maybe. Almost done with the beds,” you say as casually as possible. He comes to stand at the top tier of the garden several feet above you. He’s changed out of his uniform and you’re still in your 2 day old work clothes. Why does he keep finding you when you’re completely covered in dirt?

“Nice shirt,” he nods towards you. 

You look down at your grime-covered torso. You’d put on his flannel this morning. Why in God's name did you do that?

“Yeah some fella from the bar left it in my room,” you joke as you make your way up to him. “Sorry, musta just grabbed it without thinking.”

“I don’t mind. Suits you,” he reaches out, helping you up the final step. He pauses, just for a moment. “Hi.”

“Hi.” 

And there’s that awkward little silence brewing again you're both so good at. He’s desperately the person you want to see and the last person you want to talk to at the same time. Still, he sought you out first— and that meant something. 

You both decide to break the silence at once. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been—”

“Would you wanna get you another—”

Were you always this bad at this or is it just him? 

He chuckles, scratching the back of his head, “Got a little break in the action. Was wondering if I… could get you another drink?”

Your entire body screams no but your stupid heart is pounding yes. Maybe if you take it easy this time you’ll be fine. You actually remembered to eat today so that’s working in your favor. 

“I’m not sure I can show my face at Stevie’s again.” You joke. 

“Nah, not that dump. " He turns and starts walking back to the mansion, “somewhere much more local this time.”

_______________

The sun is just starting to kiss the treeline when you settle into your seat. You promised to start a fire in the pit and Logan promised to bring the beer. It at least gave you a little time to get rid of all the dirt that was caking you head to toe. Sharing a drink while watching the sunset on the back porch with a bonfire. You don’t think he intended for it to be as romantic as it was, but you can’t say you really mind. 

Logan comes through the sliding door, six-pack in hand. You don’t even get a word out before he’s already offering an opened bottle.

“Maybe take it easy this time,” he smirks.

“Mm, maybe you should have got me a juice box instead if you’re so worried.” 

“Oh, and here I thought you were a tough girl.”

Jesus fucking christ. 

You accept the beer and dare not make eye contact.

“Cheeky ass,” you attempt to shoot back, taking a heavy swig from the bottle. 

He takes a seat next to you on the bench with a heavy groan. “I’ve been called worse.”

You don’t doubt it. You were calling him worse barely a week ago. Now you’re sharing a drink at sunset with him? Well, another drink. 

“How was the mission?” 

He just grunts in response, leaning over his knees to peer into the fire, “Fucking annoying.”

“The bad guys or Scott?”

“Both,” He huffed a laugh, taking a swig from his bottle. “Just gettin’ impatient is all. Summers has us all waitin’ for the right moment. Can’t let them know we’re watching. Probably the right call with guys like these. Don’t tell him I said that though.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, tough guy.”

Your heart isn’t racing as much now. The air between you is getting lighter by the second. This wasn’t so bad. He wasn’t so bad. Not entirely the gruff and tough guy you made him out to be. 

He could have marched right up to you and asked you to come up to his room, and you would have said yes. You could have come banging on his door one night for a quick fuck, but you didn’t. There was that desire here, but there was something else building too. You wanted to know him. He seemed to want to know you too. 

You want to stay. 

“You miss it?”

“What?” the question catches you off guard. 

“The X-Men. Being an X-man.” Logan clarifies, “Do you miss it?”

It's a loaded question, one you might have answered differently a few weeks ago. 

“Yes.”

He’s just as surprised by your bluntness as you are. 

“Why leave then?” he prods a little further. 

You want to know him, he wants to know you.

“I wanted to see if I could do it. Just… be a person. Free to just exist in the world, ya know?” you instinctively curl your legs into your chest. “And I guess I did it, in a way. I’m not struggling, a business owner with steady work, but that doesn’t change the way they look at me. They want what I can do. I’m a one-man construction crew. Cheaper and faster, but still just a mutant, someone you pay under the table. I guess I forgot I couldn’t really change anyone's mind either.”

He lets your little confession linger for a moment before speaking again. 

“Fuck ‘em.” 

You raise a brow.

“Fuck ‘em. Never thought it was much worth being part of anyway.”

Guess you’re not the only blunt one here.

You unfurl your legs, stretching your feet out to the edge of the fire. You wish you’d kicked off your work boots earlier. 

“What about you, Wolverine? Do you like being an X-man?”

“Tch, now ain’t that a big question.” He raises the bottle to his lips.

“So you don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that.” the bottle lowers. 

“You don’t seem to say much about yourself.” You’re baiting him, just a little.

“Fair enough,” he concedes with a sigh, “I do. I like bein’ here, bein’ part of something, but it's got its own challenges. I’ve got my own challenges. Demons like everyone else. Guess that’s how we all ended up here, isn’t it? Fucked up as that is.”

He’s a man of few words, but each of them is spot on. You’re only here because you were running, just like everyone else. 

“So is that a yes—” you tease. 

His knee knocks against yours with a chuckle, “Yeah, I suppose it is.”

His thigh doesn’t move away, resting lazily against yours. You swear you can feel his body heat radiating up your whole leg. 

“Would you come back?” He turns the conversation back to you again.

“I… I don’t know yet,” you admit. 

“Yet?”

“I don’t know if they’d take me. If Charles would—I’ve been—”

“They would.” his blunt candor cuts through your insecurity like a knife. Logan is a man who only seems to say what he means, and that’s comforting, strangely enough. “I don’t know much about it, but family is family. All you gotta do is ask with this crowd.”

A reassuring heat creeps into your cheeks at his words. You know he’s right. The only one you need to convince is yourself now.

“Yeah,” you thumb at the neck of your beer, long forgotten and surely completely warmed through by now. You set it on the ground, “I might…I might just ask.”

You feel him shift, leaning in closer to you. You finally turn your eyes from the dancing fire and face him. His normally hardened face is so… soft. 

“I wouldn’t mind keepin’ you around if you did.”

The kiss is gentle at first, to your surprise. Both of you lean into it almost nervously, as if asking permission. When neither of you pulls away he’s the first to go deeper, cradling your head in his freehand. You melt into him. His mouth opens against yours, tongue seeking your own. You let him in gladly. The sensation of his stubble against your cheeks makes your hair stand on end. A deep moan growls up from his throat and sends shockwaves through your whole body. Your thighs clench together almost on instinct.

He’s the first to pull away, but still hovering close enough for your noses to brush. 

“Come to my room tonight.” You find yourself asking through heated breath. 

“Why not right now?” his hand roams down from your neck to your hip. You want this, god you really want this. But…

“Please grant me the decency of a shower, Logan,” You worry for a split second your stupid mouth has ruined the moment, but he huffs out a small laugh with that unmistakable smirk.

“Me or you?” he leans to the side, nose grazing your neck. 

“B-both.” 

“Smell pretty good to me, darlin’.” You feel his breath dancing on your skin, a few small pecks left along your shoulder. 

“Logan…”

“I like that,” He comes back up to face you, eyes blown wide with desire, “I like the way you say my name.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” You can’t help but rake your free hand through his hair. It’s softer than you expected. 

“Can’t have that. Not when you just decided to come back,” He gives your hip a final squeeze and steals another quick kiss before leaning back. “You wanna wait, we’ll wait.” 

Suddenly you regret your shower request.

You sigh, dropping your head to his shoulder “It’s been a long day… few days.”

“I can relate,” his hand rakes over your back. “Probably gonna be called out again in 10 minutes anyway.”

“Any progress?”

“We’re close, whatever that means,” you can hear the irritation in his voice. You can’t blame him, the whole team was constantly coming and going the last week.

 They’d have a lead and it’d fizzle out. Even Ceribro was having trouble tracking them. You overheard Jean and Charles discussing the possibility of them possessing physic-blocking technology. Enemies had gotten their hands on weirder things. 

“What was it like… when you were on the team?” he asks. Well, if you weren’t going to jump into each other’s pants right away, might as well keep up with the fireside pleasantries— not that you minded.

“Smaller. Much smaller.” You snort, “We didn’t have a direct line to the president, that’s for sure. Mostly breaking up small-time mutant-related gang violence. Saving kids. Erik would show up every once in a while with some new lackeys. Nothing like what he tried on Liberty Island.”

“You heard about Liberty Island?” 

“Jean told me,” It was all over the news too, some important details left out, of course. “She told me it was your first mission with the team too.”

“Hell of a first mission.” he takes a heavy swig of his mostly untouched beer. “What was yours?”

“Child rescue,” You don’t even have to think about it, the night is still imprinted on your mind, “A dozen mutant kids were being held in some dirty warehouse in Long Island. They were gonna be sold off to some private warlords or some shit, I don’t like to think about what could have happened. We got them out, that’s what matters.”

You pull away from him, your previously warm mood now soured by no fault of your own. Thankfully, Logan doesn’t seem offended. 

“Why do I feel like that’s not the whole story?” He takes a cautious sip, raising his brow.

He’s right. 

“Do you actually wanna hear it?” You peek at him from the corner of your eye. He nods.

“I told you I was an angry kid. I was an angry X-Man too,” you remember the close calls that night, “Seeing those kids like that… it reminded me of… it was too much. If I get too mad, buildings fall down. Foundations crack. We got the kids out while the roof was coming down.”

You thought you were so ready for the field. What a mistake that was. Charles and the team never shamed you but there was always this look in their eyes. Like they were waiting for you to go off again. You kept a tighter hold on it after that night. You let yourself lose control before, you don’t want to do it again. Keeping it in keeps people safe.

“You don’t seem so angry to me, sweetheart.”

“Years of practice.” you give a faux smile, a pit of regret forming in your stomach for oversharing— again. 

“You’ll have to give me lessons sometime,” he nudges at your shoulder. Despite it all, he’s still smiling at you. 

“You’re a good listener, Logan.” you smile back. 

“Gotta be when you don’t have much of your own story to tell.” he shrugs off the small compliment. 

“What happens in your story, bub?” you joke, praying he might share just a little.

He leans forward over his knees. His deep brown eyes stare blankly into the fire like he’s searching for something. He said there’s missing parts. He said he doesn’t remember much.

“I don’t know it all yet.” is his disappointing answer, “It was… taken from me. Charles is helping me find the missing pieces. I want to tell you, I do, but I want all the pieces back first.”

You desperately want to ask him to elaborate. Memories taken from him? Missing time the Professor was helping him get back. That had to be part of the reason he stayed here. To get back who he was. 

Still, you won’t push.

“All good stories are worth waiting for, I hear,” you give him an assuring smile. He thankfully smiles back, placing a warm hand on your thigh. Something about him, something about Logan just made this all so… easy. 

“You could tell me yours while we wait?” He asks, orange lights dancing over his soft expression. “How did Dozer become an X-Man?”

“It’s… not a happy story.” You bite your lip.

“Neither is mine.”

You look back at the fire, his warm eyes suddenly too much to bear looking at. Were you really going to do this? You barely know him.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

But you do want to, and that’s the surprising part. You don’t know why, but you want to tell him about the darkest part of your life. It’s been so long since you’ve said any of it out loud, maybe you need to get it out. Maybe he’d understand. Maybe you’ll scare him away. Maybe you just want him to know what the fuck he’s getting into.

You take a deep breath.

“My powers manifested when I was ten. Was playing in the backyard with my brothers and suddenly we had a new sinkhole. Broke one of their ankles. I don’t think they ever stopped being afraid of me after that. My father was afraid at first too. Tried to cover it up, told me not to make any new friends, to keep to myself in school. It went on like that for a few months until… until everything changed.”

You’ve tried so hard to forget these few years of your life. At the same time, they seem to be all you can think of late at night. It’s what you’ve been running away from your whole life. 

You’ve told so few people this story, and now you’re telling Logan. He sits there quietly, a supportive heavy hand on your thigh and kindness in his stern eyes. 

He wanted to know you. 

“Like I said before, my father was a career army man. I think he loved it more than us. I know he loved it more than me. I don’t know how he heard about it but the military wanted mutants. Secret programs within secret programs. A once in a lifetime opportunity for him. I was his ticket in.”

You feel Logan’s grip tighten. 

“He didn’t give me to them completely at first. Made me do tryouts I guess. Took me to some base and made me show a bunch of old men in nice suits what I could do. Did that a few times. It was slow at first. Taken out of school. Brothers stopped talking to me. Told to practice more. At first, it was once a week, then it was more, then he just left me there.

“I was scared the first night. I was only twelve but I was smart enough to know where this would all lead. I knew my father didn’t love me anymore. I knew they’d do horrible things to me. I broke out. They caught me within 24 hours and scrambled to find a prison I couldn’t break out of again. Where do you keep a child that can move bricks and concrete like toys? One day, I just woke up in a room of metal. They hid me away in some deployed battleship. Never learned where or what the name was. There were others there too I think, but I can’t be sure. They couldn’t trust me, but maybe they thought they could train me. Make me a soldier. Break me.”

Funny how these words come out so easily. You recite them in an almost sterile way. Maybe you needed to say them again. Needed someone else to know. You feel Logan’s eyes boring into you, but you don’t dare meet his gaze. Not while there’s more to say.

“I think I was on that ship for almost a year. When they started talking about taking me to another facility ‘with the others’ I knew I had to get out somehow. I played along, became docile, whatever they wanted so long as they would let their guard down. I’d be shipped out to the mountains in Canada, they said. When we docked I could finally feel earth again for the first time in months. Even from inside my little cell, I was close enough to summon something… anything. 

“I put a hole in the ship with a few bricks from the pier. One hole became dozens. I didn’t stop until the hull was more air than metal. The boat sank at port and I was able to escape in the commotion. We were in New Jersey. In 6 months I got to Chicago and that’s where Charles found me.”

The sun has completely set but for a few stray ribbons of orange in the sky. The crackling of the dying fire was deafening between you two. You finally look back to Logan. You can’t read his face. It’s not blank or shocked like most people were after your sad story. 

His next words shock you. 

“The Weapon X program,” it comes out so quietly, “You were… oh my God, you were in the Weapon X program.”

It’d been so long since you’d heard that goddamn name. 

You draw away from him immediately, betrayal muting over all of your other feelings. He knew. 

“Charles told you, didn’t he? You let me drone on while—.”

“No! No, he—” Logan bites out, hands closing into fists. The knuckles whiten instantly. “Chuck never told me.”

“Then how do you know that name? How do you know what Weapon X is?” You spit the words with venom, your defenses are immediately put back into place. He knew something. He knew something about you this whole damn time. 

Yet, he looks so small. Shoulders slouched down, defenseless. Eyes wide with what almost felt like compassion.

“Logan… were you… were you in Weapon X?”

He looks down at his hands resting on his lap, squeezing his fists one last time before releasing them. As his fingers unfurl his claws slowly unsheath, lazily crossing over each other on his lap. It could almost be perceived as a threat, but that’s not what he’s doing. It’s like he’s showing you something. 

“Darlin’... I am Weapon X.”  

__________

[milliesfishes]

Hii! Do u think u could write something about maybe how in the second episode in season 1 billy and reader r together and she accidentally gets herself in the middle of him and antrims feuds and billy becomes very protective?

౨ৎ꣑ৎprotective billy antrim౨ৎ꣑ৎ fem reader x billy the kid

Billy Antrim came to you like a rainstorm soaking a flower field.

His family had moved into town less than a year ago, a lovely mother, adorable little brother, a tired looking man and Billy. Your attention was piqued immediately by them. Plenty of new families moved to Silver City all the time, but there was something about this one...well, something about their oldest son...that kept your eye on them.

You merely watched from afar at first, eyeing them from the marketplace or the general store. It wasn't that you set out to see them, but they happened to be in town often at the same times you were.

But it wasn't until you met Mrs. Antrim that you started to get closer to them.

You were looking at a bolt of fabric, running your fingers along the material and debating making a new dress out of it when she appeared beside you. She was looking at another fabric, pinching it between her fingers. Noticing you, she smiled. "That's a lovely color." A lilted Irish accent made her words all the more charming to you. "It'll look fetching with your hair."

"Thank you," you smiled, looking over at the blue color she was examining. "Is that for you?"

"My son, Billy," she explained, holding up a bit of it and considering. "He needs a new shirt. He's had the old one for a long while."

"I see," you nodded, measuring out a stretch and handing the shopkeeper the money for it. "Do you live in town?"

"Yes," she smiled sweetly. "Just moved here a few weeks ago."

"Do you like it so far?" you questioned, folding up your cut.

"It's a far sight from some of the towns we've lived in," she laughed. "In the best way."

"I'm glad to hear it," you said, watching as she paid for her own fabric. "It'll be wonderful to have you here."

"Kathleen," she introduced herself, holding out her hand. You shook it nicely, telling her your name. She eyed you with a smile. "You're a sweetheart. I'll be happy to come across you again."

Indeed, every time you did after that she was. Kathleen always had a kind word for you, and you looked forward to seeing her. She was the first of the Antrims you met.

The second was Joe, whom you quickly grew fond of. He was with his mother one day in the market, and after that you'd slip him a sweet in passing every time you saw him. He was a sweet little boy who clearly loved his mother dearly.

Mr. Antrim was next, although you didn't exactly meet him. He came often to the bar you worked at, and you served him whiskey after whiskey almost every time you had a shift.

And then there was Billy. You'd heard Kathleen speak of him several times, but never come across him.

Until one day when you were out walking on a cloudy day as you often did, in a meadow close to town. Musing to yourself as you wandered, you were surprised by a raindrop hitting your nose. Looking up, you noted the dark grey color of the sky. Hopefully it wouldn't be too bad during the walk back.

But quickly your hopes were put to death when it began to pour, the rain soaking your skin and dress. You laughed, spinning once and holding your hands up to the sky.

A voice startled you out of your bliss, and you spun to see a man standing behind you with a concerned expression on his face. "You alright miss?"

Nodding in a bit of a daze from the shock, you realized who it was. The only member of the Antrim family you hadn't met.

You couldn't help but study him up close. So many times he'd been observed from far away, and your curiosity had gotten ahold of you this time. Billy was tall, on the leaner side but with broad shoulders. There was a gun belt slung around his hips, and a hat on his head, with dark brown curls peeking out. His shirt, you noticed with a modicum of satisfaction, matched the fabric Kathleen had been looking at awhile back.

"I'm okay," you assured him, pushing some of your wet hair out of your face. "I was just taking a walk and now..." you looked up at the sky then back at him. "I don't mind the rain."

This brought a little smile to his face, but he still moved closer to you. Now you could see the color of his eyes. Pure, deep blue, like the sky on a cloudless day. He was less than a foot away from you. "Still, it's gonna be a rough storm, looks like. Would ya-?"

Thunder rumbled nearby, and you jumped, automatically moving toward Billy. His hand came to your back in a protective way that nearly made you swoon.

"Ain't safe to walk back now," Billy commented, looking down at you. "Here, we can go into the clearing 'n wait out the worst of it."

"Okay," you nodded, and he took your hand, leading you through the meadow and into the trees, hiding where it was dry. The both of you were soaking wet.

"I know a little spot nearby," Billy explained, still guiding you through the clearing. "Lightning hits trees, don't want ya to get struck."

"That wouldn't be great," you agreed, and he gave you a nod.

"It's just-ah!" Billy led you to a slot in the nearby mountain akin to a gaping mouth. "Here. We'll be safe in here."

"You've been here before?" you asked, shivering a bit as you stepped in. It was dark and cold and you folded your arms around yourself to try and maintain a little body heat.

"Come here sometimes," he explained, nodding at a little circle of stones near you. "I'll start a fire. Could be awhile." You noticed a stack of cut wood to the side. It was clear he was a frequent visitor.

"Sit," he nodded, stacking wood in the circle and pulling out matches. "Can't have ya freezin' to death."

You did so hesitantly, putting out your hands when the flames started to catch on the wood. Looking up at him, you tilted your head. "Do you often rescue strange girls from thunderstorms?"

A smile quirked his lips. "I know who you are. My momma's rather fond of ya. M' brother too."

That made you smile, and you looked down. "I see."

He was sitting with one leg propped up, an elbow resting on his knee. "My momma reckons you're a sweetheart."

"That's nice of her," you blushed, looking down. "She's lovely as well."

"She is," he agreed, studying you. There was a moment of silence as the fire crackled, and with the way he was looking at you, you shivered in a way that didn't have anything to do with the cold.

He held out his arm. "C'mere."

"Hm?" you furrowed your brow in confusion.

"You're still soakin' wet," he said, his arm still extended. "I've got plenty've heat to go around."

"You're wet too," you pointed out and Billy laughed.

"Yeah but I'm bigger than you. C'mere," he flexed his fingers. "Lemme warm you up."

Carefully you moved over, into the safe looking space of his arm. He pulled you against him, settling his hand on your midsection as he held you close. "This alright?" You nodded, letting yourself lean into him. His clothes were still damp, but he was warm. You liked his hand there, big and warm with fingers sprawled across you.

"I've seen you around town before," you said quietly, your cheek smushed against his shoulder.

"Have ya?" he sounded amused, his fingers twitching on your side. "'nd ya never said anything?"

"No," you said simply, and he chuckled.

"Think I woulda noticed such a pretty girl," he commented, and you saw him set his hat by the fire to dry off.

That made you blush more, and you couldn't help your smile. "I keep to myself."

"Ah," he nodded in an understanding way. Billy rubbed your side in a respectful way, trying to warm you up more. "Has your family lived here long?"

"Not too much longer than yours," you said, staring into the fire and watching it dance.

"What's the story?" he questioned, looking down at you. "If ya don't mind me asking?"

"My father married someone new," you explained, looking up at him with a soft smile. There was something about him that made you want to tell him everything in your mind. "He wanted a fresh start."

He was looking at you in a way you couldn't place, but it felt warm. Cautiously, he lifted a bent thumb to brush a strand of wet hair from your cheek. "D'ya like it here?"

"More and more," you said, looking up at him. Something changed in his eyes and you looked up at him with doe ones. "Why did your family move here?"

Billy chuckled lightly, brushing your cheek with his thumb. "Y'know, it was pretty much the same reason as you. 'cept it was my mother who got married a lotta years back."

You nodded in understanding, looking up at him. "It must've been hard."

"Was," he nodded. "I'm gettin' used to it though. The town, not my mother's husband."

"Don't like him much?" It slipped out before you could filter it. "Oh- I'm sorry-"

"It's okay," he assured you, giving you a fond look. "It's okay. No, I don't. He's...well, he's done things no man should be proud of."

You nodded sympathetically. "I'm sorry. It can't be easy living with him." Your hand moved to his on your stomach, interlacing the fingers and squeezing. It felt so natural that you barely remembered you'd only met him today.

Billy smiled softly. "Yeah. But it's okay." He squeezed back. "He ain't my whole life."

The storm turned out to be far more perilous and long than the two of you had originally thought, and when he suggested you spend the night in the cavern, you agreed straightaway. You were happy with your choice when he laid down by the fire and snuggled up to you from behind to keep you warm.

After the night in the cave, you found yourself drawn to him. He would come up to you in town and chat, leaning against a market stall or the railing of the porch to meet your eyes. You enjoyed spending time with him and found yourself missing him when he wasn't near you.

When he kissed you for the first time it was raining again, but this time you were in town, ducking under a roof in an alleyway. You were both laughing, and you'd accidentally fallen into him, holding onto his arms to steady yourself. He held onto you tight, looking into your eyes and the next thing you knew his lips were on yours, cool from the rainwater. You kissed him back, wrapping your arms around his neck and standing on your tiptoes to reach him.

From that point on, the two of you were inseparable. You fell hard and fast for him, jumping into his arms like he was a lake on a hot day. He adored you, was with you at every possible moment.

It was such a whirlwind, and you loved every second. You quickly learned what it meant to be Billy's girl, and it was a smooth river of flowing love and attention and time. He took you for walks in the clearing where you'd met and let you sit in his lap while you braided daisies together. He'd sneak you onto the rooftop of his house and show you his favorite stars, telling you all their names. Especially concerned with your safety, he escorted you everywhere, keeping an arm around you so everyone knew whose you were.

Billy would come wait for you at the bar in the tail ends of your shifts, drinking a whiskey and watching for wandering eyes. His stepfather was still a frequent visitor, and Billy didn't like you around him at all.

It was true that Antrim's eyes had a tendency to linger, as did his hands, but he seemed to keep to himself when Billy was around.

You didn't know much of what had happened between them, only that Antrim had done some horrible things in the city from which they'd come. You knew it was a sensitive topic, so you didn't ask many questions.

One night, when you were finishing cleaning up at the bar, you noticed Antrim still at the table he'd occupied all evening. Everyone else had cleared out, but he nursed a glass of whiskey, staring at the wood of the table.

You approached him, drying off another glass as you did. "We're just about closed, Mr. Antrim. Can I pour you one more?"

He looked up at you, eyes catching on parts of you that you'd rather they didn't. "That's alright darlin'. I'd best be headin' out." There was a look in his eyes that you didn't like, and you took one step back.

"Okay, I'll-"

Suddenly he stood up, grabbing your arm. You could smell the alcohol on his breath as you tried to wriggle away. He chuckled lowly. "You're real pretty, y'know that?"

"Mr. Antrim-" you tried, but he held firmer, and the glass slipped from your hand and shattered at your feet.

"Oh ya look even sweeter up close," he whispered, and your breathing quickened, your eyes wide with fear. One of his hands came to your waist, trailing upward to your chest. "Bet if I could touch-"

"Antrim."

Both of you looked up and saw Billy at the door, arms folded. Antrim didn't let go of you. "Kid."

Coming closer, Billy gave him a warning look. "Let go of 'er."

"Aw you're not gonna kick my ass over this little thing," Antrim scoffed. Billy got close to him, grabbing hold of his arm that was holding yours.

"I said let go." His words were glaringly threatening. When Antrim still didn't loosen his grip, Billy shoved his arm off you, sending the drunk man stumbling a few paces backward.

Billy's boots crunched over the broken glass on the floor as he brought you close to him, putting his hand on the back of your head and bringing your face to his shoulder. "Out."

You heard the sound of footsteps scurrying out, and Billy heaved a sigh of relief. He rubbed your back, his big hand on your head making you feel safe. "M' baby," he murmured, hugging you tight to him. "You okay? He didn't hurt ya?"

Shaking your head, you drew back to look at him. He rested his palms on your cheeks and you held his wrists. "I'm sorry, 'm so sorry this happened to you. He's rotten, ain't ever leavin' ya alone here 'gain."

"Billy," you were a little shaky from the experience and he recognized that, drawing you back into his arms and kissing your head, whispering sweet things into your hair.

He led you to his bed for the first time that night, not for anything sexual, but for protection, assuring you Antrim wouldn't come home. And even if he did, he'd have Billy to deal with. You snuck past Joe, reaching into your pocket for a piece of candy to leave on his pillow by his head.

Billy smiled at the gesture and reached out his hands for you, holding you like a teddy bear between his arms. You settled your head on his chest since he only had one pillow, and besides, you liked better here anyways.

It became a bit of a habit after that- coming to his bed after work for that feeling of safety that you had only ever found in his arms. You loved him for wanting you to feel that way. Kathleen never said a word about it when she saw you leave in the morning, only smiling at you in her sweet way.

Rarely did you come across Antrim in their home, and when you did you were always under Billy's arm, feeling like he was a shield. The nights you spent with him were always peaceful, and you treasured them dearly.

One night, after collapsing into him after a longer shift, you woke up in the still, eerie hours of the morning and Billy wasn't there. Looking up, you realized it was raining, the steady sound making you smile.

You waited a few minutes, but Billy didn't come back. Standing up and stretching, you smoothed your dress and made your way out to see if he was in the kitchen. No Billy.

Once you were there though, you could hear a distinct, violent sound coming from outside, easier to hear over the rain now that you were closer to it. Hesitantly curious, you opened the door, and immediately, you were frozen.

Billy was throwing a punch at Antrim, sending the man tumbling to the muddy ground. He shouted something and Billy did too, their words impossible to make out through the rain.

But before you could go back inside, Billy turned around and saw you, his face falling. He just stood there, in the pouring rain for a moment, staring at you and gaging your reaction.

Finally you willed yourself to move, and you came forward to him, not caring that your clothes were getting soaked. Reminded of the first time you met, you let the memory make this scene a little softer.

You reached for his knuckles and saw how bloody they were, the rainwater washing some of it off. Without saying a word, you led him by the hand back inside, and he followed.

Grabbing a rag from the sink, you pressed it to his hands, one at a time. The blood stained your hands, but you didn't care, your eyes never leaving him. He seemed ashamed, and he avoided your gaze the entire time you were cleaning him up.

Putting the rag down, you took both his hands in yours, squeezing them. "Billy," you started softly. "What happened?"

He exhaled softly, still not looking at you. "'S not for you to know, baby."

"Billy," you repeated, leaning in closer. Your words were unmoving, intentional in their purpose.

Squeezing your hands back, he closed his eyes as he spoke. "He was tryna come back in. Said some things I won't repeat."

"About what?" you pressed.

Billy met your eyes. "'bout you, sweetheart. He hit me where he knew it'd get me."

You inhaled sharply, searching his eyes. "You..."

"Hey," Billy squeezed your hands again, sensing your distress. "I get into it with Antrim all the time. Ain't no big deal."

Shaking your head, you found yourself on the verge of tears. "Your hands were bleeding..."

"Alright, alright," Billy removed his hands from yours and brought them to your waist instead, pulling you into his lap, your back against his chest. One of your legs was situated between his knees, and the tiny gesture comforted you. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his arms around your middle. The both of you were still wet from the rain but neither of you cared.

"Needed ya to be nice 'n close when I told ya this," he murmured, kissing your shoulder and lightly rocking you back and forth. "Angel...there ain't nothin' I wouldn't do to keep ya safe. You're my girl. That means you've got me no matter what. Understand?"

You nodded, leaning sideways so you could rest your head on his shoulder. Instantly you knew the gravity of what his love for you meant. Here was a man who loved you enough to protect you.

The realization only made you love him more, and you told him so when the two of you were cuddled back up in bed that morning, the sunrise starting to peek through the window.

"I love you," you breathed against his chest, your affection swelling from your heart and pouring out your mouth like sunshine.

He held your head to him and kissed your hair. "I love you, sweetheart. You're safe with me. I promise."

And as dawn stretched its rosy fingers into the sky, the way you loved him was smooth and soft like the rain that had brought you two together, only leaving joy in its wake. The steady flow of his love was something you could hold onto, something safe and solid, always found when you were nestled in his arms.

come talk about billy here!

[suugarbabe]

a little one shot based off this request

pairing: Mattheo Riddle x reader

word count: ~700

warnings: mentions of weight, ed tendencies

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose at you looked at the envelope in your hands. Your mother made a habit of charming her letters to read allowed to you once they’ve opened and you just weren’t in the mood to hear what you were sure was only ridicule and critique about how disappointed you were making her. Your parent’s expectations were high to say the least. You thanked Merlin for your sorting into Slytherin, hoping that keeping that legacy would at least have them showing some sort of affection, but alas you were given a letter listing more expectations now that you’ve met a previous one. 

You swallowed, finally getting the courage to tear the seal. As soon as it was broken the letter finished opening on its own, folding into a pair of disapproving lips that strongly resembled your mum. You closed your eyes, ready to bar the message. “Y/n…hope you’re doing well,” your mother’s voice rang through the room as you rolled your eyes. “Your father and I got your most recent marks. We were disappointed to see you let that mudblood best you yet again, it really would be nice if you put in some effort with your studies.” You groaned, rubbing your hands over your face. You were second in your class, only behind Hermione Granger who, very obviously, was the smartest witch to come out of your generation. She was actually a sweet girl, and your mother’s use of the derogatory term turned your stomach. 

You had hoped that was the gist of the letter, but your mother’s voice continued, “Your father and I also received the latest Hogwarts Herald. The photo they used of you from the last quidditch match really was awful, seems like you’ve quite a bit…larger than when you left this fall. Please remember to pace yourself at meals, chew at least twenty times before you swallow. It’ll trick your mind to think you’re fully, trust me. You’ll thank me for it later. Also, please remember to pack your nicer clothing when you come home for Holiday. You know how important those parties are for your father.” With that the letter floated down to your desk, reverting back to a simple piece of parchment. 

You let out a shuttered breath, not even aware you were holding it in. Your eyes brimming with tears. “Y/n/n…” you turn your head at the sound of Mattheo’s voice, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand before standing up, trying to compose yourself. “Oh, hey Teo, what’s up?” He looked at you with sad eyes, “Was that your mum?” You nodded, putting on a smile the best you could, “Yeah, she’s, erm, just really passionate about her beliefs. No big deal, how much, uh, how much did you happen to hear?” Mattheo walked closer to you, “Heard that she wants you to starve yourself, why on earth would she say something like that?” 

He went to place his hands on your hips, but you pushed them away. You walked over to your bed, sitting on the edge. Mattheo turned in his spot, “You know what she says isn’t true, don’t you, love?” You shrugged your shoulders, unsure of yourself. “Princess, you are so absolutely breathtaking. You are so strong, one of the toughest beaters I know, you’re the reason we won the last five games, that’s why they took that photo of you.” He was standing in front of you now, holding your hands in his. He brought one up to his lips, kissing your palm, then the inside of your wrist before guiding you to wrap your hand around his neck. “Every curve of your body,” his hands roaming up your sides now, “Merlin, I’m so obsessed with you.” His forehead rested against yours, noses brushing, “Don’t listen to her cruel words, because if I had it my way I’d worship you, every part of you, every night, every day.” He tilted your chin up, connecting his lips to yours. The kiss was soft, gentle, like he was breathing you in. He broke apart, a little sooner than you would have liked. He then walked around, climbing onto the bed behind you, “C’mere, let’s lay down. I wanna keep telling you how perfect you are.” His arms stretched out and you immediately climbed into his embrace. You spent the rest of the night like that, wrapped in his arms.

[dreamersparacosm]

austin butler - clumsy

warnings ; none

prompt ; in which your celebrity crush causes you to become a flustered, blubbering mess.

a/n ; a little something fun i wrote during the fall but never published! it’s basically anxious!reader and honestly how I imagine myself reacting to meeting aus so enjoy xoxo

Okay, don’t panic.

Do not panic.

It’s just a man. A man with blonde, curly locks, blue eyes, over 6 feet tall… but still, a man. Nothing special. You could probably find ten of him walking down Rodeo Drive.

Except that’s probably not true either.

It is Austin Butler, after all.

You hike the tail of your dress higher as you descend up the stairs to the red carpet, inhaling as much oxygen as possible to tame your nerves. It does nothing for you beside provide a placebo effect of calmness. Your publicist, Jane, stands next to you with her eyebrows furrowed in permanent worry, a crinkle she’s had since the day she took you on. “[Y/N], did you get a chance to look at your seating arrangement?”

“Uh, no, not yet,” You respond slowly, wincing slightly as you brace yourself for her reaction. She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose before turning towards you.

“You know what, that’s fine, sweets. Just go stand on the carpet so we can take these pictures,” She goes back to her clipboard full of tedious things like timing and interviewers and stupid seating arrangements, and you’re trying to stay focused, but how can you do that when Austin Butler is standing 8 feet away from you, posing on the red carpet?

You’re pretty sure you’re drooling.

Whoever keeps leaving his shirts unbuttoned is a menace to society and needs to be locked away for endangerment to the general public.

This whole idiotic schoolgirl crush began relatively long ago, when he was still deeply in love with Vanessa Hudgens and playing a teen heartthrob on The Carrie Diaries. You weren’t even famous at that point, just a mediocre commercial actress trying to get her big break. Once you finally booked your first big role, the crush faded away (only the tiniest amount) but that all came crashing down like an avalanche when you saw Elvis with your best friend.

They probably could’ve posted the entire movie on a porn website and made the same amount of money. And, thus, your crush ensued, full throttle and invading your every thought at the worst moments. Including this one.

Jane kicks the back of your leg, cursing under her breath as you tear your eyes away from him. You’re not new to this scene, you’ve been in major leading roles and you’ve been nominated for Oscars. But that doesn’t take away from the fact that at your core, you are a complete and utter mess. A klutz. A loser with some money in the bank.

So, you take the pictures, with not too many mistakes as you expected, just a few shots of you blinking while smiling. You’re sure they’ll end up on Twitter where your fans will laugh about it while saying how much they love you.

This part always goes by fast. It’s camera flashes, smiles that are strained under the bright lights, talks with interviewers that always go far longer than expected, and then before you know it, you’re being ushered into a tight room with celebrities you had only dreamed of seeing in real life. Jane is glued to your side as you wait for your turn to enter the theater.

Despite the cool temperature of Los Angeles, you’re somehow drenched in sweat. You’ve done this before, you know that. But that doesn’t stop your entire body from going into fight or flight mode, teetering towards flight.

“What’s the hold up?” You hear a female’s voice yell out, and you almost think it’s Jane before you hear her chuckle beside you.

“Speak that truth. I am so sick of these fucking Oscars dimwits wasting my time,” Jane says loudly enough for the girl to hear it, and before you know it, they’re enthralled in a full-blown conversation. If you weren’t trying to fan your armpit sweat, you might’ve joined.

Maybe it’s a good idea to find out where you’re sitting. Probably will need to know that before you enter. You can only assume they’ll sit you next to your last co-star, Timothee Chalamet. What a delight that would be (and that’s not sarcasm, he always smells like cashmere and some type of forest.)

You turn your body slightly, eyeing Jane and the girl she’s talking to. She’s a redhead, also wearing a suit and clearly another publicist that has been in the position for far too long to enjoy it.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a male figure standing next to the redhead. Hm. A black suit. Your eyes trail over his body, a soft black lace shirt that is half-unbuttoned peeking over the hem. How nice. You love that look on men.

Oh, fuck.

Oh, fuck.

Your body freezes. Mouth runs dry. Sweat shrivels back up into your body only to start forming at impossible speeds. Heart palpates so quickly you think you might be going into cardiac arrest.

In front of you, is Austin Butler. And he completely, totally, entirely, caught you checking out his entire body, head to toe.

There’s a smirk on his face that is undeniably directed towards you, eyes glimmering with amusement. You can’t even believe that you’re looking directly at him. He can’t be real, he has to be a figment of your imagination.

“Come here often?”

You did not just speak.

No, you didn’t. That couldn’t have been real. That couldn’t have been what you just said. After years of dreaming about this moment, that can’t have been what your brain and tongue agreed on.

He chuckles, a deep one that rumbles through his chest, and says, “I try not to make it a habit. You?”

You entangle your fingers with each other, hoping the sweat that has gathered on them just slides right off. “Me either. Trying to cut down on my presence and all that.”

He raises his eyebrows quizzically, that soft smile that curves upon his lips widening a little, “Well, can’t say the Oscars is the best place to do that.”

“Yes, well…” You trail off. Thoughts empty. Brain just a shallow void with nothing but dirty, filthy fantasies about him floating around. Oh god, get a grip.

And he should end the conversation right there, then back around and not acknowledge the weird girl who clearly hasn’t had enough media training. But, he doesn’t. Instead, he sticks out his hand for you to shake, and says, “I’m Austin. Austin Butler.”

“I know,” You say almost immediately. His facial expression contorts into something unreadable, and your lips flap again to try and salvage the rest of your dignity. “I’m [Y/N].”

You shake his hand, praying to some otherworldly creature above that he won’t feel the sweat on your hands. It’s a little weird, when you touch his hand. Feels like you’re envisioning yourself with him, like you’re some kind of wizard that can tell it won’t be the last time you see him. It feels a little like something out of a rom-com, with the electricity zap and the sounds of your hearts beating erratically.

You both pull your hands away, smiling to the ground. You really, really, really hope he’ll keep talking to you.

“Nervous?” He asks, taking note of the way your thumbs twiddle and the sidestep you keep doing with your heels.

“A little. Kinda. Maybe,” You let out a sigh of relief. “I’m not really the most organized.”

“Hm. Well, I’m sure you’ll be great,” His grin widens just enough to show off his pearly white teeth that glimmer under the remaining sunlight that California has to offer.

“Thanks,” You smile back. “How about you? Nervous?”

“Always,” He responds, almost taken aback by the transparency he’s having with another celebrity. He’s never had a conversation about nerves, never felt validated enough by someone to open up about the fear that comes along with being at this level of fame. “It’s my first Oscars.”

“Right,” You say, “Well, I’ve been to a few, and honestly, I’ll let you in on a secret. Even Leonardo DiCaprio shits himself a little when the nominees are announced.”

He lets out a laugh, a real one, one that sounds like all good things in the world and you would be more than happy to capture it in a jar and keep it on your bedside forever. “Somehow, I don’t doubt that,” He switches gears, shifting his body around a little. “What afterparty are you going to?”

It’s a simple question, one you’ve been asked numerous times by other people in the industry. It usually offers a sense of dominance over who got the better invite. “Er, yes, that would be a question for my lovely publicist, Jane, because I don’t have a rat’s ass idea of where I’m supposed to go.”

He laughs. Again. Part of you is enthralled, part of you is confused as to why he thinks you’re a comedy show. Maybe he thinks you’re a joke. Yes, that makes good sense. “That honestly makes me feel better because I don’t really know where I’m going either,” He admits.

“Are you kidding?” You ask incredulously. “You look like that and you don’t know where you’re going? I think the President of the Academy Awards has a personal invite waiting for you.”

Okay, maybe you shouldn’t have said that. But really, it has to be blamed on the fact that there are a swarm of murderous bees flying around in your stomach that are making you feel woozy.

His cheeks turn a crimson glow, “Like that?”

“Oh, you know…” You trail, slowly laughing to brush off the fact that you basically just admitted your undying love to him. “Just…. That’s a great black shirt. I’m gonna buy one for my brother.”

His lips curve upwards a little more, blue eyes sparkling like little oceans. “Thanks. And, you know, you don’t look bad yourself.”

You blink twice. Did he just say that?

Before you even whip up a flirty comment, or even a funny one that’ll have him doubling over in laughter and proposing to you by tonight, you feel Jane gripping your forearm tightly. “Stop dicking around, [Y/N]. We need to go in.”

“Right, yes, totally,” You smile awkwardly over to Austin, and he returns it. You feel soft and warm and glowy inside, like you might levitate off the floor.

And then you really are levitating off the floor, because your feet miss the step and you’re falling before you even have a chance to stop yourself. Your arm extends to try and delay your inevitable fall, but it doesn’t work and you’re really sprawled out. Immediately, Jane rushes down to try and drag you up, hurriedly asking if you’re okay.

You nod slightly, balancing yourself on your knees. Thankfully, you think the vast majority of people have entered the theater and missed out on your embarrassment of epic proportions.

Well, maybe not everyone.

Suddenly, like a light peeking from beyond the clouds, you see an outstretched hand to your right. It’s tan, a male’s hand for sure. You look up to see who could possibly be nice enough to help you up. Maybe it’s God telling you it’s time to pass away.

It’s Austin. And he has a really worried look on his face that you’re shocked by, but his expression falters once he sees the look on your face. You’re smiling, a real big goofy one, because it’s so ridiculous and he’s so ridiculous and you’re pretty sure one of your heels is broken.

You place your hand in his, and his other hand wraps around your waist to help you up and steady yourself against him. Once you’re finally standing, he grins, leaning into your ear, “Remember, even Leonardo DiCaprio shits himself at the table.”

You don’t even realize his arm is still wrapped around your waist until you notice the absence of it. You giggle lightly, biting your lip. “Of course. And I think I saw Brad Pitt throw up in the bathroom last year.”

“Austin, we gotta go,” His publicist grabs his hand, and you feel a pang of disappointment. You almost think he does too, his blue eyes turning grayish as he looks back at her.

“Right,” He clears his throat. “Well, good luck tonight, [Y/N]. I hope you win.”

“You too,” The smile on your face is probably permanently tattooed on. You feel Jane’s hand on your back, slowly moving you away from him although your feet beg to stay.

“Oh, and [Y/N]?” You turn back around to face him, “Big fan of your work.”

With that, he turns away with his publicist to go and find his seat amongst the crowd. You watch him disappear, an indescribable feeling washing over your entire body. You’re also being whisked away to your table, greeted by familiar faces and friends. But it’s pretty clear that’s not the reason why you’re smiling.

Some part of your brain decides on one thing: this won’t be the last time you see him.

▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓

You decide that you like California. Not a whole lot, but enough to make you sign a contract for a new film. Normally, you believe that Los Angeles and all its surrounding cities are a dreadful structure that encapsulates all the worst features of privileged Southern California lifestyle. But the food is undeniably tasty, and your new apartment is decorated with high ceilings and well-lit rooms, so you’ll make do. You’ll be filming in sunny Calabasas, where the houses are painted a perfect shade of white, where time stills a little and every cloud is just the right amount of fluffy.

The Oscar’s had came and went, and you won, to no one’s surprise but your own. With that accomplishment came offers. People really, truly wanted to work with you, and although it baffled you, Jane was having the time of her life coordinating auditions and interviews.

Everything was truly perfect.

You flip through the pages of your fresh script, your manicured nails turning through the warm pages, the black ink bleeding onto the sheets. Jane sits across from you, feverishly scribbling something, negotiating your pay for your new film. She’ll deliver. In the end, she always does.

She hangs up her call, sighing from relief. You’re about to ask her how it went, if you got the price you wanted, before her phone blares again with that god awful ringtone she refuses to change. She answers it, a cheerful tone in her voice, “Kate? So good to hear from you! What’s going on?”

You tune out of her conversation, focusing your eyes back on the mass of paper in front of you. A new story to be told. A new character to embody. A new chapter of your life. It’s all very emotional and sappy and you almost want to cry tears of happiness, but you’ll save that for later, once you get home and crack open a bottle of wine.

You hear Jane place her phone down, and your eyes flicker back up to her. There’s an expression on her face that’s unreadable, and you’re unsure of how to process it. Oh, no. If you didn’t get the price you wanted, that would suck. Or, maybe you did and she’s just unsure on how to process emotion. You always thought she was a robot.

“I just had the weirdest phone call,” She finally speaks, scratching her forehead quizzically.

“What’s up?” You ask mindlessly, certain she’s going to tell you something personal like her cousin getting married to a farmer.

“That was Austin Butler’s publicist. She said he’s been asking about you since the Oscars.”

There’s no fucking way. She’s pranking you. Any second now, Ashton Kutcher is going to pop out behind the doorframe and say “You’ve been Punk’d!” and then maybe he’ll also bring out Austin to further your embarrassment.

“Excuse me?” You blink.

“Yeah,” She seems just as baffled as you are. “She said he’s been trying to find a way to get in contact with you, but turns out, you guys don’t have a lot of mutual friends.”

Well, that makes sense.

She continues on, “Anyway, she gave me his number and then said he wants to ask you on a date. So, do with that what you will.”

She unlocks her phone, slides it across the table to you, and you see a phone number typed into her notes. Your hand trembles as you pick up the iPhone, copying the number into your own contacts. You feel woozy, just like you did on that red carpet, just like you did the moment you locked eyes with him.

“Right, well,” You clear your throat. “I’ll just step outside and call him real quick.”

She nods, raising one eyebrow. There’s a small grin that appears on her lips, a knowing one, and you slide out the door into the hallway.

You don’t know what comes over you, or what demon compels you, but you click the number. You hear the ring. There’s a pause. Your heart drops as you think that he might not answer.

And then you hear him. His voice.

“Hello?”

“Uh, h-hi. Hi. This is, um, [Y/N]. Your publicist gave me your number.”

It almost sounds ridiculous.

“[Y/N]. You know, I’ve been trying to get ahold of you but turns out you’re not an easy person to reach,” You can hear the smile in his voice.

“Well, you know me and my presence. All time low,” You say sarcastically, and he chuckles.

“Right. Well, congratulations on your win. Very well-deserved,” His voice is deeper than you remember. There’s a slight desire that pools between your legs for a moment before you snap yourself back into reality.

“You too. Some would call it the performance of the year,” And you can’t even believe it’s happening. You’re really flirting with him.

“Thank you,” He says so softly, so charming. He’s always grateful and humble, and it makes you even more attracted to him. If that’s even possible at this point. “So, do you think there’s a chance you would allow me to take you out to dinner? Somewhere lowkey, you know, for your presence and all?”

The question is so unbelievable that you can’t even take it in. You make a few sounds, splutter over your words and trip over them like you did your own two feet at the Oscars. Your heartbeat travels up to your eardrum, pounding with every ounce of blood that travels through you. “U-uh, umm… well, you know, let me go ahead and check my schedule.” There’s a pause. You cover the reciever and scream a silent yell into the void, jumping a few feet high.

Clearing your throat, you say, “Hm. Seems like I’m free tomorrow.”

“You can’t do tonight?”

The question takes you aback. Surely, he can’t be asking that because he wants to see you. “Oh, why? Are you leaving California tomorrow?”

“Not at all,” You hear him shuffle. “I just really want to take you out.”

“Right, yes, of course.” You let his question hang in the air. You know your answer, but you like letting him think there’s a possibility you might reject him.

“I am free tonight.”

“Great,” His voice is upbeat, a newfound excitement peeking through. “Well, text me your address. I’ll send a car to pick you up.”

“Yup, totally. Super duper cool. Looking really forward to it,” You babble on, pacing the hallway you’ve trapped yourself in.

He lets out a low laugh, “Me too. I’ll see you tonight. Bye, [Y/N].”

You say your goodbyes, leaning against the wall for stability before you collapse into a puddle. Later, a janitor might come to find your lifeless body glued to the wall. Cause of death? Man built like a Greek god asks woman on date.

But, everything is fine. You’ll somehow make it.

There’s a ridiculous feeling in your heart, a warmth that spreads to your toes and fingers. Now, everything is perfect.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

[queenslimeball]

Sounds like a dream

Part two here

Gator Tillman x fem!reader

Contents; Angst, fluff, mother!reader

Summary; Y/n visits Gator in jail to introduce him to their son.

It's been a long time since Gator was first sentenced to prison. It was even worse for him to begin with, considering he had to deal with it blindly, too. To help, he'd been given a mobility cane, of which he struggled to use it within the first few weeks.

Gator hasn't had many ways of keeping track, but he assumes he's already been locked up for almost two years now. He assumes so because he can visualise the layout of the prison in his mind – he knows where everything is by now. Every day is Groundhog Day, so it doesn't take very long to learn.

What isn't hard to keep track of is the number of visits Gator has gotten. Two. Both from Dot. Both with cookies. Both several months apart. Other than that, nothing. At least she is a woman of her word.

Gator is sitting on his bed in his cell when he hears a loud bang at the bars with a guard's batton. It startles him, and he looks in the general direction to which it came from.

"Oi, Tillman. You got a visitor comin' in. Get up." The guard says. The recognisable sound of the door creaking open echoes through the jail. Gator carefully stands. He reaches out for the guard's shoulder and keeps it there so he can be lead away.

Gator's mind is filled with wonder. Who would be visiting him? Surely not Dot again. She didn't visit too long ago now, and she rarely visits. But it's not like anyone else does.

Gator is instructed to sit at a table, and then he hears the guard walk off. It seems that he's alone in the room. He can't hear a single sound of someone else. Disappointment floods his heart for a moment, his shoulders sinking.

The sound of shoes on the floor brightens his spirits suddenly. He hears someone sit opposite him. Gator feels his excitement come back.

"Hey, Gator." It's Y/n.

Y/n's voice soothes Gator, somewhat. He hasn't heard the sound in so long, yet it's so refreshing. She was Gator's girlfriend. But, when she found out Gator wasn't as good of a guy as she thought he was, she broke up with him. She was one of the last people he saw before his eyes were taken from him. He'll always remember the sight of her, no matter how long passes.

"Y/n? What're you doin' here?" Gator asks softly, not quite believing that this is her.

"Visiting you." Y/n replies.

"I– I know that." Gator pinches the bridge of his nose just below the black-out sunglasses he wears. "But I mean... Why?"

"I wanted to see how you are." She shrugs simply.

"Well, I'm shit, yeah, I'm in jail." Gator scoffs.

"That's not what I meant."

"It's not?"

"No." Y/n responds firmly. "I meant I wanted to see if you've changed. If this this has done you any good."

The truth is, it has. Even losing his sight was enough to flip his whole world upside down. Now, jail has flipped it about continuously like a washing machine. He's not the old Gator anymore. Or at least he's not the Gator that tried to be a Roy. He's the Gator trying to be a Gator.

"I hope so." Is all Gator musters up to say. "How've you been?" He asks.

"Good. I actually moved out to Chicago not long after all that shit happened." She answers. "I got a new job, new friends, the whole lot."

"New boyfriend?" Gator can't help but ask, a hint of jealousy in his tone.

Y/n laughs and shakes her head, but then she remembers that Gator can't see her and quickly tries to verbalise it. "God, no."

"That's a... shame. You deserve someone nice." He tries not to make it sound too forced, but he's more just excited that he still has a chance with her.

"Thanks. I, uh... I brought someone that I'd like you to meet." Y/n finally says, as if she's been debating to go through with this. Gator hears the sound of her rising to walk away, then shortly after start to walk over to his side of the table.

"What's goin' on? Is this some kinda prank?" He questions, sceptical of her behaviour.

"Turn around." She ignores him. Gator huffs and does as told on the bench, spinning around to face where her voice comes from.

"So who the hell am I–" He starts, but stops himself when he feels someone lowered into his lap. A small someone.

"What's this?" He questions. His hand gently reaches to feel whatever is in his lap. He finds a face and quickly repositions his hand, finding hair instead. "I mean, who?"

"Meet your son."

Gator's whole world stops. His heart stops beating, and his brain stops working. His son? When did he ever have a son? He tries to ask her about it, but he just can't get any words out as his mouth gapes open. His bottom lip quivers slightly, and he gently wraps an arm around the small boy, holding him closer.

"My.. My son?"

"Well, our son." She corrects. "I found out I was pregnant after we broke up."

Gator can't help but smile. "Our son.." He murmurs to himself.

Y/n sits next to Gator. She leans her head on Gator's shoulder to get a view of Gator and their son. Gator feels his skin heat up at her being so close, but she doesn't think much of it whatsoever.

"What's his name?"

"Alex. I couldn't think of anything creative, so I just named him after the midwife. Luckily, she had a gender neutral name." She recalls with a soft chuckle.

"Hey, Alex. It's Daddy." Gator softens his voice, looking where he thinks Alex's face will be.

"Daddy..." Alex mumbles, a small hand reaching up to grab at Gator's face. His heart melts, and he smiles widely.

Gator's smile vanishes, although. The sweetness of his son has quickly become something he doesn't know if he could live with. He'll never see his son. His face slowly falls into one of despair.

"Are you okay?" Y/n asks, peering around to study Gator's facial features that she can read from his eyebrows, cheeks and mouth.

"No, no, I'm–" Gator stumbles on his words. He makes a noise, like he's about to speak, but it just comes out as a shaky breath like he's about to cry. "I'm never gonna see my son."

Y/n gently rubs Gator's back. There's not much she can do besides that. She can't give him his sight back. If she could, she would. She feels bad for him.

Gator tries to calm himself down. He slowly relaxes himself, for now, even though he knows this is going to be keeping him up all night. He won't be able to sleep with that thought. It's terrifying. Terrifying that there's nothing he can do about it.

"What does he look like?" Gator questions after a moment of pure silence. He gently pets Alex's hair, enjoying how soft it is.

"Honestly, better than I'd imagined." Y/n answers. "He's got the same shade hair as me. It's all messy. He's got your eyes and your nose. Freckles. The cheekiest, cutest smile you'd ever see."

"He sounds like a dream." He says, voice wavering as his hand gently combs through Alex's hair.

"He is. He reminds me of you in a way." She chuckles. "Because, he–"

Vzzrt!

The buzzer for the end of visiting.

Gator finds himself sitting on the edge of his bed. His mind is still on Y/n and Alex. She was about to say something good about him. He knows it. Surely she wouldn't badmouth their young son, so surely he's onto something here? Gator wishes he had just a few more seconds to hear what she likes about him. Or to hear more about his son. Maybe next time...

[deputyrook]

Blindspots - Major DAV spoilers.

A03 Link! Female Rook, General (Lucanis/Rook if you really squint.)

AU where every single person in the Veilguard knows that Rook thinks Varric is alive (for some reason), but are unable to change her mind or figure out what's afflicting her.

---

Here’s the thing. They all do try to tell Rook that Varric is dead.

Neve’s the first one to bring it up. Of course, the detective of the team realizes something strange is going on almost immediately. Between Rook never mentioning Varric’s death, and the way that she repeatedly returns to the infirmary to talk to herself, it doesn’t take long for Neve to put the pieces together.

“She thinks he’s still alive, Lace,” Neve whispers to Harding, voice insistent. They’re at the centre of the rotunda in the Lighthouse, sitting at the meeting table. While it’s not an official meeting without Rook present to lead it, it feels as good of a debrief spot as any. “She thinks that she’s talking to him. That’s why she keeps going back to the infirmary.”

“No- no way. That’s ridiculous,” Harding frowns, and Neve can tell that even the mention of Varric’s name is still painful for her. It hasn’t been that long since he passed. “She’s talking to him, sure, but she knows that he’s- that’s just how she’s coping with it.”

Neve shakes her head, grimacing. That’s what she’d thought at first too, but it had just kept nagging at her- that something wasn’t right about the whole situation. Now, she’s sure. “She doesn’t know. Remember how Rook spoke about him after? Telling us that he ‘knew the risks’? I think that she thinks he was just injured in the fight, not killed. Think about it. She’s not nearly as angry with Solas as she should be, either.”

Harding gapes at her, completely at a loss for words. Neve can see the wheels turning in her head, see her going back over all of their interactions over the past few days. And at that moment, Rook enters the room.

“Hey guys, what’re we talking about?” She asks, cheery. Neve looks at Harding, and Harding looks at Neve, and Neve clears her throat.

“We’re talking about Kirkwall,” She says, stealing her voice, “Someone will need to act as Viscount now that Varric is dead.”

Rook frowns, her brow pinching as she seems confused by the words. It takes her a long time to respond, and when she does, her eyes don’t seem to focus on either of them.

“He’s- yeah, someone else will need to fill in for a while,” she responds, her voice wavering, and her gaze not meeting either of the women in front of her. Neve shoots an alarmed look at Harding, who’s staring at Rook with an expression of mild horror.

“Forever, Rook. Someone’s going to need to fill in forever, because Solas killed Varric.” Harding looks like she might just be on the verge of tears again, but Neve isn’t letting up. They need to get this cleared up as soon as possible. So far, Rook’s shown herself to be a pragmatic and steadfast leader, but it’s cause for concern if the woman spearheading the attempt to save the world is talking to ghosts.

“He- he-” Rook is struggling, and she leans against the doorframe, appearing wobbly. She presses a hand to her forehead, which is damp with sweat now, “Oh, oh I- what were we talking... sorry, I really don’t feel good, all of a sudden. I think I need to lie down.”

Rook stumbles out back of the room, retreating away from Harding and Neve and cementing now for them both that something is very wrong with their leader.

“Holy shit,” Harding breathes, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Rook seems to have no memory of the conversation the next day. She’s as friendly as ever, with no mention of the strange sudden sickness she’d felt. When Neve asks her, “Feeling better?” Rook looks at her with a confused smile, simply nodding.

Neve’s best educated guess is that this is some kind of weird magical side effect of whatever is going on with the ritual dagger. It killed Varric, it’s made of pure lyrium, and it seemingly had a strange effect on Harding as well. Who knows what the artifact is actually capable of? 

Besides this odd memory quirk, Rook seems to be completely fine. She fights fiercely and gives no quarter, she’s quick to lend a hand if someone is in need, and she appears to genuinely enjoy all the weird little magical puzzles they stumble upon. So far, Neve has seen nothing that indicates- apart from this one issue- there’s anything wrong with her mental faculties.

“...So that’s it. We’re working on figuring out what’s going on,” Neve finishes telling Lucanis quietly, a short time after they recruit him. “Bellara’s in contact with a professor from Nevarra who’s an expert on the fade. We’re hoping to have him examine Rook and the dagger, to see if he'll have some answers.”

“Meirda,” Lucanis looks disturbed, leaning against the wall of the pantry, “How many times have you tried to tell her?”

“Four times. Once through a letter, to see if that would work, instead of telling her directly. As far as we can tell, it didn’t have any effect on her whatsoever. It’s like she forgot the contents of the letter completely the second she finished reading it,” Neve sighs, running a hand through her hair. “It’s worrying, but besides being bizarre, it doesn’t seem to be affecting her negatively at all. Rather, she seems to be getting reassurance from it. And I don’t want to keep pushing it, if exposing her to the truth results in her becoming confused and sick.”

“Fair enough. But... could this be some kind of brainwashing from the Dread Wolf?” Lucanis asks, voice low, “He is in her head, isn't he? Or...could a demon of some kind be doing this? Some kind of...spirit of ignorance?”

Neve gives a tired shrug. “No idea. But there’s unfortunately not much we can do about it, except to keep an eye on her.”

Lucanis shifts from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable with the idea that there’s nothing that they can do to fix this. 

But unfortunately, there is nothing they can do. Neve and Bellara spend hours reading about the fade, spirits and demons, to no avail. Spite doesn’t have any helpful suggestions (he wants to try talking to her, but he always wants to talk to her). And when they recruit the fade specialist Emmrich Volkarin, even he is at a loss.

“Complete and continuous memory obfuscation, but only for the specific fact of Varric being killed?” Emmrich asks, sounding perhaps a bit too excited by the concept, “Well, I’ve certainly heard of memory wisps, and of ways that blood magic can interfere with the mind to erase certain memories. But something that affects Rook’s mind in this specific way, not only targeting her past memories but the generation of any new ones, would be an incredibly delicate work of art. And for what purpose? Perhaps it is her own denial behind this, in combination with whatever blood magic connects her to Solas and the dagger.”

“Is it going to hurt her?” Lucanus nearly snaps, arms folded in front of him, “Can someone use it to hurt her?” 

“It’s hard to say. There’s been no sign of it beginning to spread to other concepts, from what you've told me. Besides hiding the truth, it doesn’t seem to be harming her directly,” Emmrich replies. The group is quiet, all sitting around the Lighthouse meeting table in pensive thought. 

“I don’t like it either, but there’s not much we can really do, it seems, except to keep looking for an answer. Has anyone tested how much her memory of a conversation is impacted if you mention Varric dying in it?” Davrin asks, and Bellara nods.

“Yep. Usually, where possible, her brain sort of... filters out any mention of Varric being dead with him being hurt. I tested it out! We had this long conversation about romance serials, and she mentioned that Varric had written one once. And then she said that she wondered if he’d ever publish another chapter. I tried to break it to her gently at that point, and she got confused and moved on without acknowledging what I said, like she always does. Then the next day, I quizzed her on our conversation. She remembered everything, except she’d thought I said that his injuries might prevent him from writing anymore of the series,” Emmrich looks fascinated, nodding along as Bellara speaks.

“Incredible,” Emmrich murmurs, “I will continue trying to find an answer, but once we figure this out, this will be an enthralling topic for a research paper.”

“I don’t like this,” Lucanis murmurs, his hands balled into fists at his side, “Leaving her under this influence.”

“Neither do I,” Bites back Davrin, voice firm, “But unless you have a solution, we’ve got no choice. Even our magical experts here don’t know how to fix it.”

“I will ask her for permission to examine her, to make sure that the dagger use is having no ill magical effects on her,” Emmrich concludes, “That may yield some further information which can help us understand why this is happening.”

True to his word, Emmrich looks into the matter further, and does a magical medical on Rook. It yields nothing, beyond confirmation that she doesn’t appear to be under the influence of any kind of demon or spirit. They seem to be back at square one, when it comes to understanding why and how this is happening.

Taash is the most unsettled of the team when they learn about Rook’s issue.

“What? What do you mean, she’s under some... magical spell? And no one can break her out of it? That’s crazy,” Taash looks stunned by the news, like they almost can’t comprehend it.

The next time Taash sees Rook, talking to Neve in the dining hall, they stride over to her, putting their hands on Rook’s shoulders and shaking her.

“Taash? Everything alright?” Rook asks, tentative.

“Varric is dead. Solas killed him. Hey, you get that right?” Neve takes a step back and watches with interest as Taash shakes her again, curious to see how this will play out. 

“Yes, I know that Solas injured him. I’m not trusting him, Taash,” Even with her legendary patience, a thin reed of annoyance underlines Rook’s tone.

“He’s dead. Varric is dead. He is not coming back, he’s not coming to dinner, he’s currently not in the infirmary. You need to accept it,” Taash continues. Rook pales, her eyes unfocusing, looking at a spot in the distance somewhere around Taash’s shoulder.

“He’s... not... Varric is-” Rook places a hand on Taash’s arm, wavering and attempting to push them away from her. Taash doesn’t let go and squeezes her shoulders, like they’re trying to wake her out of sleepwalking. Like they can force Rook through whatever haze is affecting her mind.

Taash repeats it again. “No, you’re not walking away until you hear this and don’t block it out. Solas killed Varric-”

Rook’s eyes roll into the back of her head and she crumples to the ground. Taash yells, stepping back with their hands up like the touch of Rook’s skin had burned them. Neve’s detached interest turns to sharp distress as she quickly kneels down beside Rook’s body, checking her vitals.

“She’s fine. She’s fine. Just... unconscious,” Neve breathes a sigh of relief, and shoots a severe look at Taash, who’s staring down at her in open guilt, “I know why you wanted to try, but... I should have stopped you.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Taash mumbles, grabbing Rook under her arms and dragging her unconscious body to a nearby chair.

“...Now we know what happens if we press the issue,” Neve supplies, trying to be positive even though her heart is hammering, “Not a bad thing to know, Taash.”

They share the news with the rest of the team at the next What’s Wrong With Rook meeting, to mixed reactions. Bellara and Emmrich feel that the extra information on what happens if they press her too far is good to have, while Lucanis is upset with them both that they tried to push Rook to the point that she passed out.

“We don’t know what is happening in her mind. What if she had some kind of a seizure...? For all we know, if we continue to mess with this, it could kill her,” He says to the group, voice low with worry.

An unhappy silence falls over them. They agree that they won’t try something like this again, and then turn to arguing about whether they should tell the Inquisitor and Morrigan something is going on with Rook’s mind. While Morrigan could be a boon when it comes to learning about weird spirit stuff, they all conclude that none of them really trust her. And the last thing they want is the Southern resistance to question whether Rook is fit to lead. Harding is the most resistant, but they all agree to keep this quiet from the Inquisitor, as well.

Eventually, they all talk about it less and less. It becomes something they all know about and live with. The Lighthouse is in the fade. The ground floats. The strange spirit caretaker ferries them all around the crossroads. And Rook can’t grasp that Varric’s been killed.

All they need to do, as a team, is watch her blindspot. Everyone has them, even force-of-nature team leaders who can solve every other problem thrown their way. They accept it, they adapt, and they move forward. If someone outside the group mentions Varric has been killed, someone else quickly and deftly steers the conversation away from the topic, so that her affliction doesn’t show. They cover for her, and hope that she'll figure it out on her own, somehow.

Besides, they have plenty of other worries and revelations to think about. By the time Rook gets trapped in the fade, they haven’t had a meeting about Rook’s affliction in weeks.

And when the remaining Veilguard members pull her out of the fade prison, it's a mix of relief and exasperation that they feel when they hear her first words:

"Why didn't anyone tell me Varric's dead?"

[angelofsmalldeaath]

work song — a.h.b.

a/n: full disclosure, i've posted this before on tumblr for something else. but i love this piece very much and i think it fits for him and this song so well 🤍 (it's gone under quite a few edits too, though)

cw: mentions of death but of well that's a given

the artist flicks through the feature. 

her name is printed in big letters on the cover of the monthly issue, her face—smiling and excited—next to the centrepiece of her latest art collection: cupid and psyche. 

the painting is stunning, a riot of bold colours and patterns, but at the centre is a man, his face hidden, his red-brown curls tousled. his body is relaxed, she thinks there's an air of carefreeness about him. 

and she'd know that for sure, after all that day is etched into her memory. 

when she feels a familiar pair of arms wrap around her, she smiles. 

“you're rather proud of the feature, aren't you?” his voice holds a little teasing note. she's stared at the feature for close to thirty minutes now, discreetly pinching herself in the same spot on her arm. (it sports a tiny, barely-there bruise now) 

“good,” he nuzzles his face into her neck, softly kissing the skin, “you should be. the exhibit was fucking gorgeous.”

“mmm, because you were the centrepiece?” fondly, she teases back, but the memory flashes in front of her eyes—the bustling art gallery, him in a corner, wearing a plain hoodie and jeans and a cap hiding half of his face, absolutely brimming with pride. 

she remembers the journalists asking about the man in all the paintings, the one whose face no one can see. “he's my muse,” she says every time, “this collection is dedicated to him.” 

“someone's going to connect the dots,” he walks around her, settling himself next to her on the settee. instantly, they rearrange themselves into a tangle—her legs on his lap, his arm around her, her head on his shoulders, his head on hers. “if they looked carefully, they'll make the connection.” 

“sweet boy, we have been each other's muse for years now and no one's found out. i don't think they're going to start now. besides,” she snorts, “i think the art world thinks i've made you up in my mind. won’t be the first time an artist's gone insane.”

he laughs a hearty laugh. “maybe you have. you always say i'm too good to be true.”

when she can't think of a retort, she sticks her tongue out, shrieking away as he smothers her in kisses. 

“seriously though, it's fun writing about you. singing about you. and i love seeing myself through your eyes.” suddenly he sounds all sober and serious. she thinks his voice even wavers slightly at the end. he blinks quickly though, and just like that the brightness in his eyes is gone. 

“love it when you write about me too,” she teases, “love being told i give you a toothache just from kissing you.”

“oi! i put my heart into that! it's a precious memory for me.”

“the memory of me taking care of you when you were burning up a fever? the memory of you demanding more kisses?”

he giggles like a teenager, hiding his face in her hair. it's fun to rile him up like this, so she continues, poking him in the ribs. “oh, oh, is it the memory of you passing the flu to me?” 

“we took care of each other though!” he traps both her hands in his so she won’t be able to poke him more. a second passes, and he can’t resist kissing the knuckles. “and so you deserve to have a song written about you. or a whole album works too i think.”

he pauses for a little then tuts. “actually, no. don't wanna tell anyone it's about you, that'll ruin the magic.”

“ruin the magic?” 

“of being your muse and having you as mine. a hundred years from now, when people would see your art as the artwork of this generation, and my music as the tune of our times—”

“tune of our times...”

“yeah, quit laughing at me!” he flicks her nose, kissing it right after. “so when my music becomes the tune of our times, i think people will see it then. they will make the connections.”

secretly, she loves the idea—that their love might transcend time and space, heaven and hell through their art. that decades from now their names might be whispered together, even though they aren’t just yet. 

“of course, we'll be buried together by then. same grave by the way, very romeo and juliet of us.”

“that's morbid!” she laughs sharply, “what will the epitaph say?”

he hums for a bit, thinking. his eyes flutter shut for a second or two, almost like he needs to focus on the half formed thought until it's a complete sentence. then he excitedly clears his throat and gently holds her face between his hands. 

“here lie the artist and the muse; inspiring each other in death as they did in life.”

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — RIN x FEM READER

True love stares you in the face and calls you an idiot. 

wc — 1k

tags — fluff, post enemies to lovers

“Do you find me lovable?”

Rin squints at you. “Where is this coming from?” 

The question is wary, like you’re setting a trap, and he’s the rabbit that’s dumb enough to fall for it. To be fair, when you do mess with him, he does fall for it every single time. 

But not this time. 

“Don’t you think I’m annoying?”

He rolls his eyes at you. “Yeah, actually. Super annoying. Worst mistake of my life.” 

You stretch your leg out to kick him in the shin. He rips it back, yelping. 

“Be serious,” you scold. 

He blinks at you. When Rin is confused, it’s very obvious. He never manages to be ugly - it’s those sexy Itoshi genes - but his confused face comes the closest. He squints like he’s smelled something distasteful and his entire face screws up. His nose crinkles. His mouth puckers. 

Rin is, at heart, a very simple creature. If it’s not about football, he doesn’t tend to think too hard. He’ll make the attempt for you, but in general, he’s a little less developed than other people his age on important concepts like emotional awareness. 

You decide to throw him a bone. “Like when we met, remember?” 

It’s a memory that you laugh at now (okay, not now, because you’re in a mood at the moment, but in every other scenario). At the time, however, you went home and screamed into your pillow to escape from cringing at yourself every five seconds. 

It was your first day working for the Japanese National Football Team. You had been so excited to be here! Of course, it’s more glamorous to be playing the actual sport, but the team can only function at their best because of people like you.

Scanning in with your fancy new lanyard feels so professional. You still haven’t gotten over the excitement of a new job yet, and it’s written all over your face. Your new boss laughs when you tell her profusely how grateful you are to be here. She’s kind and funny. You can already see yourself fitting right in. 

“I don’t have too much for you right now,” she says. “Why don’t you go meet the team?”

Your eyes practically sparkle with delight. “Can I really?” 

“Sure! Just tell them I sent you,” she says. 

The football pitch isn’t attached to the main building, but a short walk away. Your head is in the clouds as you all but float down the sidewalk. You still can’t believe you’re really here, but when you pinch yourself, the world remains as clear and vivid as it was before. This is no dream. 

This is a nightmare, actually. The gates that allow you into training grounds are locked with a code that no one told you. You flutter around it, trying to decide what to do. Should you go back and bother your boss? You don’t want to seem stupid on your first day. You look around, but you don’t see anyone to ask. You pace around the lock again. 

You don’t know where to go. If there was someone you could ask, you wouldn’t know where to find them. How is it only your first day and you’re already messing up? 

“What’s the hold up?”

You gasp and whirl around to find Itoshi Rin, one of the star players who came out of the Blue Lock program. You’re starstruck, but that quickly fades as he pushes past you to put the code in. He doesn’t even hold the door open for you, leaving you to rush to grab it before it swings shut. At least you’re inside the facility now. 

The coworkers you meet are much nicer than Rin. Even though your boss told you not to work today, they’re so friendly you don’t mind pitching in. As the players trickle in to warm up, you run around offering water bottles and balls. It’s starting to feel like an okay day, especially because Rin doesn’t seem to recognize you from this morning. 

When you offer him a bottle, he takes it with a nod of appreciation, so you know it’s not personal. It’s not that reassuring to think that he might just be a bit of an asshole, but at least it’s not targeted. 

Whatever your feelings on Rin are, he’s undeniably an incredible player. When he scores, every member of the staff stops to watch the arc of the ball. It’s perfect. It’s a thing of beauty. 

You’re working up a sweat yourself carrying out the tasks you’re asked to do, so when the team finally wraps up, you’re grateful to finally start heading home. You pick up a stray ball heading your way and deposit it in the nearest basket, but a hand catches yours before you can let the ball drop. 

“Are you stupid? That doesn’t go in there,” Rin says, taking it from you and trotting across the field to another basket. 

Your jaw drops. 

You hate this man. 

But in a few months, he’ll take you on your first date, and you’ll be head over heels. You still don’t remember why or when it happened, just that one day Rin showed up with an apology and a dedication to doing better. 

“When did it change?” You ask, curious now. 

“I dunno,” Rin says. “Probably when you called me stupid after I fumbled the keys you gave me.” 

“What?” You laugh at him. 

“I’m serious! I was like oh, that was kind of shitty of me.” 

“Sometimes I wonder how you’re still alive.” 

“I’m a professional football player, not a therapist,” he says. 

You hold your tongue about how emotional awareness was not a trait relegated to therapists alone. 

“Anyway,” he adds, reaching for you. You stumble and nearly fall on top of him, but he doesn’t mind. “You’re still kind of stupid. But that’s what I like about you.” 

“Rin,” you say, slowly like you’re talking to a very dumb toddler. “You forgot to hit start on the washing machine this morning.”

It doesn’t phase him. “I know I’m stupid too. That’s why we work.”

[fruitcoops]

Best Beloved

Day Thirteen: our final day of Fic O'Ween 2024, brought to you by the most special girl in the world. She was spared a spooky movie, as she did not partake in the midight margaritas for obvious reasons. Characters (except our leading lady) belong to @lumosinlove, and MASSIVE massive thanks to @noots-fic-fests for organizing another wonderful year <3

Day 12 movie: Beetlejuice (1988)

Movie theme of the fest itself: Nightmare on Elm Street (1984), with a sprinkling of Freaky Friday (2003) for our dream-hopping, out-of-body experiences. I hope you enjoyed reading and following along as much as I enjoyed writing these!

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

“How is it?”

“…working, but don’t tell him.”

Lily took a pointed sip of her hangover cure (courtesy of James) and rested her elbows on the kitchen island. Remus joined her a moment later, laying his whole head on his folded arms and abandoning his own concoction to the side. The ‘Whale of a Time!’ novelty mug from their Alaskan summer trip bore a cheerful orca waving its fin, directly at odds with his general aura of headache melancholy.

“I wonder what she dreams of,” he mused, muffled by the thick sleeves of his hoodie.

Below them, Hattie’s paws gave a twitch.

“Seems important,” Lily agreed. She braved another sip. It was disappointing how well the awful thing worked.

Remus hummed, and tilted his head slightly to the side. His eyes remained on Hattie’s side, rising and falling in an even pattern ever-so-rarely interrupted by a huff. Her nose wiggled; he smiled. “Nah. She’s got nothing to worry about.”

“Evil squirrels,” Lily pointed out.

“They steer clear.”

“Rival gangs?”

Remus’ next breath was a laugh. “She has never met an enemy.”

Lily frowned. “Delayed dinner?”

Remus paused, blinking slowly. “Maybe. Aw, look, she’s chasing something.”

Fuzzy black paws picked up the pace. Quick flicks, back-and-forth, scraping just her smallest nail along the floor in tiny, inch-long crescents. Hattie’s nose wiggled again, searching for whatever eluded her in the land of beautiful dreams inhabited by the best-loved creatures. Even her eyelids fluttered.

“Hattie,” Remus called softly. “What are you doing, Hat Trick?”

Hattie’s tail gave a thump. She settled with a last hard puff that flexed her nostrils. Her paws fell quiet, save for one last stretch.

--

Hattie was having the most fabulous dream.

Her people, all her people, wandering about—then home, after discovering several dropped crackers when people started leaving. A car ride and bedtime and scritches and treats snuck under the table to her and every last one of her people petting her all night long, even through the thick Dad Shirt she had been put in before they arrived.

(That part was confusing. They had so many Dad Shirts in the house boxes, in all sizes. They got thrown into the weird bags with interesting smells and went out with her dads every day, but they always came home smelling like unfamiliar laundry and not the sweaty strangeness of their playing-with-friends clothes. Also, Hattie wasn’t usually dressed in Dad Shirts. Everyone else found it very funny.)

And now! Now she had a butterfly, big and yellow and bouncing just ahead of her snout. She had jumped at it first, then pranced after it, and now she was allowed to run-run-run across soft, flat grass.

It was wonderful.

--

“She was so goddamn cute in Pads’ jersey last night—”

“Oh my god, I know, I died when he brought her down in it.”

Lily buried her laughter in the rim of her cup. “It’s uncanny.”

Remus grimaced briefly around the dregs of the Emergen-C-Gatorade-Tums-Pedialyte smoothie, but his fond smile returned without issue. “It’s so…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “From day one, I swear. The eyes?”

“The hair!”

“It’s dead-on.”

“Sorry for leaving lipstick on her forehead.”

Remus shrugged one shoulder. “It blends in. She’s fine.”

“Animal testing,” Lily joked.

“The glitter, maybe.”

“The margs took over. I’m not liable for my actions.”

Their mutual wince made Remus pinch the bridge of his nose. “Yeah. Jesus, yeah, and they were so good.”

“It makes me so mad,” Lily mumbled into the cuff of her hoodie. “Like, come on, at least make it taste like danger.”

“That salt rim.”

“The fucking salt rim! French sea salt? Are you joking right now?”

“And the sugar sprinkled on the top.” Remus shook his head with a noise of faux disgust. They sat quietly for a few minutes. Outside, garage door hummed. Remus leaned over and knocked their shoulders together. “Thanks for coming over this morning.”

“Your husband actually begged mine to heal him.”

“And he did. You should keep him.”

Lily gave him a disbelieving look. “He’s not going anywhere.”

--

The butterfly led Hattie over bubbling streams and gentle slopes just meant to be sprinted down. The wind ruffled her fur and carried the bird songs right into her ears, no effort necessary. She was out of breath. It didn’t matter. The butterfly was right there—she almost had it.

--

“Hi, boys,” Lily rasped as the door to the kitchen opened.

James barely glanced up from kicking off his tennis shoes with a bag in one hand and coffee in the other. “Boo. Trick or treat?”

“Treat.”

“Everything bagel with scallion cream cheese.”

Lily buried her moan in the countertop and reached a blind, grasping hand out across cool marble. Wax paper crinkled; a soft greeting followed, then a kiss to the back of her head. She squinted in the low light of late morning as James paired it neatly with a second to her forehead. “I love you.”

“I know.”

“Dearly. Endlessly. Forever.”

His cheeks pinked. “Back at you.”

“Mhm.”

Remus was halfway through his own bagel when she looked over. Her stomach rumbled in pure jealousy.

“Oh,” Sirius said happily, pointing past them. “She’s dreaming.”

--

Triumph. Hattie rolled onto her back and stretched her legs out as far as they would go, each toe flexed and every joint extended. It would be better with belly rubs, but a wiggle of her shoulders in the moss was more than enough to satisfy.

The butterfly hopped between her back paws, then up to the front. It tickled the pads and the fur between them. She tipped her head to the side for a better look at the fluffy bits of its wings, but a flop of her paw startled it into the air.

The butterfly set off again, this time toward a rich green forest. Hattie leapt up with a bark and a bound, and didn’t look back.