#I’m not typically answering asks at the moment we’re largely done over here

[mcytblrsexymen]

Hey how are you?

Looking to chat with Joe about some offers we have for his channel.

hello, Perfectly Legitimate Not At All A Scam Business Opportunity! we here at the mcytblr sexyman competition - a fan-run event that’s been over for a month now and which I only just now checked the inbox of for fun - are definitely the people you should be contacting for this, and not, say, the business email of the guy you’re trying to talk to. or like, literally any avenue that’s not via “tumblr blog run by people who do not directly talk to joe in a capacity beyond the level any fan might be able to”. like. how did you get here. why are you here. I need you to know I’m only responding this so everyone can point and laugh at this. like. hello. this isn’t even his tumblr blog you have the wrong guys,

[ponds-of-ink]

Quick Pre-Ruin One Shot: “A Moment of Confidence”

Had this idea in my head, so I wanted to get this out there. More of a half-joke (emphasis on half because oh boy this went from a joke to something else quick) than an actual head-canon for what could actually be in store for Ruin, but here we go. This might be a low key sequel to the whole Setback Saga I did ages ago..? Huh.

Also, speculative stuff and potential Tales from the Pizzaplex spoilers ahead. That second warning’ll make some sense in a moment, hopefully.

Padded footsteps thumped down the dingy hallway. Not with its typically skipping gait, but with a furious and steady rhythm. The bunny-like figure approached a large, open area where a bundle of wires and robotic parts towered above everything. Fortunately, the strange thing remained dormant as the rabbit stormed closer. “Where are you, you absolute slacker!?” it roared out in some eerily flat, feminine tone. “We’re almost ready for our final tests!”

Violet static pulsed from various cables. It sparked and glowed as it drew close to the mishmash. Suddenly, in a flash of similarly-colored light, a ghostly man in a casual outfit appeared in front of the creature. “My apologies,” he said softly, bowing low. “I was running some of my own experiments while you were preparing. Mobility in different forms and such.”

The bunny’s head tilted. “Does that explain why you look... different?” she asked, her tone slowly adding in a hint of disgust. “I never thought you would stoop so low as to turn into this... heavier shape, Mr. Afton.”

The man looked down at his portly figure. “Is it really ‘stooping low’ when the only thing I am defying is aesthetics?” he questioned back, placing a hand on his hip. “Honestly, ‘Mimic’, I am not sure why you are making such a fuss since I can revert back to my ‘normal’ state at any time.”

Mimic grumbled underneath the rabbit mask. “I’m not sure why you aren’t making a fuss,” she quipped back darkly. “Don’t you realize what the internet’ll do to you if you get caught looking like this?”

The man’s expression shifted into terror. “You are onto something there!” he gasped out, staggering towards Mimic as if he couldn’t just float over to her. “Whatever will they do if such a mad idea gets found out!? The Purple Man himself, once a pear-shaped giant of a human? The idea would be too much to bear for some of those poor souls! Oh, the discussions and debates that would spawn! Oh, the absolute humiliation!” Then, as if to lead this spiral of sadness to its natural conclusion, he leaned on Mimic’s shoulder and sobbed... much to her chagrin. “Well, William, at least you’re coming to your senses,” she grimaced. “So, can you please change back before someone new finds us?”

William’s crying softened. His half-pixelated face dropped its sad expression. “I will, but in a moment,” he answered softly, lifting himself off his listener. “What concerns me more is that fact that you failed to detect my complete and utter sarcasm. Whatever happened to your sense of humour, Glitch— Mimic? You used to be so maliciously joyous, prancing around like Spring Bonnie and the like! Now you just boss everyone around and guard me and my new fusion as if we’re some porcelain artifacts— Which is ironic, as I am sure you must be thinking about me being a one-and-done springboard for something else!”

‘Mimic’ sighed. “My humor died as soon as you failed your mission,” ‘she’ explained coldly. “Hopefully, your next attempt can revive it. Maybe even.. hurt a few more people on the way out, who knows? Two birds with one stone, as the saying goes.”

William rolled his eyes. “Unless my actions in that pile of metal and cords cause such a thing, do not count on me fulfilling that second wish,” he replied somberly as he floated back to the huge mishmash. “Especially since I am now reconsidering changing back into my ‘normal’ state.”

The remaining indoor lights flickered much more than usual. “Take that last part back,” ‘Mimic’ said with a growl, stepping forward. “Or else.”

“As if a threat like that should scare me nowadays,” William huffed, crossing his arms. “Please! I have dealt with so many furious demands that the only emotion I feel from yours is annoyance. Do yourself a favor and save those for when it counts. Trust me, it will do wonders.”

Mimic stepped even closer. “Take that back, or I will make you regret every last word you just said,” ‘she’ insisted, ‘her’ voice dropping in pitch as the darkness grew more frequent.

“What fear can you revive that I have not encountered already?” William inquired, shaking his head. “The fear of too many calories? Or is it the fear of returning to a body type I once despised? Whichever it is, I can assure you that I already have those covered.”

The room plunged into complete darkness. A more greenish rabbit emerged from the feminine figure. With a snap of its fingers, the rabbit made sure the once-dormant wires bound the man like chains weighing down a prisoner. The new bunny strolled over, clicking its unseen tongue as it drew nearer. “I think you still haven’t covered the most important one,” it smiled, its voice now more masculine and sinister. “The fear of not being able to escape.”

[forever-rogue]

Baby Steps (A Good Man)

A/N: Hello my sunshines! I’m back with another little installment of the AGM ‘verse with our favorite Javi and Dulzura! I love them so much and I’m glad y’all do too! I hope you guys enjoy!  As always, comments and feedback are welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged let me know! Xx

*can be read as a standalone or part of the ‘verse as a whole*

Pairing: Professor! Javi x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: language, pregnant!reader

A GOOD MAN ‘VERSE MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

JAVIER MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Mrs. Peña?” the sound of your name still surprised you, despite the fact that the students had been calling you for several months now. A grin worked its way onto your face as you looked at the young boy who was watching you with wide, eager eyes. Putting your pen down, you motioned for him to continue, “will you come outside and play with us?”

“You want me to hang out with you guys?” you almost laughed at the idea that any kid deemed you worthy of spending time with them, “I thought teachers were lame, Mikey?”

“Some of them, but not all of them! You’re pretty cool,” he smiled and displayed his toothy grin. How were you supposed to say no to him? You nodded and stood up, taking the hand he was holding out to you, “besides we’re playing kickball and we need one more person!!”

“I should have known you were just using me for my exceptional skills,” you pretended to be hurt as he pulled out of the building and into the playground, where the sun was shining brightly. 

Normally, you’d have turned him down, opting to get some work done during the lunch period, but decided you might as well indulge him and yourself. You really enjoyed the kids you had this year, and it was a gorgeous early spring day. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

Turns out, kickball with a bunch of seven and eight year olds was not as simple as it seemed. They seemed to come up with all sorts of nonsense rules, and on top of it all, they happened to be extremely competitive. And yet...you were thoroughly enjoying yourself - and glad you had opted to wear jeans today instead of a skirt or dress. Javi had been particularly fond of the tight, high-waisted jeans that hugged you in all the right places, getting very handsy before you both had to leave for work. Typical Javier; not that you minded of course. 

“Come on, give us a good one, Mrs. P!” Mikey yelled at the top of his small lungs as you proceeded to kick the ball that was rolled at you. You offered up a firm kick, but not one you would have used if you’d been playing with only adults. Taking unfair advantage was something you definitely didn’t want to do.

As soon as your foot made contact with the red rubber ball, you watched it whistle through the air before running to the first base. But...it was over before it started as you ran and then immediately proceeded to trip over your slightly untied shoelaces. You made contact with the hard earth before you knew and rolled your ankle in the process. 

You landed with a mixture of an annoyed sigh and a loud oof as you chided yourself. You should have made sure they were properly tied before doing anything. The kids clambered around you, faces anxious as they tried to make sure you were okay. Physically you were sure you’d be just fine, but mentally your pride was wounded. Oh, to make a fool of yourself in front of a bunch of children. 

“I’m alright,” you promised as you slowly rose to your feet; an instant tinge of pain shot through your ankle and leg as you almost lost your balance again. Maybe you were hurt… “it’s alright - you guys go back to playing and I’m going to go back to the classroom and sit for a moment. I might have twisted my ankle.”

They nodded, but gave you wary looks as you hobbled back inside the building. You should have remained the umpire and refused to play; you were obviously not coordinated enough for any of this. Slumping back in your chair, you rolled up your pant leg and hissed at the sight of the already swollen ankle. Shit.

“You’d better get that checked out,” Anna, one of the teachers from across the hall looked at you with a pained expression, “looks painful.”

“Nothing some rest and elevation won’t fix,” you insisted as you slumped against the back of the chair, “I’m too old for this! When did I become an adult?"

“Hey, at least they think you’re cool,” she huffed playfully, “they never ask me to play! But seriously, that looks pretty bad. And it happened at work, you know how they get about stuff like that.”

“Fineeee,” you groaned, “I’ll go to the school nurse.”

“I would recommend an actual urgent care or ER visit,” she raised an eyebrow, “besides, you know how Javi gets - he'll flay us all if he thought we weren’t looking out for you.”

“He’s...something else.”

“He’s amazing,” she reminded as you nodded in agreement. For how much of a worrywart he could be, you knew it was all out of love, “now go and get it checked out. I’ll handle getting the sub in and telling everyone. You have enough to worry about. Can you make it okay, or will you need a ride? Should I call Javi?”

“I can drive myself,” you promised, thankful it happened to your left foot and not the right, “I’m not going to bother my darling, overprotective husband just yet. Not until I can confirm that nothing is actually wrong. I don’t want him to stress over nothing, and I’m sure by the time he gets home tonight he’ll just be laughing at me and my clumsiness!”

“Alright,” Anna grabbed your purse and handed it to you, as you managed to slink out of the chair, “go get checked out and feel better. If you need anything at all, just call me.”

“Thanks for all of your help,” you hobbled towards the door, trying to keep as much weight off of your foot as possible, as Anna grimaced at you, “I swear it’s not that bad - worse than it looks.”

“Sure, sure,” she disagreed politely, “now quit stalling and go get help!”

»»————-　♡　————-««

The white walls and bright lights of the exam room were enough to rattle your nerves, even if just ever so lightly. You sat on the examination bed and tried to keep yourself calm as you waited for the nurse to come back and begin examining you. Nothing but the distant sounds of people outside and the tick-tock of the aging clock met your ears. You almost wish you’d called Javier just to have some company. Shit.

“Mrs. Peña?” a kind looking woman, maybe around Javier’s age poked her head in as you nodded, “sorry for the wait, we’re pretty busy right now. You’re here for a rolled ankle?”

“Yeah,” you answered as you relaxed at her comforting presence as she came in and sat on her rolling stool, eyes immediately dropping your swollen and irritated ankle, “I was playing with my kids outside - kickball - and then tripped over my own damn feet and ta da!”

“Were you at home when this happened? Playing with your kids?”

“Oh no, I’m a teacher,” you quickly explained, a warm flush rising up your cheeks at the thought of children, “it was on their lunch break at school. I-I don’t have any children of my own.”

You weren’t sure why you felt the need to offer up a clarifying statement.

“I see,” she made a few notes before turning back to you, “it looks pretty bad, to be quite frank. I’m going to assume it wasn’t a break, a sprain rather, from how you’re managing, but we’ll need to do some x-rays to confirm. We’ll do your blood work as well just to make sure everything is in order. Before we do x-rays or anything - are you pregnant?”

“No,” you admitted, looking at your feet as you tried not to sigh. It had been on your mind recently, and you weren’t sure quite what to make of your own feelings on the matter. While you hadn't been actively trying, you couldn't help but wonder if it would ever happen.

“Any chance you could be?” 

“Umm,” you twiddled your thumbs as you shrugged your shoulders, “I-I suppose. I’m not on birth control and my husband and I don’t use protection...we’ve been trying but not trying if that makes sense? But my cycle’s been regular so I highly doubt it.”

“Okay,” the scratching of her pen on paper was almost maddening as she was making notes and you just sat there. You could curse yourself for babbling on to her, but you couldn’t really help it. Besides, it’d be better for them to know all the details if they were going to x-ray and poke and prod you, “very good. Let me just go get everything and we’ll get started and a better look at everything. We’ll have you set and on your way in no time.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Here you go,” you scratched Stevie’s ears as you offered him a treat, a scrap of carrot from the vegetables you were chopping up for dinner, “what do you think, buddy? Should we tell him tonight?”

“Should we tell who and what tonight?” Javi’s voice startled you so much that you almost dropped your knife. You hadn’t even heard him come in, ever the sneaky DEA agent as he walked into the kitchen. A smile was on his face as he came over to you and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, “hi baby.”

“J-Javi,” you couldn’t help but melt into his touch, despite his surprise arrival, “you’re home!”

“Oh very observant of you, Dulzura,” he teased as he pulled back and started to undo his tie. It was only then that he noticed you weren’t wearing what you had earlier in the day; you were in one of his sweaters and a pair of joggers and… “what the hell happened to your ankle?!”

There it was  - Javier switching into overdrive. You put everything down on the counter and turned to him, putting on your most innocent and sheepish expression. His large, warm hands found your face as he looked you over to make sure you were okay. 

“It’s nothing, Javi,” you promised him, “I swear it. It’s just a bad sprain, but I went and had it looked at and they wrapped it and gave me pain killers. It’s umm...a stupid little story actually…”

“What happened?” he bent down and reached out to tentatively and delicately cheek the binding to make sure the nurse had properly tended to your sprain. He made a small sound of disgruntled satisfaction before standing up and waiting for a proper explanation, “why didn’t you call me?”

“I didn’t want to worry you, Javier,” you promised as he crossed his arms over his broad but acquiesced with a nod, “you’re so busy, and honestly, it wasn’t a big deal at all. Besides, Anna was ready to call you immediately, but I told her not to worry. All that happened was that I was outside with the kids and we were playing kickball and I tried over my laces, fell, and twisted my ankle. It hurts, but no fracture or anything.”

Javier’s lips twitched as he tried not to laugh, his shoulders shaking with effort as he just studied you, “are you....are you serious, Dulzura?”

“Don’t laugh at me!” you pouted as he started laughing at your dismal nod when you confirmed that that was what actually happened, “they thought I was cool and how was I supposed to say no to them!? I’m the cool teacher to them!”

“And look what that got you,” he snickered as you sighed heavily, “I’m sorry - I’m sorry. As long as you’re okay, that’s what matters. Whatever you need, just tell me the word and I’ll make sure you have it. I’ll take good care of you, Dulzura.”

“I know you will...you always do,” your heart raced as you tried to decide whether or not to tell him the rest of your revelations. But then he looked at you with those eyes, those soft brown, gentle eyes, and your heart melted. He gently pulled you into his arms as he kissed you again, chasing after your soft, sweet lips with his own, seemingly never able to get enough of you, “Javier, I love you.”

“I love you too,” you felt him smile against your lips, “what’s brought on your sudden declaration of love, mi alma?”

“I...I’m pregnant,” you blurted it out without even really thinking about it. Javier pulled back as a surprised expression crossed his features. He looked at you, seemingly in a state of shock, before opening and closing his mouth a few times, “Javi?”

“You’re pregnant?” he repeated as you nodded. It took about a moment for everything to finally come full circle as he finally realized what you had said. Immediately, an overwhelming wave of emotion came over you as you felt the back of your eyes start to sting with tears. He grabbed your face and slowly crashed his lips back onto yours and kissed deeply and slowly, “holy shit.”

“I know,” you beamed at him, “they asked before they did x-rays and blood work and then well...they discovered I was pregnant. I had no clue and then they told me and yeah - holy shit."

“That’s amazing,” he said softly, “pregnant....”

“I know,” you breathed him in and ran a hand through his dark curls, “I’m not far along, only like six weeks, so it’s still very early, but yes. We’re finally having a baby, Javier!

“I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you,” he whispered as he wrapped his arms around and held you in a tight embrace, “I love you so much.”

“You deserve this - everything. You are such a good man, Javier, and I am so honored to call you my husband, and the father of my child,” he almost melted under your praise as you traced along his features before resting your hand on his cheek, “I love you, Javi. I am so excited for this.”

“Me too,” he agreed, “this is everything - you are everything.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

3 months pregnant

“Dulzura?” Javier yawned as he wiped the sleep from his eyes as he got up and found you in the kitchen, peering into the fridge. You were in the mood for...something. You just weren’t sure what that something was. Everything sounded good but nothing seemed to satiate that craving you had deep within, “what are you doing up?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” you admitted, hoping you hadn’t woken him up by accident, “and I got hungry. I’m sorry if I woke you, my love. Go back to bed, Javier.”

“It’s fine,” he insisted as he shuffled into the kitchen and slowly pried you away from the fridge, “sit down, and let me make you something to eat. What sounds good?”

“Javier,” you did as he asked, padding over to the other side of the counter and taking a seat at the bar. You rested your head on your hands as he stifled a yawn, "honey, go back to bed. You're exhausted and you've got back to back classes tomorrow."

"They start in the late morning," he insisted, with a sleepy nod as you just laughed at him. He was such a stubborn man sometimes it drove you crazy - but you knew it came from a place of love and concern, "don't sleep well without you anyways. 's better when you're there."

"Oh, my sweet husband," he reached into the fridge and pulled out some cheese, butter, and your favorite pickled jalapeños. You watched in curiosity as he went to the bread box and grabbed the fresh loaf of bread you'd purchased earlier at the store, "grilled cheese?"

"Grilled cheese with jalapeños," he corrected, a lazy smile tugged up the corners of his mouth. You made a small sound of musing as you realized it didn't sound too bad at all, "and tomato soup, naturally. How does that sound?"

"Sounds delicious," you grinned eagerly as you leaned in to watch him work. You made a small sound of surprise as your stomach rumbled loudly. Apparently you were hungrier than you had thought, "apparently, my stomach and I agree. I think its your daughter that agrees."

At the mention of your baby, Javier paused and smiled, his eyes flitting to your barely visible bump. Some days he still couldn't believe that you were having a baby. You were his wife. What a wild world it was indeed; years ago he'd never dreamed he would have all of this. The Javier that once existed and refused to believe that there was any light in the world could never have pictured any of this. 

But here you were. Continually proving him wrong. And he loved it all.

"Wait - how do you know we're having a girl?" he asked, suddenly wide awake as he raised an eyebrow at you, "I thought we still need to wait another month or so."

"We do," you grinned at him, "but I just know. I'm sure of it!"

"Well, you do have a fifty-fifty chance of being right…"

"I have a hundred percent chance of being right," you insisted as you reached over the counter and grabbed the jar of pickled jalapeños and fished a few out, and popped them into your mouth, "don't argue with your pregnant wife, Javier Peña. You of all people should know not to cross someone so dangerous."

He snorted with laughter, suddenly feeling much more awake as he sliced up cheese and turned on the stove, "and if we end up having a son?"

"Then we keep having more until we have a daughter and I am proven right," you plastered on a sweet smile, knowing it would wind him up. You'd never really discussed how many children you wanted or planned on having. It was just a sort of...whatever happens happens type thing. But, if you were being honest, you'd probably have given Javier as many children as he wanted. Your husband fell silent as he watched you for a moment before taking the jar away from, "nothing to add? Silence isn't like you, my love."

"We can have as many as you'd like," he promised, "you're the one doing all the hard work. If you're done after one, then it's fine for me. You already amaze me every day."

"Don't make me cry, Javier," your whole body soaked in the warmth and love from his simple words, "its getting really easy at this point, and you're taking advantage!"

"Sorry," he shot you a wink before leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to your lips, "back to business."

"Hmm," you mused quietly, "I thought kissing me was business."

"I thought you were hungry?"

"Fine," you playfully huffed as he carried on cooking, "Javi?"

"Dulzura?"

"I love you," you beamed at him, the little smile that worked its way onto his face take your breath away - as it always had. 

"I love you."

»»————-　♡　————-««

6 months pregnant

A huff escaped your lips as you tried to reach for the socks and underwear that had fallen out of the laundry basket. It was no easy feat when you couldn’t see your own feet anymore. But you were determined to get everything up and off the floor as you walked back towards your bedroom to put away the clean clothes. And you weren’t about to give up and ask for help - not yet anyway.

Instead, you opted to awkwardly lower yourself to the floor in order to blindly grab for the discarded items. But it was no use...this was almost harder. 

“You alright, Dulzura?” Javier came in and found you struggling, cleaning his dirty hands off on a rag. He’d been working outside, getting the garden spruced up as the summer slowly came to an end, “can’t reach?”

“I can,” you stuck your tongue out at him as he huffed with laughter, but motioned for you to go on. Wanting to prove that you were right, and weren’t completely helpless after all. It hadn’t been easy having to give up a lot of the things you used to be able to do with ease as you progressed in your pregnancy. The fact that none of your pants would fit over your belly anymore had been a point of horror for you - it meant you were truly and actually pregnant, you were actually having a baby. You’d always known, but that had been what made it all extremely real. Every day you got closer and closer to your due date, it all became a little more real. Exciting - but terrifying. 

Not being able to see your feet had been another blow. You could hardly get proper shoes on anymore, opting for easy slide ons, which were great for the warmth of summer and didn’t matter since you were on summer break along with your kids. It was almost as though Javier could sense your frustration, and he’d often silently help you with getting your shoes on in the morning. He never said a word, knowing he didn’t have to. He always told you he loved you in so many ways, often without saying it. 

You tried to again, dangling your hand along on the floor as you tried again. After watching you struggle for a moment, Javier came over and grabbed everything in one foul swoop before taking your hand in his and helping you upright. 

“Hey,” you pouted at him as he put the items back into your basket, “I almost had it!”

“I know,” he kissed the tip of your nose, “but I wanted to help. Why can I not help my gorgeous wife?”

“Your very pregnant and easily frustrated wife?” you teased as you started to walk towards the bedroom. He followed after you, swatting at your bum as you squealed in delight, “Javier!”

“Come on, mi alma,” he grinned, “let me help put everything away.”

“If I let you help, you’re just going to take me to bed and then I’ll have to wash the sheets again!”

“I’ve never heard a single complaint from you before,” as you set the basket on the dresser, he came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist before settling a hand on your belly and gently rubbing it a few times. He pressed a few kisses to the side of your neck as you tilted your head to give him easier access, “there we go, Dulzura. Just like you like it.”

“You’re the worst,” you teased as you turned your head to kiss him, “you’re lucky I love you. And I’m seemingly always in the mood right now - they really weren’t kidding about pregnancy making you more horny. Although, I’ve never heard a single complaint from you before.”

“And you never will,” he promised, his low in your ear as you tried not to completely let your mind wander too far away, “do you have any plans for this afternoon, Dulzura?”

“N-no,” you  managed to choke out as one of his hands skimmed along the waistband of your leggings. You knew exactly where this was going, and you were loath to stop him, especially as he slowly kept kissing you.

“Good,” he rasped, “because I have plans for you. Been thinking about you all day, especially in these tight leggings. You knew exactly what you were doing, didn’t you honey?”

“Uh huh,” you agreed as his warm hand slipped inside and a shiver ran up your spine, “Javier. Please.”

“Don’t worry, mi alma,” he captured your gasp in a sweet kiss, “I’ll take good care of you.”

The laundry could definitely wait.

»»————-　♡　————-««

9 months pregnant 

It was an early, chilling morning as you sipped on some tea as you sat out in the garden. It was probably too cold to be sitting outside, but you were handled up in blankets and didn't care. 

Christmas was a few weeks away and you enjoyed peeking into the neighbor's yards to see what they all had going on for decorations.

"Are you sure you don't want to come inside?" Javier poked his head out from the sliding screen door, his brow furrowed in concentration, "its freezing! And I have breakfast!"

"I've got blankets and a baby keeping me warm," you reminded him, pointing at your large belly. You were due in a couple of weeks; how time had flown. He jokingly frowned at you, sticking out his tongue. Playfully rolling your eyes, you clambered to your feet and waddled over to him, "fine, hold on you big baby. This is because I want breakfast."

Javier was on his winter break from teaching and you were on maternity leave now and you definitely didn't mind having him around all the time. If you could have always had it this way, you definitely wouldn't have minded.

"I'm just looking out for you," he insisted with a pout as you pressed a kiss to his lips, "I talked to Papà. He's really excited to come in a few weeks - more like excited to meet his grandbaby."

"I'm not complaining at all," you insisted, knowing there would be many sleepless nights and chaotic days ahead of you, "we'll need all the help we can get. Hell, maybe we can convince Steve and Connie to come and visit too…"

"I'm sure we'll have all the help in the world between our families and friends, Dulzura," he promised as he took your hand and pulled you into the warm kitchen, putting a plate of breakfast for you on the counter, "I'm sure we'll get sick of having so many people around."

"I guess we'll just have to wait and see," you took a bite and smiled as Stevie laid by your feet. The whole house was warm and cozy, perfectly decorated for Christmas, with a huge tree and already lots of presents. Javier had really outdone himself this year, seemingly more in the Christmas spirit than you. Honestly, you were feeling a little bit out of it - being so pregnant would do that to you. 

You watched your husband for a few moments, admiring his profile and lazy smile. Gods, you were still so in love with him. He felt you watching him closely, and turned to you, cooking a dark brow, "what's on your mind, mi alma?"

"Nothing much," you shrugged lightly, feeling a flush of warmth was over you at him catching you, "just thinking about how I love you, and how I'm glad you're here with me, that you knocked me up, and yeah. Are you…are you nervous Javi?"

"About the baby?"

"No, about the Astros' odds next season," you snorted as he groaned at your joke, "of course the baby. I'm just...so nervous. Like I feel ready to meet her, but I'm so scared that I'll fuck it up somehow."

"You still think its a girl?"

"Positive," you grinned at him - you'd decided not to find out the sex ahead of time, leaving it a surprise for both of you. You were still convinced it was a girl, Javier was undecided, "we'll find out soon enough!"

"Either way," he brought his plate and sat down next to you, "everything will be alright. You're going to be an amazing mother, Dulzura. You are everything."

"I love you, Javier," you beamed as he gently put a hand on your belly, "I know it'll be alright, but holy shit - I'm so nervous. Its getting so real lately. We're going to be parents."

"Parents," he repeated, "fuck."

"Who would have thought-" you were quickly cut off when you felt the baby flutter round. A small sound of surprise left your lips as you grabbed Javier's hand and placed it on your belly, "she's telling you not to curse."

He was silent for a moment as a smile spread on his features; despite having felt this many times by now, it still continued to surprise him. He couldn't even imagine how it felt for you, "this is...everything."

"I realized I didn't know what to get you for Christmas so I got you a baby instead," you don't know why it came to mind, but as soon as the words left your lips you brought into a fit of laughter - Javier joined in, a brilliant sound that you adored above all.

"Best Christmas present ever," he whispered before leaning in and giving you a gentle kiss - sweet from the syrup and pancakes he had just eaten, "I mean it. I love you both more than you will ever know."

"We love you too," you grinned as he stroked your belly, "I'm glad your class was the only one available and I took it. I'm glad you were a grumpy professor that let me into his office - I was able to work my magic and look where that got us."

He threw his back with laughter, his dark curls shining brilliantly in the light as his eyes crinkled in the corners. You'd never been more glad for subjecting yourself to his class.

"Me too," he whispered as he put a hand on your cheek, "you always were a stubborn thing."

"Some things never change," you stuck your tongue out at him, "I trust your daughter will be the same!"

»»————-　♡　————-««

You were humming to yourself as you shuffled around the kitchen and tried to put together a mid afternoon snack when you felt an odd sensation in your lower belly. It caused you to drop the knife on the counter as you held onto the marble and gritted your teeth. Stevie was at your feet in an instant, looking at you with concern.

"Its okay, buddy," you reassured him as the pain passed. Surely it couldn't have been anything too bad...probably just an end of pregnancy pain. Sighing at your nonsense worry, you reached for the knife again but before you reached it, the pain was back, "never mind, shit shit shit."

Trying to keep yourself calm, you leaned against the counter and tried to even your breathing. Contractions. Of course. You were due in a week and you still hadn't been expecting it.

"Javier?" he was down the hall in the second bedroom that had been converted into the nursery, putting away the final touches of clothing. Before he could respond, you felt an odd sensation followed by liquid running down your legs, "Javier!"

"What's wrong, Dulzura?" he rushed down the hall and back into the kitchen, worry etched onto his features as you stood there in shock and clutched at your belly, "honey-"

"My water broke," you said meekly as you pointed to your wet pants, "and I've had a few contractions - I think the baby's coming."

"Okay," he immediately kicked into gear as he remained cool and calm, despite wanting to panic and worry along with you, "its okay. I'm going to get the hospital bag, we'll get you in the car, Stevie to the neighbor, and then we'll go and have a baby."

"You make it seem so simple," you huffed lightly as you tried to channel his inner calm demeanor, "we'll be okay, right? I-I'm scared…"

"I know, honey," he promised as he kissed the side of your head, "you've done so amazing already, it will all be okay. I'm right here, okay? I'm just going to grab your bag and the dog and we'll go. Ten minutes and we'll be on the way."

"Okay," you agreed as he practically ran down the hall to get your packed bag, "we're going to have a baby, Javi."

"Indeed we are," he agreed with a small smile as he reached for his wallet and keys and stuff for the neighbor to watch Stevie for a few days, "we're having our baby."

Holy shit.

»»————-　♡　————-««

“You’re doing amazing, sweetheart,” Javier praised you as you squeezed his hand after another push. You groaned and gritted your teeth as you glared at him; this was absolute hell, “the baby’s almost there.”

“Shut up, Javier,” you hissed as you got ready for another push, “I am never letting you touch me again! You did this to me.”

“Hey - it was a team effort,” he reminded you in a vain attempt at a joke. Your death glare and the squeezing of his hand said it all, “sorry, Dulzura. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you said as you took a deep breath, “but right now, I’m blaming this on you.”

“Fair enough,” he said as you pushed again. He was sure his hand was going to break.

»»————-　♡　————-««

It wasn’t much longer before you were laying back and holding the smallest bundle you could ever imagine in your arms. You were somewhere between crying tears of joy and exhaustion, as you stared at your newborn daughter in awe. Javier was sitting next to you, looking down at her, his own eyes glossy as he gently touched her cheek. She had the darkest eyes and a shock of dark hair, already taking after her father. She had come into the world squealing and crying but had fallen asleep almost as soon as Javier held her. 

“I told you we were having a girl,” you teased him softly, “I was right. Look at her, Javier. That’s our daughter. We made her.”

“You did all the hard work, mi alma,” he whispered as he pressed a kiss to the side of your head, “she’s beautiful.”

“Lucia Luna Peña,” you grinned at your husband, “it’s perfect. I love you both more than you could ever know. Javier...you really are everything to me - the best friend, best husband, and now the best father. She’s going to love the hell out of you, just like I do.”

He remained silent for a moment as he looked at the sleeping baby before looking back at you. His whole world was in his arms, and the thought of that alone was enough to overwhelm him with emotion. He’d never thought he wanted this - a “boring” job, a home, a wife, and a baby. 

But here he was. And he had never felt happier, never felt more full of love and life. This was everything. 

“I love you so much, Dulzura - you and Lucia,” he promised as he rested his head on top of yours, “you have given me everything, more than you know. Te quiero con todo.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[somewhatgreatexpectations]

Breaking Hearts (Wanda Maximoff/ Reader)

Hello, again! Post- Age of Ultron but Pre-Civil War (though it is getting close to Civil War, let’s pretend there was 2 years in between). Inspired by Sam Smith’s beautiful “Breaking Hearts” highly recommend listening. Let me know your thoughts! 

Summary: Wanda is upset with reader for getting injured during a mission to protect someone else. There is more, but I won’t say too much so I don’t give it away. Read to find out :)

“Summer haze of summer wine, reminded me of better times, but I let you in my heart. Why’d I let you in my heart?”

“What happened to this being an easy recon mission, Rogers?” You asked over the coms through gritted teeth as you tried to focus your attention on holding back the swarms of Hydra agents that surrounded you.

The sound of fists clashing against skin and groans of pain flooded your earpiece. “It was supposed to be! We must have been ambushed.” Steve grunted shortly from wherever he was located in the large base.

Despite the ambush you, Steve, and Natasha had been able to complete the mission with only a slight incident. That incident being you putting yourself at risk in order to protect Natasha during a dangerous moment that resulted in you taking a bullet in your abdomen. Thankfully Steve and Natasha were able to get you back to the compound in time to tend to your wounds safely. When Wanda was filled in on what happened she wasn’t happy at all and dragged you to your room as soon as it was safe to do so. 

“How could you be so reckless, Y/n!” Wanda shouted, her hands clenched at her sides as she paced the length of your room.

You stared at her incredulously from your place on the bed, “Are you serious right now, Wanda?” An angry tone marred your words. “What was I supposed to do? Stand by and watch them shoot Natasha when I knew damn well there was something I could do to save her?”

The anger in her eyes didn’t falter, “You don’t think before you act.”  

“No, actually, that’s the problem. I do think before I act. I think too much. I thought of how if I didn’t do something Nat would have died. How are you upset with me about that?” You raised your arms helplessly. 

She shook her head in response, her jaw clenched. “You don’t get it.”

You slowly stood up and made your way over to her. “Look, if you’re upset that I got hurt… I understand, but I’m fine, Wanda.”

“We’ve had this argument so many times, Y/n. Yet, you continue being reckless.” You tried to take her hand, but she pulled it away sharply.

You sighed and dropped your hand back to your side, “I’m not being reckless, Wanda. You are all my family now. If I see an opportunity to protect any of you, I’m going to take it. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t.”

For a moment a look of understanding flashed across her face, but it was short lived. You thought she understood. You’d never be one to stand idly by, not after your past. A tense silence hung in the air between you for a moment as you both just stared at one another. “I need some air.” She finally said.

“I’ll go with you.” You offered hopefully. Going to the roof always eased the tension between you both. It was your spot after all, where your story began, where your love blossomed… Where you always found peace.

Wanda set her jaw and shook her head. “Alone.” She said indifferently as she walked out of the room. 

With a defeated sigh you fell onto your shared bed as you dragged a hand down your face. Wanda was right, you had had this conversation more than once, but you didn’t think you were being reckless. In situations like this you really saw no other option. If the price for saving a life was an injury, then you’d gladly pay. A knock on the door interrupted your train of thought. “Come in.” You mumbled behind your hand.

A moment later you felt the foot of the bed dip. You didn’t need to open your eyes to know who it was. “She might have a point you know.”

You removed your hand from your face to send a glare towards Natasha who just looked at you sympathetically. “Not you too, Nat. I wasn’t being reckless.” You repeated, practically shouting with frustration.

Natasha moved to kneel beside you, a comforting hand on your arm. “I wouldn’t call it reckless, Y/n, but you need to stop prioritizing everyone else’s safety over your own.”

“I couldn’t just watch them attack you.” You whispered and closed your eyes tiredly.

There was understanding in her eyes because the fact of the matter was everyone else on the team would have done the same. “And I appreciate what you did so much, just… can you try and be more careful? Maybe just tackle me next time instead of jumping in front of me?” She asked with a small smile and a playful twinkle in her eye.

You gave a weak chuckle at her words. “I guess I could have done that.”

“That’s all we ask. Now bring it in.” Natasha said gently as she opened her arms in offering which you gladly accepted as you wrapped your arms around her tightly.

For a moment Natasha just held you until you spoke up, “Do you think she’s still mad at me?” you mumbled into her shoulder.

She rubbed your back soothingly in response, “I would give her a little more time before you try to talk to her. She seemed pretty upset when I saw her.” You sighed defeatedly at her response. “How’s about this… We watch an episode of that one show you like, the one that’s in black and white, then you can go talk to her?”

You sighed again but eventually agreed to her terms even though you typically only watched the show with Wanda. “I’ve told you the name of the show so many times, Nat.” You berated playfully as you grabbed the remote and turned on the show. Unable to focus your thoughts on anything other than the woman you loved. 

As soon as the credits rolled you couldn’t have been happier to shut off the TV. You turned to face Natasha who was already looking at you. She just shook her head at you with an amused smile on her lips. “Go get ‘em, tiger. Just remember what we talked about. Being more careful. I’m sure she’ll appreciate that.”

With a nod and one final hug you rushed out of your room and towards the elevator, eagerly hitting the button to the roof. You absolutely hated fighting with Wanda and in hindsight you couldn’t blame her for being upset. You would be upset if roles we reversed too.

When you exited the elevator and stepped hesitantly onto the roof of the compound you couldn’t help the nerves that blossomed in your chest at the thought that she may still be upset with you. That she still wouldn’t want to talk to you. You didn’t see her immediately which confused you. Maybe she wasn’t on the roof after all, you thought to yourself as you wandered a little further in. 

That’s when you found her. 

The sight before you made your heart drop as a pained gasp escaped your lips. 

The gasp was enough to get Wanda’s attention as she immediately pulled back from Vision and met your heartbroken stare. You both stared at each other for a moment until you schooled your features and nodded your head numbly. The fact that she had done this in a place that had been declared ‘ours’ broke your heart even more. You glanced at her one more time before you spun on your heel to head back in the direction of the elevator.

The movement seemed to snap Wanda out of her shock as she sprang into action. “Y/n! Wait!” Wanda shouted after you, her voice cracking. You could hear the frantic sound of her footsteps following you and the sound of Vision flying away.

Clenching your jaw, you kept walking, ignoring the desperation in her voice. Before you could board the elevator, she caught you by the arm and spun you around to face her. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks and her lips trembled when you finally looked at her. You shut your eyes tightly, not wanting to look into the eyes you once believed held your world. 

“Please, let me explain.” She said, a sob escaping her lips.

Faintly you shook your head, fighting to keep your voice steady as you opened your eyes once again. “I don’t think there’s anything to explain.” You mumbled weakly as you yanked your arm out of her hold and tried to turn away again, but she simply took hold of your arm again, her grip tightening.

“I love you!” She cried frantically, desperate to get you to stay. 

Her words that used to comfort you now stirred resentment within you. “Don’t say that!” You shouted back at her as tears began to fall from your eyes. “You don’t get to say that anymore! You lost that privilege when you decided to cheat on me!” 

Suddenly all the fight drained out of you as though saying it out loud made it all the more real. You covered your face with your hands, quiet sobs falling from your lips. Words you never thought you’d ever say following. “You cheated on me…” 

Wanda collected you in her arms and for a moment you let her as you cried into her shoulder. Her own sobs shook her body as her hold around you tightened. “I’m sorry, Y/n, I’m so sorry.”

“Why’d I let you in my heart?” You whispered more to yourself than her.

The tears that fell from her eyes fell more rapidly as she buried her head into the crook of your neck, her body shaking slightly. “Please, Y/n…”

Mustering all your strength, you pushed her away. “How many times?” you asked, your eyes on the floor because you weren’t sure you even wanted to know.

 Once again, she reached out to you, but you merely stepped back. “Answer me, Wanda.”

“Twice,” She whimpered, “But it was only a kiss!” she added hastily as if she hoped that would make it better.

Your eyes clenched shut in pain. “Do you love him?” The silence that followed was all the answer you needed as you opened your eyes to meet hers once more. 

“I love you.” She whispered.

“I think we’re done here. I truly wish you happiness with him... since you were willing to set fire to what we had for him.”

Before she could react, you stepped on the elevator and shut the door, sliding down the wall as soon as she disappeared from your view. Sobs wracking your body. The shattered remnants of your heart lying on the floor with you.

Since your relationship had formed in the haze of summer on this exact same roof, it seemed only poetic that it ended there too.

Part 5! I had such a hard time with this chapter, I honestly started and re-started it at least 3 times. Don’t kill me though, it’s a journey and I’d say we’re only about half way through. You never know what will happen. As always, hope whoever is reading enjoyed! Thoughts and comments always welcome. :)

[professorrw]

Last Chance, a Remus Lupin One-Shot

Pairing: female reader x young Remus

Warnings: protected sex, loss of innocence, swearing, alcohol, partying

A/N: BOTH PARTIES ARE 18! This takes place during their graduation from Hogwarts, so May of 1978, which means Remus was 18. (This is a repost because the tags weren’t working)

It’s graduation. Seven years at Hogwarts over in the blink of an eye. It felt like just yesterday when you met Sirius, Peter, James, Lily, and Remus. Oh Remus. You’ve liked him since third year. You’re about to graduate and he still doesn’t know. Merlin, what was keeping you from telling him? Pure fear, that’s what. Because what if he doesn’t like you? What if you ruin your friendship?

Maybe, just maybe, you could work up the courage to tell him today before it’s too late. 

You looked around at your friends at the Gryffindor table, waiting for Professor Dumbledore to begin the graduation ceremony. Lily could tell how nervous you were, seeing that your hands were shaking a lot. She was the only person that knew you liked Remus. She was also the person that encouraged you to tell him today. 

Remus noticed that you were shaking too, but assumed it was from having to walk in front of all those people. That wasn’t the reason though, you weren’t afraid of large crowds. You were, however, afraid of messing up a perfectly fine friendship. But were you content with just being friends?

The boys were chatting about their plans for the night. Sirius and James want to have a huge afterparty in the dorm as their last hurrah. Tonight would be your last night at Hogwarts, the last night in your second home. So many memories filled the halls you could write a book about all the mischief you six got up to.

The attention was drawn to the head of the room as Dumbledore began to speak. “My dear students, you have accomplished a great feat, school!” There were a few laughs from the crowd of seventh years. “I commend you for getting thus far. You have a journey ahead of you, and I would hope Hogwarts has prepared you to take on each and every one of them.”

Dumbledore got through the rest of his speech then called up each of the graduating students to give them a certificate and handshake. Lily was the image of grace as she walked through the tables and up to the front of the room. The claps from you and your friends were louder than the rest of the Halls.

Remus’ name was called a while later and when he was in front of everyone James and Sirius wolf whistled at him, causing a light blush to spread across his cheeks. You giggled at the sight. Godric, he was adorable.

The rest of the names were called and the rest of the professors spoke before everyone was dismissed. This last night was supposed to be for packing but that wasn’t what the Marauders had in mind. As soon as they crossed the threshold of the Gryffindor common room they bolted to their room, gathering up everything they would need for the party. It was yours and Remus’ job to get the word out.

While Lily, James, Sirius and Peter set up, you went down to the dungeons to tell the Slytherins. Most were hesitant when you invited them, but you left it to the more rambunctious of the group to convince the others. You arrived back at your common room door soon after. 

When you entered the common room was transformed. Red and gold streamers were everywhere, the couches and chairs were pushed to the side to make a sitting area sort of thing, and there was a disco ball floating around the ceiling. That had to be Lily’s idea. 

Peter was putting out drinks on the desks meant for studying. He had a small variety of alcohol already set out with plastic cups stacked next to them. Leftovers from the feast earlier were also splayed across the tables. Never underestimate the gathering abilities of Peter.

You went up to the girls’ dormitory to change clothes. Lily was already there, shuffling through her trunk. She was only half dressed, so she must have been looking for some bottoms.

You ruffled through the different outfits you had and decided on your favorite one. The party wasn’t going to be formal, that was for sure. You still looked good though, tonight you would confess your feelings toward Remus. He was your closest friend other than Lily. If he didn’t take your feelings well you didn’t know what you would do. You pushed that thought aside and decided to think positively.

You went back downstairs and helped decorate for a while before people slowly started to trickle in. First to arrive were the Hufflepuffs. Dispute their innocent image, they could really party. The Ravenclaws followed after, leaving the Slytherins for last, which was typical. No matter how many parties were held, they would always be reluctant to show.

The common room was soon packed and music swelled from the walls. The party was in full swing within minutes. Sirius was already on top of a table, swinging around his discarded shirt. James hollered at him from below, “Dance Black!”

Following orders, Sirius started to dance on top of the table. He pulled out all the moves, rotating in a circle for all to see. You and Lily laughed from the couch, sipping on some random beverage. It was only seven, and you didn’t want to drink so early. That wasn’t the case for Sirius, who already had a cup of beer before anyone arrived.

Two or three hours in, you had danced with everyone in the group, including Remus. It was amazing to feel so carefree. You didn’t know when you would feel like this again, so you relished the feeling. You didn’t have a set time to tell Remus, you were waiting for the right moment. 

After being on your feet for so long, you sat back down. Lily walked over with you and sidled up in the seat next to yours. She looked at you expectantly, “So how’s it going? How’re you feeling? Are you ready?” 

“I’m feeling great. I’ve danced, I’m loosened up, I think I’m ready.” You nodded your head to solidify your answer. Thinking too hard about what you were about to do would only make you nervous.

“Well go! There he is!” She pointed to the drink table where Remus was.

“I’m gonna do it,” you said. You got up and confidently walked over to where he stood. When you got next to him he looked over and smiled.

“Enjoying the party?”

“Yeah it’s super fun,” you paused before continuing, “Actually I have something to tell you.”

He raised his eyebrows to acknowledge he was listening. You weren’t going to tell him in the middle of all that chaos.

“Not here. Could we go to your room?” You bit the inside of your cheek, trying not to look as nervous as you were beginning to feel. 

Remus was visibly confused for a second, brows furrowing to give you a questioning look before he agreed. You followed him through the crowd and up the stairs to the dorms.

You closed the door behind you before sitting next to Remus on his bed.

“What do you need to tell me? Is it bad? Are you okay? If you don’t want to be down there you can stay up here, I’ll keep you company.” He was genuinely concerned at this point.

You let out air through your nose and shook your head. “No, nothing like that. It’s actually about you. Remus I- I have liked you for so long. I’m sorry I waited so long to tell you because now we’ve graduated and we’re about to leave and-” You rush through it a bit too fast, but Remus heard every word you said.

“Really? James didn’t put you up to this? Because if he didn’t, Y/N I feel the same way.” He basically whispers as his face moves towards yours. His lips are centimeters away from your when you answer him.

“James didn’t put me up to anything, he doesn’t even know I like you.” You speak in the same hushed voice as Remus did. Your gaze drifts from his eyes to his lips, anticipating what's about to happen.

He doesn’t even respond, instead closes the distance between you. His lips meet with yours in a kiss that makes you melt. You waited so long for this moment. All your worries slipped away, your mind focusing on Remus and the way you're connected. 

His hands go to your waist, pulling you into him. Your mouths mold and work together, tongues sliding against one another’s. When you finally pull away you're completely in awe. You had no idea how this night was going to play out, but it was fantastic so far. You decided to take a chance, “Remus I want you.”

“Are you sure?” Remus was ever the gentleman, he didn’t want to push you into anything too quickly. He looked at you with the same gentle concern that made your heart skip a beat. 

“I’m positive.” That much you were sure. You didn’t plan on taking things that far, but it felt right. Besides, it was your last night in Hogwarts. There was no telling where you guys were going to be next. You hoped you would all still be close. James and Lily were in a serious relationship so they would be together of course.

Remus nodded and unbuttoned his shirt. You took that as a sign to also start undressing. You stood next to each other, stripping until you were both naked. You admired Remus’ body, every single inch of it. Your eyes danced over the scars that littered his body. You stepped closer to him, hands around his shoulders while his hands rested on your hips.

You pressed a kiss to his cheek before sliding onto the bed. Remus’ eyes trailed after you before the rest of his body followed. Before getting in he stopped at his bedside table. He opened the drawer and pulled out two things. One was a little square packet, a condom, and the other was a bottle, lube.

“Has he done this before?” you wondered. He saw your questioning eyes and decided to ask the question that hadn’t yet slipped from your mouth. “I don’t- I- It’s from Sirius. I haven’t done this before.” 

That made you feel slightly relieved. He was a virgin. That meant you weren’t the only one that was inexperienced.

“Me either. I don’t think I would have if given the chance though. Not when I liked you so much. It wouldn’t have felt right.” While you talked he opened up the tiny packet and pulled out the rolled up condom. He sat on the bed in between your open legs. He put it on his nice sized cock. You watched his every movement with anticipation. You had no idea Remus could make you feel so riled up when he hadn’t even touched you.

He squeezed the lube onto his hand before smearing it on his covered dick. Your breath hitched as he slowly inserted himself into your pussy. Remus’ head lolled back as he began to move in and out slowly. Your eyes shuttered shut as he picked up the pace. For your first time, it didn’t hurt as much as you were told it would.

“Remus, you feel so good,” you breathed out. He groaned as his fingers dug into your thighs. You moaned as he hit a spot in you that sent ripples of pleasure throughout your body. His pace wasn’t perfect but it was enough to get you both close to your orgasms. Remus heard the difference in sounds when he hit your g-spot and tried to do it again. After multiple more thrusts you could feel your body reaching its climax.

Remus gave a particularly throaty groan as his dick twitched inside you. You couldn’t feel his cum but you knew what happened. Even after his orgasm he didn’t stop, wanting you to reach ecstasy as well. 

His next thrusts were sloppy but they still pushed you further nonetheless. It didn’t take much more. You gripped his forearm as your walls clenched and milked his condom-covered dick. You moaned one last time as Remus rode out your high. He pulled out after a few slow thrusts, collapsing by your side.

You were both breathing  heavily against one another. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you against him. Your cheek rested against his bare chest. The quick thud of his heartbeat was mesmerizing.

“I’m going to miss you,” you whispered.

“You don’t have to; I’m not going anywhere.”

Permanent Taglist: @bellamy1998​ 

[the-cult-of-russo]

Hues of Gold

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader 

Request : do a billy russo x reader with the reader having an art job and them meeting due to that somehow

Warnings: none 

A/N: Here it is, my first Billy x Reader. I'll be getting to the prompts in my inbox too but still feel free to send me more requests. You don't need to pick from the prompt lists, if you have an idea then just send it on over. Nothing is off limits and I write for every type of Billy. S1 Billy, S2 Billy, pre-show Billy, all the AU Billy's you can think of lmao Gimme them all.

You tilted your head a little, eyes sweeping across the paint on the easel in front of you. The piece was coming together nicely. You'd started at humble beginnings with your artwork as a street artist. You hadn't been able to afford art school and you didn't feel like people needed to if they just felt it. And you did. You'd been a hit with your expressionist art and before you knew it, you were getting wealthy clients and more money. Now you had your own little studio with an apartment on top. It wasn't flashy but it was yours and you loved it. The work you thought was good enough for your new clients would go up on your website, they'd buy them and then you'd send them off to their new home. It was simple and you got to spend every day painting to your heart's content. 

You bit your lip as you mixed two golds together to get the perfect shade you were after. Some of your pieces were weirder than others, others being more realistic or using average colors. Some of them were darker in theme or used more vibrant colors with looser shapes. It was all dependent on how you felt when making it. The one currently being worked on wasn't finished by any means. Oil paint often required many layers and getting it to dry in between time. But if someone was to gauge your mood by this one, well… they'd say you were most likely sexually frustrated. It was a naked woman laying on her back on rumpled sheets, just her torso and a bit of her leg to leave the rest to the imagination. Her male counterpart was pressed up against her as the bodies melded together, his hand gripping her thigh. The colors you'd picked for this were hues of red, orange, yellow and gold, making it look like the couple were set ablaze. The epitome of passion. It was coming along nicely. 

Your work cell rang breaking you from your thoughts. You gave your hand a quick wipe on the ratty towel next to you as you picked it up, answering with your full name. 

"Hi, I'm lookin' for some art and I've heard you're the girl to go to," a smooth voice came through the phone. The fact that someone recommended this guy to you made you smile. It always did. It meant people were pleased with your work. 

"I am. Have you checked the website? That's where my current pieces are," you murmured softly.

"I did but… I haven't really found the one yet. And a friend of mine tells me you've got a bunch of exclusive stuff at your studio," he replied.

You glanced around your studio. He wasn't wrong entirely although you wouldn't call them exclusives. You'd call them rejects if you were honest. Your new clientele were more demanding and it made you second guess your pieces more often than you'd like to admit. This led to many of them finding a home in your studio instead. You were unsure who the man's friend was as typically you didn't have people come to the studio. It was a very rare occurrence and you couldn't imagine him being interested in any of these pieces. But a customer was a customer.

"You're more than welcome to come down and look at them. I'm not sure you'll find what you're looking for though, I've kept them offline because they're in the reject pile," you snorted wryly. His smooth chuckle was soothing as it hit your ears and you nibbled on your lower lip.

"Well I'll be the judge of that," you didn't know what he looked like but you could hear the smirk in his voice. You told him the address before hanging up.

You were a little nervous of someone coming into your space and judging the art you'd already deemed not worth putting up for sale, but you decided to roll with it. It was too late now and it wouldn't be a good look for your business to tell the guy he couldn't come. You decided to continue the piece you were working on to keep your mind occupied, having no idea just when the man would decide to show, or if he would at all. 

It was an hour later when the large wooden door knocked and you called out that it was open. You stood up and wiped your hands on the towel again, not that it helped much. You were sure you had paint on every part of you, it was half the fun of making art. The man walked in and you were a little surprised by just how handsome he was. He was dressed to the nines in a suit with his hair slicked back, the sides shorter than the top. He certainly looked like your usual clients but you couldn't remember any of your fancier clients ever bothering to call you, never mind actually coming to see your other pieces. 

The smile he shot you was disarming and you replied in kind as you walked over to him. You reached out your hand to shake with his before retracting it rapidly when you noticed just how much of a poor job the towel had done. He seemed amused if his chuckle was anything to go by and you snorted.

"Uh… welcome. Feel free to look around. I haven't really got prices for these since I wasn't gonna sell them so I'll settle for whatever," you shrugged with a smile. Anything was better than nothing that you were getting by keeping them here. Besides, you were pretty sure he wouldn't even like any of them. 

You didn't want to crowd him as he looked around so you went right back to your easel and sat on the stool. He walked around leisurely, stopping at each piece and looking at them. Your eyes kept flitting to him without meaning to, you weren't sure if it was how attractive he was or the nerves of having someone assessing your work this way. Maybe both. He didn't strike you as an art kind of guy honestly. Most of the rich clients weren't, they just wanted a statement piece for their walls for people to talk about. There wasn't anything wrong with that of course, but you'd be a liar if you said you didn't miss it back as a street artist when people bought a piece simply because it spoke to them and they loved it. Onwards and upwards though, right? 

"So… who's the friend? That told you I had stuff here?" You asked after a moment, unable not to because your curiosity was getting the better of you. He glanced over at you from where he stood and smiled. 

"Curtis," he replied. Your eyebrows raised a little with that information. You'd met Curtis back when you were a street artist and he bought something for the group he was running. He was a nice guy and he checked in every so often with you. You wouldn't say you were friends but you really liked him and you had some good conversations. You couldn't imagine Curtis being friends with this man though.

Noticing the shock on your face, the man chuckled.

"We served together when I was in the marines. He's a good guy, one of my closest friends," he supplied. 

"You were a marine?" You hadn't meant to ask like it was such an absurd notion but it came out anyway. You just hadn't expected it He looked amused though and he nodded.

"Yeah. When I got out I set up my own private military firm, ex military people with no purpose. I give 'em somethin' to fight for. A brotherhood. We're doin' pretty well," he had a bright smile on his face, gesturing to his suit when he said they were doing well and you found yourself smiling back. 

"You must be really proud. It's amazing that you're doing that for them. I mean… I never served or anything but Curtis tells me about some of the guys from his group sometimes. I bet you really help them," you said sincerely. You had no clue what it must be like to serve and you knew you didn't have the stomach for it. But some of the things Curtis had told you had made you sad and you were impressed that the man had set up something like this on his own. Something to help others just like him. He shot you another smile before going back to looking at the artwork and you couldn't take your eyes off him. 

Figuring he'd catch you looking at him, you forced yourself to focus on adding more gold to the art you were working on. You weren't sure how long had passed until he spoke again and it startled you. You'd almost forgotten he was there.

"This one is… interesting. I like this one," he mused, eyes on the work on your easel as he stood beside you. Your cheeks tinged a little pink at the phrasing he used but you recovered quickly. 

"Thanks. I like this one too but… it won't end up on the website. The last erotic piece I put on there apparently offended people," you said with a wry grin. He laughed, the sound low and short but his eyes went to you then. Holy shit, his eyes are… wow. 

"Well it definitely doesn't offend me. How long will it take to finish?" He asked as his obsidian orbs went back to the painting.

"A couple of days at most. It's almost done and then it needs to dry and be sealed," it was nice talking about your work with someone, even as mundane as when it would be complete. You missed that interaction since you got the studio.

"I'll take it. How much?" he flashed you a smile that made your stomach flip around on you and you bit your lip with a smile back. 

"That's up to you," you shrugged. You never bothered putting prices on pieces you knew you wouldn't sell and you hadn't expected to sell this piece. Even the prices on the website felt too much for you but it was born from the first wealthy clients and what they thought your pieces were worth. You just rolled with it, it wasn't like they'd miss it, right? 

He hummed, the sound deep in his throat as he got out his wallet. You mused he must want it mailed to him when it was done for him to pay now rather than later but you were happy it was cash and not card. He handed you some bills and you counted it quickly, eyes widening as you blinked up at him.

"I can't take this. This is more than the pieces online," you frowned, holding out the money back to him. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, shrugging his shoulders.

"You said it was up to me," he replied with an easy smirk. Would you really sit there and argue with him about getting more money for it? No. But you were shocked he thought it was worth that much. 

"I… thank you, sir," you smiled, stuffing the money into your pocket. 

"Billy," he clarified, smirk still in place. 

"Billy," you corrected with a shy smile. Something glittered in his dark eyes as you tested the sound of his name and he raked his teeth over his lower lip. Despite the fact you'd already given him your full name on the phone, you gave him your first name again  and he mimicked you as he tested it out. Why did it sound so good coming from his mouth? 

You cleared your throat, his intense stare was getting a little too much and you stood, walking over to the big table against the wall, grabbing a pen and pad. 

"You can leave your details, I can mail it to you when it's done," you handed them to him and he twirled the pen around in his long fingers with ease.

"I'll leave my number. I'd like to come pick it up when it's done, if that's okay?" He asked as he scribbled his name and digits down. 

"Are you sure? It's not an issue shipping it out," you replied as he passed you back the pen and pad. 

"I'm sure. It gives me an excuse to see you again," he smirked, dark eyes boring into yours as your cheeks turned pink. He chuckled and with that he was out the door and you were left stood there gaping where he went. Did he really just…? 

You stood there a moment longer, a smile working its way onto your face before you shook your head and sat back down at your easel. You glanced at the painting before setting to work and getting it finished. You couldn't wait for it to be done so Billy would come back. He was intriguing and you found yourself thinking of him as you continued your work. 

[fenheart87]

Pain of the Tongue

This is not for my SoulTember challenge but the idea is you feel the pain of your soulmate. Marinette feels a familiar pain in her tongue but it fades quicker than last time. Now she has an idea and some suspicions as to who her soulmate is.

Marinette knew she was being rude by ignoring her best friend but this was way more important. The this being the mouth of one Luka Couffaine. It had been bugging her ever since Juleka let it slip that her ever so lovable dumbass of a brother and his walking fashion hazzard disaster of a best friend had done something stupid and Luka had bit through his tongue. The same day hers had started with a sharp pain that faded into a dull one that meant her soulmate had done something to theirs. Which meant that her soulmate could be Luka. Or wishful thinking but she had to prove it one way or another.

"Girl you stare at his mouth any longer and he might just offer his lips to you."

"I want to kiss him but that's so not what this is about." A beat of silence passed and Marinette realized she said that out loud. "Juleka said a couple weeks ago that Luka did something and bit through his tongue right?"

"Uh-huh?" The unsaid I'm not following was loud and clear in the reporter's tone.

"The same day I had a really bad and lingering pain in my tongue. I was thinking about it and a couple years ago I had a sharp unexplainable pain that lasted about four weeks. Looking it up back then to find answers, I found some piercing care websites and the typical healing time frame is four to six weeks. I think Luka has his tongue pierced and he's my soulmate."

"Okay wow, hold on girl." Alya pulled up her notepad on her phone and started a list. "Evidence we can prove please."

"He never shows his tongue, ever. When he laughs, it's always behind his hand or just a quiet chuckle that doesn't show it. Never sticks it out when Juleka does it to him. Juleka always mentions his obsession with rocky road ice cream and how he was ready to die when he couldn't have it for a month. Luka hurt his tongue the same day mine hurt. He's always careful of what he eats, using mouthwash after meals as recommended on those piercing sites."

"Clearly you need to be the Ladyblogger and not me. So what are you going to do? Just bat your pretty blue eyes and lay one on him?"

"Maybe but I need proof first."

"I gotta say, I'm glad we're over the Adrien days."

"Me too Alya, me too."

--

The plan was simple: try and make Luka show his tongue. The only problem is she was making him nervous with all her staring and Juleka was noticing. Marinette forgot how focused on something she could be but decided to tone it down otherwise he was going to think she had an unhealthy fascination with his mouth. Which okay she did but not like in a creepy way. Whatever.

"Did Luka do something?"

"Not recently, no."

"Okay… Can I ask why you're staring at my brother like he's a piece of meat?"

"I'm not meaning to! I mean I am staring but like it's for a reason!" She groaned, this wasn't sounding any better by the second. "You can help me. Do you know if Luka has his tongue pierced?"

"Why?" Marinette really hated how all the Couffaines had that stare into your soul look.

"I've been thinking about it and two years ago my tongue had this sharp pain that lasted about a month and then last week it was kind of similar and it seems when Luka hurt his tongue mine started hurting which you know soulmates share each other's pain and it's possible he's mine?" That was tame as far as her rambles normally would go and now she just had to wait.

"So you've been trying to catch… His tongue?"

"Yes."

"You could just ask him"

"I know!"

"Or kiss him, see if it's there." The purple loving girl shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal either way.

"Juleka!"

"No need to sound so scandalized. So maybe he does and maybe he doesn't. How are you going to prove it?"

"Haven't gotten that far."

--

Luka grabbed another popsicle from the freezer, it was like back when he had gotten his tongue pierced. He had had it checked out and nothing was wrong with the piercing or the slight scar so the only conclusion he could come to was something to do with his soulmate. Which was weird to think about because it caused a trill of happiness and an equal response of upset. He still held feelings for a certain pink designer after all.

"Oh my God! Have you seen it?! Have you seen it?" Alya's voice could be heard before her footsteps clamored across the deck. Signing, he grabbed a large cup of ice and took that too. They had band practice but his mouth pain was killing him.

"What are you talking about Alya?" Oh hey, Marinette was here too.

"Ladybug! I had a short interview with her and she got her tongue pierced!"

"What?" Okay that wasn't his voice but Juleka was keeping the convo going and he stayed where he was just out of sight for a moment.

"Yeah! She got her tongue pierced! I asked her why she wasn't talking as much in the last few akuma battles and her face looked like she was in pain so she just stuck out her tongue and then yo-yo'd away!"

"That's cool but it must be painful." Marinette was coming around the corner and paused as she saw Luka, raising a fine arched brow as if waiting for an answer.

"It was so cool! I almost missed it on camera but look Rose!"

"Hey Marinette."

"Hey Luka, I have an important question. For tongue piercings at what point is kissing considered okay?"

"Four to six weeks depending on the person and their healing ability. Sometimes its less and if you take good care of it then usually a month as long its not tonsil hockey battle." The response was a knee jerk reaction and recited the exact same words his piercer gave him.

"Hm well I guess I can live with that for now." Why was she getting closer and why- Oh. Oh. Marinette was kissing him. Wait. Kissing him?! Luka froze up and a blush took over his face, causing the sneaky girl to giggle as she pulled back. Patting his cheek with a shy smile, Marinette promptly stuck out her tongue to reveal a bar with two balls the color of Viperion's suit.

"Wait, what?" Luka.exe has crashed.

"You work on getting your brain working again and maybe you can get a second chance at that kiss later."

Oh hell.

[brywrites]

Lock and Key I

Summary: In which Spencer Reid stumbles upon a GED class at Millburn and feels something like hope for the first time in weeks.

[Series Masterlist]

....

The prison library is a haven, for the few minutes he’s allowed to visit twice a week. It’s quiet, secluded, and full of his favorite things – books. The selection is nowhere near as nice as his personal collection at home, or the public library, but it’s better than nothing. Without words, he’d go mad. He needs stories to keep him sane, to give him a route he can escape by.

Today though, he’s startled to walk into the small space and find twelve other prisoners inside – accompanied by a face he’s never seen before. A woman. What’s even more surprising is that she doesn’t wear the uniform of a guard or an employee. Instead she’s in Converse sneakers and a lavender polka-dotted dress. It’s been so long since he saw that color – any bright color, really. But it’s his favorite and it isn’t until that moment that the realizes how much he’s missed the simplest of things. The sight of his favorite color. Bright images in dull spaces. Things that look hopeful.

Reid isn’t sure what’s going on, but the other prisoners seem to be too absorbed in the books to notice him. Just as he’s thinking he can back away quietly and return tomorrow, she turns around, smiling at the sight of him.

“Well hello there!” she says. “Are you Luis?”

Reid tilts his head, confused. How does this stranger know his friend? “Uh, no, no I’m not. I’m sorry, who are you?”

Her smile drops, though she doesn’t seem annoyed. Merely disappointed. “Oh. They told me Luis would be joining us today, but he never showed up. I’m Y/N. I’m one of the teachers here.”

This is the first he’s heard of such a thing. “You teach?”

She nods. “That’s right! I teach a couple of different groups – a few college classes here and there, a resume workshop. This is my GED class. We’re starting a unit on British Literature so they’ve all come to pick out a novel. You must be new here,” she notes, looking him over. He can feel himself flush under her gaze. It’s been a while since someone looked at him just to see him and not to evaluate his potential as a threat or a tool. “If you’d like, you can join the class. I’ve got plenty of open seats.”

“Oh no, I don’t need a GED.”

“It’s never too late to graduate,” she says. Then, considering him, “But that’s not what you meant is it?”

The way she’s studying him makes him nervous, though he’s certain it’s the same way he’s studied suspects and victims, trying to see beyond the obvious and understand what lies beneath. How strange, to be on the other side of that stare. “I’ve graduated high school already,” he informs her, hoping he doesn’t sound aloof. “And college. Actually, I hold three PhDs.”

“In what?”

“Mathematics, chemistry, and engineering.”

Y/N holds his gaze, taking this in. It’s as though she’s trying to decide whether or not to believe him. He figures in this environment, perhaps it’s not unusual to be told blatant lies by some prisoners. Delusion and paranoia aren’t uncommon. To teach in a place like this, she would have to be insightful and observant. For whatever reason, she must decide to trust him, because she smiles again.

“Well that’s rather impressive. You’re more qualified than I am. Just a Master’s for me.”

Reid decides against commenting in the irony of the situation, that despite his qualifications he’s nothing but a prisoner here. The same category as every drug-dealer, murderer, petty thief, and gangbanger. No better. But the way she looks at him, it at least makes him feel normal again. She looks at him like he’s a human being, with no disdain or disgust in her gaze, and no air of superiority in her voice.

“What did you study?” he asks her.

“English literature in college, education in grad school. I specialized in literature and languages, though I’m not too shabby when it comes to history. If it’s the STEM field you’ll be wanting though, you’ll have to check in on Tuesdays and Thursdays, my colleague teaches those classes.”

Glancing down at her watch, her eyes widen. “Goodness, we’re almost out of time.” She turns to the other inmates and instructs them to make their choices before she has to dismiss class for the day. To him, she adds, “It was nice to meet you – um…”

“Doct-” he begins, before stopping himself. This isn’t a normal introduction. Here, he holds no title, no position of importance. “Er, Spencer. My name is Spencer.”

“Well, Doc –” He tries not to smile at her casual acknowledgment – “if you ever change your mind, we meet Mondays and Wednesdays in room W15 during the afternoon rec slot.”

Despite having no need to attend a GED class, and for reasons he cannot quite explain, he finds himself slipping into that very room on Wednesday afternoon. Y/N glances up from the whiteboard she writes on, faltering for only a brief moment when she catches sight of him slipping into an empty seat in the back row, but she carries on. They’re talking about common themes in Brit Lit, and she’s explaining the Canterbury Tales, which they’ll be reading parts of. From what Reid gathers, there aren’t enough copies of books for them to all read the same novel, but she’s printed out large sections of the Tales for them to read together. It’s familiar, and for someone whose life has largely revolved in academia, it’s soothing to be in an environment where learning is taking place and discussion is happening. Even though he sits silently in the back row, observing.

The other inmates have all picked out books to read on their own and report on, from King Lear to Brave New World. A few have even selected Bronte and Austen novels, which Y/N applauds them for. When she divides them into groups to read and discuss “The Knight’s Tale,” she slips over to join Reid in the back of the room.

“I didn’t think you’d make it, Doc,” she tells him.

He shrugs. “I – I’ve kind of missed the classroom. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to sit in. If you don’t mind, of course!”

“Not at all.” She smiles, dismissing his worry with a wave of her hand. “The more the merrier. Besides, it’s rare that I have students with such an extensive education beforehand.  You’ll need to file an enrollment slip though, just for official records.”

She hands him a piece of paper and a commissary pen. While he doesn’t need the credit, he could use the normalcy. Discussions about books with other people in a space that feels a little safer – even if it doesn’t look like the classrooms he’s used to. The walls are stark white and bare save for three posters of famous writers and scientists. The two windows have thick bars on them. The desks are bolted to the floor. Every man in the room wears prison issued blues. But there is a whiteboard and a bookshelf and a clock. And Y/N, in a bright blue turtleneck. It makes him think of the sky, which he only gets a glimpse of for a few hours each week. Suddenly, she’s become the most vivid connection to the outside world.

“How long have you been teaching here?” he asks as he writes down answers to the form’s printed questions.

“Almost three years now. It started with just GED classes, but some volunteer programs have helped us bring new opportunities to the guys. It took me a while to convince the warden, but they’ve been a huge success. So are you coming from another facility? I know we had some transfers last week.”

He shakes his head. “I uh, I haven’t been sentenced yet. But there was overcrowding at the jail so they sent me here.” Reid pauses. “I assumed you would’ve known that.” The inmate records are publicly available. All she’d have to do is search his name or the number on his clothing and everything she needed to know would be right there – his charges, his admission date, his identifying information and that ID photo from his first day.

But she just shrugs. “I make a point not to look up what my students have been convicted of. I let them volunteer that information if they choose to, but I respect their privacy. Besides, I’d like to believe all of us are more than the worst thing we’ve ever done.”

He’s struck by her words. After all, for the last decade his job has been to see people precisely as the worst thing they’ve ever done. To delve deep into those actions and develop a profile of a person on that alone. He has an impulse to dismiss her statement as naïve, but it reminds him of Garcia, of her boundless optimism and her ability to see the best in the world even after looking at the worst of it. That memory and the smile Y/N looks at him with softens the heart he’s been carefully hardening since he arrived here. And so rather than dampen her spirit he asks, “Does it matter if I’ve read all of the books you’re discussing already?”

Her eyes widen ever so slightly with surprise. “All of them?”

“My mother was a literature professor,” he says. “And I just really like books.”

“Well, typically I’d encourage you to take the courses we offer for college credit but they’re full. Since you already have your GED, I suppose we could treat it like you’re auditing. It might help some of the guys to have someone with a little more academic experience…” She trails off and then gasps. “Oh wait! How would you feel about being the TA for the class? It’s been so long since I had one for the GED classes.”

“Like… grade papers and things?”

“No, not like that,” she says. “There are strict rules about who sees what here. Being a TA for me would be less typical TA duties and more of mentoring the other students, helping me clean up after class, re-shelving books, things like that. It’s not an official job so there’s no pay, but you would get good time credit.”

Though he doesn’t know what his sentence here will be, if he’s sentenced at all, he knows that any good time credit he can obtain to reduce the length of it is worth it. And so he says, “Okay.”

Y/N’s eyes light up. Her smile is the prettiest thing he’s seen since he got here. “Perfect! Oh, this is so exciting. I’m glad you joined us.” When he finishes the paperwork, she leads him to an empty seat at a group of tables.

“No, no, you’ve got it all wrong, Porkchop. It’s a love story,” one of the men is saying to another.

“Come on now, Xavier, you know the rules,” Y/N interrupts. “Nicknames stay outside the classroom. We use first names here.”

“Sorry, Teach,” Xavier says. He tries again. “It’s a love story, Carl.”

“That’s more like it. Carl, I can’t wait to hear your response. But first, I’m going to have Spencer join your group, alright? He’s our newest student and our TA for the class. He’s read a lot of these books so if you’re having a hard time or want to talk to someone about the material outside of class time, he’s a great person to ask.”

The group welcomes him – Xavier, Carl, Richie, and Luis. Reid is grateful to be with Luis, the one person he knows he can consider a friend inside. They talk about Chaucer and “The Franklin’s Tale,” and he’s surprised by the critiques and connections his peers make. Their debate is certainly different than the conversation he’d expect to find at a university class, but their ideas are still insightful and interesting. They make connections to their own lives, to the sacrifices they have made and the power of love they have witnessed firsthand. Mothers who never stop fighting for their appeal cases. Friends who send money so they can afford commissary. The difficulty of skipping commissary so they can send money home to their own families outside.

When their discussion finally winds down, Reid asks, “What’s the rule with nicknames about?”

“It’s Miss Y/N’s way of humanizing people,” Xavier says. “She says when we use first names like that, we’re all equals. But it’s different outside of class. We stick to nicknames because that’s what you do, y’know?” Reid shakes his head. Xavier chuckles. “You’re fresh meat, huh. First time you been down? In here, COs turn you into just a number or a last name. So nicknames inside are a way to hold on to some of your identity. Beyond that, there’s some guys in here you don’t want knowing your name, you feel me?”

“Nicknames gotta be given to you by someone else. Can’t make your own. Course, that means they’re usually a little insulting. They call me Porkchop,” Carl says. “Xavier’s Hammerhead. Richie is Spiders. And Luis, he been christened Slim Jim yesterday at chow. But don’t worry, we’ll find one for you soon.” Reid isn’t sure how to feel about the assurance. He doesn’t want to belong here, doesn’t want to fit in or get comfortable. On the other hand, he may be here for a while. Maybe laying low and finding allies wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

He knows one thing for sure – as he walks out of class, Y/N flashes that bright smile at him again. And for some reason, it makes him feel hopeful. More hopeful than any session with lawyers or judges has made him feel. Monday can’t come soon enough.

[Next]

..

Tags: @calm-and-doctor​ @averyhotchner​

[wordynerdygurl]

Hello Everyone! I've been conspiring with @sammy-jo1977 to create a new series of sorts. We want to explore all those characters that started us on our journey into Fandoms, large and small.

This series will be a place for those ladies and gents who haven't had a lot of attention recently, are old favorites or the ones you can't seem to shake. If you would like to contribute a chapter to this guide, please send me a message! We want to have a full and accurate guide, so we are hoping you'll hop in with your character of expertise!

As an example, I'm posting our first story... I'd love to get your thoughts! With Love - Your WordyNerdyGurl

In The Stacks - A Rupert Giles Story

Author’s Note:  This story is due, in large part, to my beta-bestie @sammy-jo1977 and it is part of the afore mentioned series.  This character might be off television, but his fiery spirit lives on!! As always, reblogs/ shares are encouraged as are comments and love!

Pairing:  Female Reader x Giles (Buffy The Vampire Slayer Series) Summary:  You get up to mischief with the librarian, in the stacks. Warnings:  SMUT ahead.  General Buffy knowledge might help, but is not required.  There’s a moment with a bit of blood, but hopefully nothing too triggering for anyone! I hope you enjoy!

“Mr. Giles?” “Just a moment!”  You heard the clipped British voice answer before being drowned out by the heavy thumping of falling books and the rustling sound of shifting papers hitting the floor. As you stepped further into the Sunnydale High library, you weren’t surprised to see the familiar faces of Buffy, Willow, Xander and Cordelia huddled around a small table.  The friends were practically inseparable and clearly close.  You found their kinship adorable and couldn’t help smiling at the group as you drew closer. “Hello to some of my best students!  And of course, to you Mr. Harris.  How is everyone today?”

Willow, stalwart student and overachiever, smiled broadly, “Pretty good.  I did ace my math quiz and got an A on my English paper… but, well, I only pulled a B on my Bio test and I just know that I could have done better.” Offering her friend a consoling pat to the shoulder, Buffy sighed, “It’s ok, Will.  You’ll get those cells next time!” “Tune in next week as Willow passes her AP Biology test with flying colors, on ‘As Sunnydale Turns’!” Before anyone could counter, Giles came around the corner carrying a sturdy stack of texts which he dropped onto the table as gently as the large load allowed, “As always, you four are the best assistants a librarian could ask for.” “Come on Giles!  You know I only hang out here for the beautiful ladies!” Pinching the bridge of his strong nose, Rupert Giles sighed, “I am well aware of where your interests lie, Xander.” “Please, he can hardly handle being with one beautiful girl.”  That was from Cordelia who pouted prettily, her hand mirror open as she fixed her hair. “My girlfriend, ladies and gentlemen!  Thanks for that, Cordy.” Snapping the case shut, staring down her beau, she smiled, “You’re welcome.” “Uh, Mr. Giles, if I may?”  You hated to interrupt but you had come in with a purpose and you meant to see it through. “Yes, of course, how can I help?” Shuffling your feet, a bit nervous now with the asking, you smiled shyly, “I asked at the local library but they were absolutely no help.  You see, I’m looking for a specific point of reference and I was led to believe that you could help me.” “Oh!  Is it something for our Inner Vision collage boards?  I love working on mine, only… It’s not my fault that I only see dark clouds and blood when I close my eyes.” “Well, Miss Summers, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.  And the best art challenges us to see that beauty.” “I hate to tell you what I see when I close my eyes.”  Xander retorted. “Ah, Mr. Harris, your collage certainly showcases your, ahem, cultured world view.” “Hey!  The Simpsons are fine art, ok?  Just because they don’t live in a museum doesn’t mean they aren’t culture.” Giles, unable to stand by any longer griped, “Xander, I am almost positive that cartoons do not count as culture.” You started to answer but Buffy cut you short, adding, “Don’t mind Giles.  If it doesn’t come out of some dirty, dusty old book it can’t be culture.” “It’s pop culture!  The entertainment of my generation!” It was your turn to cut in, turning to the tweed clad gentleman, “Actually, Mr. Giles, Xander has a point.  Cartoons and animation in general are all increasingly seen as valid forms of art.  No matter what your tomes might tell you.” Smirking a little, he appraised your answer before replying, “Be that as it may, Mr. Harris, the amount of television you consume is corrosive.” Raising his hands in defense, Xander’s head swiveled between the two of you as Willow chimed in, “Give it up, Xander.  You know you’ll never win and besides, I’m pretty sure that animation and art are different.  Wait.  They are, aren’t they?” “When I was in Rome last summer, the very attractive, very Italian tour guide told us that they’ve found painted graffiti on the Coliseum.  It only goes to prove that times change but people don’t.” “Cordy’s right!  About the art, not the dishy Italian.  And they didn’t paint it, they carved it.”  Bouncing her blonde hair decisively, Buffy made her declaration.   “Wouldn’t paint be easier?  I mean, who wants to carry a chisel in order to deface a wall?” “Oh!  Oh!  I know this!  The kind of paint needed to last for centuries hadn’t been invented yet!”  Willow, lifting out of her seat in the excitement of academic excellence, was giddy. “Yes, Willow, that is correct.  In fact, a lot of the graffiti is simple and very crude.  Mostly of the phallus, if memory serves.  I’m sure I can find a documented case in Agrippa if you’ll all just-” And you watched as everyone rolled their eyes as Giles trailed off, lost now in the hunt for a specific volume which could be sited, should further proof be needed. “Ew.  Pass.” “I’m with Buffy here, Giles.  Keep your Grecian graffiti out of my brain.” “I’ll stick with the Simpsons, thank you very much.” “Yes, well.  It’s not Grecian at all, is it?  It’s Roman-” Smiling broadly, Buffy hopped off the table, “Giles is right.  The Greeks were more into orgies!” “Buffy!”  Willow’s shocked response made you cover a laugh with a fake cough. “-Of course, cites are rare.  Very difficult to find documentation.”  Giles, typically, hadn’t given up the search. Cutting through the chatter, louder than it ever needed to be, the period bell sounded. "Ugh.  Gym class for me.  Why is this even a thing?" "I don't know Buffy, I thought you liked showing off in your little shorts and beating the boys at basketball." "Cordy, that's enough.  And while us boys do love looking at you, Buff... we don't love the beatings you regularly deliver." "Well, I have a free period Giles!  Do you want me to stay and -" Snapping shut the leather book he was gripping, Giles caught your eye and turned to the peppy student, "Uh, no Willow, I don't think so.  I believe I need to see what our Art Department is in need of at the moment." With a shrug, Willow began packing up her belongings as Xander slung his back back over his shoulder, "Will, you can come with me.  I'm going to find a nice little corner, under a tree, and sleep away my study hall." “But, I… I could help find the Agrippa?  Or… some other old Roman book?” Xander wrapped an arm around Willow and took Cordelia’s open hand, “But why do that when nothing calls?” "Another fine example of your scholastic aptitude, Mr. Harris", was your parting shot at the foursome as they walked out the door. "Well. Mr. Giles, now that we’re alone… Could I talk you into helping me out?" “Of course, of course.”  Pushing his glasses further up his nose, fixing his light eyes on yours, “What are we looking for?” Sighing deeply, knowing the chances were slim, “I was hoping we would find some examples of Pre-Columbian deity carvings.” Pausing, his look serious, Giles peered at you, “Interesting.  Anything in particular?” “Yes, actually.”  Again you flushed, more than a little flustered at what you were really looking for, “I’m researching fertility icons.” Raising his eyebrows, Giles started, more than a little outside of his comfort zone, but you had to give him credit.  He recovered from the shock rather quickly, “Oh… I… I see.  Well yes, I’m sure we can find… something.  If you’ll follow me, please.” “I’m right behind you.”  Biting into your bottom lip, you smiled to yourself.  Right behind Mr. Giles?  What a place to be.  Giles led the young art teacher through the deepest stacks of the library, pausing once or twice to confirm that she was keeping up with him.  He was ashamed to admit that he had lost travelers a time or two as he stalked through his overstuffed shelves, knowing instinctively where to find the book he needed most. For her, watching the tweed covered bottom of Mr. Giles was no hardship.  True, he was older and tad bit reserved in the best British way, yet she had the sneaking suspicion that underneath all the wool and starched cotton was the heart of a wild man poet. "Uh... just a bit further, I'm afraid.  Books like this, well, I keep them at a greater remove." "It makes sense.  Don't want the kiddos getting a hold of anything too tantalizing." "Of course not.  As you well know, they don't need much help in the libidinous response department." You chuckled softly, nodding as the air around you grew stuffier, "Too true!  You should see what some of them turn in and call art.  It would make a blind man blush." And at the mention of blushing, you were shocked to see a rosy hue grow on Mr. Giles' cheeks.  You liked it.  It reminded you of the high color in a Vermeer painting.  You couldn’t help the flutter in your belly at the thought, "Mr. Giles, have you ever seen a South American fertility statue?" "I can't say that I have... have... have you?"  Something about the idea of you examining an ancient artifact directly connected to sexual congress made his body stir.  "Hmm... Oh, yes.  I was able to study in Mexico for a semester.  Some of the art work is just incredible and the carvings, they're truly magnificent.  Carefully made.  Usually stone or..." swallowing hard, your throat suddenly dry, "hard wood." Breaking fast at the implication in your words, Giles froze in place which caused you to press directly against his broad, vest covered back.  You had a second to register the soft scent of his aftershave; something spicy and masculine, which made your mouth water.  Moaning quietly, you offered a weak apology, “Oh, I am so sorry, Mr. Giles.” Offering you his profile, the bookcases too cramped for him to turn around fully, you saw his sweet smile, “That’s… that’s quite alright.  In fact, we’re here.” Stepping out of the way, you pushed back against the opposite wall, the shelves digging into your spine in the confined space.  Giles bent over, giving you a great view of his backside, as he extracted a slim book from the bottommost ledge.  When he stood up, directly in front of you, the narrow, book covered alcove caused him to stumble. Giles’ chest collided with your own, forcing the air out of your lungs.  Instinctively, you lifted a leg, curling it over the swell of one trousered hip and lifting the hem of your knee length plaid kilt.  Nose to nose in a compromising position, you exhaled a shaky breath as Mr. Giles inhaled, “Close quarters around here.” Shifting under his deceptively hard figure, it was difficult to ignore all the places that were firm to the touch, especially when you could feel so much through the thin barrier of your cotton panties.  Bracing one arm on the obliging shelf biting into your shoulder, Giles pushed back a bit, lifting his weight off of you without making any other attempts to move away.  He was so close now.  Close enough to feel your fuzzy sweater and all the soft skin that trembled beneath it.  Close enough to see the pound of your pulse in your throat.  Close enough that when you licked over your bottom lip Giles could almost taste it too.  And why shouldn’t he?  “Giles?”  Your voice was whisper soft, fanning hotly over the face of your colleague. “Uh… yes?” “I’m stuck.” Blinking behind his thick lenses, it took the normally quick witted Brit a second to process your words, “You’re stuck?” Nodding slowly, your hair curling over your cheek, “My… My skirt.  It’s… uh, caught.  Caught on something behind me.” “Good heavens!  I’m so sorry, let me help you.”  Slowly, Giles lowered your bare leg to the floor, his hand lingering for a second longer than absolutely necessary.  He was still in your space.  Still incredibly close to you. You arched away from the bookcase in an attempt to free yourself with a groan that sounded heady in the stuffy stacks.  All you managed to do was force your sweater covered décolletage into Giles’ chest.  Stammering, a wave of sweat breaking over his brow, “Allow me?” The way your skirt was caught pulled the bright plaid lower on your waist than you would normally consider decent.  It meant that you had a fleshy strip of skin exposed along your tummy and Giles raised his eyebrows by means of asking permission to touch you.  “Yea, yes.  Please!” Tentatively, gently, you felt the strong fingers of Rupert Giles circle your waist and shivered at the unfamiliar familiarity of his touch.  Your chin rested on his shoulder as he worked and you couldn’t help sighing when he opened his hands and pulled you closer.  Under other circumstances you might have misunderstood the embrace but you were both professionals.  Not that you hadn’t considered the handsome book guardian a time or two before. “I… I think we’re almost there.  If you’ll just, maybe to the right?” “Um, sure.”  Following his directions you twisted in his arms, trying hard not to tear your outfit or rub against Giles.  All the close contact and talk of fertility gods had you feeling a little aroused and it wouldn’t do for your colleague to learn that fact. With a triumphant grunt, Giles set you free, only for gravity to kick back in.  The momentum created by your falling took the gentleman and the entire Grollier’s Gothic Almanac collection with you.  A cascade of papers, scrolls and dust rained down on you both. Coughing, aware that you were laying on something softer than the floor, you struggled into a sitting position, swatting away clouds of disintegrated pages, “Rupert?  Are you alright?” From beneath you a rumbling grumble that sounded like, “Yes quite… you?” was heard.  It was then that you realized exactly where you were.  Straddling your friendly neighborhood librarian, surrounded by debris, but safe, all the same. “Oh my!  I’m so-” “No, No.  Please, don’t apologize.  I’ve been meaning to reorganize this section and well, now it seems I’ve got no choice.” “You’ve got a bump.  Right here…”  Just over his right eye a small bruised egg, the color of lilacs, was starting to rise and you gingerly touched the swelling spot. “Then it will match the one on the back of my head perfectly.” “Poor Giles!  All of this injury in the name of research!” “No one ever tells you the dangers one might encounter in the library.” His dry British wit sent you both into giggles and suddenly nothing could be funnier than the moment you were in with Mr. Giles.  Looking up at you, his fingertip traced over your cheek, suddenly serious, “I’m not the only one with a war wound, it appears.” “Oh?”  Your hand covered his as you realized that you had a small cut, bleeding just a little, over the apple of your jaw.  Smoothing his thumb over your injury, Giles soothed you, saying, “Hush now, I think you’ll live.”  And you watched as Giles sucked the drop of scarlet from the pad there, his green eyes on yours, daring you.  Something about it was so… sinful.  So dark.  So alluring. Then his lips were on yours, suddenly and savagely.  Hands, firm and capable, slid under the fluff of your sweater along your spine as you tangled your own in his dark hair.  Giles, drawing you near, was satisfied only when you were splayed over him, writhing between the piles of text and stacks of piled paperbacks, as his tongue plundered your mouth. Trapped by his bent knees at your bottom, Giles helped center you over the firmness of his excitement, teasing you as you moaned, “Oh, oh Rupert!” “Call me Ripper.”  Before the word had left your throat, Giles was sloppily kissing over your neck, sucking lightly on the skin revealed by the v-neck of your top.  Sitting up quickly, you lifted the soft sweater over your head, tossing it away from you without concern.  Like one of the teenagers you might chastise, you then hugged your lover tight, gasping when you felt the nip of teeth over your bra.  “Giles… Uh, Ripper!  Please, go easy?”  With a hard grip on your upper thigh and one hand on the back of your neck, Giles held you still, smirking, “If you wanted easy you shouldn’t have come looking for fertility icons, my dear little art teacher.  And if this particular article of clothing-” He paused long enough to pinch at your hardening nipple before continuing, “-is dear to you, take it off.” Clenching your abdominals at his crass language, more turned on that you could remember, you reached behind you.  Unhooking the pretty scrap of lace and satin, you shyly covered yourself, biting into your bottom lip, “Fine… Ripper.  Should I be worried for my virtue?” “Absolutely.”  Without waiting for permission, Giles pulled your arms away, exposing your bare body to his blazing gaze, “You have nothing to hide, you know?  You are-” “Just shut up and kiss me, Ripper.”  And he did. Grinding your hips into his, it was impossible to ignore his hardening manhood, even through the fabric of his pressed trousers.  Giles cupped your bottom, under your skirt but over your panties, bouncing you in place as if he was already inside of you.  For your part, you tried to unbutton his pin striped shirt, but the force of his kisses was proving too distracting. “Oh, dear!  Poor thing been kissed senseless?”  He was teasing and cruel, but in the sexiest possible way. Red cheeked and huffing, you nodded, “Yes… let me touch you!” “Tsk… you didn’t say ‘please’.” “Please!  Please, Ripper!  Oh god, please let me!” Unseating you slightly, Giles leaned up on his elbows, cocking his head to one side as he took in the mess he had made of you, “Go ahead then.  Unzip my pants.” “What?” Removing his glasses, eyeing you darkly, “You heard me, I think.” Swallowing hard, your hands shaking with excitement, you reached for Giles’ belt.  Watching him, and only him, you slowly slide the leather from it’s buckle.  When you popped the button of his pants and let your hand drag over his hardened length, Rupert groaned and tossed his head back, “Yes.  Keep going.” Slowly, agonizingly so, you lowered the zipper as you were ordered to do, “What now, Ripper?” “Take me out.  I want you to feel what you do to me.” “I can do that.”  You played it cool, but the saucy words being said in that clipped British baritone did things to you.  They made your thighs tighten, your belly flutter and your breath catch.   Trailing a hand over Giles' barely exposed hip, you moved closer to the prize, your prize, as it pulsed with need.  Wrapping your hand around the meaty girth of Rupert's member, you couldn't help stroking the silky hot skin, so vital in your palm.  That it caused the man beneath you to moan your name only added fuel to the fire of your desire. Slick and sorely wanting, you licked your lips, ready to savor the flavor of your book stacking beau but he stopped you, saying, "Last chance to run back to the studio." "No way… Ripper."  And you felt a rough jerk as your panties were removed by force, the air cool on your overheated core.  Another kiss, full of needful things, distracted you as Giles parted your lower lips with his nimble fingers. Pumping into you, once, twice, just to ensure that you were ready, Rupert swiftly stretched your center.  With your small hand guiding his shaft, you lowered yourself onto the engorged tower of his power, crying out a ragged, "Oh God!" You thought you were capable of handling any man, but the delicious spread Giles' fine form forced you to endure was more than you expected.  Clutching at his bunched up sweater vest, your back arched tautly as Rupert dragged your hips down onto his unrelenting hardness over and over.   In your head, a rhythmic, tribal tattoo that made you think of ancient fires and curved statues took hold and you rose and fell against Giles on the beats vibrating through your brain.  He sensed it too, alternating his stroke, slowing down and speeding up in time with the thrumming pulse only the pair of you could hear.  "I want you to cum for me.  Do you understand?  Tell me you understand." "Yes!  Yes!  I'm so close, Ripper!  So close!" "Good.  That's very good."  Tingling now, your muscles tensed, ready for the release Rupert would provide.  You flung yourself onto his swollen sex without thought or reason, merely searching for the pleasure he had promised.  His thumb, so thick, so clever, pressed against your sensitive clit and your world imploded. Rupert felt it.  The moment your body and his melded together was forceful.  It tore his pleasure from his loins in grunting gasps as he experienced your ecstacy at his hands. Limp and listless, you draped your half nude body over his, dazed and drained.  Who knew screwing the librarian would feel this good?  In your post coital haze you started to laugh.  Giles, his hands roaming over the sweat soaked skin of your back, heard your chuckles and joined in.  It was another release, of sorts, and you found it almost as intimate as the act you had just committed. Folding your hands under your chin, flashing Rupert a wide smile, "Ripper, huh?" Sliding his glasses back into place and carding a hand through his hair, Giles grinned, "Oh, uh… yes.  Ripper.  My nickname in London." Toying with the collar of his shirt, "I'd love to hear about London sometime… Ripper." At the sound of that name in your voice, Rupert flexed inside of you, "Call me that again and you'll miss last period." Gasping against him, nodding weakly, "Hmm… promise?" That made him smile broadly as he handed you back your sweater, "We can't have a repeat of last week, can we?" "It wasn’t my fault you didn't hear the bell ring, Mr. Giles!" Sitting up, you fastened your bra and shrugged into your sweater before asking, "Did you have to destroy my undies?" "I'm afraid I did.  Although I told you to remove anything dear, didn't I?" "What am I gonna do for the next hour, Giles?" Pushing his glasses up, "I would advise you not to bend over." Swatting at him playfully, you used one of the sturdier shelves to stand, adjusting your skirt and fluffing your hair.  Looking around at the absolute mess created by falling books, embarrassed, you asked, "Can I help clean this up?" "No, I don't think that'll be necessary.  After all, Willow will be in-" "Along with Buffy and Xander and Cordelia.  Got it." Standing himself, Giles chuckled as he fastened his trousers and set himself to rights, "Precisely.  Now-" he bent over to retrieve a slim volume, "- The book you asked about.  Fertility iconography in Meso-American subcultures." "Thanks.  Ya know, I always enjoy coming to the library.  I'm surprised more people don't." Walking with you, his hand on your lower back, nuzzling into your neck, "I enjoy you cumming in the library." It was on the tip of your tongue to say something fresh when the overly loud bell clanged.  Lifting up on tiptoes you pressed a kiss to the goose egg over Giles' eye, saying, "I hope that makes it feel better!" Snagging you into a tight hug, Giles stared into your eyes before kissing you deeply, "That.  That makes it feel better." And then the library door swung wide on the four students who called the library a second home, "Um… are my eyes deceiving me or is Giles sporting a black eye?  I was only gone for an hour, big guy, what happened?" "If you must know, Xander, a shelf collapsed in the back.  We were fortunate enough not to be badly hurt but, there were some bumps and bruises." "A shelf!  Oh no… which one?!" Giles turned to Willow solemnly, "I'm afraid all the Grollier’s… and most of Crentist." "On it.  Come on Xander.  You can help me sort!" "Aw, gee.  That sounds like fun." As the pair trotted off, you turned to Giles, whispering low, "Dinner?  My place?  You can tell me about London, your childhood and why you love tweed." Eyeing Buffy, who was distracted and a distraught, Giles answered, "Tonight?  Um…" "He'd love to!  Say 9 o'clock?  And, he'll bring the wine."

Spinning on your heel, surprised that Buffy was your champion, you grinned, "Great!  Awesome!  I will see you then."

As you left you heard the bubbly blonde doling out instructions, "No Giles.  You can't wear that outfit to dinner!  You need to look nice.  Nicer than you do now.  Also, why is there so much dust in your hair?" If Giles answered you didn’t hear it over your big yawn.  You had a lot to do between now and 9 o’clock.  Rupert Giles was coming over for dinner and you could hardly wait.

------ Fin ------- I’m tagging my minxes, even though this is specifically NOT a Loki story.  I do want you guys to send me stories that might fall under the “Hot Characters” banner though!   Minxes:   @scrumptious-finicky-illusion​ @iamverity​ @mizfit2​ @sammy-jo1977​ @wolfsmom1​ @jessiejunebug​ @iluvsumbucky​ @unadulteratedwizardlove @procrastinatinglikeabitch @shxdowofdarkness​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @ahintofkiwistrawberry​ @alexakeyloveloki​ @rorybutnotgilmore​ @crystalizedcaramel​ @lokislittlecorner​ @capcapcapsicle @jamielea81​ @caffiend-queen​​ @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​​ @jenjen8675309​​ @that-one-person​​ @roguewraith​​ @toomanystoriessolittletime​ @vodka-and-some-sass​ @just-random-obsessions​ @brokenthelovely​ @lots-of-loki​ @thefallenbibliophilequote​

[starlightsearches]

Can we get 3 with hux from the flower AU prompts?

Hello friend! Thanks for the prompt, I hope you like it!! 🌹🌸💐🌼🌺🌷🌻

Requests are open ✨

Florist! Armitage Hux x Model! Reader (f)

Warnings: Not really, a little yearning, some slutty narration, it's kind of silly and maybe ooc, but I think that's it.

I've been feeling pretty shitty about myself and my writing over the past few days, and I figured the best way to break myself out of that funk was to write something, even if it was stupid. Sometimes when your brain is telling you that you can't do something, you gotta do it anyway. Let me know what you think, besties!

3. Flowers are often used for photo shoots and Person A gets hired to arrange the flowers for one, but they can’t help getting nervous around the model, Person B from the Flower Shop AU Prompts

Armitage is out of his element.

He's plenty comfortable working with his assistant in the back of the shop, or helping customers as they dither over the size of the arrangements and the available flowers at the counter. But this is madness.

The backstage of the set is absolutely teeming with people, and every single one of them runs past without a glance in his direction, shouting into headsets or flipping through stacks of pages attached to clipboards.

He ventures further, past a few darkened hallways until he finds an occupied room. There's a vanity mirror against the far wall, and a woman sitting in front of it, resting her head on one hand, the other holding a book.

"Excuse me," Armitage knocks gently against the door frame before stepping inside.

You set the book down, greeting him with a smile.

"Hello, are you here for makeup?"

For a moment, Armitage is speechless.

He hadn't noticed your strange apparel when he first caught sight of you, but now he can't seem to look away from the dress you're wearing, a less-than-faithful recreation recreation of a Victorian gown that hangs low on your shoulders and tight around breasts, leaving very little to the imagination.

Is he hallucinating? He's never believed in ghosts before but you do seem like a rather lovely, and strangely familiar, apparition.

Your brows furrow in confusion before you glance down at yourself, eyes going wide like you've forgotten what you were wearing.

"Oh," you exclaim, throwing your head back with a laugh, "it's a period piece were doing today."

"I'm sorry?"

"You laugh again, finding his idiocy endearing instead of annoying, "you're not the makeup artist, are you?"

"The florist."

"I see. We're doing a shoot today, a romance novel cover. Do you read romance novels?"

So that's where he recognized you from. He's seen your face before, many times over. How to Wed a Rascal, Devil's Daughter, Three's a Crowd, and his favorite: Kingdom of Thirst.

He's spent too much of his time—bleary eyed, reading into the late hours of the night—imagining your face, your eyes, the sound of your moans as he devoured book after book, story after story.

But he's not about to tell you that.

"Uh, no, not really," he lies, and you shrug off the answer, turning the seat so that you can face him.

"I've only read a few, and they're alright. The jobs pay well, at least, and they're more fun than most shoots."

He nods, leaning against the door frame in an attempt to appear casual, hoping you'll say more. He likes hearing you talk.

You don't look like yourself in pictures. It's not just the makeup and the editing, although he's sure that has something to do with it. You're much more earnest in person, and surprisingly easy to be around. It's magnetic, your personality, to the point he can’t take his eyes off you. It must be what makes you so great at your job.

"You were looking for a place to put your flowers, right? I can help with that," you say, standing from the chair and moving into the hallway, calling into the empty space, "Hey Stacy!"

The sound of harried footsteps echoes down the corridor, and soon you're greeted by a serious looking woman, dressed in all black with her hair swept up into a ponytail.

"What do you need, babes?" she asks without looking up from her cell phone, "Jack said he'd be here half an hour ago but traffic's got him running late, of course. Shouldn't matter since we're ahead of schedule so far and going for a pretty minimal look this time but I told him to haul ass anyways, traffic laws be damned. Who is this?"

Every word pours out of her mouth without a breath in between, and it's not until she looks up, meeting his eyes that he realizes she's talking about him.

"This is . . ." you turn to look at him expectantly, raising your brows.

"Armitage," he provides, and you nod.

"Right, Armitage," you smile, turning back to Stacy, "and he's got the flower delivery for the shoot today waiting in his car."

Stacy nods, mumbling into her headset. "That's great. I'll have Phil unload them."

Armitage nods, wondering if he should offer to stay and arrange them. It's not something he'd typically do . . . but he's not exactly in a hurry to leave.

Another set of footsteps meets the three of you from the end of the hallway, this time provided by another harried-looking woman, almost in a sprint.

"Bad news, Stacy," she pants when she arrives, out of breath, "Ronan's called in sick. He's got food poisoning."

Stacy groans, and you roll your eyes. "Typical. Did you call somebody else?"

"They're all busy: Theo and Jacob are out of town shooting swim, and Will's best man at a wedding."

"We'll have to call off the shoot, then, won't we?"

You shake your head, defeated. Armitage can't help but feel for you; it's obvious how much work goes into these productions, so much time wasted. Not to mention the six dozen flowers currently dying in the back of his van.

"Not so fast," Stacy holds her hand up, silencing the group. Her eyes land on him, and she chews on the inside of her cheek, thinking.

"It's Armitage, right?" she asks, tapping her finger against her lips, "have you ever . . . modeled before?"

He feels his face grow hot, heart racing, "What? No. Absolutely not."

The other woman catches on, sizing him up herself. "Wait a second, you're right Stacy. He's totally got the look. Those god damn cheekbones could slice through steel. He’s about the same size as Will, too, so costuming wouldn't be a problem. How tall are you? Six foot? Six foot two?"

"No," he steps back, "I won't do it."

You put your hand on his shoulder, begging him with your eyes.

"Please, Armitage. It would really help."

He twists his face into a frown, already feeling his resolve crumbling under your eager gaze.

"Well . . . alright."

The three of you erupt in to cheers. He's absolutely going to regret this.

An hour later—hair done, costumed, and feeling ridiculous—Armitage walks out onto the set.

God, no.

It's a surprisingly faithful recreation—he assumes—sumptuously decorated and absolutely bursting with flowers. That's not the problem.

It's a bedroom, most of the space taken up by a large, dark four-poster, rose petals strewn across its surface. He knows what that means.

Bile rises in his throat, a wave of nausea rolling his stomach. He couldn't do this. There was a reason he read so many romance novels: he liked to imagine he could be someone different, someone charming, passionate, wicked.

Being that person is not in his nature.

Vivian, the costumer, approaches him from behind, startling him.

"You ready?" she asks, gesturing him towards the stage, but he hesitates.

"There's no need to be nervous, hon. Your partner for today? She's a god damn angel, the best of the best. You'll be in good hands . . . or I guess she'll be in your hands."

She laughs at her own joke and pats him gently, wandering away.

He's going to throw up. Or pass out. Or drop dead. He can't handle this.

Then he sees you, gliding in through the doorway. You're sparkling with your makeup and hair done to perfection, your eyes warm and bright, and you're smiling at him. Just for him.

Somebody ushers him towards the set, and you join him, arranging yourself on the bed.

"Nervous?" you ask him, laying down on your elbows, a little too at ease. He doesn't have to answer, he knows you can see it on his face.

You hold out your hand to him, and he takes it, adjusting to the feel of your skin against his. "You don't need to be, it's easy."

You pull without warning, and he falls forward, knees hitting the mattress. His other hand land besides your head, close enough to your face that he could reach out and stroke it, if he wanted to.

"Ready up there?" the photographer yells from across the room, and you give him the thumbs up before slipping in to your proper pose. You place his hand at your waist, tilting up his chin.

"Now furrow your brow a little," you whisper, "and part your lips."

He does as he's told, and soon enough the camera flash sparks in his periphery.

It's not as horrible as he thought it would be, although you are doing most of the work. You shift periodically, sometimes staring deep into his eyes, or looking down demurely with your hand just barely grazing your forehead.

"Alright, that's great, that's perfect," the photographer monologues, never taking his eye from the viewfinder, "why don't we get a couple with your lips at her neck?'

He trembles, his breathing shallow, but you look up at him with the slightest nod, arching your back just a little farther, leaving your skin exposed and inviting.

He bends closer, examining the graceful lines of your body. If this were real, where would he kiss you? If he had you to himself—without all these people watching—in his own bed, no pretense, no costumes . . .

He brushes his lips tenderly against the junction between your neck and your shoulder, and he swears that he can hear you sigh in response, your spine curving against his fingers, your chest pressed tighter against his own.

"That's perfect," the photographer shouts, but Armitage isn't listening, entirely preoccupied with the feeling of your pulse against his mouth, his lips traveling up over your jaw, stopping just below your ear.

You turn to face him, slowly, until nose brushes his, staring into his eyes. If he tilted his chin just half an inch, he'd be kissing you.

"That's great, everybody! I think we're done for today."

The set erupts with applause at the photographer's words, but you still don't pull away from him, smiling gently, whispering against his lips.

"Like I said, you're a natural."

His face grows flush, and he shifts back onto his feet, clearing his throat with a cough.

You stand beside him, brushing your hands nervously over the bodice of your gown.

"Thanks again for doing this, we all really appreciate it."

"Of course, it was . . . fun."

"No really, it was a huge favor. I'd like to do something for you, in return—we could get dinner, maybe? My treat."

You place your hand on his arm again, stroking your thumb down over his elbow. Despite how much he's touched you over the last hour, this contact feels different. Because you're not playing a part this time. Because it's him you're reaching for.

"We can change first, of course," you say, the words rushed as you read his dewy-eyed imaginings for hesitation.

He smiles, placing his hand over yours in reassurance, "I'd like that."

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[sp00kyjellybeans]

Constant Pining [Mickey Altieri x reader]

A/N: part two because i think the last one deserves a follow up :> For this one, I decided to play with the fact that Mickey is a film student, so I kind of figured he would use it to his advantage. btw tho this feels super choppy and cheesy in the bad way so idk how to feel ab it:’) pls lmk what you guys think bc i might rewrite it and cut half of this out

Word Count: 3,425

Warnings: None, this is like... super fluffy

---

It had been two weeks since the party and it was driving Mickey insane. He wasn’t sure what was worse. The fact that life carried on as usual or the fact that you were completely unfazed. He would have preferred if you were all over him or, hell, if you were avoiding him.

Because then he would know how you feel.

But he didn’t. The poor guy hadn’t the slightest clue. Life went on nonetheless. Some days he was able to sit next to you in Psychology (if Halley didn’t try kicking him out of her seat) and the two of you were normal during friend settings. But you never showed up to another party.

Mickey gnawed at his pencil. It was whittled down to practically nothing. He was supposed to be focused on a project that he and Randy were assigned in Film Theory but instead... You were on his mind.

“Can you stop eating that pencil and quit thinking about (Y/n)!” Randy threw a small notebook at Mickey’s head. Mickey snapped out of his daze and easily dodged it. “We need to work on this shit together. I don’t need (Y/n) clouding my camera man’s mind.”

“I’m not even-”

“Save it. You’ve been making the same face for two weeks straight now. It’s the (Y/n)-face. Sid and I coined it.”

Mickey muttered a curse word under his breath and reached for the notebook that was thrown at him. It was Randy’s film book. He flipped through some pages. It was filled with notes for class and film-analysis. Half of the analyses weren’t even assigned for class.

“What are we doing for this again?” Mickey rolled his eyes and threw the notebook onto a table. He propped up his feet and leaned back in his chair. 

The two boys were in a conference room of the film school. A chalkboard had been dirtied with Randy’s ideas for their film project while Mickey was mentally vacant for the time being. The project was to make a movie, each group was assigned a different genre. They were content with being partners, seeing as Randy had the ideas and Mickey had a knack for cinematography. 

“We were assigned to do a documentary.”

“Fucking lame... Everyone else got cool shit. I heard Terry Pusher was assigned fantasy... Fucking fantasy.”

“I know, hell I’d take a love story over this shit,” Randy threw the piece of chalk at the board. 

Mickey paused and sat up. His expression was twisted as if he were onto something. 

“Wait... say that again...”

“I’d take a love story over this shit?” Randy tilted his head.

Mickey stood to his feet and pointed at his geeky friend, an excited expression was evident.

“Exactly.”

The sea of students stormed past you. Your final class of the day ended early so you were more than eager to get back to your dorm. Your roommate was gone for the weekend so hopefully some quiet would get your mind off of Mickey.

The events of the party had been bouncing around the walls of your mind ever since it happened. A part of you thanked Halley for stepping in when she did and a part of you cursed her for it.

You couldn’t fathom dating Mickey. It was unheard of. New. Exhilarating. He was probably one of the hottest guys on campus and he had his hands on your waist.

Sure, he was a total nerd when it came to movies, especially for Tarantino films, and you could listen to his rants for hours, but the thought of him wanting you made your heart skip a beat. If he reciprocated any sort of feelings you’d be sent into cardiac arrest. Did he like you? Was that even possible?

He could have anyone at this school. He knew it, too. But it was possible he could choose you.

Before you were able to expand on that thought, a camera was shoved into your face. 

“And here we have the wonderful, the amazing, the magnificently stunning (Y/n)!” Mickey’s voice imitated a sports announcer. 

His sudden appearance was enough to make your cheeks go ablaze. 

“What are you doing?” You winced and shielded your face.

Randy appeared behind Mickey, “Film project, you’re a part of it!”

“Puh-lease, if anything, they are the star of the film, Meeks!”

You continued to walk to your dorm in hopes of avoiding the nerds but in all honesty, you were smiling like an idiot. 

“What’s it about?” You asked.

Mickey put the camera down for a second and eyed Randy. Luckily, he knew exactly what to say, or rather, what not to say.

“We’re making a documentary. We’re following around a few students, and you’re one of them. Will you watch it when it comes out?”

“Of course,” You grinned. “Just... don’t follow me everywhere with that thing.”

And follow you, they did. 

The very next morning you opened your door to Mickey holding up the blocky piece of tech. He was grinning behind the lens, which forced you to do the same. But you made it a point to shove the camera away. 

This went on for weeks. Mickey would ambush you with his camera everywhere. Meaning that you two were spending more time together. It didn’t matter if you were in the cafeteria or spending the night with your friends. He always managed to film little tidbits of you. 

At first, you would push the camera away or hide your face behind a nearby pillow. 

Then you and Mickey started to hang alone together more often. You found yourself seeking out time with him. Mickey walked you to classes (still filming you with the camera but you didn’t push it away anymore; you just ignored it), he visited you at work and stopped by your dorm frequently. 

Eventually, he had the courage to trap you into a date. 

“Why are you covering my face, Mickey? I know where the cafeteria is...” You groaned, aimlessly walking forward.

“That’s not where we’re eating today.”

“You had no reason to make that sound threatening, Micks... You suck at surprises.”

“Yeah, yeah, you can open your eyes now.”

You opened your eyes to a sprawled out assortment of food on a picnic blanket. 

It was a typical picnic blanket sat under one of the largest trees on campus. It was wide and comfortable. Mickey thought to bring plenty of drinks too. The look on your face filled him with glee as you studied the setting in front of you.

Just last week both of you were talking about your favorite underrated scenes in a romance movie. His answer was the kissing scene in Titanic, but you argued that wasn’t underrated. Your answer was the picnic scene in Armageddon.

Mickey managed to make it come true. If it were sunset, it would have hit the nail on the head.

“Oh my...”

“Do you like it?” Mickey jumped into your line of vision, he looked hopeful. “You said you’ve never been to a picnic before when you mentioned Armageddon and... well that’s just a part of the American dream so I figured- ‘Hey, they shouldn’t miss out on something so fun and peaceful’ so... I made it happen.”

Mickey’s rambling had you smiling wide. Underneath that smooth exterior, he was a nervous wreck around you. 

“Thanks, Micks...”

The food was delicious. You guys talked amongst the meal and the conversation never stopped. Hours passed but you guys continued to laugh and talk. You were having the time of your life. Mickey brought your favorite fruits and snacks, but best of all, animal crackers. You held up the bag excitedly.

“Like from the movie!” You cheered. 

Mickey leaned forward to grab a cracker but you leaned back, smiling mischievously. You loved teasing him.

He furrowed his eyebrows and went to grab again but you leaned back even further. Mickey paused, chuckling, and you thought you won. You reached your hand in to grab a cracker yourself and instead, you felt his body collide into yours. 

You yelped in surprise and fell on your back. The Animal Crackers flew across the blanket and Mickey groaned in defeat. 

“Now look at what you did...” You laughed.

You guys were side-by-side laying on your backs, staring at each other. The blanket was soft. If you weren’t so giddy, you could have fallen asleep right there. Mickey’s body heat enhanced your comfort, the need to lean into him was excessive. 

You giggled at the man, biting the nail on your index finger. Mickey stared back at you, he looked pleased.

“What?”

He shrugged and continued to stare. You faced your head forward to look up at the branches of a tree above you. 

The shade kept you both cool from the sun. Rays of sunshine illuminated your skin, the eccentric shadow of leaves were printed on your face. A breeze flew by, causing your baby hairs to wave in the wind. Mickey couldn’t pull his eyes away.

“Baby-” You said, snapping him out of his trance- “Do you think it’s possible that anyone else in the world is doing this very same thing at this very same moment?”

You slowly turned your eyes back to Mickey, hoping he’d catch on. His toothy grin spread across his cheeks. He thought back to the movie line, hoping to get it right.

“I hope so...” He mumbled but you heard it perfectly. “Otherwise... What the hell are we trying to save?”

His face was an inch away from yours. You could feel his breath hitting your face. It was sweet. It smelled of the strawberries you shared moments before. 

A few strands of his hair hung in front of his eyes, separate from the rest of his slicked-back locks. His large brown eyes were looking at you sincerely. They were inviting you in. Mickey’s lips twitched upward as if he were tempted to make a move. 

But he didn’t.

You wanted to reach toward his face and pull him closer. You wanted to feel his lips meld into yours, allow the moment to overtake you. You wanted to feel his unshaven face press against yours and tickle your cheeks. You wanted to feel his hand wrap around your own. You wanted to feel him, to touch him.

But you didn’t.

Two weeks later Randy and Mickey announced their documentary was done. The finished product was ready to be viewed. You were invited to come to see it.

During those two weeks, you spent time wondering how you could finally make a move. You were sick of this. You wanted this to end and to have a new beginning. You were sure that Mickey had feelings for you. It had to be true. You needed a leap of faith. 

On the other hand, Mickey spent the same amount of time wondering where he was going wrong. Why couldn’t he pluck up the courage to kiss you? Making the first move always worked well for him. Why couldn’t he do it now? More than anything, he hoped that perhaps this documentary will give you an idea of his feelings. It had to. 

So here you were, nervously fiddling with a blocky device in your jacket pocket, avoiding the eyes of Mickey, who sat on a stool in front of Sidney’s TV. She opted that they show their documentary in her and Halley’s room of their sorority house. Surprisingly, they were the only ones with a good enough TV.

Mickey couldn’t pull his eyes off of you. It became a nervous habit. He wanted to know what you were thinking almost 24/7, he was beyond pissed that he wasn’t a telepath.

“Alright alright alright...” Randy strolled up to the screen. “Is everyone here? Does everyone have their snacks and their drinks? You all need to enjoy this to the fullest extent so snacks are a must.”

Everyone glanced at one another, drink and popcorn in hand. You glanced back to see Sidney all over her boyfriend Derek on the couch. You gave a half-grin, wishing that could be you and Mickey. Halley sat on the opposite end of the couch, happily munching on popcorn. 

“Well... without further ado-” Mickey began.

“Wait isn’t this a documentary? This better not be boring as hell...” Halley lifted her hand and we all nodded in agreement.

“Trust me, guys, this is good stuff. Probably our best yet,” Randy reassured us. “I’m going to play it now...”

We fell silent as Randy placed a tape inside of the VHS. He then turned out the lights as the intro began. Randy’s voice came through the TV.

“Love...” Tidbits of students on campus flashed across the screen. “What is love? ...And no, I don’t mean The Haddaway song.”

A few chuckles sounded around the room. Mickey held his glance on you still. 

“Falling in love is one of the most complex things a human can do... The psychology is even more complex. Certain chemicals are released that explain those butterflies in your stomach or why you get sweaty palms around your crush. Well, many scientists believe that humans are wired to fall in love...” Randy’s voice faded along with the screen. 

The sound of talking college students came through and the camera was poised onto Derek in the cafeteria. 

“What do you love about Sid, Derek?” Mickey said through the TV. 

The camera was far too close to Derek’s face, who looked insanely annoyed. 

“Bug off-”

“Just answer the question.”

Derek thought for a moment, then smiled, “Her smile and eyes. I can’t choose one. They just... go hand in hand. They’re gentle, kind, sweet... Like her.”

A chorus of ooh’s and aw’s rang throughout the room and we threw popcorn kernels at Derek. Both he and Sidney were blushing profusely.

The next clip was of Halley walking on the sidewalk. You could hear Mickey again. 

“Ms. Halley, please explain to us what you are doing right now.”

“I am going on a date, which I do not need you two dorks coming with me-” Halley shoved the camera away and the camera didn’t see her again. 

There were a few more scenes like this, the guys asking random couples on campus what they love about one another. 

You were never asked anything while you were filmed, so you were confused, to say that the least. What was your role during this? 

At times, you would lock eyes with Mickey. He looked frazzled but stared at you all the same. 

Randy posed another question to each of the couples, “How long does it take for someone to fall in love?” The screen was black as you heard the answers,

“Weeks-”

“Months, maybe six?”

“Years,” Someone said. 

And you appeared on the TV. 

It was when Mickey first filmed you. There was more than one clip of you, too, each a few seconds long. The first five contained you shying away from the camera but after that, you could see yourself growing more comfortable around him. You were never looking at the lens but always at the cameraman. 

The screen went black once more and another question was asked, “What’s your ideal love story?”

“Something like a Nicholas Sparks book. Tragic... yet romantic.”

“If we hated each other at first, but then we learned to love. The buildup is fantastic.”

“Childhood friends turned to lovers. Something about that constant pining has me reeling...”

You snapped your eyes towards Mickey. You couldn’t read the expression on his face. You looked back at the screen to see yourself once more.

“Micks... come on and watch this movie-” You were sat on a couch with a bowl of popcorn. You shoved a handful into your mouth when suddenly you noticed the camera sitting in front of you, “You left your camera in here! ...Hey- are you filming me?” You lifted the device to your face and stuck out your tongue. 

You could hear Mickey chuckle in the background. 

Another clip played of Mickey and you sitting on the floor. It was a different day, you guys were laughing hysterically over something. You’ve never seen Mickey so happy.

More and more clips of questions and answers paired with you played. It was matched together perfectly. Realization dawned on you. Was this a confession from Mickey? 

Mickey’s sweet voice played once more. But this wasn’t for any of the couples. He was sat on the couch, asking you.

“Think about a cheesy but underrated romance, okay? What is your favorite romantic scene from that movie?” 

You were only a few inches away from him, head rested on your hand on the backboard of his bed. 

“I’ll go first, I think the kiss during Titanic is spectacular.”

“It’s good but it’s not underrated Micks.”

“Alright, then what’s your choice?”

“...Armageddon. The picnic scene. I’ve never been on a picnic so something like that just seems so... tranquil.”

“You’ve never been to a picnic?”

“Yep... is that weird?”

“Completely and utterly, (Y/n).”

You laughed loudly in the documentary. The next scene was of Mickey setting the camera up someplace. He looked nervous. When he stepped away from the camera, it was a perfect angle to film the picnic he set up for you. 

You knew the rest. The next couple of minutes showed your guys’ picnic together. Including the movie quote. 

The end of the film was nearing, and Mickey’s anxiety was through the roof. It was far from romantic but once his project stopped playing he was going to confess to you. He was going to confess in front of all of his friends, for you. Just a few minutes left and he was going to do it. 

And then you left. 

Mickey finished the quote from the movie and you left instantly. Mickey’s jaw dropped as he stared at his friends. They looked equally confused. 

“Go after them, dude!” Randy yelled. 

It took a while but eventually, Mickey found you. You were on the porch of the sorority house, leaning against the railing and staring at the sunset. There was a cool breeze and parts of your hair waved in the wind. You had your arms wrapped around your body, pulling your jacket close. Mickey could see the orange glow illuminating your face when he joined your side. 

“Are you okay?”

You didn’t look at him. His heart dropped. He messed up.

“Listen, I didn’t mean to-” 

You shushed him. He fell silent.

“Come here... close your eyes... Step up... No peeking”

“I’m not...”

You pulled on his arm and forced him to stand behind you. You guided him to stand on the lower bar of the railing with you, his body nearly wrapped around yours. He stumbled a bit but he followed your movement blindly. The lack of distance between you two had him trembling. 

“Just a sec...” You whispered and pulled a walkman out of your pocket. “I wanted to get this right...” You said and pressed play.

The instrumental of My Heart Will Go On began to play and Mickey barked out a laugh. 

“What in the world-”

“Put your hands on my waist, Micks,”  You grabbed his hands. “You can open your eyes now.”

Just like the movie, Mickey thought. 

“I realize we can just see more of the campus... not the ocean,” Your words were gentle. They came out like honey. “But I wanted you to see... how you make me feel like I can fly.”

Mickey stared at your adoringly. Your scent filled his nostrils and he wanted nothing more than to stay like this forever. His hands ventured from your waist to lift them, like in the movie. Mickey leaned forward and whispered, “Come Josephine my flying machine going up she goes...” His hot breath tickled your ear and you could feel as he intertwined his hand with yours. “Going up...”

You turned to stare at him just as the music of your cassette player swelled. You hesitantly reached his face, and Mickey leaned in instinctively. Your hand comfortably rested on the back of his neck as his lips gently pressed against yours. 

They were hesitant, hot, gentle, almost hungry. His skin was a burning touch. Your hand melded against his skin, touching the curve of his jaw. Mickey’s fingers danced around your body, wanting to explore every crevice for the first time. Mickey had been unknowingly craving the touch of your skin and lips for so long, it felt like euphoria took control of his body.

He poured himself into you. You were willing to drown in his touch.

[tenthgrove]

500 Followers Celebration!!!: Part 2 (Yandere Sorbet and Gelato Oneshot)

Apologies for almost forgetting to post this. It's a little something I wrote back in May but never shared with more than a few people. Anyway, I'm shameless, and to celebrate 500 followers I'm releasing it into the wild.

Content warnings: non-consensual drug use, needles (both only mentioned) and typical yandere stuff.

You aren’t certain what the dream was about. It wasn’t a nightmare, you’re certain, but the concrete themes evade you. What you can remember in retrospect, however, is the distinct feeling that something was wrong in the waking world around you. It was as though your rational mind knew, that when the dream ended, the life you would wake up to would be changed irreparably.

The first thing to be said about the room you awake to is that it’s dark. Not the usual dark of your bedroom at night but truly, pitch black. There’s something different about the… aura, as well. Maybe it’s the scent, maybe it’s the feel of your sheets, maybe its the position you’re lying in. This is not your bed.

Your panic rises by the second. Any hope you might still be dreaming is quickly put down to idle hope. Everything about this feels so real. You are struck by the need to get up, to figure out where you are, and kick off the sheets. That’s when you hear rattling. Your arm is heavy. You reach down and feel the cold presence of limp chain at your side. There’s a shackle too, locked around your wrist with no room to wriggle free. If there’s any more proof you needed of what’s happened to you, this is it.

The panic overtakes you. You thrash desperately, pulling at your chain and whimpering in terror. There’s a clicking noise and something pulls free. You become aware of a second item tied around your wrist. It’s a thin string, with nothing attached. You realise with terror that it was some sort of trip-wire.

All possible courses of action spring to your mind too late as footsteps make their way down towards you. There’s multiple people, it sounds like, which doesn’t speak well for your chances. Bundling up your sheets, you huddle against the wall as the door swings open. A light switch flicks on.

As your dark-strained eyes adjust to the light, you are met with the figures of two men. The first, hand still lingering on the switch as he eyes you back, is a slender, dark-dressed man with black hair to match his clothes. The man beside him is smaller and slightly pudgier. His wild green eyes peak out from under his messy yellow hair. His gaze fixes on you, before dissolving into an expression that could be fear, excitement or both. He suddenly lurches forwards. His hands grip your shoulders firmly.

“Oh, look at you!” he coos. You force yourself to meet his gaze and see the wildness with which he looks at you. “Oh Sorbet, aren’t they pretty! Look at them Sorbet, they’re just wonderful!” The hyperactive man stumbles back as though wanting to get a better look at you. His hand is clasped over his mouth like you’re some puppy he just found at the shelter. The taller man takes hold of him from behind and rubs his arms affectionately. His mouth turns up into a small smile.

“Yes my darling, they’re beautiful,” he agrees. “But you shouldn’t touch them just yet. They might still be delirious from the drugs. All said,” he eyes you critically. “They shouldn’t be awake this soon.”

“Does it hurt sweetie?” his partner asks. There’s an uncanny, authentic concern to question that somehow turns your stomach more.

“N-no,” you stammer, keeping your eyes trained on the concrete floor. Truth be told, you’ve got a bit of a headache and the back of your throat pangs with nausea, but it isn’t bad enough to tell them. You decide to keep it to yourself.

“Did you give them that second dose in the end, Gelato?” the calmer man, you believe his name was Sorbet, asks. He approaches you casually and kneels down, pressing a hand to your forehead. “No fever anyway, so it doesn’t look like there’s been a reaction.”

“No. You said not to do it if they seemed fast asleep enough, so I didn’t,” Gelato answers.

“Well, there you have it then,” Sorbet says, apparently satisfied of your good health as he stands back up.

“I could always go find some more of the stuff. If you need more time to get everything ready for them,” Gelato proposes. Sorbet’s eyes flick up and down you as though contemplating what to do with you. He shrugs.

“Probably best to save it. I’d say we’ve already done everything we need to do, so they might as well stay awake for a bit,” he surmises. “Well.” He reaches forward and presses something, a key, you realise when you lean back far enough to look, into a slot on the grate attaching your chain to the wall. It falls free of the wall and chinks onto the ground.

Sorbet leans down again. You realise with a cold sweat that he’s trying to pick you up. Your attempts to scurry into the corner are quickly halted by a sharp yank to your chain, and a moment later you’re lifted against Sorbet’s chest, your faced pressed into the crook of his neck. “Could you please do the door for me, Gel? I’m taking them to the bathroom.” he asks. Gelato mutters something eager and hurries off to open the door from him. You struggle lightly in Sorbet’s hold and he silently presses two fingers against your neck. You take the warning and go still in fear.

Sorbet carries you up a flight of stairs and into the hall of, by all appearances, an ordinary residential house. It’s night, but a warm yellow ceiling lamp sheds light on your surroundings. The walls are a pale, turquoise green, accented by a white wood skirting that runs along the bottom metre. To your left you can see an archway into a clean but cluttered kitchen, lights off, and another staircase is ahead of you bending around to your right. To your right, along the hallway you’ve been carried into, are two more doors, one at the end and one perpendicular to it, the latter of which Sorbet leads you into. Peering over his shoulder, Gelato follows behind you. He catches your gaze and smiles sweetly. You quickly look down at the floor.

Sorbet flicks another switch and another light turns on, along with the gentle humming of ventilation. You adjust your eyes to see that you’re in a small, downstairs bathroom. Furnished with a toilet, sink and shower. Sorbet sits you down on the lid of the toilet and kneels down in front of you.

“You look disorientated. Are you sure you aren’t in any pain?” he asks.

“Just a little,” you admit. Your words a little slurred. “My head hurts. ‘Feel sick too.”

Sorbet sighs.

“You should have told us, (y/n),” he asserts, a hint of frustration, in his voice. That was your name. They know your name somehow. You mumble an apology.

“Oh darling. I’ll have to get you some paracetamol. You really should have said! Oh, and also a bucket for if you get sick in the night. Maybe some ice?”

As Gelato rambles from the doorway, Sorbet pulls a pack of wipes from the sink cabinet and starts to pat down your arms, wiping away the layer of crusted blood. Your heart stills. You didn’t notice that before.

“Why is there blood?” you ask weakly, eyes fixed on the sight. Sorbet dabs away at what appears to be the centre of the wound. His free hand rubs your knuckles slightly.

“You fought back, don’t you remember? Some defensive damage was inevitable,” he answers you.

“No!” you refute, louder than you intended. “I don’t remember anything like that. I don’t know howI got here.”

“Ah,” Sorbet responds. “I imagine that’s from what we gave you,” he explains. A few images flash across the back of your mind. Broken glass. Screaming, fighting. The feeling of being pinned to the floor. Your stomach twitches and you swallow back tears.

“What’s the matter sweetie? You look sad,” Gelato notices. No shit you’re sad. You’ve just been snatched from your home and yet to receive any guarantee you’ll live until morning. There’s a part of you that wants to scream these thoughts to them, but you’re too paralysed by fear and tiredness to do so. The tears start to run.

“Oh darling, darling!” Gelato hushes you, rushing over to wipe your eyes. “Don’t cry, it’s okay! We’re going to look after you!”

“Caro, you’re very good to them but I doubt any of that will work right now. They’re too worked up,” Sorbet notes. You sob into your lap as Gelato caresses your shoulder.

“We can’t just leave them like this, Sorbet. Not alone,” he shivers.

“Perhaps you’re right. Maybe it’s best we put them out again after all. We’ll be better ready to deal with this in the morning,” Sorbet suggests.

“Yes, that’s probably for the best, come on Sweetie, let’s get you back to bed shall we?” Gelato takes your chain and starts to haul you back towards the stairs to the basement, with Sorbet following close behind. When the dark of the basement hits you again, you’re just about ready to fall asleep, but you’re still aware enough to note the peculiar furnishings you missed before.

The mattress you woke up on is tucked away in the corner, swarmed with cushions, pillows and blankets. There’s a small cabinet next to it, along with a table a few feet away with a TV on it. On the other end of the room is a mini-fridge, next to a large empty case of shelves. Are those all… for you?

Gelato guides you to sit down on the mattress, wrapping a blanket around you and fluffing up a pillow as though trying to get you to lie down. As he does so, you’re vaguely aware of Sorbet slotting your chain back into the wall and locking it in place. He looks you up and down again, for a moment seeming to fixate on the stream of tears that run down your cheeks.

“I’m going to go for a minute now. I’ll come back with something to help you sleep. Is that okay, hmm?”

You nod weakly. Honestly, you’re so insanely terrified right now, that falling asleep truly sounds like the better option even if it renders you at their mercy. Sorbet adjusts the blanket around you.

“Alright, sit tight sweetheart. I’ll be back in just a moment,” he promises. He leaves you alone with Gelato. For a moment, the second man is quiet, a hint of something in his eyes that looks like sadness. He sits down next to you and rubs your fingers.

“I’ll stay with you until he comes back, okay?” he offers. You give a quiet hum of acknowledgement, staring straight ahead as your mind starts to dissociate. “It’s really nothing to worry about,” Gelato says. “Just a tiny prick in your arm and then you fall asleep in a few minutes. You’ve done it before, anyway, and we won’t give you so much this time.”

You don’t answer him. He goes still for a little, perhaps unsure of what to say, then pulls you in close against his shoulder. “You’re wonderful,” he tells you.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask him faintly.

“Because we love you.”

“Why?” you implore him. Before he can answer that you fall into renewed tears. Gelato’s voice seems to fade away from you as he frantically tries to calm you. You shut your eyes and hope for this to end. Whatever this is. You’re scared, and you just want to go home. You just want to stop this feeling of fear.

[napeoftheneck]

The Rule of Beasts (Eren Yeager x Warrior!reader)

MAJOR ATTACK ON TITAN SEASON 4 SPOILERS !!!

Hey bestie! Sorry this took so long, writing for Eren is a STRUGGLE on its own but pairing that with a Marleyan reader makes it seem like I’m writing the 95 Theses. I’ve done it though! I just want to thank you guys for requesting despite having no teaser to see what I write like! I appreciate it. Hope u enjoy :)

Title: The Rule of Beasts

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Blood, canon-typical violence, war, depiction of depression/trauma/PTSD brought from war, swearing, major injuries, Eren is mean as hell in this (I use she/her pronouns for the reader in this as it was in the request! If you want any changes, please feel free to dm me or submit an ask!). ALSO, the quote used for the title is one I've seen EVERYWHERE, but I can't find who originally said it. If anyone knows, let me know!!

Major spoilers for Attack On Titan season 4 below the cut!!!

“We’re not friends. We were never friends.”

Since your return to Marley some years ago, those words persecuted you like a condemnation. The dismay they brought you was incessant, though it was nothing compared to the agony concealing it brought.

Reiner seemed to be handling it well. He could look his mother in her wavering eyes and recount the story of the potato girl with little faltering and he could sit before Gabi, Udo, Zofia and Falco to give impudent answers on the spot.

You were nothing akin to it.

Upon your return, you were no longer the dominant and capable warrior sent by Marley to scour Paradisians. You were a husk.

The way they gawked at you, whispering as you passed and lowered their voices to a soft, below-octave hum as if you could break if they spoke any louder told you everything about how they had seen you now. Now, alongside Reiner, you were shaken.

You were a child that allowed herself to be shaken by the horrors of a war you weren't prepared to fight in. Not alongside Reiner, anyway.

The fact that you had survived had been a testament to nothing. It meant nothing.

Without your frequent appearance past public displays of your status, you meant nothing. When you returned home, your facade crumbled. You were plagued with thoughts of what you had done to them - to him.

You slept and dreamt of the moment where Eren Jeager had confided in you and you looked him in the eyes and swore to cleanse the world of those beasts that killed his mother. You shared tender moments with him knowing that those beasts were your friends - that they were you. You nodded along as he spoke of a world where you could live together, peacefully, without Titans. Meanwhile, your true allies would be waiting for you that dawn to plan how you could ruin them more.

Whenever you dreamed (it wasn’t often) it was of him. Sometimes it would be of moments you weren’t present for - of the moment he heard your name when listing missing soldiers. Often, it wasn’t.

“Don’t touch me, don’t even-don’t even look at me! You took years of my life from me and I’ll never get them back. Do you understand that?!”

There it was again. It happened every time. You were on the branch, you felt the thick air heave through your lungs, yet you felt like you were drowning in it.

You knew the situation well now. He had no hands to fight you with. Ymir watched from beside him. If you looked up, Reiner would be stood tiredly, Bertholdt would be slumped against the trunk. “(Y/n), just let it go.” He would sigh, raking a large, scarred hand over his face.

You wished you listened. You never did. No matter how many times you’ve dreamed this dream, you never said what you needed to. You always said the same thing; “Eren,” it was always so tired. Your vision would always fade. “I wrote you a letter every day where I told you everything in vivid, drawn-out detail - I confessed to everything - but I couldn't ever show you. I couldn’t hurt my friend like th-“

“We’re not friends. We were never friends.”

A loud, echoing roar sounds from beyond the stage before you and you are momentarily struck from your daydream.

The declaration of war was upon you and, deep down, you knew something gruesome, something catastrophic would come of it. You weren't dull. Yet, there you sat, complicit. The crimson band around your arm burned your skin even under your coat like a crucifix upon the skin of the unholy.

You are grounded now, suddenly conscious of where you were.

The coldness of the night bit harshly your nose and ears, tearing you from whatever remaining stupor that had a hold on you.

Your eyes snap upward, toward the piercing flashes that now emitted from under the stage. People clambered around you, squealing and shoving their way past you. You angle your head to see what had caused such a commotion, but it didn’t take you long to discern the state of the audience.

Rubble, blood and fleeing townspeople flooded it.

From your spot behind the stage, you could see the resulting catastrophe clearly. However, it’s when you look up that left you staggering backwards.

Him.

It was unmistakably him, though the attack Titan looked much larger than you retained. It was much greater, now, because you were below it. You were at its mercy.

No longer, like before, were you in his territory. You weren’t the charlatan among others, he was. Because he didn't belong here. He was a threat to your people, your land; no longer to his own.

The fear made the damage look grim; it made him look massive.

Eren was in there.

You think of it and suddenly you are 15 again. Suddenly, you are brushing his hair, coaxing him to sleep through rough rain and thunderstorms. You suddenly feel his arms around you again, you feel the warmth from the night of your graduation.

You fought with yourself, biting back the feeling of familiarity, of recognition.

He wasn’t your friend anymore; he was the enemy now.

You didn’t want to fight him.

You just watched him kill what seemed to be hundreds of your people, and you were certain he had brought his own people with him, but you couldn't find it within yourself to do what you knew you must.

Someone grabbed your arm, and you momentarily tear your eyes from the familiar beast.

“Ms. (L/n)! You’re safe!” You don’t recognise the woman speaking to you, but she grasps your sleeve as though she knew you well. Her hand was coated thickly with crimson. A child weeps behind her dress. She weeps something about having lost her daughter to the rubble and she begs for you to do something.

Your expression hardens as she’s whisked away by a guard, who orders something about getting to safety. You watch her disappear into a large crowd as you search your pocket for the familiar coldness of your switchblade.

Eren Yeager had killed your people.

He had, in this stunt, mowed through thousands at this point and surely would do what he could do to make his destructive way to your friends.

You flick it along your palm.

Violence for violence was the rule of beasts. You would get to him before he could.

[fabulouspotatosister]

is it still you?

summary: getting left behind is never easy. being found is even harder.

word count:  6,127

gif(s) by: @gabrielokun, @elenaglbert​

a/n: hello there, everyone! welcome to my first proper fic since the school year started! you might have seen this on that wip title game i did a little while back, and here it is! thank you to @penguinwithitsarseonfire​ for reminding me that this idea even existed and inspiring me to write it :0 hope you’re all doing well lovelies!

~ o ~

“Amy, I’ll be fine.”

Amy rested against the console, one delicate eyebrow raised as she watched you hover by the Doctor’s side. You were watching him tinker with something on the console, but you could still feel Amy boring holes into you. “Right, just in case we forget the last time you said you were gonna be fine - remind me again why you’re the one doing this?”

“Because I’ve done it a bunch of times!” You glanced up at Amy, then shrunk back at her piercing gaze. You were definitely being judged. You swallowed the urge to say “sorry, mom”. “Reconnaissance. Right, Doctor?”

“Right,” the Doctor replied, sounding slightly distracted. He was peering at what looked like an earbud through a magnifying glass. His coat lay abandoned, flung carelessly over one of the chairs in the console room. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and a pair of large circular goggles rested over his face as he worked. He was cute, but you’d never say that to his face. “I’ve tracked the weapon to this planet, but they’re a hivemind - if they see me, they’ll raise an alarm. I need you to be my eyes and ears.”

“Aye aye, captain,” you said cheerfully, raising a hand to your forehead in a mock salute. “Racked up your fair share of enemies, huh?”

“Oh, you know me.” The Doctor poked at the earbud-thingie with a sparking device. “I’m like James Bond.”

“You wish you were like James Bond,” Amy piped up. 

“Oi!” The Doctor looked up, indignation written over his face even through the huge goggles. “I’d make a great spy.”

Amy grinned at you. Something dangerous glittered in her eyes. “You’d trip over those laser things and set off a bomb with those limbs of yours.” 

The Doctor made a frustrated noise, and buried his nose in the magnifying glass again. 

“Okay, maybe not James Bond,” you said. You let your hand rest on his shoulder, trying not to jostle him as he started connecting some very thin wires. “I think you’ve got the gadgets down, though. You’d be the Quartermaster.”

“The man in the chair,” the Doctor muttered. 

“Yeah, the man in the chair,” you repeated. Absentmindedly, you let your hand wander, travelling down his back slightly. The Doctor went still. “You’ve got a very important job.”

“...Yep.” The Doctor’s voice was strained. 

“Okay, enough, lovebirds,” Amy said. She raised a finger before the Doctor could protest against the “lovebirds” comment. “Is she gonna be gone long?”

“Hopefully not,” the Doctor answered. “Just long enough for me to find out where they’ve landed so I can shut off their queen. It shouldn’t be too far. Twenty minutes, tops. And - aha!”

The Doctor grinned widely at you, pushing the goggles off his face. “That should do it. Look -” He plucked the earbud from the console and beamed at it. “Your very own communicator. Brand new! You don’t even need your phone.” It gleamed silver as he turned it over in his hands. “It links up directly to the TARDIS so we can hear you twenty-four-seven. Or seventy-two seven here.”

“It’s beautiful,” you said, and if it was possible, the Doctor beamed brighter. You reached out to take it, but the Doctor moved forward before you could snatch it from his hand.

“Hang on, let me,” the Doctor said softly. He leaned down, brushing his hand against your hair, and you shuddered. Some kind of heavy silence fell over the two of you as he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and gently pushed the communicator in - it fit snugly, almost like it was made for you. Which it was. When he spoke again, his voice was hushed. “There we go.”

Amy met your gaze. Lovebirds, she mouthed.

Shut up, you mouthed back. 

The Doctor ran to the other side of the console, picking up the telephone and quickly punching in some numbers. There was the whining sound of feedback in your ear. He tapped the receiver, and the soft tap tap tap felt like someone tapping directly on your brain. “Can you hear this?”

“Loud and clear.” He tapped again, and you winced. “Ow.”

“Sorry,” the Doctor said. He raised the phone to his lips and spoke again, but quieter. The sound sent shivers down your spine, and you tried not to visibly tremble. “It doubles as a tracker, so I’ll know exactly where you are.”

“Useful,” you squeaked out. Amy waggled her eyebrows at you, and you didn’t have the strength to tell her to stop. “Anything else?”

“Nope!” the Doctor said, setting down the phone with a thunk. “Alright! I think you’re all set, mission control.”

You frowned. “I thought you were mission control.”

The Doctor opened his mouth, as if to say something, but caught himself. He settled on smiling instead, the corners of his lips turning up meekly. “My mistake. You’ve been mission control before, I just…”

“Yeah, when you lost the TARDIS with me in it,” you said, giving him the gentlest smile you could muster. “Remember that? Good times.”

The Doctor hummed in reply. He shifted in place, staring at you, his hands hanging limply by his sides. In the dim, yellowish light of the TARDIS interior, you couldn’t tell if he was blushing or not. He stood there for a moment, his lips slightly parted, seemingly lost in thought.

“Hey,” you ventured. The Doctor jumped at the sound of your voice, his gaze darting up to meet yours. “You okay?”

“Always,” he said quickly. “I’m just seeing you off. That’s what I’m doing.”

He was not, in fact, just seeing you off. This was typical Doctor behavior - he was dodging the question. It was almost frustrating, but the way he looked like he was pouting took the edge off the frustration a little bit. But only a little bit. “Are you worried?”

“Me?” The Doctor pulled a confident face, the one he put on when he wasn’t. “Never.”

If you weren’t looking at the Doctor, really looking at him, you would have believed him. But then there was rule one - after some time, the Doctor had turned into an open book for you. The way he stood, very still when he was usually bouncing off the walls, told a different story.

You met his eyes, and something shifted. His face morphed, from confident to bittersweet, to an expression that looked almost mournful. He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Oh, bugger it,” the Doctor muttered under his breath. 

“Doctor - oh!”

He grabbed your arm and pulled you towards him, pulling you flush against his chest. He wrapped his arms around your shoulders and squeezed. He dipped his head down onto your shoulders, his face disappearing into your neck. Amy whistled, but you didn’t hear her - you were too busy focusing on feeling the Doctor’s lips on your skin, and his breath, warm against it, and - well -

“I wasn’t expecting that,” you gasped out.

The Doctor didn’t reply - just squeezed tighter. This face was most definitely a hugger, but they were mostly short and sweet. Little celebratory hugs. These hugs were reserved for certain moments, and certain people. 

“I’m the man in the chair, of course I’m worried,” he finally muttered. “It’s sort of my job.”

“You’ll keep me safe,” you said. You leaned back, and the Doctor lifted his head to look at you. “Mission control, remember? You’ll be there to guide me.”

The Doctor peered at you. “You trust me,” he said quietly, like he couldn’t believe it.

“After all this time, how could I not?” You gave him another soft smile. “You’re trusting me to do this, I’m trusting you to keep me safe.”

“Just -” The Doctor sighed, ragged, and squeezed his eyes shut. When they opened, they were filled with a familiar concern. “Promise me you’ll be careful. I can’t lose you too.”

The last part was nearly a whisper. The sound of his voice tugged at your heart. 

“You won’t,” you said, pulling away from his embrace. Disappointment flickered in the Doctor’s eyes as you stepped backwards towards the doors. “Ever.”

“Okay,” the Doctor said. He looked you over, his expression turning serious. “Ready?”

You nodded. “On your signal, captain.”

A grin slowly spread across the Doctor’s face, childlike. “Captain. I like the sound of that.”

Amy ran up to you, pulling you into another quick hug. She looked just as concerned as the Doctor when she pulled away, holding your face protectively. “Seriously, be safe, alright? I don’t want to be stuck with him without you.”

“Noted,” you replied, and Amy brightened.

“My company isn’t that bad, is it?” the Doctor asked. 

“It’s unbearable,” you joked, and the Doctor pouted. Amy laughed, you laughed, and eventually the Doctor joined in too, chuckling quietly under his breath.

The TARDIS doors swung open slowly, and a gust of cold air burst through them. You walked backwards, waving your fingers at the two in a two-fingered salute, and creeped quietly through the doors.

The first thing that startled you was the smell. The familiar smell of wet grass. A light drizzle fell on your skin, and you looked up. The sky was dark and full of stars - in the distance, you could see the faint lights of flickering street lamps and lit up windows. You could hear the faint sounds of people chattering and cars passing through the night. All of these things were things you knew -

“Doctor, we’re not in the right place,” you said, tapping your earpiece. 

A feedback whine, then the Doctor’s voice, loud and clear as if he was beside you. “What? No, the coordinates were right, I checked -”

“Check again.” Something felt off. You took a hesitant step backward, your back resting against the TARDIS doors. “This is Earth.”

“No, it can’t be,” the Doctor said, incredulous.

“I can see houses in the distance,” you said, “human houses. Unless this is a really convincing simulation, I’m really sure we’ve just landed back on my home planet.”

“Why’d you send us here, old girl?” he asked quietly, probably to the TARDIS. You could faintly hear the TARDIS hum and beep in reply. Then, sharply: “What?” 

"Doctor?” you asked. You tried to keep the fear from creeping into your voice.

“Come back inside, quickly,” the Doctor snapped. 

The urgency in his voice scared the hell out of you, and you straightened, whirling around to face the doors. The handles rattled, but the doors didn’t budge. “I can’t,” you gasped. 

“They’re not locked.” The Doctor’s voice sounded strange through the earpiece. It was getting fuzzier, the ends of his sentences tapering off into silence. “I’ve unlocked them, you should be able to get inside -”

You moved to try again… and your hand passed right through the door handle. You stumbled forward, shocked, and stared at your hand like it was the one that had turned transparent. Then the air started shimmering, and you heard the beautiful wheezing and singing of the TARDIS’s engines -

It was leaving you behind.

“No, no -” Your voice was like molasses in your mouth. You pressed yourself against the doors. They were still solid, still there. The door handles were impossible to grab now, just a faint image in the air, and a sob crawled up your throat. “Doctor, don’t leave!”

A yell ripped through the earpiece, and you winced - the Doctor only ever raised his voice when he was furious. You curled your fists and pressed them against the doors. 

“This can’t be happening, this -” Another strangled noise. It sounded like a sob, and your eyes blurred with tears. “Stay put,” the Doctor said, his voice trembling with emotion. 

If you imagined hard enough you could feel him on the other side of the door. “Okay,” you replied shakily, and sniffed. 

“I’ll come find you.” The Doctor sounded like a broken man. Your name falling from his lips sounded like a promise. “I -”

His voice cut off, and the TARDIS was gone.

You pitched forward and didn’t even bother to put up a fight - your knees buckled underneath you, and you fell onto your knees in the wet grass. Sharp rocks dug into your skin. You could barely feel their jagged edges. You looked up at the night sky as the drizzle slowly eased into a rainstorm, and suddenly your home planet had never felt so alien before. 

“Doctor?” you whimpered, your voice impossibly small. It was foolish, thinking the Doctor could hear you, but you didn’t care - “Doctor, can you hear me?”

Nothing. You were soaked now, raindrops running down your face and blurring with your tears. Biting back another sob, you tried again. “Please - come back, okay?”

The silence was deafening. 

You didn’t know how long you had spent in the rain. Long enough for the lights in the windows to shut off, one by one; long enough for chattering and the sounds of passing cars to quiet down; long enough for the rain to fall even harder than before. Long enough for you to stop shivering from the cold, and long enough -

Long enough for something to block the onslaught of the rain. Blearily, you looked up at the face of a young woman in a police uniform, holding an umbrella over the both of you.

“Ma’am, are you alright?” she asked softly. The tone of her voice was enough to make you start bawling again, as if you hadn't spent the last hour just crying your eyes out. “You shouldn’t be out here in the rain.”

“I know, I just -” How could you explain this to her? “I’m lost,” was what you settled on. 

The woman’s face brightened in a reassuring smile. “Not to worry, I'm here to help."

You nodded, bringing yourself to your feet. The policewoman held out her hand for support, and you wrapped your hands around her arm. You didn’t trust your legs to keep you upright right now. “Sorry, weird question, but - where am I?”

She probably thought you were drunk. That was a better alternative than the truth. “Sheffield,” the policewoman replied.

You hoped she was ready for an even weirder question - “What year is it?”

 A year passed. Settling in was easy enough - thankfully, you had your wallet and phone on you when you arrived back on Earth. All it took was a quick call back home, some trips back and forth to move your things, some paperwork, and you were officially a Sheffield citizen. 

You kept the earpiece. Found a way to wear it around your neck like some kind of ornament. It looked pretty enough, but it was hard to move on when you had a reminder of him resting like a weight on your heart everyday. 

You had tried talking into it on some days, on rainy days that reminded you of the day you were left behind. Sometimes, if you listened hard enough, you could hear faint conversation, sometimes laughter.

Maybe he’d forgotten. Maybe he’d found another companion. Maybe he had gone off to find that Clara girl. It was none of your business now, and yet -

You could’ve gone back to your actual home. But it was so hard to leave - it was hard to leave when the Doctor’s last words had been stay put. Your rational brain tried to convince you that he could find you wherever you were, but there was just something that was keeping you from leaving. 

Yasmin Khan was the policewoman’s name, and she was your very first friend in Sheffield. She’d been the one to help you adjust, and had been the one to help you find a job - as a receptionist in a hospital. 

It was a little funny, working with doctors when none of them were him.

A bolt of lightning lit up the sky. You turned to look out your window - there was no rain, and yet the rumbling sound of thunder echoed across the land. Absentmindedly, you brushed your fingers against the earpiece. It was worn now, from all the constant sentimental holding. 

Your phone chimed. A weather forecast - scattered thunderstorms, it read. And your lock screen - a still image of you and the Doctor that Amy had taken, once upon a time. You were on your tippy toes, adjusting the Doctor’s bow tie with an exaggerated focused look on your face, while the Doctor just stood there, flustered.

They say take a picture, it lasts longer. You still had pictures of all your travels. They felt like tourist pictures, posing in front of alien architecture and making silly faces at otherworldly flora and fauna. They lay buried under pictures of paperwork and cute kids that came into the office, but they were still there.

A year. It would be seconds to him, but an eternity for you - and you couldn’t live an eternity hanging on to just memories of him. Your finger hovered above the delete button.

Sorry, Doctor, you thought. The mere idea of just deleting pictures made you feel sad, then you sniffed indignantly. You had to move on some time, and if it could be now, then -

Knock knock knock!

“Who is it?” you called. There was shuffling behind the door, and a hushed argument. “Hello?”

“Hello!” That voice sounded familiar - it was Grace, Grace Sinclaire, who used to be a nurse and someone that you worked with and who was notoriously really nice - “It’s me! Could you open up, love?”

“Coming!” you called back. You ran a hand through your hair and rubbed your face, wondering why she would be at your door at this hour when she should have been heading home with Graham -

You swung the door open and very nearly dropped your phone.

It was Grace, alright - Grace and her grandson Ryan, who was carrying an unconscious woman in his arms.

“Grace, what the -” you floundered. “What’s going on?”

“We need your help,” she said, and gestured to the woman in Ryan’s arms. “Can we come in?”

You were gaping now, craning your neck to try and get a good look at this woman’s face. “You need to take her to A and E, not to my house! I can drive you there, if that’s what you need -”

“I said that too,” Grace said slowly, like she was bracing to drop a bomb on you. “But right before she fell, she said -”

“Said she didn’t trust anywhere that was just initials,” Ryan finished, glancing down at the woman and then back to Grace, who gave you a sympathetic look. “She said your name.”

You swallowed. How -

“No.” An incredulous smile spread across your face, and you shook your head. “No, you’re kidding.”

“It’s true,” Ryan said. 

“...I don’t know this woman,” you said nervously.

“She knows you,” Grace said, almost pleading. “Please, love.”

There was no reason for them to be lying - the shell shocked expression on Ryan’s face was enough to tell you that he was absolutely telling the truth, whether you liked it or not.

And something that the Doctor had taught you - never refuse a call for help - echoed in your brain.

“Put her on the sofa,” you said quickly. “I’ll go get blankets.”

A few minutes later, you had a stranger lying limply on your sofa. 

She didn’t even make a noise when she was laid down. You laid a floral blanket over her middle, and it settled over her clothes - clothes that were obviously too big for her. The sight rang a bell in the back of your mind, of a night where a man climbed out of his broken ship in a past life’s clothes, clumsy and new -

There was a pull to her that you couldn’t resist. You sat down near her, gently taking her head in your hands and guiding it onto your lap like it was second nature to you. Her skin was warm, almost flushed, blonde hair falling over a surprisingly beautiful face.

Grace crouched down near the woman. “Do you know her?”

You stared at the woman’s face. Your answer would have been no, but now you weren’t so sure. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from her even if you tried - and you were trying. Very hard.

Your hands found their way into her hair, and soon you were running your fingers through it like it was the most natural thing to do. “I don’t know.”

“You look like you do,” Grace’s voice was soft. “You look at her like you’ve known her all your life.”

Your head shot up, and Grace just shrugged. She had a small smile on her lips as she reached for the woman’s arm.

“How do you know that?” 

“I can tell,” Grace said simply. “That’s how Graham looks at me, sometimes.”

There was a beat of silence as she took the woman’s pulse, then she gasped - “Ryan - look.”

The woman’s skin was glowing gold. 

“Whoah,” Ryan said. The woman’s eyebrows were pinched together, a small crease forming between the two of them. Gold patterns swirled under her skin, pulsing like starlight, and you jerked your hands away from her like she would burn you. 

Grace looked up at you, her eyes wide. “She’s got two separate pulses.”

The woman’s arm fell limply at her side as she exhaled - golden dust fell from her lips, floating around like a miniature star in the room. You followed it with your eyes, your mouth hanging open for what must have been the third time that hour.

“Oh my God, what is that?” Ryan asked, moving out of the way.

Grace stared. “I have no idea.”

But you had an idea. You knew. Only one person did that. Only one alien did that. If this was who you thought she was, then -

Suddenly, the woman shot up, sitting bolt upright, breaking you out of your racing thoughts - she clutched her collarbone, gasping, eyes wild and searching. “Who woke me up? I’m not ready - still healing, still -”

Still healing. Your mind was still reeling, still trying to pick up the pieces - her voice was so painfully familiar, and now you knew why. You reached out, placing your hands on your shoulders to soothe her. She startled under your touch.

“You’re alright, you’re fine,” you soothed. A part of you was saying that to yourself. “You’re safe, yeah? Look at me.”

The woman whirled to face you, and you shrunk back. Her eyes were striking, green flecked with yellow and brown. It looked like a galaxy.

“Safe - you…” The woman breathed, staring into your eyes. She stared for what seemed like forever, her gaze locked onto yours, searching your face for something. Then something shifted - her eyebrows quirked up, then pulled down, her face morphing from shocked to confused to mournful. 

“Oh,” the woman said. “Oh no, I’m too late, am I?”

Too late for what? you wanted to ask, but the woman had shot up again, crouching like a bird on the sofa.

"Can you smell that?” she asked, then stopped, one hand coming to press against her collarbone. “No, not smell. Not hear. Feel. Can you feel…” She trailed off, her expression serious. “Stay still, Ryan.”

“What is it? What’s the matter?” he asked quickly. The woman leapt forward to pull down Ryan’s shirt slightly. She exhaled, a worried noise, and spun to face the others.

“Show me your collarbones,” she said, a touch of authority in her voice. Everyone else in the room pulled down their shirts slightly, and you gasped. Small glowing dots, pulsing with a magenta light. You’d only ever heard of those kinds of devices, whispered in the dark alleyways of alien cities, hidden under layers of conspiracy.

“Oh, you’ve all got them,” the woman breathed out, eyes wide.

“So have you,” Ryan pointed out, and the woman looked down. Another blinking light on her collarbone. She made a face.

“Yeah, I have. Okay.” The woman inhaled sharply, straightening her posture, preparing to give bad news. You knew that posture. “Really sorry. Not good news. DNA bombs.”

You rose slowly from your chair. “What?”

The woman cocked her head towards you as she walked in a circle around everyone else, her hands behind her back. “Microimplants which code to your DNA. On detonation, they disrupt the foundation of your genetic code, melting your DNA.”

“But -” you spoke, and everyone’s eyes were on you. “But those are illegal in almost every galaxy, right?”

An unspoken how did you know that hung in the air, but the woman just nodded, her lips pressed together grimly. She reached out to press against Ryan’s glowing dot. “Right.”

Ryan’s eyes widened. “How did we get them?” 

“Nevermind that, are they gonna go off?” Graham asked. 

The woman grimaced. “Quiet. I’m trying to think, it’s difficult -” Her expression changed, her eyes big and searching and so very new. “Brain and body still rebooting, reformatting… oh, reformatting! Can I borrow that?”

“Yeah, I guess so, but what for?”

The woman had reached over and grabbed Ryan’s phone. She was tinkering with it, her brows knit as she focused. “That creature. On the train. When you two came onboard, it zapped us all with these. Simple plan to take out witnesses. Very clever.”

“Merciless,” you piped up.

“But clever,” the woman continued. The phone beeped a few times, and the woman gasped, then held it up proudly. “I reformatted your phone!”

“No! All my stuff’s on there,” Ryan groaned, but the woman just grinned. 

“Not anymore!” She said cheerfully. 

She held the phone to her collarbone - there was a loud zap, then she was knocked back against the wall like she had been thrown. She looked up at everyone, gasping. 

“That nap did me the world of good. Very comfy sofa,” she said, breathless. She glanced down at the phone, gasped again, and then scrambled to her feet. She yanked her coat from one of your chairs, and headed for the door - “Come on, keep up!” 

Everyone stopped to stare at each other, then quickly turned to follow. You took a few steps forward, the woman still drawing you towards her - “Wait, let me come with you -”

The woman turned to face you, already halfway out of your door. She shook her head. “No.”

You frowned. “No?”

She stared for another moment, and you saw it - the familiar gleam of concern, of protectiveness that you had seen at least a billion times in another face. The way her mouth dragged downward and her eyebrows knitted together, an expression somewhere between angry and worried. Your breath caught in your throat, your outstretched hand frozen in place. 

“I’m not putting you in danger again,” the woman said, determined. “I don’t know why. Think I’ll find out later. But you -” Her gaze burned you, with eyes that seemed so old and so new at the same time. “You have to be safe,” she continued. “Please. Stay put.”

It sounded like a promise. The woman glanced down at your hand while you lowered it, drawing it close to your chest.

“Okay,” you said. “Go. I won’t keep you.”

The woman nodded. “Thank you.”

And then she was gone, driving off into the night with everyone else. 

You didn’t rest easy that night. Lightning flashed and crackled across the sky without any rain. You jumped every time the sky lit up - too on edge to be calm at all, too confused to try and get some rest - your hand thumbing the silver earpiece that still hung around your neck, strangely warm to the touch.

“This can’t be happening, this - stay put -”

“Please. Stay put.”

“Doctor,” you whispered. 

 Grace’s funeral was a few days after that.

At first glance, it didn’t seem like a funeral. The place was covered in balloons. There wasn’t a hint of melancholy in the air - the sun was shining bright through the windows of the church, not a single cloud in sight. No sign of the lightning from the days before. It was almost like the world had moved on.

You decided not to sit in the front. Tried not to think about the Grace that had brought the Doctor to your doorstep. Tried not to think about you had never thanked her for bringing her back to you. Instead you thought about happy, knowing Grace, and hoped that she could hear you, wherever she was now.

You found Ryan standing near the doors of the church. He was waiting - your heart clenched at the sight. Steeling yourself, you moved to comfort him -

And you stopped in your tracks. The Doctor walked up to him slowly, her hands in her pockets. Ryan glanced at her in acknowledgement. 

“What time did your dad say he’d get here?” the Doctor asked softly. 

Ryan kept on looking out, searching. “Two hours ago.”

“If he said he’ll come -” That was the Doctor, always trying to comfort -

“He says a lot of things,” Ryan said, gruffly. “He’s never been the best at being reliable. I mean how can he not be here? She’s his mum. She would have wanted him here.”

The Doctor nodded, pursing her lips. She kept that empathetic look in her eyes as she gazed up at him, not knowing what to say. That was another familiar thing that hurt. She still was so kind, still out to help others in need.

“I want him here,” Ryan finished. 

That was you, once upon a time. But things had changed, and you weren’t the one that left.

The Doctor’s gaze flickered to where you were, standing just a few feet away. Your eyes met for a second, and something passed over the Doctor’s face. Recognition. Her mouth opened like she wanted to call out for you, her mouth forming over the syllables of your name - 

You turned on your heel and walked away before she could see the tears forming in your eyes.

The door shuddered in its frame as you slammed it behind you. Stupid, getting emotional over her when you were supposed to be moving on like she had - your hands clamped onto the earpiece, gripping onto the small device like it was a lifeline. You hadn’t noticed that you were shaking, or that you had fallen on your knees onto the floor. You took in quick, shallow breaths, blinking the tears away like your life depended on it.

The earpiece was cold in your palms. You tried to let the feeling ground you, but even just remembering what it was made you nearly tip over the edge -

Knock knock knock.

“Yes?” Your voice was rough, and you coughed. “So - sorry, who is it?”

There were some hushed voices. 

“Isn’t it so weird how they know each other?”

“Not the strangest thing anymore, after what’s happened.”

“Hush, both of you.”

Then - a soft call of your name, warm and everything you’d ever needed. 

“It’s me," the Doctor said. “Could you open the door?”

You stilled, not trusting your ears. This wasn’t the triumphant reunion that you had wanted for the past year. That fantasy had faded over time. And yet there was a spark of hope in your chest, threatening to set everything alight.

The Doctor spoke again, her voice impossibly gentle and impossibly the same. “Listen -” Her voice cracked, and you bit back a sob - “I know it’s been some time, but I am so so sorry -”

That was it. You rose to your feet, red eyes and runny nose be damned, and flung the door open.

“No,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “No, don’t start.”

The Doctor’s beautiful new eyes widened a fraction. 

“Hello to you too,” she said quietly. She wasn’t as tall as she used to be - in fact, she was much shorter, so you didn’t have to crane your neck as much to take a good look at her face. She was dressed differently too, finally out of her raggedy clothes and into a new outfit that you’d say was cute, but never to her face. 

You blinked up at her, sniffed, and crossed your arms over your chest. “Don’t apologize.”

The Doctor frowned slightly. “I have to, I left you behind for - oh!”

You grabbed the Doctor by her new suspenders and pulled her against you so she was flush against your chest. You buried your face in the crook of her shoulder, throwing your arms around her neck. Someone - you weren’t sure who - maybe it was Ryan - whistled, but you didn’t hear him.

It took a moment for the Doctor to let her hands rest against your back. Maybe this face wasn’t much of a hugger. But she didn’t let go, and leaned in closer so her chin rested on your shoulder.

“Let me say sorry,” she whispered. “I promised I would keep you safe, promised I’d come back for you. You trusted me, and I let you down.”

“I didn’t think you were gonna come back,” you mumbled. You shifted, letting your cheek rest against her skin. “I thought you’d left me forever and I thought - I thought -”

“Hey,” the Doctor soothed, pulling away. She brought one hand up to rest on your cheek, her thumb delicately brushing tears away, and you sniffed again. You probably looked ridiculous. “I’m here. I’m sorry I took so long.”

You nodded. “Is it still you?”

The Doctor grinned, and the way it lit up the world around her made your heart do flips. “‘Course it’s still me.” She looked down at the earpiece resting against your chest and raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You kept the communicator.”

“I - I couldn’t throw it away,” you stammered, shrugging, “sentimental value. Or I just missed you. Maybe both.”

“Oh, you,” the Doctor said, her eyes glimmering. “You won’t need it anymore.”

Your hands shot up to grab it. You raised an eyebrow at the Doctor, whose grin was just growing wider and wider. You couldn’t help it - you let a smile slip onto your face. “Why is that?”

“Because I want you to come with me. Again.” The Doctor leaned backwards on the balls of her feet, and tucked her hands firmly back into her pockets. 

You felt like you’d just been kicked in the chest - all the air was suddenly gone from your lungs. Every last bit of eloquence that you’d had disappeared in an instant, and all you could manage was, “Uh.”

The Doctor smiled, a kind of nervous, polite smile. “What do you say?”

You could - take her hand and fly away with her again, like nothing had ever happened. Your gaze moved to behind her, where Graham, Ryan, and Yaz stood. They had seen this face before you did, and maybe - just maybe - 

“I can’t. Besides,” you gestured to the three of them, “you don’t need me anymore.”

The Doctor turned to face the three of them, and when she turned back to face you there was an intensity in her eyes that you weren’t a stranger to. The Doctor’s brows furrowed, and you curled in on yourself - that was something the Doctor never liked, when people put themselves down - but you thought it was the truth. 

The Doctor shook her head.

“Yes, I do,” she said simply. She leaned forward to press her lips against your forehead. It still felt magical. “I always have. Always will.”

She peered down at you, looking you right in the eyes, and you tried to find any sign that she was lying. Any sign that this was some kind of trick, some kind of fluke. 

But there she was, her voice gentle and earnest, one hand outstretched to take you back.

You took her hand and her lips quirked up just slightly. That same spark of hope instantly blossomed into a fire, comforting like a hearth on a cold winter evening. 

She led you outside, let you cross the hidden gap between a normal life and a life with her, again. Ryan, Graham and Yaz smiled as you stepped through, your hands intertwined with the Doctor’s.

“No ship, but at least I’ve got you,” the Doctor said cheerfully. Your head shot up to meet her sheepish expression, and you breathed out a laugh.

“The TARDIS? Really? Again?”

“Yep,” she replied, popping the “p” sound. You sighed deeply, but you couldn’t wipe the smile from your face. 

“Oh, you definitely know each other,” Yaz said, her eyes wide with amazement.

“Well? Just like old times,” the Doctor said. “Ready?”

“Aye-aye, captain,” you chirped, and the Doctor laughed.

And when all of you got spat out in the middle of space, in the split second between life and death, you met the Doctor’s gaze and grinned. Perhaps nothing had really changed at all. Perhaps this was just a new chapter.

Geronimo. 

[kpop-cakepops]

What if you take wonwoo to a cafe date, they are eating and drinking when he decided to confess to his bff...maybe for the snuggle donation series 🤭

I looooove youuuuuuuu for this!! Also, not gonna lie, I thought you were telling me to ask actual real life Wonwoo out for coffee 💀 like how the hELL would I do tHAT?!

Anyhow!!!! I wasn't able to make this a part of the Snuggle donation series, BUT that's probably cause your prompt actually reminded me of my very first Wonwoo story (Sunny days and Books) and I decided to give Wonwoo's POV of the day he realized he loved reader! SORRY IF IT WASNT WHAT YOU ASKED FOR BUT I CANT LET THIS IDEA GO!

Warnings: none

Genre: fluff

Word count: 1,349

Sunny Days and Books: The Day He Fell In Love.// Jeon WonwooxFem!Reader

The day he admitted to himself that he fell in love hadn't seemed too special. You had asked him to meet you at the same coffee shop you two had met for the first time on that one rainy day that seemed so long ago. The special occasion? You had been craving coffee.

Wonwoo would typically tell you to make yourself a cup of coffee at home, however, after not seeing you for two weeks because of your exams and study groups, Wonwoo was forced to be transparent, at least with himself... he had missed you. He didn't know when or why, but you'd become important enough to him that he missed you when you were gone for too long.

"Hey there stranger." Your tired voice had brought a smile to Wonwoo's face, one that disappeared when he realized you weren't alone.

"Hey, you" Wonwoo greeted, but his cat eyes were trained on the man standing next to you, looking at him with the exact same curious and almost defensive gaze.

"Oh, this is Joshua. He's my senior and is working in campus as a teacher's aid. He was helping me study just a while ago, so I'm buying him coffee. Josh, this is Wonwoo he's my best friend."

It was odd how your introduction seemed to cause Joshua to let out a small breath of relief, but seemed to make Wonwoo tense up. "Have you ordered?" you asked.

"Yes. I ordered for the two of us, I didn't know we'd have a third joining" Wonwoo told you ignoring the way Joshua scoffed under his breath. Wonwoo knew he was being rude, but there was something inside that was just not allowing him to act rationally.

"I should've let you know, I'm sorry Wonwoo. Josh, I'll go get you a drink, is there anything specific you like?" you asked.

Joshua smiled at you sweetly, his big eyes turning into what Wonwoo could only describe as the most disgustingly cute crescents. Something he would never be able to compare to because cute wasn't exactly a word people used to describe him. "I'll have an iced Americano, thank you."

"Of course! I'll be right back!" you quipped making your way over to the register to order Joshua's drink leaving the two men alone.

"Wonwoo, right?" Asked Joshua forcing a smile at the taller man. Wonwoo, as usual, remained stoic and nodded his head. "So how long have you two known each other?" He asked.

Wonwoo's eyes met Joshua's and he smiled dryly, "about a year, we actually met at this shop. Has she told you about it?"

Joshua chuckled softly, "not at all. She doesn't really talk about you, today's the first time I hear of you actually"

Wonwoo's face faltered slightly. How was it possible that you didn't talk about him at school? You obviously weren't obligated to, but he talked about you all the time. So much that his colleagues asked about you from time to time... so how was it possible that you didn't? "Well, that's funny... I had never heard of you either" he tried retaliating.

"We just met... that's probably why"

"Hey!" Your voice interrupted whatever conversation the two had been having. "Here's your drink!"

"Thank you"

Wonwoo was really starting to hate the man in front of him. He knew it was unreasonable, Joshua hadn't exactly done anything to him personally, but there was a raging discomfort within Wonwoo that made him feel restless. A discomfort that urged him to grab your hand and tug you to sit beside him rather than next to Joshua.

"How've you been? Miss me too much?" You asked. Wonwoo smiled in your direction and nodded.

"I thought you weren't ever going to be done with exams." He told you.

"I'm sorry, I'd been meaning to call you or at least text you to let you know I'm alive, but I've been so tired." You let your head fall on his shoulder for a brief moment and smiled over at Joshua. "If it weren't for Josh, I really don't know what I would've done this exam season"

Joshua awkwardly cleared his throat. "It's the least I can do as your senior."

"Thank you seriously, I would've asked this one to help me but he's too busy being an intern" you teased.

Joshua watched the both of you closely, and you could sense what was going on inside his head. You had noticed it a few days back, the way he stole glances at you every few moments, how he always offered to help you first. You appreciated, the sentiment, but you knew it wasn't just a Senior Junior relationship he was looking for and you weren't heartless enough to tell him you liked someone else already. Someone you'd come to trust with your life in just a year.

"You guys seem awfully close, you sure you're not more than friends?" You could tell Joshua was trying to play it off in a joking manner, but you could also sense the underlying disappointment in his voice.

"Of course we're more than friends" Wonwoo blurted sending your tummy into a spiral.

"Right..." Joshua mumbled looking down at his coffee. "Listen, thank you for the coffee, but I've gotta get back to campus, I promised professor Lee I'd be there for his next lecture."

"Oh okay, that's fine. Thank you for everything, Josh. You're a really good person." You told him as you extended your hand out to him. His eyes dropped to your hand before taking it with a soft defeated smile. "Thank you. You're a really good person yourself. You be careful and let me know if you need help again, I'm always a phonecall away"

Wonwoo scoffed under his breath as he stared out the large window.

"It was nice meeting you, Wonwoo" Joshua added dryly.

"Same here" answered your best friend but he was too busy staring at nothing outside to even acknowledge the leaving man.

Once Joshua left you let out a breath. "Was that not the most uncomfortable situation you've ever been in?" You asked.

"If he made you feel uncomfortable why would you bring him along with you?" Retorted Wonwoo, his dark eyes still set on the street outside.

"Well because... he's a nice guy."

"You realize he wanted more from you than he let on, right?" He asked trying his very hardest to sound nonchalant.

"I know, I just didn't have the heart to tell him I'm not into him... that's why I asked you here" you admitted shyly.

"Me? Why me?" He asked.

"Well because... you're the closest thing I have to boyfriend. You're like my human guardian angel. So I thought I could just bring you here to intimidate him" you were so embarrassed by what you had just told him but there really hadn't been any other reason. "Plus... you were the one that told me that no matter what, I should always come to you if I had a problem"

Wonwoo smiled warmly at you, his large hand reach out to ruffle your hair. "Since when do you listen to me?" He asked.

You rested your head in his shoulder again taking the chance to close your eyes. "Some guy I know once told me that 'Comfort comes in all shapes and sizes and I’m glad you’ve chosen this mere case of a human to trust in' and I trust you."

Wonwoo sighed and let his head fall on yours. It was inevitable for him. He had spent every moment, from the first time you met to that very moment in time, trying to deny the way you made this very unknown protective instinct take over him. "Good... you should trust me. I'm always on your side." He told you.

It was useless, though, because he, the man who refused to believe in love at first sight. The man that swore depended on his intellect rather than his feelings, yes, Jeon Wonwoo himself.... hated the thought of another man by your side. Yes, Jeon Wonwoo was undeniably in love with you.

[nugnthopkns]

eyes full of stars

word count: 3.1k

warnings: insinuated!fem reader, cursing, alcohol consumption, slight sexual innuendo (kind sorta maybe, minors please be aware)

recommended listening: cowboy like me | taylor swift

a/n: it’s cold and snowy. to combat the winter blues i wrote about a sunny minnesota summer with brock :))

You can’t remember the last time you’ve seen Brock this carefree. 

The season was hard on him. There were large periods where he didn’t put up any points, and trade rumors started to circulate. Halfway through, before the playoff push even started, the negative social media comments came rolling in. You frequently saw fans request a trade or say that the organization should regret drafting him. Brock did his best to brush everything off, but it was beginning to waer on his mental health. You’re devastated when they fail to make it to the postseason, but you know it’s for the best. The injured team will spend the offseason recuperating and be ready for the next one. Besides, it means you and Brock will get to spend more time on the lake. 

So here you are, packing the car for the twenty-seven hour drive to Minnesota. Brock insists on driving, says it’s relaxing, but you aren’t sure you agree. Prone to car-sickness so fierce you can barely look out the window, you’d much rather fly. Everything is exasperated by the fact you’re a nervous traveller to begin with, afraid of taking a wrong turn or missing an exit. You’re a terrible road trip partner but at least Brock could talk to the dogs. Coolie and Milo loved car rides, and you can typically hear your boyfriend having full on conversations with them as you fade in and out of consciousness. 

“Ready to go babe?” Brock asks as he closes the trunk. The question is delivered with a bright grin, and despite your anxiety you return it with ease. 

“I don’t really have much of a choice do I?”

He shakes his head, chuckling as he moves towards you. Sliding his hands into the back pockets of your jeans he kisses you lazily. It’s comforting and all-consuming at the same time; doing a great job of occupying your mind with thoughts of him instead of the journey ahead. “I suppose not,” he says, planting a final kiss on your forehead. “It’ll be fine. You can take a Gravol right before we cross the border and you’ll be asleep before we hit Seattle.”

It’s the best plan of attack, so you agree immediately. After taking one last run into your shared apartment to use the bathroom and make sure everything is in order, you make yourself comfortable in the passenger seat of Brock’s jeep. Music filters through the speakers at a low volume, and you focus on the retreating skyline of Vancouver. You’re excited to get back to Minnesota, to relax and see your boyfriend in his natural habitat. Countless days are about to be spent lounging lakeside enjoying each other’s company. It will also be nice to spend time with Brock’s family: they’ve been incredibly welcoming over the years and you can’t wait to catch up with them. You know Brock’s itching to spend time with his nephew, and just to be at home. 

Just as Brock said, you’re asleep before Bellingham. It’s fitful, and you’re frequently woken up by the dogs barking a little too excitedly in response to something Brock said. However, it does a good job of keeping you from emptying the contents of your stomach onto the floor. Somewhere in Idaho, a good seven hours after you left Canada, you awake for the final time. 

“Look boys, Mom’s finally awake!”

You laugh at the comment and lean over the center console to ruffle his hair. It’s still long from the season, and curls slightly around your fingertips. 

“You’re hilarious.”

Brock takes his right hand off the steering wheel, unravelling yours from its resting place and entwining your fingers together. He places a kiss to the back of your palm. “You know I’m just teasing,” he whispers. “I know these drives are hard on you. Thank you for doing it twice a year.”

Instead of answering verbally, you squeeze his hand tighter. Though it’s true you hate driving through five states, you’d do it twice a week if it would make Brock happy. It seems a bit much to convey with a single gesture, but you can tell from the smile that graces his features that Brock understands. The two of you sit in silence, enjoying the scenery and trying to scout for a rest stop. Coolie and Milo are getting antsy and you’re also due to stretch your legs. 

After letting the dogs run around to release some energy and using the bathroom, you start the final leg of the day. Missoula, Montana, is the destination. Not quite the halfway point, but close enough that you could tackle the rest of the miles tomorrow, the city has a wide variety of pet-friendly lodging. You insist you drive the rest of the way, giving Brock a well deserved rest. Looking at the interstate for hours can cause serious highway hypnosis. Not even twenty minutes after getting back on the road he’s asleep, snoring softly as he rests his head on the window. 

You take a moment to admire your boyfriend. He looks so relaxed and peaceful, and the forehead creases that are starting to develop from over analyzing hours of tape disappear. Brock looks years younger, and you know the youthfulness will creep back into him the longer you’re in Minnesota. You can’t wait to see him without any cares again. 

Less than two hours later, the hotel creeps up on your left. Pulling into the first available parking space, you turn the car off before waking Brock. 

“Brock, we’re at the hotel,” you say softly, jostling his shoulder. “Let’s get checked in and then we shower.”

The mention of washing off a day’s worth of travel has him letting the door fly open. You had made sure to pack your overnight bags in an easily accessible spot, and work at getting them out while Brock wrangles the dogs. For being cooped up all day, they’re extremely well behaved. Once cleaned up you imagine you’ll take them on a long walk and grab some food. 

“Hey, give that back. Milo!” you hear Brock yelp, and peek around to see what’s happening. The younger pup has Brock’s bucket hat between his teeth and is in the process of tearing across the parking lot. 

With a giggle you call him back. “Milo, come here baby,” you say. Without a second thought, the dog bolts towards you, knocking against your shins when he fails to stop in time. You lean down to scratch Milo’s ear, and as soon as you ask him to drop the object he places it in your open palm. “Good boy,” you coo, letting him lick the side of your face. 

“He’s your dog alright,” Brock huffs from where he’s standing, Coolie running circles around his ankles. 

You toss the hat over the roof of the car as you laugh at him. “You’re just jealous he listens to me.”

“I sure fucking am. He’d be an absolute nuisance if it wasn’t for you.”

The rest of the night is spent unwinding from the long day. Dinner consists of the greasiest burgers you can find, and you roam around the city hand in hand, the dogs leading you. By the time you get back to the hotel you’re spent. Sleep takes over rather quickly, and you’re dozing off before Brock gets back from brushing his teeth. Once ready for bed, he slides his body against yours. The pair of you fit together like a puzzle, and after a quick kiss you let sleep consume you. 

The second day of travel is much the same, except you do a better job of staying awake. You take a different anti-nausea medication and frequently switch with Brock. Conversation flows easily, ideas for summer excursions and repairs that need to be done around the house. The Boeser’s are kind enough to lend you their lake house during the off season, but the property can be a lot to manage. Brock takes it all in stride, and somehow actually enjoys spending hours mowing the grass. He says it’s relaxing, mind numbing work, so you let him handle it. Country music flows from the car speakers, and eventually talking turns into a full on concert. Milo and Coolie do their best to harmonize with Brock, and it’s too cute not to post somewhere. You sneak your phone from your pocket and manage to catch some of it on video, posting to Instagram immediately. Those from the Canucks organization you have on social media will love it; Brock’s teammates will most definitely chirp him for being tone deaf. 

It’s late by the time you pull into the driveway of your temporary home, almost eleven. Grabbing only the essentials and leaving the rest to be unpacked tomorrow, you unlock the door before flopping on the couch. The dogs follow suit, laying on top of you. When Brock walks in he shakes his head, but still leans over to kiss you. 

“Make sure you text your mom and let her know we made it,” you call to his retreating figure. “And let her know we’ll be over in the afternoon once we get situated.”

You swear he flips you off, no doubt poking fun at your maternal instincts. “Yes ma’am,” he replies. 

“Ma’am?” you shriek. “I am not fifty. You’re so gonna get it Boeser.”

After gently nudging the dogs off your legs you’re chasing after him, laughing all the way. Brock’s a lot faster than you, being the athlete he is, but you don’t give up hope. In a last ditch attempt to get him back, you launch yourself forward, square into the middle of his back. The change in weight distribution has him falling to the floor, sprawling the width of the hallway. Both of you are giggling messes, delirious from lack of sleep and the knowledge you get to spend four months of uninterrupted time together. 

“I love you, you know that right,” Brock murmurs into the crook of your neck. He dots chaste pecks along the skin and you sigh at the feeling. 

Pulling him closer, you make sure to properly enunciate your words as you respond. “Yes sir.”

Brock eyes darken visibly, and he shifts his body so he’s resting on top of you. “You’re in for it now,” he groans, dragging himself to his feet. You quickly follow, meeting his lips in an eager kiss. The pair of you stumble the rest of the way to the bedroom, bodies intertwining like ivy vines, and Brock makes sure to kick the door shut to ensure your pets don’t interrupt the salacious activities he has planned. 

☼☼☼☼

You settle into a routine fairly quickly. Mornings are spent alone while Brock works out, and afternoons are for lounging in the sun. The hours after the sun fades away are spent huddling around a bonfire with friends, and midnights are for just the two of you. Sometimes Brock lets himself rest and spends the day in the middle of the lake doing his best to fish, leaving you to spend time with his mom and sister. They’re lovely; warm and welcoming, making sure you’re never too lonely or bored. You and Brock also spend a lot of time with his nephew, doting over the toddler. Seeing your boyfriend with him makes you want kids, but that’s a conversation that is yet to be had in any serious light. 

Sometimes you join Brock when he does typical professional hockey player in the summer things. It turns out you're quite the golfer, and have put him to shame many times. Countless days are spent helping him fix the roof of the lake house because he insists on doing it himself even though he knows nothing about roofing. At least seven phone calls to his father and a desperate run to the hardware store later, it’s completed; sealed and free of cracks. Though you’re a terrible fisher, Brock tries his best to teach you. Truth be told, you don’t have any interest in the sport, but his tongue pokes out slightly when he’s thinking about how to explain a concept and you think it’s adorable. 

Coolie and Milo are loving being able to roam free, and you both spend a lot of time outside with them. You’re only ever really in the house at night, reading or playing games on the patio furniture Brock’s mom picked out. It’s peaceful; existing like this. You swear you could do it forever. 

Being home allows an invisible weight to be lifted off Brock’s shoulders. There’s a pep in his step, and he’s always smiling. Even the intense at-home workouts can’t seem to bring him down. You’re delighted, how could you not be? It’s as if the only things that matter to him are enjoying a few beers lakeside and coaxing you out of shorts in the dark. You suppose that’s the truth. 

☼☼☼☼

It’s incredibly warm out. The sun beats down on your back as you turn the pages of your novel, half listening to the conversation Brock is having with his friends. A group of you are on the boat, enjoying one of the last full days of summer. Later in the week you and Brock will pack up the car again, making the long trek back to Vancouver. You’re sad time has passed so fast, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t excited to be back in the city. It’s your home, and the boys seem to be really fired up for the new season. You have a feeling some really good hockey is going to come out of Rogers Arena. 

“Yo Y/N, who’s the better driver. Me or Boes?” 

The question pulls you from the fantasy taking place on the pages, and you look to see who’s speaking to you. It’s Brock’s dearest childhood friend, someone you consider family at this point. “It’s absolutely not Brock,” you shrug. The comment earns a loud laugh from everyone and you find yourself joining in. 

“Ouch babe, that hurts,” Brock says as he slides into the free space next to you. Casually wrapping a strong arm around your shoulder, he leans down to whisper into your ear. “Looks like you need to be taught a lesson.”

His words have a vaguely sexual connotation, and you look around nervously. Your swimsuit won’t cover the flush that will be sure to rise on your skin if Brock tries anything. Everyone seems to be engaged in their own conversations, but you still feel queasy about getting caught. Though Brock’s friends are the type to laugh it off, you’d be absolutely mortified. 

Before your brain can overthink anything else, you’re being lifted from your seat. It only takes two seconds for Brock to hoist you over the side of the boat and throw you into the cool water. You land with a glorious splash, but take your time coming to the surface. Partly to bring your temperature down, partly to make your lover squirm. 

“You’re a fucking asshole,” you yell to him from below, but the bright smile you flash him lets Brock know you don’t mean it. 

He sets his hat on top of your book before climbing over the edge. “Shut up,” he fires back, diving gracefully to join you in the water. 

A small splashing match breaks out, and soon everyone else is in the water, picking sides. You swim until your skin is wrinkled beyond recognition, pruned and puckered something akin to a raisin. Only once the sky begins to redden do you head for home. Brock keeps the boat at cruising speed, and you sit comfortably in his lap. Once back on land, dinner is quickly thrown together. A mish-mash of what’s left in your fridge and what others have brought, but it works. The boys huddle around the grill and everyone else swoons over the dogs, who are on their best behaviour. 

Later in the night, once the dishes are cleaned up and some guests with day jobs have left, you settle into Brock’s side at the fire. Not caring if you get chirped for the PDA, you hold his face in both your hands and rest your forehead against his. The scruff that’s grown in since the last time Brock shaved tickles slightly, but you’re too in love with him to care. It’s been so refreshing to see him relaxed, acting without a care in the world. Hopefully the attitude he currently has will stick and not disappear once you hit the Vancouver city limits. 

Brock takes a sip of his beer before offering the bottle to you. You gingerly place it to your lips, making a face at the taste. He laughs at your reaction, pushing a few loose strands of hair behind your ear. 

“Still tastes disgusting,” you mutter, reaching for your own drink to wash away the taste. 

The fire crackles gently behind you but you barely register the sound, in your own little world where everything is perfect. It’s you, Brock, and the dogs living in a house similar to the one you’re currently residing in, living life to the fullest. 

“You gonna come back to me, space cadet?” Brock chuckles, tracing the outline of your nose. 

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry,” you apologize. “Was just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Us. The future. Living in a lake house just like this one and spending all our time being so in love with each other that our friends constantly make fun of us. Maybe having kids in a couple of years. How I love seeing you like this; so at peace and full of life.”

In lieu of a response, Brock kisses you passionately. It’s a soft kind of passion: one that holds you tenderly and whispers sweet nothings in your ear. He tastes like the Coors Light he’s been drinking, but somehow the idea of beer is much more appealing when mixed with Brock. You lose yourself in him for a while, relishing in the gentleness of his hands resting on your waist. Eventually you return some of your attention to the others, but even then you can’t find it in yourself to focus. Your mind is filled with nothing but love for Brock. 

It’s seems that he’s feeling the same way, because he continually leaves kisses across your shoulder blade. “I really, really love you,” Brock confesses, and you feel him smile through the thin material of your worn hoodie. 

You intertwine your pinky with his and let them sit comfortably in your lap. “I love too. So much that it’s all consuming.”

Brock often leaves you breathless in more ways than one, but sweet sentiments like this will always take the cake. Especially when they happen on summer nights where he’s free to be his authentic self.

☼☼☼☼

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