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thelittleboyfromloveactually · 3 years ago

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Surprise?

Benny Watts x reader

Promt: When Benny leaves for a work trip, you find yourself feeling sick. And after a trip to the doctors your relationship with Benny is tested, will the two of you continue and have a future together? Or will this “surprise” ruin you both forever?

Warnings: Cussing, throwing up, ANGST, fluff

authors note: Here it isss!!!! FINALLY! I’m so sorry for the delay! Also, ok so kinda off topic but i am going to write a series for an actor (actor masterlist), tell me who you guys want it to be for :) Enjoy the fic!

When you where 12 years old you fell in love with chess. You didn’t grow up rich so chess and reading books was your favorite way to pass the time. Chess was like a safe space for you, when your parents would fight, you would go into your room and play chess. You were amazing at it, you entered one tournament went you where 15 and you beat everyone there. But nothing much came of it, you couldn’t really afford to spend hours a day practicing and as you got older your life became more and more busy and complicated. When you were 14 years old your older brother died of a drug over dose and only 3 years later your mom died of stage 4 breast cancer. You and your dad weren’t close, infact once you where old enough to move out, you never really spoke to him again. He was a drunk and a abusive father. But now you were your own person, you were a reporter, a chess reporter.

On your first assignment you met Benny, Benny Watts. He was a charmer, he let you interview him and then the next day he caught you before you checked out of the hotel to ask to take you out sometime. That was 2 years ago. Now you lived with Benny, he wasn’t always the best boyfriend, but you knew he cared. Every once in a while he would buy you something nice or take you out to dinner. You often traveled with Benny to his tournaments, but lately you hadn’t been able too. You were up for a big promotion at work and you weren’t able to travel.

Currently Benny was sitting in the small living room playing a game of chess against himself. He didn’t know of your skill, and it didn’t bother you. Sometimes when he was away you would secretly play some games against yourself. Chess was Bennys thing, and you were ok with that. You were reading Emma by Jane Austen on the couch. It was one of your favorite novels. You flickered your eyes away from the pages to look at Benny, he was very focused on the game. You sighed, it was getting late and you still needed to start dinner.

“Hey Benny, what do you feel like for dinner? I’m kinda hungry” you said putting your book mark in and closing your book.

“Um I don’t care” he said blankly, not even looking away from the board

“Uh ok well how about som-“ you were cut off

“I said I didn’t care Y/N, you eat now I’ll snack on something later” he said firmly

You nodded not daring to say more. You stood up and started to chop some carrots when suddenly the phone rang.

“I’ll get it” you said drying your hands and walking over

“Hello?” You said

“Is this Benny Watts?” The man on the phone asked

“Um no this is his um, girlfriend, would you like me to get him for you?” You asked looking over at Benny

“Yes please, thank you” the man said

“Uh Benny it’s for you” he stood up and grabbed the phone from your hands, you went back to your cooking.

You didn’t really listen to the conversation they were having, probably some interview set up or something. You heard Benny put the phone down

“I have to get packing Y/N, I have to leave for a tournament tomorrow” he said headed toward his room

“Oh ok, do you need help?” You asked sweetly, you really wanted to ask why he found out so late but you didn’t want to bother him

“No” he said plainly, you nodded your head in response and continued on with your task at hand.

The next morning both you and Benny got up early, you wanted to say goodbye to him. You walked Benny to the door and handed him his bags. He kissed you on the cheek

“I’ll be back soon, love you” he said turning to the cab behind him

“Love you too, Benny” you smiled

He got in the cab and drove off.

The rest of your day was mostly just catching up on work. It was Sunday so you didn’t actually have to go in.

You were sitting at the small table in your living room when suddenly you felt the need to throw up. You stood up and threw your hand over your mouth as you quickly ran to the bathroom. You made it just in time to barf your guts out into the toilet. You were there for about 5 minutes, hovering over the toilet throwing up when finally your stomach settled down a little. You growned and stood up, tapping your arms around to stomach and dragging yourself into your bed. Of course you had to get sick when Benny was going to be gone for a week. You sighed and crawled under the covers. It was only 3 minutes before you were sound asleep.

You woke up around 3 in the morning with a sudden need to throw up AGAIN. You ran to the toilet. Jesus why was wrong with you, you had a great immune system and hardly ever got even a cold. As you lay on the bathroom floor you wouldn’t help but think about all the possibilities. Then you realized something. When was the last time you had gotten your period?! You stood up and went to your purse to grab your planner. 7 weeks ago was the last time you saw the red drop of blood that you had drawn to mark the start of your period. You were 3 weeks late. 3 fucking weeks late, how did could I not have noticed this?! You thought to yourself, you quickly went over to the phone and called your friend, praying she was home. As the phone wrang you tried to thing of the last time you had had sex with Benny. You had been so busy and Benny was traveling that it was probably a month ago! You cursed under your breath when she didn’t pick up. You dialed the number of your doctor and waited patiently. You tried to calm yourself down, you needed to make an appointment, then you would know for sure. Then you heard a voice from the other side of the line.

“Hello? Doctor Peterson’s office, how can I help you?” The lady asked

“Oh hi! I’m uh I need to make an appointment, preferably tomorrow, to see Dr. Peterson?” You asked passing back in forth

“We have an opening at 8:30am if you are willing to come then?” She asked

“YES! Yes of course thank you! I will be there!” You said excitedly, or you were nervous, you could exactly tell. You gave her your information and thanked her again. You hung up and started to diale bennys hotel number, but you stopped yourself. He’s probably busy, and I may not even be pregnant, you thought. You sighed and went to sit on the couch, but what if I am, you thought.

Shit. In your hand were your official results, saying that you were in fact pregnant.

“I have great news hun! You're 7 weeks pregnant! Congratulations!!!” Your OB/GYN said

“Uh t-thank you” you weren’t sure why she was so excited, it’s not like you wanted to be pregnant

“Who’s the father?” Geez personal much

“Uh my boyfriend, Benny” you said taking the paper she held out to you

“Well I hope you two the best” she smiled

You folded the paper and put it in your bag and started the car. The entire way home you brain was clouded by one single thought. How where you going to tell Benny. You loved him with all your heart but would he be able to handle this. He barely spends time with you as it is, and with a young child? You would practically raise it by yourself. After a short car ride you arrived at your small house. That was another problem, did you have room for a baby? Could you afford a baby?

After hours of debating and throwing up you decided not to tell Benny just yet. You wanted him to be here in person when you tell him. You were scared and angry. You decided that you would give Benny a choice. All or nothing. You needed to be sure that he still cared for you more than chess and himself. That he too would be a present parent to your child. And if not, then your mother had a guest room and welcoming arms.

Today was the day. The day Benny would be told he was going to be a father. You had cleaned the house so he could come home and not stress. Not that cleaning ever stressed him out. You sat on the couch anxiously awaiting his arrival. Were you nervous? Yes, very. As much dread as you held in you, you also couldn’t help but feel a sense of curiosity, of suspense. You loved Benny and would never want to leave him. But you had to do what was best for you, best for the baby.

You were taken out of your thoughts when the door opened, Benny stepping through it.

“Y/N? I’m home” he said, lucky for you he sounded pretty cheery. It was quite obvious he had won. By now it was almost a guarantee. He put his luggage down and looked around for you, and he smiled when he laid his eyes on you. “Hey” he said walking over to wrap his arms around you

“Hi Benny” you said smiling sweetly, he gave you a quick peck on the lips before letting go of you and heading to sit by his chess board. Of course.

“The guys almost beat me, I’m gonna run the game. He was smart but I was smarter.” Benny said taking off his coat

“I’m actually Benny, there is something I need to tell you” you said now fidgeting with you fingers

“Can it wait Y/N? This is really important” he said already replaying the game

You sighed, “actually it can’t wait Benny, what I have to tell you is really important” you said mimicking him

“Fine but make it quite ok? I’ve got games to go over and my coffee is wearing off” he said turning to you

You were getting angry at how rude he was suddenly, “do you love me?” You asked

Bennys eyes widened, surprised by your sudden question, “of course I love you Y/N” he said

“Well sometimes Benny….sometimes it doesn’t seem like it. You hardly touch me anymore. You never leave the chess board! You are so...so distant! Benny I love you so much! But I wish I could have that love in return. You love the game! I get it! I did once too! But the game doesn't love you! Sure maybe it favors you, but it’s a game Benny! A game! Not a person! Not a baby who needs attention! Don’t get me wrong I love seeing you pursue your dreams so much! It makes me so happy! But it doesn't seem like a dream anymore Benny, it seems like an addiction.” You paused trying to catch your breath and calm yourself down, Bennys face was still. “Benny I’m pregnant, with your kid. And I love you so much, but I can’t raise this kid by myself, it needs its dad to be there, I need its dad to be there. You need to choose Benny, no more halfway in, you're in or you're out. I need to do what’s going to be best for the baby, I hope you can too” you left it at that, heading toward the door and leaving the house. Leaving Benny. Not forever, but leaving him to think about all that you said.

Bennys POV

I stood there. I heard the door shut. What just happened? Did she say she was pregnant? Shit. I was confused to say the least. I never thought be being a great chess player bothered Y/N. Fuck what have I done? I can give up chess. But then again, I can’t give up Y/N. I guess maybe I’m not the best boyfriend, but I need her. She keeps me as close to sane as I can be. I don’t know what I would do without her. I plopped down on the couch and ran my fingers through my hair. I messed up. I should have been there. I know it should have. Dammit. As much as I hate it Y/N was right. Of course she was, she always is. I love chess but I am addicted to winning. And that makes me distant and rude. Fuuuuuck. I grabbed my hat and ran toward the door. I knew where Y/N was going. She always went there when we fought. She was going to where I took her on our first date.

Normal POV

The string lights shone above your head as you walked through the park. Your cheeks were wet from tears. You loved the park at night. It was so….peaceful. The lights allowed you to still see the gorgeous garden flowers that were planted everywhere. The first time you ever kissed Benny was here, in this park. You had gone to this park for a picnic. He had set up flowers, treats and surprisingly very good food that Benny supposedly made. You ate and talked for hours until it got dark. After you put the food away you took a stroll in the park which ended at a bench, the beach under the cherry tree. It bloomed every spring and it was gorgeous. The two of you had sat down on the bench, Benny grabbed your hand and smiled at you, and two seconds later, your lips were connected. Moving in perfect sync. That was then. Now you sat on the bench crying, hoping that Benny would choose to be a dad for your child.

You sat on that bench for 10 minutes, contemplating your life desisions when suddenly you heard foot steps behind you. You turned your head slightly to see Benny walking over, holding his hat in his hand.

You sighed in relief, but then to be out in stress avian when you realized he could be here to say goodbye.

“I’m sorry” he said moving to sit next to you

You tried not to look at him, you avoided eye contact.

“I’m really fucking sorry, Y/N” he said “I-I know I have been distracted and distant and rude and I am sorry. I love you, all of you, including this baby. It’s gonna take time ok? But your gotta let me try, I will make every thing right. I will ok? I promise. I love you Y/N, forever. When you left i realized how much I need you, I don’t think I can live without you. Your my home, my rock, my best friend and the love of my life. I know It doesn’t always seem like that but you are. I’m it good with love and stuff so give me some time to figure it out. But I will be here, I will help you raise this kid…..our kid. I’m all in, forever” he said putting his hand on top of mine. I looked up at him finally, and he turned his head to look at me. And then we kissed, just like our first kiss, but more needy, more passionate, full of love, guilt, and want.

“I love you too Benny” I said smiling

We both let out a laugh and our lips connected again.

4 years later

“Daddy daddy look! I drew your chess board!!! And I can name all the pieces!” Hudson said

“That’s amazing buddy! Show me your skills!” Benny said as Hudson sat on his lap

“That’s a rook, that’s a knight, that’s a bishop, that’s a queen, and then the king, and then the bishop, knight and rook again!” He said pointing to each one

“Great job!!! Soon you're going to be a grandmaster!” Benny said kissing his forehead

You smiled as you watched your son, Hudson chess Watts, yes Benny decided on Chess as his middle name, and your husband smile and play together. You found it incredibly adorable that Benny was already teaching Hudson to play chess. Sometimes you even played. Benny looked up at you and smiled, you smiled back. Benny came around in the end, and is the best husband and father to Hudson that you could have asked for. You were happy with your life. So freaking happy. You had your boys. Who knew that such and unwanted surprise could bring such needed happiness.

#the queens gambit #benny watts x reader #benny watts #chess

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ramp-it-up · 3 years ago

Text

Fine

Pairing: Rafel Casal x Reader

Word count: 2Kish.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, MINORS DNI, CURATE YOUR OWN EXPERIENCE! Dark Dom!Rafa, Daveed dancing, drinking, cursing, angst, possessiveness, ex sex, face slapping, bathroom sex, fingering, oral (f receiving) clit slapping, orgasm denial, bdsm, binding, lashing, gagging oral (m receiving).

Summary: You didn’t need Rafa anymore. You were just fine without him.

A/N: This is a little dark. I think I’ve used this pic of Rafa before, but it’s perfect for this fic. And btw, I’m on my Rafael Santiago Casal Bullshit. Watch out.

-----------

It had been 84 days and you were perfectly fine.

Out with your girls, you were wearing your freakum dress, getting plenty of attention and drinks.

You were fine.

So fine, that you were debating on which fine man to go home with. You surveyed the room for your pick. They’d all bought you a drink. You were polite, drank with them and told them you’d get back with them. You were trying to decide.

The chocolate one with the light eyes and the razor sharp fade?

The light skin with the gap teeth and hella swag?

The beefy blonde with the buzz cut?

You downed your fifth drink and moved towards those pretty gap teeth and swag.

Someone tall stepped in front of your 5” 6” frame in heels. You zigged and they zagged, blocking you from your goal.

You sighed and looked up at them, ready to politely ask that they move or cuss them out. It just depended on how their face made you feel.

You looked up to see Daveed and you squealed.

“DIGGS! HOLY FUCK IS THAT YOUUUU????”

He smiled and laughed at you.

“The one and only. What’s crackin’ girl?” He leaned back and surveyed your form in the dress.

“Damn! You’re still fine as hell!” He was shaking his head.

You threw yourself at him, your short body almost knocking his big lanky ass over with your over zealous buzzness. He laughed and hugged you more, leading you away from the bar.

“Where’s my girl?” You looked around for Daveed’s other half.

“She’s across country at a gig. I miss my Lady.” Daveed’s pout was adorable.

“Awwww, po baby. I’m gonna have to tell her to give you some electronic lovin.’” You started to pull out your phone.

“Oh, don’t bother. She already knows what’s up. Come dance with me.”

Daveed had turned into Mr. Smiley, and as usual, you couldn’t resist him. But you loved to tease.

“Boy, you know you can’t dance.”

“Fuck you mean????” Daveed started doing a very ugly robot.

“Fine! Let’s dance, ugh!”

You groaned and grabbed his hand to pull him out on the floor before he could embarrass himself, and you, any further.

Y’all had a ball, laughing and trying to talk to each other over the loud music, Daveed white girl dancing and you trying to teach him some moves.

After about four songs, the music turned slow and you two stood there awkwardly.

“Well, I guess I’ll go….”

You looked around to see if High Yella was still around.

Daveed’s eyes were above your head and the hair on the back of your neck stood up.

“May I have this dance?”

FUCK fuck fuck fuck fuck.

You turned around, and came face to face with Rafael Casal. Damn he was so fine.

You cocked your hip and crossed your arms, and glared up at him, mad because you felt like this was a trap.

Rafa stared at your pushed up breasts in the dress and your nipples pebbled as he licked his lips wolfishly.

You avoided the memories of Rafael’s excellent nipple play looked back at Daveed for rescue to see that Rafa’s wingman had suddenly disappeared.

You turned your head back to Rafa, the swivel in your neck obvious.

“I should have known that you would be lurking around here somewhere.”

You rolled your eyes, super annoyed and full of attitude.

And that’s why Rafa’s dick was on hard. He needed to give you some act right.

He’d watched you promise your body to every dude in the place with that fucking dress and lead them on. He needed to remind you whose it was.

Fuck that he’d given you the ‘It’s not you, it’s me,’ months ago.

You belonged to him.

“I don’t lurk, Sweet Pea, I flow. And yeah, you know Diggs is the Yin to my Yang, and vice versa.”

Rafa was speaking low enough that you had to lean in, and you caught his scent. Fuck if you weren’t thrown back 83 days to the last time you’d let him take you apart and literally screw you back together.

That dick was an artistic masterpiece, just like everything about Rafael Casal.

But you were fine.

“You have some nerve, calling me Sweet Pea. Fuck you, Santiago.”

You were heated, and maybe it’s because you wanted some act right. You cursed your pussy’s muscle memory and the five drinks you had that were making you weak for him. Because other than that, you’d be fine.

“Maybe later.” He smirked at you, so damn cocky.

“So, are you gonna stand in the middle of the dance floor and cuss me out, or are you gonna move to the music with me?”

Rafa held out his arms and you looked around, pretending that you didn’t want to be encircled by them again. But you couldn’t be rude, right?

You stepped to him and he put his hands around your waist and crossed them behind you, pulling you flush to him. You stared at his lips as you felt him look down at you.

You didn’t dare look into his eyes, but this view was making you remember what that mouth do.

Shit.

Rafa cleared his throat.

“So, how have you been?”

You looked over his shoulder to the speakers on the stage.

“These past three months have been fine, just fine, Rafael. My life is so zen now. I’m happy.”

“Not quite three months, Sweet Pea. 83 days and 14 hours. And I’ve missed you like crazy.”

You looked up into his eyes when he said that. Oh, hell.

“Oh. Did you now?” You were hot.

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you broke up with me the morning after you fucked me goodbye, you self centered narcissist asshole.”

You tried to leave his embrace, but Rafa slid his hands around to hold you fast, thumbs digging into your hip bones, hurting you. At the same time, his grip caused you to feel his desire pressed against your stomach.

You gasped and slapped his face. Hard.

You two stared at each other on the dance floor for a full ten seconds which seemed like forever.

The next thing you knew, you were being pushed up against the stall in the bathroom, the act of Rafa pulling you in there a total blur.

It always started like this, rough, fast, and hot.

Rafa’s hands were under the hem of your dress, dragging it up so that he could grab your panties and pull them down.

“You seem to have forgotten lesson number one. Whose pussy is this, Sweet Pea?”

You refused to answer and closed your eyes, memories of him seducing you just by teaching your fucking Poetry 201 course years ago flooding your brain.

He shook his head and knelt on the filthy floor as he removed and pocketed your thong.

“You prolonging your submission just prolongs the punishment, Sweet Pea. Is that what you need tonight?”

He licked a stripe up your leg and slung it on his shoulder, rutting into your pussy with his mouth.

Your protest at him stealing your clothing died on your lips and was replaced by a moan as Rafael’s skillful tongue started to swirl around your clit, while his fingers came up to roughly finger fuck your cunt.

“Damn, Rafa.”

You moaned and pulled his hair as his other hand came up to try and still your squirming on his face.

“Shut up and stay still, damnit.”

He spoke to you through your pussy, and your eyes rolled back in your head as the vibrations drove you crazy.

You tugged harder on his hair, which made him graze your clit with his teeth. Then, he laved it with his tongue and leaned back to look at it adoringly and then up at you.

You stared down at him, and watched his face glisten with your arousal. Then you caught his look. He sighed at your insolence.

“Fine. You know the drill. This is going to be payback.”

Before you could move, Rafa reached up and lovingly swirled three fingers around and around your clit, then slapped it three times.

You screamed, thankful that the club music was back to a loud cacophony.

He looked at you again, smiling that fucking smile.

“You wanna cum all over my face, Sweet Pea? Want me to make you unravel right here?”

You refused to answer him, but you both knew what was up. Rafa just chuckled at you, and leaned back in to devastate you with his mouth.

He flattened his tongue and took wide, languid strokes against your clitoris, keeping eye contact with you.

You were on fire, all nerves alive and reacting to what he was doing. He inserted two fingers inside you and curled them so precisely to that spot that always made you wonder if he was present at the engineering of your pussy.

You quivered, eyes squeezed shut and tears eaking out, so close to doing what he’d asked you about and bracing for it. Your muscles were taught, your feet were on tiptoe, even further than your 5 inch heels required, and you were holding your breath.

As soon as you felt you were about to gush into his mouth, suddenly, his warm tongue was replaced with cool air, and his fingers withdrew from your cunt.

“Arrghhhh! Cash! Fucking hell????”

He stood up, licking his fingers as he turned away from you, washed his hands and face, and used the water on them for his hair.

You were quivering with rage and desire. As you fixed your mouth to cuss him out, he spoke, calmly.

“You better not fucking move until I’m done.”

Rafa’s ice blue/green eyes in the mirror, and the tone, made you stand stock still, your dress still around your waist. Your pussy throbbed with excitement.

He finished the swoop, then turned back around to you, straightened your panties and pulled your dress down.

Then, he grabbed your face, pushing you against the stall again. His voice was menacing and cold.

“That’s just the beginning of your punishment for slapping me out there.”

You were dripping on the floor now. You wanted to hear what was next, despite yourself. No one could destroy and put you back together as eloquently as Rafael could.

Fuck, how you’d missed it. You were so wound up.

“If you want me to finish it, you know what to do. If you’re done…”

His eyes took in your face. So fucking beautiful.

“Well, goodbye Sweet Pea.”

He leaned in, and gave you a kiss, releasing your face and his hold on you. You moaned a little and put your arms around his neck, reveling in the tenderness while wanting the pain.

You whimpered as he pulled away, backed toward the door and walked out.

You went to the sink and put a cold paper towel on your neck, fixing your makeup and hair and getting your mind right.

You looked in the mirror. You were fine. You didn’t need what Rafael Casal had to offer.

You made a decision, straightened up and walked out of the bathroom.

----

An hour and a half later, you were in Rafael’s bedroom, naked on your knees, hands tied around your back, the lashes on your ass throbbing, gagging around his cock and praying that he’d let you breathe before you passed out.

You didn’t need Rafa.

But you wanted him.

And that was more than fine.

———

I hope it was fine for you! 😜

Tagging:

@sillyteecup @ohsoverykeri @theselilwonders @theatrenerd86 @sebastianabucknettastan @imatyoursurrvicesurr @riiyy @ivycomet @lonelydance @jbrizzywrites @biafbunny @summerofsnowflakes @anh1020 @honeysucklechocolatedrippin @delaber @wreakhavoconmacroissantdiggs @janthonybitch @einfachniemand @elocinnicole @mysearchforgratification

#rafael casal x reader #bay boys #Rafael Casal #Rafael Santiago Casal #rafael casal angst #rafael casal fanfiction #rafael casal oneshot #rafael casal smut #rafael x reader #rafael casal imagine #rafael casal fic #Dom! Rafael #Dom! Rafa #18 +#Daveed Diggs

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writing-in-april · 4 years ago

Text

My Date with the President’s Daughter

Spencer Reid x Female Reader (Spencer POV)

Summary: Spencer has a date with the President’s daughter, who he’s been dating for a while in partial secret. He hasn’t seen her in person for a while so he’s had to settle for another form of communication.

A/N: Ok just to get this out of the way— this is not a politically charged fic, I don’t express my own political beliefs in this fic nor do I express my opinion on the beliefs of others. The president in this fic is entirely made up and I just thought it would be cool to release it on Inauguration Day like the nerd I am. I do not want a political debate in the comments, this blog is not meant for that. This fic is for fun and to make people a little happier in these trying times. Please respect my wishes. This was a really fun way to write a twist on Spencer dating someone famous and- I wonder if anyone can spot the West Wing reference I used 🤔Thanks to @spencers-dria again for always helping me out with my fics 🥰This is also apart of my unlinked fic series called Spencer Reid & Letters! Requests are open and thank you for reading!

Warning: Vague political talk, References to keeping their relationship secret earlier, Avoiding the paparazzi- that should be it.

Main Masterlist Spencer Reid & Letters Word count: 1.6k

She didn’t have to put her short little letter to me on the back of a postcard, but she always did it this way. I remember when she first told me why she did it. We were sitting cuddled up on my couch at the early start of our relationship. I had asked her why she always insisted she send her letters on the back of a tiny card, she would’ve had so much more room if she got out a piece of paper.

She said she got into the habit of sending them to her father whenever he was away on business. Her handwriting had been horrible as a child according to her and her father had suggested she try to fit all of her thoughts onto a postcard. So, now she sent all of her letters neatly handwritten with the smallest of letters, so small you could almost barely read them, on the back of a postcard.

The postcard I had gotten late today, delivered by one of the last people on duty this late at night, was a picturesque view of the White House. The grass bright green and the outside covered in pure crisp white, a statuesque image of American democracy. Now, she didn’t send this to me because she wanted to express her political views and patriotism in a postcard, it just so happened to be where her father lived.

The fact that she was the President’s daughter used to intimidate me a lot when I first met her. I hadn’t immediately connected the dots in my head that she was the first daughter when we first met, though I could tell I had seen her somewhere before. Though, my first assumption was that maybe she had been a regular at my favorite coffee shop, not the daughter to the President of the United States. Literally my biggest boss.

First time I met him was also my first time in the east wing; she had some help from her secret service detail to sneak me in through the back. I only ever nervously stutter when I’m in intimidating or stressful situations and I’m pretty sure I barely got a sentence out the first ten minutes after I had met him. Luckily, he did seem to like me, though I’m not really sure why. Y/N told me once it was because he found my intelligence extraordinary and my constant willingness to share facts endearing. I always blush when I remember that, she was always so sweet to me and the fact that her family loved me as well caused my heart to swell exponentially. I stared at the captured view for a few seconds longer before the dots had fully connected in my head, I may have an eidetic memory, but sometimes it took me a minute to get her subtle hints. She didn’t actually live at the White House, she had her own house in D.C. But, this postcard meant one thing. She’s home.

Each postcard she sent me had a picture of wherever she was while she was traveling the world, it was a small gesture that made me feel closer to her, I always tried to imagine I was there with her at every location she sent. She had been out of the country for at least a month on business and even before that we hadn’t seen each other for a while, I had been stuck on a long case that kept me away from her for half a month.

A month and a half, that’s how long it's been since I’ve had her in my arms. I turned over the card expecting to see it filled with more words than most people would think could fit on the back of a postcard to let me know when I could see her, but this was not the case. Instead, the back of the card contained less words than normal. Only the words- meet me at 10pm at our usual spot.

My body moved faster than my brain, getting up to pack up all my things to rush to our usual spot. My watch sat over my cardigan sleeve on my wrist and it blinked up at me letting me know I only had 30 minutes till I had to get to the other side of town.I still had some paperwork left, but enough that I could push it off till the next day. Once I had gotten all my stuff together I scurried over to leave through the glass doors.

“Are you heading home, Spence?” A voice from inside the bullpen called out startling me out of my thoughts, I had thought everyone had left for the night. I turned around to look at the owner of the voice, JJ, who had come back from the break room to finish her large stack of paperwork that still remained.

“Actually no- I have a date.” A small shy smile made its way onto my face, I still felt very shy when I talked about my relationship with the team. When I had first told them after around 8 months into our relationship, they had thought I was pulling their legs. Once they did realize that I was in fact, not bullshitting them as Morgan had suspected, the questions had immediately come down on me. The ogling at my relationship never really ceased in the months after it had come out to the team, and the rest of the world. We mostly still tried to keep it under wraps, but the fact that the press now knew about me after some photos got leaked from a date only made the team ogle even more.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to who you go on dates with, it’s like something out of a movie.” JJ joked, then yawning again and leaning her face into her palms. “Well- I still have a lot of paperwork to do, you go enjoy your night, Spencer. I know you haven’t seen her in a while.”

My mind had already begun to shift away from JJ as soon as she brought her up, I was practically vibrating in anticipation, I couldn’t wait to see her.

—-

The rare book store on the east side of Quantico had been my favorite for years, ever since I had moved out here from Vegas actually. So much so that the owners, an older couple named Margaret and Dan, both knew me by name and knew almost exactly what books I wanted every time. The both of them had immediately jumped at the chance when I had hesitantly asked them to let the both of us meet up here, I had been desperately trying to find a place outside of my apartment where we could meet up.

When I entered the shop through the back it was already deserted just for us, she must have contacted Maggie and Dan to ask them if we could have the store for the night. The store was packed full of the rare books the owners had both acquired over the years, ranging from old tales and poems written by Edgar Allan Poe, the dark brother’s Grimm tales, to almost any old book that you could think of. It was almost to the point where I thought maybe Maggie and Dan should upgrade to a bigger shop.

“Long time no see.” A voice piped up from the mostly dark corner where she sat in a dark green armchair only partially illuminated by a standing lamp. Broad grins broke out on both of our faces before we both ran to each other, engulfing ourselves into an overwhelming bear hug.

“I missed you so much you don't even know.” Tears prickled at the edge of my eyes, though I wasn’t afraid to admit that us being apart for so long made me tear up.

“I've got a pretty good idea, I missed you so much as well.” She sniffed and then sighed into the crook of my neck. I moved my hand up to cradle her head to try and bring her as close as possible to me, even though there was already not even an inch of space between the two of us.

A nagging thought was dancing around in my brain, the card was so short and abrupt. It wasn’t like her to not be long winded whenever she wrote to me, she even had a tendency to be worse than I was sometimes.

“Why was the card so short? You feeling ok?”

“I just couldn’t wait to see you… It’s been so long since I’ve seen you...” Her tone of voice made me sad, it had been so lonely for me as well when we were apart. “I never want to be away from you for that long ever again.”

“Move in with me.” The words blurted out of my mouth before I could really think about my words. I didn’t care whether it would be feasible or not, I just knew I never wanted us to be apart for so long ever again.

“Well-“ I cringed a little at her words sensing a rejection, I worried that I had just screwed it all up by asking. However, again she surprised me, “We might need to get a new place to settle my father’s worries about security.”

I breathed out a breathy laugh of relief at her words, enveloping her into a bruising kiss, my worry and anxiety immediately melting away. I couldn’t wait for the next chapter of my life with the President’s daughter.

—-

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alltooreid · 4 years ago

Text

Dancing With Our Hands Tied

In order to keep Y/N safe from danger, Spencer vows to keep their relationship a complete secret from everyone they know. However, as their romance gets more serious, Y/N and Reid begin to realize that no matter how in love they are, they may have been doomed from the start.

A/N: Back at it with a hopefully very angsty fic! This is of course inspired by the Taylor Swift song, but you don’t need to be familiar with the song to read and enjoy! Also I made a playlist for this one shot, which you can find here (its best if you listen to it in order and of course you don’t have to listen as you read, but if you enjoy that kind of thing, I thought it would be fun). Additionally, in order for the timeline of this fic to make the most sense, I’m choosing to ignore the Lauren Reynolds subplot, because trying to incorporate it and explain it would be distracting and unnecessary in my opinion. Thanks for reading!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Type: Angst

Word Count: 3.9K

Content Warnings: Some cursing, general fighting angst, discussion of pregnancy, brief mention of abortion (follow up is left intentionally ambiguous, based on your own desires and beliefs you are allowed to decide where that aspect goes (pro choice tings))

“I, I loved you in spite of Deep fears that the world would divide us So, baby, can we dance Oh, through an avalanche?”

Spencer Reid hated funerals.

Somehow he felt he was always invited to one, and no matter how hard it was for him to be there, he always made every effort to go. So when Hotch had to plan Haley’s funeral, Spencer knew he had to go, no matter how much he would hate it.

He looked down to the grass as his supervisor cried over his now dead wife, the most emotion he had seen from him ever. He refused to look up and watch, although there were at least a hundred people there to mourn Haley, this moment felt innately private to Hotch. Spencer didn’t think it was his place for his eyes to intrude.

So he stared at the lawn and got lost in his own mind.

Right then and there he realized he never wanted to go through what Hotch had to go through. No matter how many philosophers described love in the most beautiful, enchanting way, Spencer didn’t want it anymore.

He didn’t want to go through a heartbreak, because how worth it could it be?

Of course, all information he had in his repertoire pointed to the claim that it was worth it. Yet he couldn’t pay attention to Oscar Wilde, trying to tell him that “hearts are made to be broken,” or E. A. Bucchianeri screaming that “grief is the price we pay for love.”

All he could see at that moment was the most stone-faced man he had ever known, breaking down in front of everyone he knew over the woman he loved.

At that moment Spencer Reid vowed to completely give up on love. He would become the best profiler to ever live. People would compare him to Jason Gideon, but Spencer Reid would win every time. Spencer wouldn’t let himself be like Gideon and get so hung up over a person that he couldn’t ever work anymore.

So when Spencer left the funeral and went to bed that night, he was confident that he would sleep alone like that forever. It was comfortable like that and he was happy. Who needs to be in love?

Not Spencer Reid that’s for sure.

Well, until three months later, when Spencer Reid met Y/N Y/L/N.

She was beautiful, and Spencer knew he wanted to get to know her the first time he laid eyes on her.

But he was doing such a good job recently…. Even Hotch was impressed with his work ethic. The only one who had talked to him about his lack of emotion was Penelope, she seemed concerned when Spencer told her he didn’t want to meet let alone go on a date with the cute nerdy barista from her go to coffee shop. Spencer refused to reason with her, he was too focused on proving himself to Hotch and the rest of the team.

Even though in the back of his mind, Spencer knew he had already proven himself to the rest of the team, now he just needed to be good enough for himself.

A truly impossible task.

But he was still trying to do it, so he didn’t talk to the barista at the new coffee shop he was trying.

He wasn’t expecting her to try and talk to him. Maybe that’s why he was so willing to give up his own reasoning.

“That’s a lot of sugar, sugar. Are you as sweet as your coffee?” she said, giggling as she did it. She knew the line was cheesy and stupid but she had been eyeing Spencer Reid since he came in and knew she needed to get his attention. Luckily, he couldn’t help but laugh.

Their first date was right then and there. They got distracted and talked till closing, Y/N’s coworkers noticing she was actually putting herself out there and deciding to pick up her slack so she could continue.

“So are you going to call me Dr. Reid or were you just leading me on for 3 hours?”

“Of course I’ll call you, how else am I going to get you to watch Doctor Who?”

Y/N smiled, “Well I know this is kind of forward, but I have this art exhibit tomorrow, I would love to see you there. But don’t over think that! I’ve invited pretty much everyone I know. I have a bet to win amongst the other art students, whoever has the most people come to see them wins one of those giant Costco sheet cakes. I need that sheet cake Spencer.”

Spencer smiled, “Well, I am from Vegas . . . Maybe I could help push the odds in your favor.”

“Well I can’t wait to see you there. Tomorrow, 6 pm, I’ll text you the details.”

It was only when he laid down to sleep that Spencer remembered his philosophy on love, but strangely, he did not care.

He may have been trying to freeze his heart, but Y/N was coming in with a blowtorch.

And he didn’t mind. In fact he unlocked the door to let her in.

So when he arrived at work the next morning, he fully intended on going to her art show. He thought about what flowers to bring her. . . was this a date? Was last night a date? Were roses too strong a message? He couldn’t do anything red, it was too forward. Pink? What if she saw it as stereotypical because she’s a woman, maybe she hates pink?! Yellow Tulips were safe, but if he got her yellow tulips then she would think they were just friends and Spencer didn’t want to be just friends.

His internal debate was interrupted by none other than Penelope Garcia, but not to interrupt their paperwork day with a case, but to make an announcement to the bullpen.

“Hello my loves! I have an interesting idea for some team bonding tonight, my favorite barista and dear friend has invited me to her school art show. Of course she needs the most support humanly possible, so you all need to come with me and look at cool art!”

“Who’s this friend of yours Penelope?” JJ asked.

“Oh Jayge you’ve met Y/N! She’s lovely and I’m sure an incredible artist. You guys will all love her!”

Suddenly Spencer remembered Hotch and his broken down faces at Haley’s funeral. He remembered his philosophy on love and his fear of heartbreak.

But he also remembered how alive he felt with Y/N. How the way she laughed like a little kid and how that made him feel giddy. He remembered how she was always so interested in what he had to say. He remembered that he really liked her.

And at that moment, Spencer realized that he did not have to choose between being in love and keeping his heart safe from the devastating heartbreak of seeing his true love die. He realized that the reaper could only find Haley because Hotch let people know they were together Because everyone knew of Hotch’s wife, she was in constant danger.

Maybe if he kept Y/N secret he could still be with her.

“Spencer! Did you hear me?”

“No, um sorry Garcia what did you say?”

“I asked if you were going to come to Y/N’s art show, you know you too would make such a cute couple! You should totally come.”

“I actually can’t, I’m not feeling well.”

She sighed, “That’s what you said last time I tried to get you two together 187 . . . Do you want to talk about anything Spencer? You haven’t been yourself lately.”

“I’m fine, I just have a headache. I don’t want to go out tonight.”

She rested her hand on his shoulder for a second, before following Morgan to the kitchen. Spencer knew she was going to say something to him, but he didn’t care. He had found the perfect solution to his conundrum.

And he knew exactly what flowers to send to Y/N.

Y/N texted him thirteen times, and waited an extra hour after the open house closed in case he showed. So although she went home empty handed, one person away from enough cake to feed fifty, she received a call from Spencer Reid.

“Hey, where were you tonight? I was looking forward to seeing you.”

“I’m sorry Y/N, something came up, but I have something for you! Are you still there?”

“Oh no, I just got to my apartment. I can send you the address.”

“I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

And five minutes later Spencer was at Y/N’s door, with Chinese take out and white peonies, a flower known for its apologetic symbolism.

Y/N blushed, “You didn’t have to bring me flowers Spencer . . .”

“Well I wanted to bring some to your show, but I figured this could be the next best thing . . . And maybe we could eat some of your Costco sheet cake afterwards. Sounds like a balanced meal to me.”

“Although I love that idea, I unfortunately came home tonight sheet cake-less.”

Reid frowned, “How close were you? Would I have made any difference?”

“Oh no!” Y/N lied, “I was way off, don’t even worry about it.” She smiled, “I’m just excited that you're here right now.”

Spencer blushed and looked down at his feet, “Well I’m excited to be here.”

Four months after that night, Y/N asked Spencer a seemingly stupid question while they were eating take out at her apartment. “Spencer, I love takeout and all but we haven’t gone out in public together since the first time we met. . . Call me stupid but I’m starting to wonder if you don’t want to be seen with me.”

Spencer sighed, “Y/N, it’s not that it’s just . . . complicated.”

“I just don’t get it. Am I the second woman or something?”

“No! Absolutely not! You are my one and only flower,” he said, smiling and then leaning in to kiss her nose. She giggled in response, but quickly remembered the serious nature of their conversation. “Y/N, you know what I do for a living.”

“I don’t understand what that has to do with anything.”

“Not too long ago, my boss was targeted by a serial killer who made it his mission to make his life miserable. In doing so he killed his wife. I just . . . I don’t want that to happen to you Y/N. I think I’m falling in love with you, and I can’t put you through that.”

“Spencer . . . I love you too.”

So no matter how badly Y/N wanted to tell her family, or update her Facebook status, she respected Spencer, and although she didn’t completely understand his concerns, she wanted him to be happy.

So she spent ten more months like that, catering to Spencer Reid’s peace of mind. Pretending to smile as he told her stories of all the funny things his team members did, all about their partners, and their love lives.

A couple times now, Y/N asked Spencer if she could meet them, but Spencer always shot it down. When he first mentioned the idea of keeping their relationship a secret, Y/N had secretly hoped it would be one of those things that was forgotten about within a week or two. But no. It had been many, many weeks, and Spencer still didn’t want to be seen in public with her.

And by now that was all she wanted. To go on a real date, to introduce him to her friends, to actually be able to tell her coworkers that something did come from that guy she hit it off with.

Everyday, Y/N felt she did the same exact thing, she went to work, would come home and if Spencer was still in Quantico, she would convince him to come over. (They had been dating for over a year now, and Y/N had never been to his apartment. She didn’t even know where it was). If Spencer did come over, he would usually bring some kind of dessert with him, and they would talk and be merry in their own little secret oasis. A couple weeks ago, Y/N started to get this uncomfortable, uneasy feeling that encompassed her whole body, her whole being. Every part of her was trying to tell her that Spencer Reid was not the man for her. And even though she was still very much in love with him, she agreed.

Although she loved Spencer for the person he was, the man who brought her every different flavor of cheesecake from the bakery across town (one a day for fifty nine days straight), the man who begged her to make him a painting for valentines day instead of buying him a present, the man who cried when she did and laughed when she did and-

There were a lot of things to love about Spencer Reid, but there were a lot of things to hate about their relationship.

She hated the time she bought a gold locket in the shape of a heart, and put a picture of them in it so she could keep him with her all day long, and he made her return it because it could fly open and someone could recognize him. She hated the day she came home with a little beige kitten named Betsy and Spencer made her give Betsy to her sister so that he wouldn’t get cat hair on his clothes and have to answer a million questions. She hated the time Spencer missed her birthday weekend because he had a case and couldn’t give an excuse to why he couldn’t go. She hated that Spencer was her entire life, while she seemed like just an inconvenience to his.

And most of all, she hated that she loved him so much. Because deep down she knew that she could never leave Spencer Reid, but she also knew that there was no way they could last if nothing changed.

Just then Spencer knocked on her door, she had offered him his own key many times, but he declined because he didn’t want anyone to see it on his key ring and ask what it was for. She let him in, and right away his fun perky smile dropped. “You’ve been crying. I can tell.”

“Is that the kind of thing they teach you in FBI school?”

“Yes actually, but that’s not the point,” he said, dropping his bouquet of red chrysanthemums on Y/N’s coffee table and grabbing one of her hands with both of his. “Talk to me Y/N.”

She sighed, “I love you Spencer, but I just don’t know if we can do this anymore.”

“What do you mean flower?”

“Spencer we’ve been together for over a year-”

“One year, two months and five days,” he corrected.

“Yes, yes that. We’ve been together for one year, two months and five days but no one except us knows that.”

“Y/N I thought you were okay with that, I just want you to be safe.”

“I thought I was okay with it but,” she paused, afraid of what she wanted to say, “I’m not Spencer, I don’t want to live like this anymore. I love you, and I want to be with you. To really be with you. What happens if we ever get married, do we have to get eloped, would you even let us get married because you need someone else to watch? When do I get to tell my mom I’m in a relationship? What if you get hurt out in the field, and no one has heard of me, let alone knows to call me, and we never get to say goodbye? How far do you plan on taking this?”

Spencer grew flustered, “Um, I- I don’t know? I didn’t know you were even thinking about those things.”

“Do you think about those things? Things like getting married?”

“You’re the love of my life Y/N, of course I do.”

“Well then something needs to change. We can’t live like this anymore.”

“Things will get better Y/N, I promise you, we’ll start small but I’m going to make this better for you. Actually, um we can start right now,” he started digging through his messenger bag. After a minute, he pulled out a smaller gold heart locket than the one you had originally purchased for yourself. “I, um I was going to give it to you for your birthday, but I feel like now is the best time. I couldn’t find the same one, but it’s the same picture inside.”

She teared up, “I love it. It’s perfect. Here, put it on me.” She turned around and pushed her hair to one side so that Spencer could clasp the delicate chain around her neck.

They kissed, and afterward Spencer spoke, “I hate to ruin this moment, but I’ve had to use the bathroom ever since I got here.”

Y/N laughed, “Ok go, I’ll be waiting.”

While waiting for her love to come back, Y/N admired her flowers. Ever since Spencer began to get her different flowers to symbolize different things she had developed an abnormal botany fascination. She would always beat Spencer to explaining the symbolism of her latest bouquet, so she already knew the red chrysanthemum was a symbol of prosperous, passionate love in most countries. However she also knew that in Italy, chrysanthemums were a death flower, given only at funerals.

Part of her couldn’t help but wonder if some unconscious part of Spencer’s genius brain was beginning to feel the same way she did. Three weeks later nothing much had changed in the state of Y/N and Spencer’s romance. She was still unheard of in the eyes of the BAU and two nights prior Spencer had stopped her from calling her mother to tell her about him.

And then Y/N discovered her sick, uneasy, all over body feeling was not just her incredible intuition.

She was pregnant.

She had taken a couple of tests a while prior and could just now get into the doctor to get it confirmed. But it was official. She was pregnant.

As soon as the nurse confirmed it she broke down crying. And when she asked her a couple more questions, she broke down even further. “Are you currently in a relationship?”

“No,” she sniffed.

“Do you know who the father is?”

“I don’t know,” she sobbed.

“Sweetheart, I don’t know where you want to go from here, but there’s a lot more options that you may think. Everything will be okay.”

Y/N still cried the whole way home.

She spent the rest of the day thinking about how to tell Spencer, and then overthinking what he would say.

She knew Spencer loved children, but he couldn’t even manage to tell people she existed, how was he going to explain a long term relationship and a baby?

It would have taken decades for Y/N to prepare to deliver this news, but Spencer showed up at 8:19 pm.

“Hi flower! How are you today?”

“I’m pregnant.” She blurted out, she was not planning to do it exactly like that, but she panicked.

“What?”

“I’m pregnant Spencer.”

He sighed and ran one of his hands through his hair, “You could get an abortion?”

Y/N lost it. “Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me Spencer?”

“I don’t think a baby is going to be very easy to keep a secret Y/N.”

“Is this how far you’re willing to go Spencer? You want to keep me hidden so bad that you want me to get an abortion? Are you insane?”

“You’re right, Y/N, I’m sorry, we’ll figure something out.”

“No, you’re wrong there Spencer. I’ll figure something out.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I can’t do this anymore. I’m done. I love you but, please just get out of my apartment.”

“Y/N please don’t do this, I love you, we can make this work. I know I haven’t been doing the best job for these three weeks, but just give me a little time and I promise we can do this.”

Y/N wiped tears from her eyes, then reached her thumb up to Spencer’s face, wiping his cheek. “Spencer, it’s not a matter of how much I love you or you love me. Sometimes, things just aren’t made to work out. We gave it a good run, but no matter how hard we love each other, I don’t think either of us is happy.”

“But I don’t know how to live in a world without you in it, flower.”

“I’ve never been in your world Spencer, after tonight, nothing in your life will drastically change. You don’t have to worry about living in a universe without me because you’ve already been doing that for 15 months.”

“Please don’t do this, can we just give it another try?”

Y/N wrapped her arms around him, “That’s all we’ve been doing.”

The couple stayed in silence like that for a couple of minutes before Spencer spoke. “Can we just stay here for one night. I can’t believe I never got to do it.” Spencer had never spent the full night at Y/N’s place because he always worried that he would forget to answer his phone and the team would try to come to his apartment to tell him they had a case.

“You know we can’t do that Spencer,” she sighed, knowing she had to stay strong and act on her own best interest, but she also loved Spencer. “But you can stay here, if you want.”

He thought for a moment. “Okay, um do I need that key you always offered me? To lock up when I leave?”

“No, the front door locks automatically when you close it, you just have to make sure you have everything before you go.”

And so Spencer slept in Y/N’s bed, for the first time, without her in it.

And Y/N called the one person she knew Spencer would never try to track her down to to avoid exposing himself.

Penelope Garcia.

She of course let Y/N stay with her for the night, and although she would eventually, Garcia did not pry when Y/N said she didn’t want to talk about what was going on. So Y/N walked to her apartment with peace of mind, she knew that although she had a lot to think about, for the time being everything was going to be just fine.

On the way to Penelope’s apartment, Y/N saw a flower vendor. She couldn’t help but stop by and pick up a bouquet for Penelope, but more so for the symbolic meaning.

Daffodils and daisies.

The flowers of new beginnings.

“I'd kiss you as the lights went out Swaying as the room burned down I'd hold you as the water rushes in If I could dance with you again”

- Thank you for reading! Please reblog and let me know what you think :))

holly’s tiny taglist: @reidingmelodies @hercleverboy

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esmealux · 3 years ago

Note

Hi there! For the two-part drabble, may I request Deckerstar in situation 13 (someone does something stupid) with sentence 6 ("Do I love you? Yes. Do I like you? That's still up for debate.") Thank you, and I've really really been enjoying your the updates on your Planning a Hell of a Wedding fic!

Hey! It took me two months (including more than one month of writing) but I've now finally finished your prompt. Another anon had requested 25 (being somewhere you're not supposed to) + 6 and dear @my-crazy-awesome-sox had requested 26 (a very cheesy date) + 6, so I've merged all your prompts into one 7K+ long 'drabble'. Hope you don't mind!

And I'm glad you like the updates on PHW! I'll try to write some more now that I've finished this.

Hope you like this!

Also, an immense special thanks to @my-crazy-awesome-sox for helping me with this fic. She truly has been a godsend, and a lot of the wording (especially in the later parts) is kindly and almost directly borrowed from her mind. Thank you again, babe!

Also thanks to @lightbringer-666 for assisting me with some French. If all the French isn't perfect, it's because I also googled my way to a lot of it. Apologies in advance (and please do let me know if there's anything I should change!)

Someone does something stupid + being somehwere you're not supposed to + a very cheesy date + 'Do I love you? Yes. Do I like you? That's still up for debate.'

Rated M. Post 5B - contains spoilers!

Read on AO3 (includes list with English translations)

It’s ridiculous, really. The butterflies fluttering in her stomach like she’s a schoolgirl waiting for her prom date. It’s not even their first date. It’s not even their second. The thing is, between becoming God and Consultant, revising a few laws of the cosmos, fixing some bugs in humanity, bringing Dan to Heaven, and going to therapy, she and Lucifer haven’t had much time for, well, each other. At least not in ways that didn’t involve discussions about the redesign of the afterworld and how to sate world hunger. So yes, she is a little giddy with excitement at the thought of having a whole evening to themselves—no celestial craziness. Just the two of them and a bottle of the restaurant’s finest.

If Lucifer would just show up.

She checks her phone. 06:14. Unlike last time she anxiously waited for him in a restaurant, there’s a text.

Running a bit late. Please forgive me. Can’t wait to see you ❤

And one more.

Sorry. Can’t wait to see you naked*

Chloe shakes her head, a stupid smile spreading across her face. She resists typing back a flirty reply—he’ll be with her in a minute, and she is nota schoolgirl—and puts her phone back in her clutch. Hands trembling a little, she smooths out invisible creases in the dress he’s bought her. It’s short and tight, of course, but perfectly so. Reaching mid-thigh, with a small slit revealing a bit more of her left thigh. Black, unsurprisingly; he still hasn’t gotten over how delectable she looked in the LBD she wore on their last ‘date’. And this one makes her legs look even longer, which is undoubtedly the primary reason Lucifer picked it. Still, it isn’t skimpy. He could have opted for a deep neckline and cold shoulders—she almost expected him to when he said he’d bought her a dress—but he didn’t. Instead, the short and skin-tight skirt is perfectly balanced with a high neck and long bell sleeves that are cut open just above her joints, making the soft fabric flow around her bare underarms. She likes it—would probably have bought it herself if it weren’t crazy expensive. Likes how it makes her feel both sexy and classy and most of all comfortable, likes that he knows her so well.

She fidgets with her earring and traces the rim of her empty wine glass with her fingertip, watching people as much as she can from their semi-private corner. She spots an Oscar-winning film director, a retired NFL player, that pop star Lucifer pretends to hate, and just how expensive isthis place?

She’s immediately distracted by the shift in the air and the sound of Italian loafers approaching her.

‘My me, Detective!’

His brown eyes roam her figure as she stands to kiss him. Their lips meet in a soft peck that could easily have turned into more if Lucifer hadn’t pulled away to look her up and down.

‘You look like a goddess.’

Chloe snorts and chuckles, not yet used to the title he insists is hers if she’ll have it. She puts a hand on his chest, gazing up at him with a smile.

‘You don’t look too bad yourself.’

He hums and leans in for another kiss, but something comes between them this time. They both look down—at a dozen red roses.

‘Those for me?’ she asks, warmth spreading in her chest.

Lucifer hands her the bouquet with a nod and that soft smile she loves more than anything. He pulls out her chair, a gentle hand on her shoulder as she sits down, and sits down himself.

There’s a card nestled between the velvet petals: ‘For the Detective & Consultant’, her old and new moniker scribbled side by side in his annoyingly elegant handwriting. The latter nickname, however, is written in smaller, cramped letters—an afterthought. She smiles.

She turns the card, expecting to find a dirty, eye-roll-deserving comment on the back. But there’s no lewd joke or naughty promise.

It simply says, ‘I love you.’

Her heart swells, filling her chest till it aches. It’s all so new still. Not the love between them, but how it’s uninhibited now. It’s not like they don’t have their obstacles—just yesterday they had a fight—but there’s no doubt anymore, no voices telling them some dreams simply cannot be. They might have a whole universe to deal with, but for the first time ever, things between them are easy. No words are left unsaid. No feelings are squashed. No time is wasted. Every day is spent wrapped in each other’s love. Finally.

‘I love you too,’ she tells him, and he lights up, amazed. Confident. Their hands find each other on the table, fingers intertwining.

A waiter comes by with two menu cards and a vase for the flowers. Chloe reads through the menu carefully, pretending to know what kind of food hides behind the fancy French names. Lucifer sees right through her, sighs, and orders some hors d’œuvres, two of something she couldn’t pronounce if she tried, and a bottle of red.

‘So, were you stuck in traffic, or…?’ Chloe asks him with a glint in her eye as the waiter pours her a generous glass of wine. The celestial being with the supernatural metabolism can drive home.

The being in question looks confused for a moment before he answers, ‘Ah, no. I’m sorry I kept you waiting.’ For a brief second, he looks at her as if he’s apologising for more than tonight, but she strokes his knuckles and smiles at him, you’re here now, and he moves on to explain himself. ‘I just couldn’t find this bloody suit. Only when I’d ransacked the house did I realise it was still at the penthouse, so I had to make a detour.’

He is a little excused; so many things are impossible to find right now, with more or less unpacked boxes spread out between her apartment, Lux, and their new home. In hindsight, moving in together while taking over the almighty family business probably wasn’t the best idea, but they’ll get settled soon enough. Besides, right now, what’s important is that Lucifer was late because of a wardrobe crisis, and she will not let that slide.

‘You couldn’t just wear one of your three hundred other suits?’

A flicker of hurt and sheepishness flashes across Lucifer’s face.

‘Well, this one is special.’

Chloe takes in his suit: the navy jacket, the matching waistcoat, the royal blue shirt.

‘Oh.’

He smirks at her as heat creeps up her cheeks (so much for not being a schoolgirl).

‘You remember?’

She does. Of course, she does. She remembers vividly—how shocked he’d been at first, how new and soft his lips had felt against hers. How they’d held onto each other until the sun was setting and she really did have to go home and feed Maze and Trixie.

She also remembers how she, later, behind closed lids, had ripped off the shirt and waistcoat in desperate need. How it’d earned her a husky chuckle and a breathy ‘D’tective!’, and the sinful Heaven that was his hot and open mouth.

‘You okay, darling?’ Lucifer looks at her, his expression somewhere between concerned and amused. His thumb brushes the back of her hand.

Chloe takes a sip of wine and clears her throat. Adjusts her necklace.

‘Yeah, just, you know. Reminiscing.’

He studies her flushed face for a second before his curious smile spreads into a full-blown Cheshire grin.

‘You had a wet dream about me, didn’t you?! After our first kiss?’

Chloe glares at him. ‘Say it a little louder for the people in the back, will ya?’ He opens his mouth, and she immediately feels the need to clarify, ‘Do not say it a little louder for the people in the back.’

His smile doesn’t falter. ‘I’m just ecstatic to know our first kiss left you all hot and bothered. I mean, not that I’m surprised.’ He brings his wine glass to his lips and lets go of her hand to gesture down himself.

Chloe rolls her eyes. ‘Yeah, like you didn’t go home and wanked yourself blind that night.’

He laughs, surprised by her bluntness, and shamelessly answers, ‘Why, of course I did. That night, other nights. Before and after that kiss. This morning. You serve as quite the spank bank, my dear.’

She definitely doesn’t blush at that. But she does glance down at his waistcoat, at the soft skin and hard muscles she knows hide beneath it. She gives him a slow and dirty smirk, appreciative.

‘You too, baby.’

Lucifer raises an eyebrow, his eyes darkening. Much to Chloe’s satisfaction, his neck and cheeks redden a little. Then he gives her a lopsided grin, smug and impressed.

‘Pray tell, Detective.’ His eyes glide down her face, her chest, her stomach, and slowly back up again.

In another time, she would have given him a stern look and told him it was none of his business, but she doesn’t. She also doesn’t tell him about lonely nights and long showers and crying his name into her pillow when they were still just friends. Instead, she leans across the table and half-whispers—

‘If you behave yourself tonight, I might show you.’

He gulps. Squirms a little in his seat, and—when he’s regained his composure and quite indiscreetly adjusted himself under the table—leans forward till there’s only mere inches between their faces.

‘Is that a promise?’ His voice is low and husky, his breath hot against her face. His eyes drop to her lips.

‘Pardon, monsieur, mais l’entrée est prête.’

They lean back in their seats and turn to the poor, young waiter, who’s balancing two seemingly heavy plates, a carafe of water, and a basket of crusty bread in his arms.

‘Lovely!’ Lucifer’s eyes follow the food as the waiter puts it down in front of them. ‘Merci beaucoup, Olivier.’

Olivier smiles at Lucifer, shy but with a look in his eyes Chloe knows all too well. She doesn’t blame him.

‘Ça va?’ Lucifer asks, his voice lined with genuine fondness.

Olivier nods. ‘Oui, ça va. Et toi?’

Lucifer looks to Chloe, beaming. He takes her hand on the table and interlocks their fingers again.

‘Tout va très bien,’ he answers, looking back up at Olivier with a dazzling smile.

Olivier’s eyes drop to their hands and, probably, to the ring, white and pearlescent, on Chloe’s third finger. His lips tug up at the corner.

‘Je peux voir ça. Félicitations!’ Before Lucifer can respond to that, whatever it means, Olivier gestures towards their food. ‘Et bon appétit.’

Lucifer replies with a friendly ‘merci’ and calls out something like ‘Salue ton père de ma part!’ as Olivier walks off.

Chloe stares at Lucifer, twirling the smashed bullet around her neck between her fingers.

‘What?’ he asks, curious.

She tilts her head, smiling. ‘French suits you.’

He smiles back, lasciviously. ‘Yeah?’

‘Mm-hm.’

The look he gives her leaves no doubt that, sooner or later, he’ll be whispering foreign phrases against her skin.

But right now, they have other appetites to sate. They dig into the first course, and the (assumedly) insanely high prices suddenly make sense, because it is frigging good. The main course is even more delicious—divine, actually, to the point where Chloe has to ask Lucifer if he accidentally spiked the food with a blessing or two. He assures her it’s all Olivier’s father, no holiness involved, apart from Chef Beaumont’s heavenly cœeur de filet de bœuf. Chloe moans in agreement, savouring every bite.

He watches her with a smile, jokingly apologising for not serving her grilled cheese, and she makes a bad joke about this date being cheesy enough as it is. Because it is cheesy. Him buying her a dress, bringing her red roses, the love note, the candlelit restaurant, the French food, not to mention the suit. It’s like a rom-com parody.

But it’s also perfect. It’s everything she’s longed for, an over-the-top romantic date night with her- with her partner. A date that isn’t cut short by a horny stewardess (may she rest in peace) or a failed attempt at exorcism; where Lucifer actually shows up and isn’t just trying to outdo another man; where Chloe isn’t trying to make him ‘do something good for a change’; and their parents aren’t tagging along on a headache-inducing surprise double date that is also a sting in disguise.

So, in some ways, it is kinda their first date.

And it’s a really, really nice date.

They laugh—they laugh so much. More than they’ve done in the past few months combined. Or so it feels, at least.

They laugh, and they talk. About movies they cried to, favourite drinks, and how they’re gonna paint the living room. About the summers spent under the plum tree in Nana’s garden, and all the pranks pulled in the gilded meadows of Heaven. About chasing Amenadiel through the clouds, and how Chloe always wanted a sibling. About her short-lived Hollywood experience and that one time she may have gotten a little high at a Backstreet Boys concert. (He seems impressed by that, her ‘abhorrent’ taste in music aside.) They exchange secrets they never told anyone, stories of bad kisses—Jed used too much tongue; Will was always better with words—and tales from drunken nights out. They reminisce on the first time they met—how annoying she’d found him, how compelling he’d found her—and the many, many cases, some really weird, that first encounter led to.

They talk about Dan.

About missing him, even though he’s making waffles with Charlotte now.

About Trixie, and how therapy seems to be helping her, too. How she still sometimes breaks down crying, but no longer crawls into their bed in the middle of the night, shaking and gasping for air. How she’d laughed the other day, and it’d made them both cry. How incredibly strong she is, that little urchin.

They talk about going to Paris one day, all three of them—the French do make excellent chocolate cakes—or maybe somewhere else she wants to see, once everything is calmer. They talk about some of the prayers Lucifer has been hearing, about faith and free will, what they miss about solving crimes together, what they don’t miss, and how they’re still very much partners, even more so now—in every corner of life.

They talk till their cheeks hurt from smiling and Chloe’s half-drunk on expensive Burgundy. Lucifer asks for the cheque, their food long gone, and pays with cash, making sure to leave a tip possibly the size of Olivier’s monthly salary.

They leave the restaurant giggling about a stupid joke Lucifer makes, his hand splayed out on the small of her back. Her own hand is placed much lower than what is decent for such a fancy place like this, practically cupping his ass, but she’s tipsy enough not to care, and he doesn’t seem to mind the attention. It’s his own fault, anyway, for having his pants tailored to hug his butt like this.

Naturally, Lucifer drives. He doesn’t hold back his comments on how slow and boring her car is, but at least he stays somewhere close to the speed limit. She wishes he’d also wear a seatbelt, and keep both hands on the wheel, but his palm is nice and warm on her thigh, and she trusts he’ll get them home safely. She leans back in her seat, her head comfortably buzzing from wine and him, and watches the blurry city lights through the window. He’s turned down 2ndStreet.

‘Where are we going?’ She looks over at him, curious.

He smiles in the shadows, his fingers stroking the skin left exposed by the slit in her dress. His touch leaves hot, tingling paths on her thigh.

‘I thought we’d go for a second desert.’

Chloe is beyond full, her dress stretched over her now slightly rounder belly, and she can think of other things she’d rather do (things that include pinning Lucifer to their bed and making him groan and beg and laugh), but she’ll never say no to a freshly brewed latte and watching Lucifer obscenely enjoy some Sicilian pastry.

She turns up the radio, fumbling a bit, and closes her eyes with a smile, more content than she’s been in… a long time. His hand stays on her thigh as they move through the night, fingers tapping to the beat of the songs against her skin, creeping higher, teasing, just enough to make her breath hitch, but nothing more, and then back down again. Maybe they’ll just take that latte to-go.

The car comes to a final halt, and first then does Chloe realise they haven’t stopped outside the late-night café and bakery that’s opened down on Spring Street.

‘Lucifer, what’—she looks around, double-checking—‘what are we doing at the back entrance to the precinct? You said we were getting desert.’

He leans across the centre console, fingers spreading on her thigh, and brings their faces so close their noses touch. Chloe swallows.

‘We are,’ he assures her with a wolfish grin, his gaze lingering hungrily on her, and she could jump him right then and there. But he takes his hand off her body and clicks her seatbelt free, pulls the key out of the ignition and exits the car. He strides to her side and opens the door for her, gentlemanly as ever, and she watches him with narrowed eyes as she takes his hand and steps out, sceptical even in her cloud of lust and inebriation.

He heads directly for the back entrance and opens the black iron door with ease, rudely ignoring the state-of-the-art security locks. A part of her knows she should stop him right there and give him a stern talking-to about respecting human laws—he still can’t do whatever the hell he likes just because he’s God now. But another part, the part of her who helped him empty two bottles of French wine, really wants to step over that threshold, to intertwine their fingers and go on a late-night adventure. And that part of her must overpower the other, because she lets him snake his arm around her waist and lead her through the door and inside the familiar building.

She senses him grinning by her side, his fingers curling around her hip in a deliciously tight grip that only stokes the heat pooling low in her belly. He takes her down the corridor, around the corner, and then they’re there, in the middle of the precinct. Everything is covered in darkness, the wide, open space only illuminated by a never-resting info screen and the purplish glow from the vending machine. Still, she can make out the shape of their desk, the door to Ella’s lab, the interrogation room. The fridge in the breakroom still hums obnoxiously, and the air smells like strong coffee and sugary glaze—or maybe that’s just a phantom. Either way, it all tugs at her heart, beckons her down memory lane, and she lets herself be pulled. Through the good, the bad, and the crazy.

Lucifer is quiet beside her, probably lost in nostalgia himself, or maybe just letting her have this moment. But not for long. With titillating eagerness and a devilish smirk, he wraps his fingers around her wrist and pulls her by the hand—towards the evidence closet.

He presses her up against the door, his body hot and hard against hers, and pins her hand against the cold glass of the frosted window. His dark eyes sparkle with mischievous excitement.

‘There’s something we never got to try.’

Her pulse quickens, blood humming loud and hot.

‘Lucifer, we can’t.’ She tries to sound firm around her suddenly heavy breaths and dry throat, but he doesn’t seem discouraged in the least.

He leans in, closer, his smirking lips brush against her ear. ‘Can’t we, now?’

And as if he hadn’t done enough already, he takes her earlobe between his teeth and bites it.

Chloe smothers a gasp.

‘We shouldn’t.’ She puts her hand on his chest and pushes her head against his, nudging him away from her neck so she can thinkfor a second. He reluctantly obeys and settles for placing his hands on her sides, dangerously high, thumbs almost stroking the underside of her breasts. She pushes his hands down to her waist. ‘We shouldn’t have sex in Evidence—shouldn’t have broken into the precinct in the first place. I mean, do you want us to get arrested?’

He only laughs at that, of course. ‘I’m God, darling. I won’t get arrested.’

Chloe rolls her eyes. He would probably charm his way out of it if they were caught, God or not—but that doesn’t make any of this okay. She’s about to tell him as much when he adds-

‘But if you wanted to cuff me and tell me what to do, resisting would be the last thing on my mind. In fact, I’m sure we can find some cuffs lying about-’

‘Lucifer, no.’

Her tone is sharper than she’d intended. He pulls back a little, studying her face. His eyes flicker to her parted lips, her flushed, heaving chest, and then back to her determined gaze. His brows furrow.

‘Do you really not want to do this?’ His voice is soft, serious.

They stare at each other, hot breaths mingling. He’s still pressed up against her, a six-foot-three wall of muscle and love, and his scent—spicy cologne and smoke—floods her head like ambrosia, a dizzying fog of him. Her skin burns beneath his palms, his touch sending embers through the expensive fabric and down, flames licking at her inner thighs. Her heartbeat thumps in her ears.

‘We don’t even work here anymore,’ she rasps, deflecting his question. It’s a weak excuse, but she is fraying at the edges.

A salacious smile forms on Lucifer’s face. ‘We’ll just pretend we do.’

He takes a step back, putting a more ‘professional’ distance between them, adjusts his lapels and attempts at a neutral expression. ‘You wanted to show me something in Evidence, Detective?’

And there’s that word again, want—because she still hasn’t answered his question and her consent means more to him than anything. She loves him for that, she really does, but right now, it’s not that simple. She wants, every cell in her body wants, wants him to shove her into that closet and take her apart. Has wanted it for so long, thought about it for years—at her desk, in the shower, while sitting next to him during interrogations. Thought about it in the self-same evidence closet, as she was pressed up against the wall by someone else. Imagined tugging at his hair, feeling him between her legs—even had to swallow his name. She still thinks about it, thought about it the other night, briefly, wistfully, while making a cup of tea. Thought about how much fun they could have had, sneaking off to secret corners of the precinct like two horny teenagers—if it hadn’t been for, well, mostly Michael, and all the chaos he’d released upon their lives.

In fact, it’s only fair they have at least one reckless, semi-public rendezvous. Just one. To make up for the honeymoon phase they never really had. With all the hurt and heartbreak they’ve had to go through, alone and together, they deserve to have one night of stupid fun.

On the other hand, and this is why it’s not that simple, it’s a bad idea. It’s a really bad idea. And also, pretty illegal. If she asked him to, if she said no now, he would take her home and push her up against the nearest surface, bury himself in her faster than any of them could get their clothes off, bring her to ecstasy-

But it’s not the same. It just isn’t.

With as much innocence she can muster, she looks up at his anticipatory face and puts her hand on the doorknob. The cold steel is a soothing balm against her burning skin.

‘I do want to show you something in Evidence.’

He lights up like it’s a declaration of love, all unrestrained enthusiasm.

‘After you, darling.’

Their lips crash against each other before the door is even closed. He pushes her backwards in the semi-darkness, between shelves and boxes, hands low on her hips. His fingers dig softly into her ass as they stumble towards a sliver of wall together, panting and laughing against each other’s mouths. He doesn’t break contact with her lips as he quickly sheds his jacket on the way and throws it over his shoulder, for the moment uncaring of dirt and creases. Then her back hits the wall with a thunk and she’s instantly struck by déjà vu, until Lucifer grabs her thigh inside the slit of her dress, and the unwelcome memory quickly evaporates in the heat of their clashing bodies as he wraps her bare leg around his waist and pins her to the wall with the hard press of his hips. Their unison groans fill the cramped space.

‘We shouldn’t be here,’ she murmurs breathlessly against his lips before opening her mouth to let his tongue back in. He tastes like wine and crème brûlée.

He hums in disagreement. ‘We should always be here, Detective.’ With the hand still on her ass, he pushes their bodies impossibly closer together and rocks against her. She moans, despite herself.

‘We- I-‘ Chloe stammers, leaning her head back as he kisses his way down her neck, her mind and body pulling in different directions. ‘This is- why am I letting you get away with this?’

She feels him smirk against her throat. His hand slowly glides up her inner thigh—her pulse quickening with every inch—until his thumb brushes past damp fabric.

‘Because you like me.’ His beard rasps against her hot skin in the crook of her neck, a contrast to his soft lips placing slow, open-mouthed kisses from her jaw to her collar. ‘Because you love me.’

Chloe scoffs.

‘Do I love you?’ she questions, her breathing erratic, her eyes turned to the ceiling as he sucks a mark onto her neck. With the hand that is still between her legs, he pushes her underwear to the side and rubs against her, nice and slow. ‘Yes.’ Her gasped answer has a proud, almost victorious chuckle rumbling from his chest.

‘But do I like you?’—she bites her lip and stifles another moan as his fingers press just right—‘That’s still up for debate.’

He breaks off the assault on her neck and looks up at her, eyes black with desire.

‘Allow me to try and tip the scales, then.’

She’s bereaved of his fingers as his hand moves to the edge of her underwear, pulling it down as he sinks to his knees. She almost stumbles when he slips it over her feet, but he grabs her leg, steadying her, and helps her out of her stilettos. Once she’s barefoot, his warm palms slide up the side of her legs, pushes the hem of her dress up a few inches, and then his mouth is on her.

He licks her, slowly, tenderly. She reaches down to pull at his hair, commanding him to give her more, to take more, and he does. He starts feasting on her, all tongue and lips and-

‘God, yes.’

He chuckles smugly into her core. ‘I do love it when you moan my name, darling.’ Eyes fixed on hers, he gives her a nice, long lick before he dives back in. He kisses her clit, sucks it, circles it, laps at her like he can’t get enough, and she’s reduced to a quivering, whimpering mess. She bucks against his face, needing more, and he does that thing that she likes, tongue flicking her clit, warm and wet, as he pushes a finger inside her.

Her eyes clench shut, her head falls back against the wall. She doesn’t bother holding back her groan this time.

Lucifer hums against her, low and greedy, taking as much as he can, before he pulls away with ragged breaths. ‘Ma déesse, que tu as bon gout.’

The meaning is forever lost on her, but his hungry tone, the way his tongue wraps smoothly around the French syllables, the words dripping like sin from his glistening lips, sends warm shivers down her spine.

He slows down his pace inside her, places kisses on her lower belly, seeks her ticklish spots and the ones that make her breath hitch, and then trails down to her hips, studying her sharp bone with his lips and his teeth, before moving down to her thigh, stubble prickling her tender skin. As if he’s got all the time in the world, he lets his mouth travel to the insides of her legs, already spread for him, and kisses a path up her inner thighs, getting closer and closer to where she aches with need,but never quite there. His finger, still moving slowly—too slowly—curls a bit, reaches that spot deep inside her that usually makes her see stars, but he pulls back before she’s even done gasping.

‘Lucifer,’ she breathes, a threat and a plea.

He places one last kiss to her sensitive thigh, nuzzles his nose against her heat, before his tongue finally finds her clit again and his finger starts pumping inside her, fast and hard. Then faster, harder, and, fuck, deeper.

‘Baby,’ she begs him to continue, fire spreading through her body, from her curling toes to her already heated cheeks.

He slows down for a second, and she reaches down to scratch at his scalp in frustration but quickly forgives him when he adds another finger and resumes his perfect pace, thrusting up in her to the beat of her racing heart.

‘Je veux te faire jouir.’ His thumb replaces his tongue as he looks up at her, eyes sparkling with lust and determination, but also patience. Like he could do this for hours, the whole night, as long as she falls apart around his tongue and fingers in the end.

He doesn’t need all night, though. She’s close, so close, can feel the beginning of that blissful high burning in her lower belly, between her thighs, where his mouth licks and nibbles and sucks. A building warmth pumping through her veins. She grabs at his hair, wraps her leg around his shoulder and pushes his face closer into her heat, needing that last-

‘Fuck, right there,’ she gasps. Right there right there right there.

He smirks against her, always eager to please, and does as she says. As she’s teetering on the edge, he curls both fingers inside her, goes impossibly deeper, and reaches the same spot as before, except this time, he doesn’t stop, and she comes with a shudder and a gasped ‘fuck!’ as he licks her through it.

‘Tu es tellement belle, ma chérie,’ he tells her, voice soft with awe as she comes down from her high and opens her eyes. She understands enough of the words to smile down at him, at his dishevelled hair, his swollen lips, and warm, chocolatey eyes.

‘You too, baby.’

She still hasn’t caught her breath when he, after wiping his mouth on her thigh, slowly rises from his feet and starts making his way up her body. His fingers skate lightly up her dress, his knuckles brushing against her rising and falling ribs as his hands sneak higher and higher, closer and closer. With a feather-light touch, he starts tracing the curves of her breasts, deliberately avoiding her aching nipples. He teases her with his fingers, kisses her neck, lips trailing, hot and slow, up to her jaw and the sensitive spot behind her earlobe.

‘J’ai envie de toi,’ he says into her ear, his voice rough with want and determination.

Chloe can’t take it anymore. She fists his waistcoast in one hand and grabs him by the hair with the other to pull him up into a hard kiss. He tries to stay in control, to hold back his obvious desire for just a little longer, but he quickly loses the battle and lets a bit of hunger take over. They pour equal heat into the kiss, tongues pressing and teeth clashing as their mouths slide against each other. She threads her fingers through his curls, he bites her lip, and they both groan and gasp into the kiss.

Chloe’s the one to pull away, needing air sooner than him. They’re looking into each other’s eyes, both panting, when he says it again, ‘J’ai envie de toi.’ This time, breathy desperation shines through his voice. ‘Je veux être en toi.’

And then they’re kissing again and both of them are working at his belt and pants in a flurry of hands until he’s finally inside her with one quick thrust. He fills her to the hilt, deliciously stretching her inner muscles, warm and hard. For a moment, they’re both so overcome they can only pause and breathe, Lucifer’s forehead cradled in the crook of her shoulder as her hand gently strokes the short hairs on the back of his neck.

He pulls back to look deeply into her eyes, and starts off slow. Not teasing, just tender. He kisses her cheeks and neck, every inch of skin he can reach with his lips, and whispers sweet nothings against her skin. She can’t know for sure, of course, because it’s still in French, and she doesn’t catch all of it, the sounds alien and muffled—‘t’es incroyable’, she hears, ‘j’suis fou amoureux de toi’—but something about his tone tells her it’s not as dirty as whatever he was saying before. Still, it makes her just as wet, the words tingling across her skin.

He picks up the pace, wraps her legs tighter around him, and pushes her harder against the wall. His hand grasps her breast roughly, seeking purchase, then rhythmically strokes over her nipple in apology, and she moans her relief. The shelves on either side of them hit the wall with a consistent thump, thump, thump as he thrusts up into her, fucks her, their harsh pants mingling in the small space between their parted lips. Chloe claws at Lucifer’s shoulders and back, hands scrambling for something to hold onto. Even through the two layers of fabric, she can feel his warmth and muscles, and a sudden urge bubbles up within her. With desperate fingers, she starts undoing the buttons on his shirt, but it takes too long—she needs him—so she rips open both shirt and waistcoat and frantically pushes them off his shoulders. He pins her against the wall with a hard thrust, letting go of her thigh and breast to shake the material onto the floor, and Chloe scratches at his finally bare back and shoulders, nails digging into slick, freckled flesh. She arches back into the wall and bares her neck for him to nip and kiss.

‘Fuck, Lucifer!’ she whines. ‘Oh, God, baby, fuckyes!’

He growls at the sound of her noises and bites her ear.

‘J’adore baiser avec toi.’ One hand slides down to her ass, holding her and pushing her dress higher up as the other bites into the now bare skin at her waist. The sharp touch sends a jolt down to her throbbing clit, making her clench tighter around him. ‘J’adore ton corps. T’es vraiment une déesse.’ The last word is a groan against her lips as he kisses her.

It’s wet, messy, and so delicious they both grasp tightly onto each other’s mouths with lips, tongues and teeth, neither of them wanting to ever let go.

‘Je veux t’embrasser,’ Lucifer pants when they break apart for a second, his gaze fixed on her mouth as their lungs fight for air. His dark eyes soften when they look into hers. ‘Chaque jour de ma vie,’ he adds reverently as he leans in. ‘Pour toujours.’ And then he kisses her again, like he wants it to last for all eternity.

His thrusts turn slower and deeper as they kiss, harder, until kissing becomes panting into each other’s mouths and Chloe’s head falls back in sheer pleasure. He tightens his grip on her ass and runs the hand on her waist up her side, brushing his thumb over her nipple as he passes her breast, up her neck, and cups the side of her face. She lets their eyes meet, and the way he’s looking at her, with absolute awe and gratitude, makes her heart flutter and her hips buck against his bare stomach. Her hands slide from where they’ve been clutching his mess of a hair to his back, trailing down to where he’s most sensitive. She places her palms on either side of his spine and presses lightly, carefully.

‘Tu me-’ he cuts off with a gasp when her nails skim over his hidden wings, ‘Tu me rends- fucking hell, Chloe.’

She keens at the guttural sound of her name. He leans his forehead against hers with a grunt, the slight change in angle making his rhythm falter, one hand slamming against the wall next to her. She watches the rest of his control slip through glazed eyes. She did this to him. She rendered God himself lost to his own bliss. That knowledge itself is nearly enough to push her over the edge.

‘Close,’ she breathes.

He grabs both her thighs with strong hands and presses her flush up against the wall, going impossibly deeper inside her. She hisses through her teeth and sputters all kinds of incoherent, unholy prayers into the sweltering air between them. Every hard thrust pushes her closer to ecstasy.

‘You make me so happy,’ Lucifer whispers, sounding so wrecked and raw her eyes clench shut. ‘I want- I hope- fuck- I hope I make you, nnf, just as happy.’

‘You do, baby. You make me so- so-’

Heat floods her veins as she comes, the sweet tension snapping all at once. She cries out, arches her back, and moans long and low as he continues to fuck her through it. His thrusts are quick and inelegant, his arms and thighs trembling, and she knows he’s close. She intentionally clenches around him, whispers his name, and then he too is tumbling over the edge, the only type of falling she ever wants him to feel again.

They smile at each other as they try to catch their breaths, sweaty foreheads still pressed together.

‘I love you,’ he says. ‘So much.’

She hums with happiness, her heart pleasantly aching at the sound of the words he couldn’t say the last time they were here.

‘I love you too, babe.’ She reaches up to lazily nuzzle the hairs at the nape of his neck, still smiling.

‘Maybe you even like me?’

She lets out a breathy chuckle and slides down the wall to land on her bare feet. Her legs are… wobbly, to say the least. Lucifer smirks at her.

‘We’ll see about that.’ She smoothes out her dress as he tucks himself back into his pants and fastens his belt. ‘If anyone ever finds out about this, your chances are pretty bad, buddy.’

She collects his clothes from the floor and helps him into his shirt. Two buttons are missing, lost to the force of her hasty ripping. It gives her an odd sense of satisfaction, the fact that the shirt he wore when they first kissed—the shirt she dreamt of tearing off his body—now is marked by their little escapade. (At least until he gets his tailor to fix it.)

‘Well, I’ll just have to keep trying to convince you then, won’t I?’ He licks his lips and lifts his eyebrows as he offers her a hand to help her up from the floor once she’s put her shoes back on. Chloe bites her cheek so as to not smile at his suggestion and intertwines their fingers.

‘You can start by helping me assemble that new shelf system tomorrow,’ she tells him, waiting for him to groan in response, or mumble something about hiring some people to do it for them. But he doesn’t. He just opens the door for her and lets her go first with a soft smile on his still flushed face.

‘Anything for you, my love.’

The door shuts with a gentle click behind them.

#writing #deckerstar fanfiction #deckerstar #chloe decker #lucifer morningstar #lucifer #lucifer on netflix #fluff #smut #established deckerstar #lucifer is god #post 5b #post s5 #two part drabble game

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plaidbooks · 3 years ago

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Dark Secrets: New Beginnings

A/N: This is the first installment of the Vampire!Sonny x reader fic. This chapter is only setting the stage; next chapter will be more about the vampire aspect, I promise! This covers the Bookstore square in @adarafaelbarba moodboard bingo!

Tags: mentions of sex

Words: 2233

Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @permanentlydizzy @ben-c-group-therapy @infiniteoddball @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867 @storiesofsvu @cycat4077 @alwaysachorusgirl @glimmerglittergirl @joanofarkansass @caracalwithchips @berniesilvas @reading--mermaid @averyhotchner @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles @crowleysqueenofhell @dreamlover31

You spent hours on the computer compiling resources for your thesis. After years and years, you were finally getting your Ph. D in History…if you could just finish this damned thesis. List complete, you headed to the local bookstore; you always checked them first before going online, since they were cheaper.

You were intimately familiar with the bookstore; you went there often. And you had double and triple checked online that they had these books. You had a small basket, four books in it, while you looked for the fifth and final book you needed. But its spot on the shelf stood vacant; a perfect hole where it should be.

Shaking your head slightly, you started to search the shelves around it, in case someone didn’t put it back correctly. But you were coming up empty. And this was the book that you needed to buy here; the shop had it for $20, while online was a couple hundred.

“Looking for Making the Revolution: America, 1763-1791?” a voice asked from behind you.

You turned to find a pale, lanky, attractive man, his hair slicked back, his bright blue eyes watching you intently. He was sitting at a table, open book in his hand. Seeing the cover, you knew it was the book you needed.

“I am, yes. Were you intending to buy it?” you questioned, praying he said no.

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “I was debating it. Why, do you want it?”

“I do; I need it for my thesis. If you let me buy it, I promise to give it to you when I’m done, free of charge.” At this point, you were just desperate for that book.

His eyes seemed to bore into you as he thought about your proposal. Finally, he smiled, saying, “I think that’s a noble reason to buy this book. You’ve got yourself a deal.” He held the book out to you, and you gently took it from him.

“Thank you so, so much. You don’t know how much this helps me,” you said, placing the book in your basket.

He held a hand up. “No problem. There’s a lot of inaccuracies in that text, anyways.”

You blinked in surprise. “There are?”

“Oh yes. For one, it perpetuates the idea that Christopher Columbus came here to ‘escape tyranny’ in England, which is a load of crap, if I’m honest.”

You took a step closer to the strange man. “Do you have a source on that?”

He thought about it, chuckling to himself about something, before he answered. “Well, I am in the process of transcribing a manuscript from the man himself. But it hasn’t been published quite yet, so I doubt it’ll be of use to you for your thesis.”

“Wh—who are you?” you asked in awe.

He held a hand out for you to shake. “Dr. Dominick Carisi Jr., but you, my dear, may call me Sonny.”

Your eyes widened in shock, and you quickly shook his hand. “Dr. Carisi? Oh my god! I’ve been reading your work in class; I loved your thesis on slavery!” You had never seen a picture of him, had no idea he was so young; he was about your age. You had expected him to be an old man, at least in his 80s, not this attractive man in his early 40s at most.

He barked out a laugh. “You’ve really been reading my work? I’m flattered. I didn’t think anyone put stock in my texts.” While it was true he was a world renowned historian, his work was seen as highly controversial. He had a knack for citing manuscripts and journal entries, things that no one had discovered before he brought them to the limelight. But every authenticator had proven that the writings were from the time period. And that was enough for you.

“Please, sir, er, Doctor. Could I spend a day with you, pick your brain for my thesis? I’ll—I’ll buy the drinks and food, just…please?” you asked, suddenly embarrassed.

But Sonny’s smile grew. “I’d like that. But only if you call me Sonny. If you’re doing your thesis, then I assume you’re almost done with your doctorate?” You nodded, and he continued, “then in my eyes, we’re equals, and you don’t need to call me ‘Doctor’.”

Your heart beat a little faster when he called you equals. “Thank you so much Doc—Sonny. Does the coffeeshop next door work for you?”

“It does. And I’m free all week, whenever you need me.”

“How about tomorrow morning? I don’t have class until 3pm; I hope that’s enough time to chat.”

He gave you that heart melting smile once more. “Sounds good. See you tomorrow.” Then he took your hand and kissed it. As he walked away, your knees felt weak. You were infatuated within five minutes of talking to him.

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

Sonny turned out to be an incredible source of information. Plus, he brought books that he thought would help you, letting you borrow what you needed. And, like yesterday, you found yourself completely enamored with him. He didn’t have a ring on, so you assumed him unmarried, but you didn’t know how to bring it up without being weird. Sure, you were close in age, but he was done with school, became a published historian, while you were still finishing up college. But he never talked down to you; on the contrary, he seemed highly interested in what you had to say.

Like before, you had been nervous—star-struck, really—when you met up with him. But as the hours ticked by, you found yourself more and more comfortable with him. He was highly intelligent, especially about history. You had found it hard to find someone who was as interested in history as you were, without sounding like a pretentious asshole. But Sonny checked all those boxes for you. You were just unsure if he felt the same.

“When is your thesis due? I feel like it’s still early in the academic year,” he asked.

You cleared your throat. “It is; I still have months and months to work on it. It’s due next year, but I want it to be perfect, you know?”

“I do, I do,” he agreed, nodding. “I hope you’re taking some time off, though, as well. Don’t let this paper take up your whole life; you should be out, appreciating everything this life has to give you. Don’t get stuck in the past.”

You looked at the table, letting his words soak in. It was like he had looked right through you; for the past month or so, you’ve been deep in your studies. You had friends, sure, but you hardly saw them. And you’d given up on dating until after you finished college, anyways. But maybe Sonny was on to something. You should seize the day, capture every moment in memories.

“Would you like to get dinner with me, Sonny?” you asked, trying to sound as confident as possible.

It was his turn to look surprised. “Oh, uh…sorry, you caught me off guard. In all my years, no one has ever asked me out; it’s usually the other way around.”

You chuckled. “You’re not much older than me,” you joked, and he smiled. “Maybe it’s time for something new. For both of us…that is, if you want?”

“I’d love to go to dinner with you,” he said, and your heart soared.

When it was getting close to 3, you bade him goodbye, and he told you he would be eagerly awaiting your dinner date. You felt your face heat at the words, and you swore your face never cooled off for the rest of the day.

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

That date with Doctor Carisi turned out to be the best decision of your life. You both felt the spark between you, and you said yes to a second date before he even finished asking. Now, it’s been ten months of loving bliss between you. You completed your thesis, got your doctorate, and Sonny couldn’t be more proud of you. And you learned that while he was a historian, he was also a detective. He said he wanted to help people now, by giving them both access to history material, and by putting absolute monsters away.

But there were little things with him, quirks, really. Though you’ve been to his place, and he yours, he never made a move to get you into bed. Sure, you’ve kissed—and sometimes this escalated to a full-blown make out session—but he didn’t seem interested in sex.

He also didn’t seem interested in moving in together…or a future at all, really. Whenever you tried to bring it up, he would just nod along with you, agreeing to whatever you said and adding on a lot of “one day’s”.

He had no family for you to meet, and yours didn’t live close. You noticed he also didn’t eat or drink much; he loved to make you dinner, and he would say that he snacked while cooking. And then, about once a month, he’d leave for 3-4 days, claiming he wanted to be alone to work on the manuscript.

You gave him as much space as he asked for, and though you still loved him dearly, you were starting to wonder if there was something wrong with you…or if it was just something he was having issues with.

“Hey Sonny?” you asked one day while snuggling on the couch at your place. “Are we okay?”

He glanced down at you. “As far as I know, yes? Why, something on your mind?”

“Well…I was just thinking about how we’ve been together almost a year and we still haven’t moved in together,” you tried.

He looked to the ceiling as he thought. “Wow, I guess it really has been that long now, hasn’t it? I feel like I just met you yesterday.”

“So, are we not connecting on a deeper level, then?” You sat up, turning to look at him.

His bright blue eyes found yours, and his expression softened. “That’s not what I meant; I’m sorry it came out like that. Time just…it moves so quickly is all. Look, I love you, I just—I don’t think I’m quite ready to make that jump yet. I’m sorry; I know this must be frustrating, but I promise you one day, I’ll…I’ll be ready.”

You nodded. “I love you too, I just….”

“What is it? You can tell me—”

“Why won’t you sleep with me?” you asked softly. His eyes widened, and you quickly added, “are—are you ace? It’s fine if you are, I understand, but I just…I feel like it’s something wrong with me, and I—”

He cupped your face in his hands, looking deeply in your eyes. “No, it’s nothing wrong with you, I promise. I’m just…I’m not ready—”

“I have urges, Sonny. And I love you, want to wait for you. But it’s been almost a year. I—I don’t believe a healthy relationship is built on sex, but well, it’d be nice to have every once in a while….”

He sighed, releasing your face. “It’s not that I don’t want to, because I do. I just want to be absolutely sure I’m ready. Call it shyness, or embarrassment, whatever you want. But I want to make sure that—that you’re the one for me, first, okay?”

You opened your mouth to respond when his phone rang. He gave you an apologetic look before answering with his stiff, “Carisi.” He mostly listened, making little noises of affirmation, before hanging up.

“I’m so, so sorry, doll. But the department needs me. I swear we’ll talk about this once I’m home, okay?” he promised, getting to his feet.

He grabbed his jacket, heading for the front door. “Sonny wait,” you called, and he stopped, looking back at you. You hurried over to him, looking up into those beautiful blues. “Be careful.”

He smiled softly. “I will be; promise.” He gave you a kiss, and then he was gone.

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

You didn’t hear from Sonny again until the next morning, when he showed up on your front door, breakfast in hand. He apologized for leaving you last night during that important talk, but you brushed it off, telling him it was fine.

“That’s not all I have to apologize for,” he said, looking anywhere but at you. “I’m…going undercover. I’ll be gone for three months.”

Your face fell, and you put your fingers under his chin, tilting his face until he looked at you. “Three months?” you breathed.

“I’m sorry; I tried to decline, but the Lieutenant gave her orders. I leave in an hour.”

“Three months…” you said again, worry blossoming in your chest. This was the longest he’d be gone since you started dating.

He nodded. “I’ll text or call when I can, but don’t expect it; it may be too dangerous.”

You’d heard enough; you lifted onto your tiptoes, kissing him desperately. Your hands went to his hair, and you pulled him close, all your fear and trepidation in the kiss. He froze for only a moment before he was kissing you back, hands on your hips. He clutched you tightly enough that you gasped in pain, and he pulled away, releasing you.

“I’m sorry. I love you,” he muttered before turning to leave, but you had a suspicion that he wasn’t apologizing for leaving.

#sonny carisi x reader #fanfic #my writing #dark secrets #monster!au #adarafaelbarbaseptemberbingo

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slipping-through-my-fingertips · 3 years ago

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If Glee did a Taylor Swift Tribute Episode...

Just my opinions, feel free to add on to them. I know I have some fellow gleek swifties following me. I’d love to hear your thoughts. Obviously they have to do some of the hits but I think some people would have some out of the box picks.

*This post assumes all Taylor songs are available to choose from as of May 14th 2021 but focuses on Taylor’s first 6 albums (if you want more glee and Taylor I have fics with that; LOVER and FOLKLORE) and takes liberties with where this episode’s placement is in terms of canon. But since it’s all made up anyway who cares (but Blaine’s involved so I guess season 3 idk).*

Okay, trying to do a full plot here (completely inspired by @kurtdeservesbetter head canon posts. I hope this lives up to her fabulous posts). This will be my version of glee so everyone gets solos and Rachel can’t hog the spotlight. Also, this is about to be super long (both post wise and episode wise).

Let’s open the first episode with

...Ready For It because the New Directions are in their reputation era. Santana does the opening cough centerstage. Everyone in black and/or camo green outfits (can you just see Kurt in a dark green bedazzled snake jacket, Santana in a black leather dress, and Tina digging out some goth clothes for people to borrow?), snakes everywhere, but probably no Karyn (she just wouldn’t fit on the auditorium stage). Santana takes the first verse but we have Blaine step up for verse 2. (I just love their friendship in the Michael tribute, cute little badasses are BACK. Also him singing “Burton to this Taylor” is such a Klaine thing to do).

Everyone is still dressed in their rep outfits but we’re in the choir room now. Mr. Schue is talking about why Taylor had to disappear and clap back with rep, how rough the industry is for women and tries to uplift the ladies in the room and encourage them to not silence their voices (cue snarky comment from Santana about Rachel needing to be silent).

Then, Mr. Schue goes on about how you can only understand how Taylor got to her rep era by studying her earlier music. So we have a performance of Tim McGraw. Simple, front of the choir room performance, maybe Puck does guitar, and sitting on stools.

Everyone is surprised to find out how pumped Sam is for this assignment but he is all over it. “It's about time we did some country in this room.” Cue Sam and Quinn at her locker talking about their ‘date’ last night, Sam’s all cute and teasing and Quinn is not into it. She tells him it was fun but she was wrong, they shouldn’t do this again. In turn, he does a wonderful performance of Bye Bye Baby. He thought it was more but clearly he’s “a part of her past.”

Then, we’re in the empty choir room. Tina and Mike are there. (I love their cutesy duets) They sing Everything Has Changed and it’s utterly adorable. Can’t you hear Mike asking Tina if she’s “good to go” like Ed does? And while we’re on the subject of cute duets and RED, we flash to the courtyard to see Santana and Brittany. They turn Stay Stay Stay into a duet. “I’ve been loving you for quite some time,” “before you I only dated self-indulgent takers who took all their problems out on me,” “no one else is gonna love me when I’m mad, mad, mad,” and “it’s occurring to me that I’d like to hang out with you for my whole life” it’s perfect for them. Adorable ladies kisses are had.

Let’s toss in some boy drama for fun. Idk shit about football but somehow Puck is praised by their coach over Finn, which gets him all pissy, and Puck’s upset and jealous because Finn is back with Quinn now (this is why Quinn shut Sam now earlier, she changed her mind). Can we say duet of Bad Blood? “So if you’re coming my way...just don’t.”

After their dramatics, we have a Brittany solo in the choir room. It’s after school at this point (or whenever glee club is). Brittany does You’ll Always Find You Way Back Home.

When she finishes Mr. Schue tries to explain that it’s a Hannah Montana song. Britt injects that it’s confusing how she’s really Miley Cryus “like how can you be two people at once?”. Before Mr. Schue can continue, Kurt pipes up “you never specified that the songs had to be sung by Taylor Swift, just that they were her songs.” Mercedes adds, “yeah, Mr. Schue, Taylor wrote that song.” Mr. Schue concedes that he has once again been outwitted by Kurtcedes. The friends do their little hand shake thing.

With a sigh, Mr. Schue asks Mike if he’s ready to go and Mike asks to take things to the auditorium for some dancing room. Everyone’s on stage with him and it’s kind of a group number but Mike is the focus. It’s Shake It Off. All inspired by the music video. He’s tried to fit in elsewhere (i.e. football, with the smart kids, etc..) but he’s really himself in glee when he’s dancing.

Part 2 of Taylor Tribute Episodes

We begin with an ALL GIRL NUMBER of A Place In This World. Just because.

Glee is dismissed and we zoom in on Artie. He’s watching Tina with Mike and Brittany with Santana. Both Tina and Britt have broken his heart by this point. So, he’s rolling down the halls singing A Perfectly Good Heart. While Artie’s soloing, we cut to Rachel watching Finn and Quinn chatting. Artie’s song playing over this scene. Rachel is feeling similar to him at the moment.

She’s pretty sure Finn dumped her to be with Quinn again even though Kurt and Blaine told her they saw Quinn and Sam at the movies last night together making out in the back row. Fine, if that’s how he’s going to be, she doesn’t need him anyway. Cue Mr. Perfectly Fine. Uber dramatic solo performance walking around McKinley’s halls watching Finn and Quinn together ending in the auditorium alone. (see what I did there, both broken hearted peeps singing a song with Perfectly in it (this was not at all planned, actually, happy accident))

After some good old heartbreak, we have Kurt and Blaine on screen. Blaine walks into the auditorium to see Kurt sitting on the edge of the stage. “What’s all the fuss?” he asks from the door. Kurt had texted him “EMERGENCY.” The band starts to play and Kurt just starts singing, Enchanted. It’s time to profess their love for each other, just like they sing Perfect together in the car, this duet needs no audience. Blaine catches up and sings while walking towards his boyfriend. It’s very reminiscent of past New Directions competitions where they come in from the back and make their way to the stage. “Wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you?” Kurt and Blaine both know the answer to that question now but just a few months ago they were both wondering that exact thing.

They kiss before we cut to Kurt and Blaine walking hand in hand into the choir room where everyone else is already. Mr. Schue is praising the performances thus far and of course asks Rachel if she’s ready to solo (some practice for her completion solo). This causes an uproar from Mercedes and Santana. Another classic argument of how she gets too many solos. Mr. Schue tries to shut them both down but Santana tells Rachel to watch her back, and we get three very different reactions to this.

All three girls storm out.

First, we visit Mercedes alone in the courtyard. This solo is all about being hurt over this great thing in her life (glee) and her being denied happiness within that club. Thus, Cold As You. (mostly to indulge myself because she’d blow us away with this song).

Next, Rachel in the auditorium. A huge bridge on stage (very Speak Now Tour of her), belting out Better Than Revenge. Santana’s dropped the last straw (the humiliation, name calling, Finn at one point and now solos,) it’s too much this time.

And finally, Santana walking around McKinley, showing us flashes of Rachel ‘outshining’ her and the rest of glee and Mr. Schue being unfair, while singing Look What You Made Me Do.

Tina walks out at the same time as Rachel, Mercedes, and Santana but no one seems to put two and two together. She feels just as underutilized as the latter two do. She ends up in an empty classroom and sings The Outside. “Nobody ever lets me in” and “on the outside looking in.”

Once the 3, err 4, divas have left the room, Finn sticks up for Rachel. Quinn, of course, has something to say about this along the lines of “you always defend her.” Finn, intimated by her ‘scary Quinn’ fumbles and blurts “because she’s my girlfriend” WHICH IS NOT TRUE AT THIS POINT. Quinn dumps him on the spot, cuts quickly to Blaine and Kurt sharing some ‘oh my god, can you believe this’ expressions, and vanishes from the room.

By this point, Rachel is long gone from the auditorium but the bridge is still there.

Here’s where we go way off script but imagine, Quinn has decided to just quit boys. They’ve all failed her anyway, she’s better off being alone. She walks up the bridge and thinks to herself “god Rachel’s so dramatic, where did this thing even come from” before it hits her “fuck, I’m as bad as Finn. I want her.” Then, she starts singing Clean to herself in the auditorium, likely tearing up throughout and ending with a good cry. (Because Dianna would DELIVER with Clean.)

While Quinn is having a sexuality crisis, the rest of glee is still happening. They’re discussing upcoming competition and debating solos and songs.

Kurt’s all: “Mr. Schue, if I may” and performs a lovely rendition of Call It What You Want. Those opening lines are too good. “My castle (ie McKinley) crumbled overnight, brought a knife to a gun fight (ie couldn’t fight off Dave Karofsky), “I’m doing better than I ever was ‘cause my baby’s fit like a daydream,” and “at least I did one thing right.” When he’s done, Blaine’s a mess in the back of the choir room, and Mr. Schue says: “not really what we’re looking for but very nice, Kurt” however, Kurt’s too busy sitting beside Blaine teasing him about blushing.

Then, the missing girls return to the room having sung out their emotions. Quinn, having realized her feelings for Rachel, ends up soloing You Belong With Me to the New Directions in the choir room. Odd looks all around, no one knows what’s up with her and why does she keep glancing at Rachel? (Faberry just fit so well I had to add it, don’t know if I’m a shipper or not but it’s here now) (also thanks to @spicygemini for pointing out the obvious “Quinn would have ate YBWY”).

Mr. Schue wants to move the group to the audition to perform their final number of the Taylor Swift tribute well but Tina asks to sing first. He’s surprised but allows it, taking a seat with the rest of the New Directions.

Tina sings Beautiful Ghosts. “Watch from the dark, wait for my life to start” because New Directions is refusing to use her talents AGAIN. She’s singing this to Rachel and the girls who were in the Treble Tones. Because she absolutely SMASHES this number, the glee kids agree she gets solo for their next competition (and they deliver on that promise).

To conclude Part 2 of the Taylor tribute episode, we have a group performance of Long Live. “One day we will be remembered”, “all the years we stood there on the sidelines wishing for right now”, “for a moment a band of thrives in ripped up jeans got to rule the world” ie wining completions, “when they look at the pictures please tell them my name...”

#this took so long please enjoy it #Taylor tribute glee episode #glee head canon #gleek swifie #glee #taylor swift

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akaashisupremacy · 4 years ago

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Job Wanted: Boyfriend

Summary: Makki is callous w/ his words. After a big fight, he knows he needs to make changes. Can he make things work before it’s too late?

Notes: Right on time for Hanamki’s birthday!! In the fic it’s his actual bday too lol!! Inspired by hcs about Hanamaki’s toxic traits that lives in my mind rent free!

January Fic List || Masterlist || Read it on Ao3

Hanamaki x reader

genre: ANGST, lovers to exes to ??, pining, tw: toxic-ish relationship (wc: 1.9 k)

“It’s not my job to be your boyfriend.” Takahiro Hanamaki mutters with his arms crossed, “Stop trying to police what I have to say!”

Your eyes widen in disbelief. You knew it was over between you two then and there.

You met Makki while working in a soba restaurant. He was charismatic, smart and efficient. Whenever you two were on the same shift, he tried to make the work fun. You both started hanging out after work—indie films in the university theatre, library study sessions, walks home after work. Makki even traded shifts just to see you more often.

All you were asking from him was to be more sensitive. Enough was enough. Sure he liked you and you liked him, but compatibility was a separate thing altogether. He knew you were touchy about comments on your art, your looks and your confidence, but he just didn’t know when to shut up.

“You’re wearing that sweater really?”

“This piece looks okay, like subpar on a good day.”

If he doesn’t want to have to be careful with his words, then you don’t want to have to be around him. You swiftly grab your things and walk out the door. When it finally sinks into him two seconds later, he stumbles onto the door apologizing. You refuse to hear any of it.

“I didn’t mean it-- ”

But fun hang outs and serious dating are two different things, and the end of your relationship proved just that.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Makki tries to apologize to you when he sees you, but nothing seems to work. Eventually he gives in and allows you both to drift apart—he stops catching you in the library and trading shifts, which was fine by you.

After a few months, Makki finds himself staring at his phone one fateful afternoon. He’s still debating whether to make the call or not. In the end, he shrugs his shoulders. There’s really nothing to lose.

When you see his name, you pick up because of your curiosity more than anything.

“To what do I owe this occasion?” you snort. You hear him repress a chuckle.

“Damn, I haven’t said anything yet and you’re hostile already.” he laughs. You threaten to put the phone down.

“Hey, on my last birthday you said that may all your wishes come true, right? Well, my next birthday is coming up and my wish is to spend the day with you.”

“I’m in Kyoto right now. You’re in Tokyo.” you point out. You are both on semestral break. Has he already forgotten that you spend your breaks with your grandmother in Kyoto?

“I’ll take the day off and I’ll come down to see you.” he holds his breath as he waits to hear your answer, “We haven’t hung out in a while.” he adds casually.

“Can’t you just spend it with someone else?” you sigh somewhat resigned, “The not hanging out part is on you. Don’t put that on me.”

You could hear him thoughtfully inhale on the phone before he replies, “No, I want to spend it with you. Besides, I’ve always wanted to see Kyoto.”

“I’m ending the call now.” you roll your eyes, unnerved by the whole conversation. The audacity of this man!

“I promise I won’t do anything or say anything dumb!” you hear him yell over the phone as you get ready to end the conversation.

“Sure.” You click the end call button.

———————————————————————

On his birthday, you do go out with him. You find yourself waiting at the Kyoto Central Station, wading through the crowds to find his light brown head searching intently for you. He smiles when he sees you. You feel a mixture of sadness and nerves. You’d never thought he’d be so callous with you when he first smiled at you like this.

If anything, today is little more than a break from work. You’re also determined to be so quiet to the point of cold to make the experience so awkward he’ll never want to come to you again.

“I really want to change.” is the first thing he says to you over doughnuts and coffee.

Makki can easily tell that you are still not back to your old self. Despite the strong smell of brewed coffee that pervades the Kyoto Central Station, you sit quietly on your seat distractedly eating a sandwich.

You almost pretend to not hear him. Instead you turn to him with a blank expression in your face and look away.

“I’m serious. I know I have a problem. You’re not the first person to leave me for the things I’ve said.” he adds.

“I’m sure the next person you date will appreciate that.” you mumble diplomatically.

“Don’t give up on me.” you hear his voice pleading, his eyes sincere and not their usual sleepy nonchalance.

You put down the donut and cross your arms, “I don’t owe you a second chance. You know that, right?”

“I’m really sorry—“

“Makki, I hate so many things about myself. I don’t need you to taunt or repeat them to me. You’re an above average friend at best, but you’re a terrible person to date. I can’t even call you my boyfriend because you you said it wasn’t your ‘job.’” you sigh deeply with your hand on your forehead, “Can you see why I’m not enthusiastic about you?”

Announcements left and right and the ceaseless shuffling of the busy station fill the voids of your conversation.

“So why spend the day with me?” he pauses, eyes wide with curiosity looking straight into yours.

“To prove a point to you. Even when you’ve made the effort to come down here, you’re finding it difficult to watch what you say. Do you find that sustainable?” you tilt your head inquiringly.

He nods, less confident than usual “I want it to be sustainable.” There was some uncertainty in his eyes.

“I can already see it, Makki. Two weeks of this and you’ll be ready to blow your top because you’ll be tired from having to be on edge all the time.”

“I’ve got to start somewhere, right? It’s a change of mindset I’m realizing, but it’s not impossible. I’ve been trying to be more careful and it’s been easier. I’m just a little tense because I’m around you today.” he says quietly, “I’m really trying. I promise.”

“Feels nice to be the one that’s not tense,” you let slip a smirk.

———————————————————————————————

At the end of the day, you’re back at the train station with Makki beside you. You’ve taken him to see the Golden Pavilion and its surrounding touristy streets. You stop by a bookstore and a shop for sweets. You buy a book, he buys mochi. Despite your coldness, Makki was intent on catching up with you. He wants to know what you’ve been up to, what movies you’ve been catching, what your grandmother’s inn is like. It’s difficult not to warm up to him.

“Can I kiss you goodbye?” he abruptly asks before heading to his platform. You’ve made your way back down to the center of the train station where all the schedule is displayed.

The first time Makki held your hand was in a train station in Tokyo. You were on your way back from a concert when he slipped his hand into yours in the busy platforms. You don’t pull away, instead you hold on tight. You remember pressing your head against his chest on the ride home, his chin resting on the top of your head. Neither of you said much. The companionship was more than enough. That moment seems so long ago.

“No.” you swiftly reply.

“Not even a forehead kiss?”

You firmly shook your head. You half expect him to insist and push, to say something about you being a prude and playing hard to get, but instead he just nods.

“Can I hold your hands? I want to hold you before I go.” Makki doesn’t murmur nor is he reticient. He speaks in his regular tone, extending his hands to meet your midway.

You hesitate at first then grudgingly agree. You reach out to hold him, your fingers lingering on each other’s barely interlaced.

“Let me know when you’re coming back to Tokyo. I can meet you at the train station and help you with your luggage.” he waves before turning his back. You watch him get lost in the crowd of the station.

After Makki leaves, you head back to the inn to help with the dinner service which is more crowded than usual. Your Obasan is grateful that you made it back.

Towards the end of dinner service, your phone rings incessantly. You curse and head outside of the kitchen to quickly answer the call. Of course, it’s from Hanamaki.

“You could’ve just texted.”

“I miss you already. I just wanted to hear your voice.” he says. His usual flirtatious tone is absent.

“Now that you’ve heard it, can you put it down? I need to go. Obasan needs my help.” you whisper hurriedly, “Now is a terrible time to call.”

“If you want to stop talking, you don’t need to drag your grandma into this.”

“I’m serious, she needs help washing the dishes. You can call later when we’re done with tonight’s service.” you chastise him, “We’re a little short staffed in the kitchen. You should know what it’s like.”

You rush back in to help wash the dishes as your Obasan brings more dirty trays of dishes. Momentarily you put Makki out of your mind. But when the inn becomes quiet again, you pull out your phone and stare at it.

Do you make the call again? After ten minutes of indecision, you give in and make the call.

Makki sounds slightly surprised on the other end of the line, “Done with dinner service?” He probably expected you to not follow through.

“Yeah, done for today.”

He clears his throat, “I slipped something into the book you bought. Did you see it yet?”

You put the phone down to reach for your bag. A thin white envelope is sandwiched between the first page and the cover. You open it up. He hears you unfolding the letter.

“Care to explain?” you ask with an eyebrow raised as you read through the lines. Hanamaki Takahiro sent you a resume…?

“It’s my application—“

“We don’t need another dishwasher here. Besides, you live too far away.” you cut him off.

“To date you.” he finishes. You’re too stunned to reply. You feel your heart skip a beat as you fumble at your phone.

“Don’t pass your judgement just yet.” he adds, “I know I have a lot to prove. I want it to be my job to love you and make you happy. Just know that.”

“...I’m not sure I want to give you a second chance.” you whisper, your voice inevitably cracking. You clutch the envelope a little too tightly, accidentally crumpling it.

Makki pauses before answering, “That’s up to you, but I-I’ll be here in case you do. Anyways, thanks for spending the day with me. I missed you a lot and I’d like to come back someday…if you can let me come over.”

You listen to him breathe in the other end of the line. You imagine him twiddling with a pen with one hand and his phone on the other.

“Goodnight, Makki.” you nod. You missed him too and you want him to come back. You don’t say yes or no, nor will you make promises. For now you let things hang in the balance.

------------------------------------------------

If you liked my style of ansgt, you can check out another hq ansgt about Daichi here.

Taglist: @itstheee-ha-chan @kaizumi @holaaaf @glxar @francxsca

If you wanna be added, DM or comment!! Don’t be shyyyy

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justcourttee · 4 years ago

Note

Okay that "Love,Right?" oneshot was wonderful but now you've got me obsessed with wondering how all the boys would fight for Mari's attention and all trying to date her omg

On an off note, I hope this came out alright. I really wanted to answer your ask but I’m running on low fumes rn. Loved thinking about this too though! I would love to read a more thought out fic, but I have to imagine it would go something like this

I could totally imagine like them all being relatively close in age. Like let’s say,

Dick 23

Jason 21

Tim 20

Mari 18

Damian 17

And Mari is almost done with her last year of lycee so she is in uber done mode until the batboys show up in Paris conveniently at the same time that the Wayne boys show up to scout out a potential new business partner.

She first meets Dick at the gymnasium that Chloe’s father had built for her when she went through a gymnastics phase but soon opened it to the public after she had moved on to whatever interested her next. Marinette is there to practice swinging mid-air to move faster in battle and what better way to do that than over a safety net 40 feet in the air?

Anywho, Dick is just arriving to blow off some steam after a particularly long day of negotiating. Honestly, if it wasn’t for the Hawkmoth mission and the need for a cover, he would’ve abandoned Tim ages ago. He finished locking up his stuff and when he moves into the acrobat section that is always empty, he isn’t sure whether to be impressed or disappointed that someone is there first. She looked nervous as she finished tying her hair into a high ponytail, her eyes calculating as if she was debating if she could make the first jump.

He wants to tell her that there is an easier way to mount, but his curiosity gets the better of him. With one last look, she closes her eyes, inhaling deeply. Without warning, she takes off down the short walkway launching her whole body into the air. Dick is sure she’s going to fall, but at the last minute she reaches out, her hand grasping the bar as she uses her momentum to flip upward, landing gracefully on top of the swinging trapeze.

Dick couldn’t help his cheers. Her eyes widened as she realized someone else was watching her and in what felt like slow motion, she lost her balance and fell onto the net below. Dick rushes over to make sure she’s okay, apologizing a million times a minute. They introduce each other and it’s like an instant connection. They spend the rest of the afternoon trying new techniques and helping each other improve their own techniques.

When Dick returns to the hotel that night, he can’t help the fact that her first swing was stuck on replay in his mind. The next day, he rushes over to the gym only to find her there again. This time, he’s determined to get her number, and surprisingly (to him) he succeeds. They spend the night trading funny memes and tiktoks. After a couple of weeks, Dick decides to try and ask her on a date. They were already close friends, I mean she trusted him enough not to drop her from forty feet in the air, that meant she trusted him right?

He shows up with a giant bouquet of roses only to receive a text message that she couldn’t make it that day. While it was a setback, it didn’t mean he was going to give up. He would show up with a bouquet of roses every day until she was there to receive them. And only then would he ask her on a date, because I can totally believe that he wouldn’t want to do it over text. It’s in-person or not at all.

The second Wayne she meets is Jason.

Muggings in Paris weren’t common with Ladybug and Chat Noir around, but it seemed to be Marinette’s lucky day as some guy just decided that a high school girl had enough money in her little purse to steal. As he backed her down an alleyway, a small hand knife pointed at her, Marinette was considering her options.

She could always try to run. After all, the guy was big and bulky, it would be hard for him to keep up with her and she doubted he wanted her bag enough to actually put up a fight. Just as she was eyeing an opening, a small sound echoed through the alleyway, one she was quite familiar with. The guy’s face looked mortified as he turned slowly to face his attacker.

The man said something in a hushed tone to the guy that Marinette couldn’t quite make out. Whatever it was though, it was enough for her would-be assailant to book it out of the alleyway without a glance back. Assessing her newest threat, Marinette decided that this guy was more punk than thug. She was safe for now.

He asked her if she was okay and if she needed anything as he adjusted his gun back into his waistband. Marinette was fine, but she was curious as to how he smuggled a gun into France.

“Ah. My American accent give me away Princess?”

His french was flawless, but it was clear that he wasn’t from the area. He joked that his adopted father was rich enough for the national security to look past it. At least, she was pretty sure he was joking.

He asks if they can grab something to eat, just because a pretty girl like her shouldn’t go hungry. Marinette is tempted to decline, but her curiosity gets the better of her. They end up going to a small diner near her parent’s bakery where they spend the night flirting shamelessly, both tinging their compliments with enough sarcasm and insults that the people around them couldn’t tell if they were together or if they were related.

Exchanging numbers, the two continued to meet up for weekly dinners at that same diner as they bond over hating people and insulting/admiring each other. When Jason finally realizes his flirting may have shifted from mocking to an actual crush, he's conflicted. It’s just a couple months, at most a year in Paris, but would that really be a reason not to try? He starts bringing her small gifts to the dinners, starting out small like her favorite dessert or small rocks that reminded him of her, but he soon gets more elaborate like bringing her his favorite books to borrow and throwing in a new set of threads for her sewing machine.

He hopes that when she looks at the small gifts that she’ll start associating him with the things that make her happy and just maybe, she’ll fall for him too.

I think you guys already know where Tim is going but I have to do this

Marinette frequents a small coffee shop near the hotel that the Wayne Boys are staying in. She would just drink the coffee that her parents serve in the bakery, but they refused to let her load up her drinks with enough caffeine to get through her day.

She always shows up at 7:00a, after all, she’s gotten better at this punctuality thing over the years. The owners already expect her at this point and already have her drink ready before she even steps foot through the door.

One morning, one of the owners ask her to deliver a coffee to the young man that fell asleep at one of their tables.

“He’s the first person I’ve met whose order rivals yours Ms. Dupain-Cheng.”

Marinette is impressed as she inhales the strong black coffee wafting from the mug. He definitely amped it up with two expresso shots and maybe a pump of hazelnut? If he could taste it over the bitterness of the expresso, she would be impressed.

As she sat the cup down on the table, she slid into the booth in front of him, patiently waiting for him to stir. Watching his soft exhales, Marinette felt at peace. She had never seen someone sleep so softly without moving a muscle. As quietly as she could, she brought out her sketchbook. She got about halfway through his frame when his soft breathing stopped.

Her eyes snapped up to find his blue ones studying her cautiously. Of course, she mutters out apologizes at a million miles a minute, trying to explain that she needed practice for her living art class and that she was just dropping off his coffee and she was so sorry for drawing him without his permission. As she finally trails off, Marinette is more confused than ever. She thought he was awake, his eyes studying her, but now she wasn’t so confident. She was pretty sure he was still half asleep, assuming she was some sort of hallucination.

He reached out, draining his cup of coffee without coming up for a single breath.

“I didn’t think I was this sleep-deprived. Please beautiful sleep-induced entity, draw me if you must.”

Marinette bites her lip trying not to laugh as he tiredly pulls out a laptop, typing away at seemingly nothing.

The next day, Marinette finds him in his same spot, already two empty mugs occupying the table. As she orders, she’s sure to grab an extra one for him before joining him once more. This time, Tim is the one to apologize as he realizes finally that she is a real girl and not a hallucination.

Marinette laughs it off and the briefly chat about their lives. As Marinette gets up to leave for her morning classes, she promises to meet him for coffee the next morning. Surely enough, as she walks through the door, he’s already at their booth. He waves her over, motioning to the coffee mug holding her go-to order. They come to an agreement, he allows her to draw him for practice, she offers him the occasional advice. There is sometimes small talk, but it’s mostly just full of comfort that they found in each other’s presence.

After weeks, Tim finally decides that he wants to get to know this beautiful coffee angel. He starts by asking her to meet at a bakery that he had been dying to try. As he arrives at the bakery, Marinette sheepishly admits that it was her parent’s bakery. Tim feigns ignorance, but that smirk he gives her makes her reconsider the innocent sleep-deprived man she had met weeks earlier. From now on, he has breakfast with the Dupain-Cheng family every morning. After all, your in-laws have to like you first before you can try anything else, right?

Finally, we have Damian.

They meet in the living art class. He had already taken something similar at Gotham Academy, but he was curious to see the French side of something he cherished so dearly.

At first, he hates her. She reminds him of a mixture between Dick and Tim and in all honesty, he only volunteered to pretend to be a foreign exchange student to spend the majority of the day away from his brothers.

He slowly begins to change his mind though as he is partnered with her for a partner draw project. The teacher forces them to spend all of class drawing each other how they feel the world should see their partner. It involved a lot of sharing and as she became more confident in him, he slowly felt himself opening up to this strange girl as well.

It was going fine until one day, two of her old classmates entered the classroom, trying to pick a fight with Damian. He remembered one of them, yes the sausage haired girl, her name was Lily perhaps? She tried to ask him out and he turned her down, hard. Now here she was, crying the fakest tears he had ever seen as some ombre haired woman was chewing him out.

He was fine going on ignoring them, but then the ombre haired woman reached out for his notebook, tearing it from his grasps. She glanced over it for a second before raising it above her head and slamming it into the ground. She lifted her foot to stomp on it, but she never had a chance to finish. Before Damian had even moved a muscle, Marinette was standing above her, a murderous look in her eyes. The sausage haired woman helped the girl to her feet as they retreated quickly, both of their faces pale as they sent empty threats in Marinette’s direction.

With a sigh, Marinette picked up his notebook, dusting it off gently before handing it back to him, apologizing for her ex-classmates. He wanted to let her know that he didn’t need her to look out for him, that he could handle it, but his mind flashed to the look in her eyes. If anything, his interest was now piqued by the girl.

As the project came to an end, the moment of truth had finally come. Damian showed Marinette her portrait. He had drawn her as mother nature, warm and protective of her children and cold to anyone that threatened them. He would be lying if the small blush on her face didn’t boost his pride. When she showed Damian his portrait, he couldn’t help but let his jaw drop, even slightly.

He looked like a medieval knight, posing on the defense, a slight trickle of what looked like blood dripping out the corner of his mouth.

“I’m sorry, please don’t think it’s weird. It’s just the more you talked, and so passionately too about how you wanted to protect everything dear to you from your family to your pets, I couldn’t help but get swept away in this idea that you were some gallant knight-”

He cut her off with a single look as his face broke into a grin. He loved it. Everyone always described him as a demon or a baby bird, but a gallant knight, it was certainly a first.

That night at the hotel, he would search google for the best ways to ask out a girl. After all, he sure as hell wasn’t asking his brothers.

Permanent Tag List:

@ash-amg @rebecarojas07 @heaven428 @long-lost-peace @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @moongoddesskiana @nach0ava @iamablinkmarvelarmy @seraphkitty @clumsy-owl-4178 @pawsitivelymiraculous @mialuvscats @leagrey @smolplantmum @animegirlweeb @glitterflowercat

#dickinette #jasonette #timinette #daminette #maribat

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thewritingginger · 4 years ago

Text

Relief

This isn’t a Holiday prompt request, since I have a bunch of other WIPs I thought I would take a break of those and finish up others ones. So there maybe some back and forth, we’ll see :)

This was a request I got on Wattpad on my Alucard Comfort fic a couple months ago and it was mostly done so... I don’t know too much about Hector’s character but I hope I did him some justice.

Fandom: Castlevania Pairing: Hector x GN! Reader Word Count: 2,359 words Warning(s): Kinda sad, comforting Hector, fluff

Enjoy ~

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

It has been roughly 4 months since you met the white haired man.

The moment you met him you felt the urge to get near him. Although he was beautiful, it wasn’t his high cheekbones or smooth skin that called you. It was the distant look in his blue eyes, an ocean of sadness. You felt his loneliness from across the room in just one glance. You asked for his name and he hesitated for a moment, like he was contemplating whether or not wanted to be seen more than he had been. ‘Hector.’ Is all he responded with, and the gentle sound of his voice made your soul ring. You smiled and introduced yourself.

Surprisingly enough, he talked to you that night at the bar. Nothing too deep, just menial conversation about your interests and places you’ve both traveled to. But in that short time together you knew it was more than just a ‘talk with a stranger at a bar’ situation.

‘We should meet again.’ you said forwardly. Hector’s eyes studied you for a moment, before responding. ‘I guess that wouldn’t be too miserable.’ You smiled, not just at his words but at the glimmer of something in his eyes that didn’t seem to be there before.

3 months into your meetings, you and Hector had gotten more comfortable around each other. Getting accustomed to your daily presence, one afternoon while the two of you were out on a stroll he asked,

‘Would you care to accompany me home?’ Smiling inwardly you respond casually,

‘Sure.’ With one word you continued your journey in silence, observing the world around you. Following his lead you saw in the distance a lone cottage, made of stone with a smoking chimney and a small garden in front filled with small purple flowers and berries.

Opening the door, you are welcomed with a wall of warmth melting off the cold from outside. Entering the quant space you took a moment to look around as he walked into the kitchen. Having taken off your cloak you drape it on the back of a chair, as you took a seat by the fireplace. He emerged with some water for you both and sat across from you.

That night was the start of what you two came to be.

Hector offered his bed to you that evening. In the middle of the night you got up to get some water. Wrapped in a blanket to fend off the crisp air, you see Hector on the couch under a thin blanket. The fire had died out a few hours before, cooling the room significantly. Forgetting the water you circled around him and crouched down in front of his sleeping face. Taking a moment you took in his being. Laying there, defenseless. Completely free of tension -besides the few shivers that raked through his body - clenching the blanket closer to him. You gently nudge his shoulder a bit, making him stir till he woke in a surprised manner. Sitting up, letting out a deep huff.

‘What’s the matter?’ He asked Eyes squinted, trying to focus on your face.

‘Come lay in your bed, with me.’ You said.

‘N-no that isn’t necessary.’ He stutters a bit, taken aback by your request.

‘You’re shivering out here and two bodies are better than one for gaining warmth.’

He sees that you wouldn’t be taking no for an answer. Sighing a bit he stood up and followed you to his room.

The room was dark, the only source of light came from the moon in the sky. Nothing sat in the room but a bed, a trunk and a small desk with a pile of books next to it. The warm bed called your name once again as a chill ran down your spine. Jumping under the sheets as you were before, you looked over to the forgemaster as he tentatively got under the blankets next to you. His back towards you, a big birth - despite the small size of the bed - between the two of you. Sighing a bit you moved closer to him, wrapping your arm around his broad shoulders. You felt his muscles tense a bit from your touch.

A long moment passes. Silence.

He turned around in your loose grip. His eyes bore into yours. Swimming in his gaze you saw his intensity but you also saw fear. Not the kind of fear you have when there's a monster before you. But the fear you feel when presented with a moment that may change everything, uncertain if for the better or worse.

‘You don’t have to be scared.’ You told him with your eyes.

A wave of compulsion washed over you, leaning forward you gently placed your lips against his. Stunning him, but he didn’t pull away. He kissed you back, deepening the kiss between you.

You both knew that this was the beginning of something between you two. A new chapter in both your lives. Uncertainty waved in the air, but neither one of you paid it mind just enjoyed the shared moment of warmth.

From that night onward everyday was filled with adventures and errands and nights spent listening to the sound of his voice. Telling stories about his life before you, as you fell asleep.

~~~

“Is this what it’s like?” He asks. You stop stirring the pot of food to look at him. His question perplexed you. Coming out of nowhere, unsure of what it was pertaining to. Hector is resting in the armchair by the fireplace beside you, book in hand, just staring at you in thought.

“Is what, like this?” You ask with a chuckle as you put the lid on the pot.

Hector looks down running his free hand through the back of his silver locks. His gaze not meeting yours again. You sit on the couch in front of him, waiting for his answer.

“Having a family.”

His three word answer made your heart hurt a bit. Walking over to him you sit on his lap, draping your legs over the arm of the chair. Resting your arm on his shoulder as you gently stroke his hair, looking at the side of his face. His gaze, still not meeting yours. You bring your other hand up to cradle his cheek in your palm slowly drawing his eyes up to yours.

His face painted in embarrassment. Eyes glistening, sadness threatening to seep out.

There’s that look again.

That uncertainty in his cerulean eyes. Debating whether or not he should continue. Biting his lips together he looks down at the space between you.

“I ask because ~” he paused, taking a deep breath. “I never had a real family.” His words come out in a rough whisper. “Why do you say it like you’re ashamed?” You ask with a slight laugh. “Because of what I did.” He responds, somberly. You stopped smiling, knowing you can’t laugh him through this one.

This one was serious.

Not unlike the time he told you where he was inside himself after the death of Dracula.

“What do you mean, ‘what you did’?” You asked, hesitantly.

He shakes his head, peeling your hand off his neck. Lifting you off his lap as he stands.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.” He says.

Before you can say anything Hector rushes out the front door. Leaving you to stand there, looking at the old wooden door, shocked and saddened by the events that just transpired.

A few hours had passed. The sun had already made its descent from the day and Hector still hasn’t come back.

The cottage was silent, nothing but the cracking of the fire and heavy pants of Cezar. The undead pug, keeping you company in your newly shared bed. Your head rests upon the pillow, stained with drying tears. ‘Did I do something wrong?’ you asked yourself. Turning to Cezar, scratching behind his remaining ear. “What about you Cezar, do you know what happened?” The pug just barks in response.

‘Well it was worth a shot.’ you thought.

Wrapped in the blankets and Cezar nestled beside your chest, beginning to drift to sleep you hear someone at the front door. Opening your eyes you sit up, waking the pup. That’s when you heard heavy steps coming closer to the door of the bedroom. You turned over, pretending to be asleep as you heard the door creak open.

The mattress, shifting from his weight on the other side.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers.

“I’ve been too much of a coward to show you all of me. Afraid of what you would think if you knew who I was. Who I am.” His words, a low hum as if he is talking to himself.

You turn over to see his back. His face planted in his palms. Your movements make him freeze.

“You’re awake.” He says. His voice, shaky.

“And you came back.” You said, sounding more surprised than intended.

“Yeah…” He lets out a half-hearted laugh.

There’s that silence again, a long stretch of time as you both hold your breaths.

“I should’ve told you this sooner. That way I wouldn’t have wasted so much of your ti~ ” You cut him off.

“Don’t say that you. You‘ve never even come close to being a waste of time to me.” You say, hoping he believes your words to be true and not just a pretty sentiment to make him feel better.

Sitting up to prop yourself against your extended arm you say, “Whatever it is I’m sure it’s ~”

“I killed my parents.” He interrupts. Blurting the word out to make himself finally say it. “I-I killed my parents.” He repeats much quieter this time, almost to himself.

You take a second to swallow what he just told you. Fiddling with the sheets in your fingers trying to think of something to say but you don’t know what to say. So you stay quiet.

“It wasn’t out of malice, if that makes it easier for you to look at me.” He says. His words coated in worry.

Worry of what you will say. What you would call him. And most of all what you will do.

Will you leave him? Like everyone always has. He wouldn’t blame you.

Another moment passes in the tense silence. He sighs in acceptance that you are through. He gets up to leave but you grab his hand from behind. Your soft touch sparked against his skin. Looking down at you, eyebrows furrowed.

“Stay.” Is all you said. Just one word glued a few pieces of his world back together. He sits back down, this time facing you.

“Why? After what I said, why would you want me to stay?” He asks

“Cause you haven’t told me the whole story.” You say.

He looks in your eyes curiously. “Y-you want to know… why does it matter to you?” He questions as he shakes his head slightly.

“Because you said it wasn’t out of malicious intent, so there had to be a reason. Right?” You offer a small curve of your lip.

Looking at you through his lashes. He says a soft “Ok.”

Clearing his throat. Hector then went on to tell you about his home-life as a child, if you could call it that.

The retellings of how his parents would treat him and their greed. The images he painted made your stomach turn a bit.

“At the time I felt I needed to. Like I had no choice.” He says, his words somber.

Reaching out you pull Hector towards you. He willingly falls into your embrace. His head resting on your chest. Soothingly combing your fingers through his silver strands, he holds your free hand in his.

“Even still now I don’t know if I would do anything differently.” He sighs, being thoughtful with his choice of words.

“I have no remorse for what I did.” He lets out an airy chuckle. “Y/n, have I become the very people I grew to despise.? The ones I’ve set my life out to rid the world of?” You think about his question. With confliction rising within you.

“Hector I’m not blind to the fact that you have done less than savory things and others might disagree but…” You pause, retracting your hand from his to guide his chin up to meet your gaze.

“That doesn’t make you a monster.”

Those words rang through his head, pulling a tear from his sockets. Coming from you it was everything he needed at that moment. For years battling with the idea that he is no better than the people who take and hurt others for their own gain, now settles a bit.

He kisses you. The idea that you were just being gentle with him didn’t go unthought about, but that didn’t matter to him. What did matter was you. Someone in his life that wants to be there. What did he do to deserve such a blessing? Was it by chance? And if so, will is this only be a fleeting moment in both your lives. Here one minute and gone the next?

Or could it be the stars aligned. Some cosmic deity put you together knowing he needed someone. Needed you.

Whatever it is, whatever put you in his arms. He couldn’t think of anything else but, “Thank you.” He says. Tears stinging his eyes. Looking up at you with his tear stained cheeks, his large hand cupping your cheek.

“Thank you.”

Those being the only two words he could speak. Saying them like a prayer. Leaning forward you connect your lips to his. The wetness of his cheeks touch yours. Wrapping your arms around his neck, holding him closer.

You fall back to the matters. He hovers above you, his fingers playing with your soft locks. His eyes looking at you with certainty. Certainty that you are real. That you will love him. And that you will be his forever.

In that comfortable silence he lays his head against your chest once again. Your fingers stroking his hair as he listens to the steady tempo of your heart beat and drifts to sleep.

Peacefully~.

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I hope you enjoyed reading this lovelies :3

💛 ~

MASTERLIST

#castelvania #castlevania fic #castlevania hector #hector #hector x reader #castlevania x reader #x reader #x gn reader #fluff #kinda sad #request

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mytardisisparked · 4 years ago

Text

Hi this is an entirely self-indulgent fic and I have zero apologies to make about it.

Based on this post.

Enjoy.

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The Problem with Kenobis

Satine didn’t hate political dinners, per se. Really, she actually enjoyed the dancing and the food and the lively conversation. What she actually hated was the subversion - the political maneuvering and manipulating that left her feeling slimy and ready to quit politics entirely. Mostly, she supposed, she hated being a pawn.

Nevertheless, she was willing to risk the more disgusting side of politics for the sake of the food and fun, which is why she attended the crown prince of Mon Cala’s birthday party with little hesitation.

The room was lush, a glass dome let the guests admire the waters of the capital city from the safety of dryness as they munched on hors d'oeuvres and danced intermittently. Upon arrival, the duchess had not seen anyone she knew very well and, not feeling entirely sociable before having had at least one martini, she grabbed her choice drink and settled herself into a corner until something interesting happened, content to simply watch the fish swim by outside.

“It’s almost like a reverse-fishbowl, isn’t it?” A musical voice interrupted her thoughts.

Satine turned to find herself looking at a young, ginger woman. She was about the same height as Satine and clad in lovely, flowing robes of black and gold that still managed to look quite practical on her solid frame. She was smiling gently and there was an almost familiar glint of mischief in her silver eyes.

“Yes,” Satine smiled back before turning back to the ocean view, “I suppose it is.”

She saw the woman move to stand next to her out of the corner of her eye. “You are Duchess Satine, are you not?”

Satine turned her head to look at the woman again, studying her carefully. There was something familiar about her, but Satine couldn’t quite put her finger on where they might have met. “Yes. I’m afraid I’m not sure of your name.”

The woman turned back to her and stuck out a hand to shake. “I’m Senator Mri-Lan Cairn of Stewjon. I’m afraid we haven’t had the pleasure of meeting, though I’m quite familiar with your history.”

Satine raised a brow as she took Senator Cairn’s hand. “Oh?” She still couldn’t quite place the redhead but perhaps she had seen the young senator on the news - Stewjon did ring a bell. “I assume you are part of the Republic then.”

Senator Cairn inclined her head. “Indeed. I must say, Duchess, I’m fascinated by your take on pacifism. The fact that you managed to subdue a warrior race into such a political stance without any blood drawn is quite the remarkable feat.”

“Thank you, although, it wasn’t without the spilling of blood entirely.” Satine lowered her gaze. “It took a civil war that nearly wiped my people out to start convincing them to stop fighting.”

The senator’s eyes grew dim. “I’m sorry, that can’t have been easy.”

“It wasn’t.”

They stood quietly for a moment. A waiter walked by with a tray of champagne and Senator Cairn took one, drinking it in one go.

“Well, Duchess, I must say that I am somewhat surprised to see you at a Republic function.” The senator smiled. “Not that I’m complaining, of course; I’ve desired to meet you for some time.”

Satine couldn’t help but grin. She usually hated compliments as they felt ingenuine but, as cheeky as this young woman seemed, Satine could tell the compliment was entirely genuine. “You flatter me, Senator. I’m here because I have a good friendship with the royal family of Mon Cala.” She paused for a moment. “You may call me Satine, if you would prefer.”

Her face lit up. “Thank you, Satine, you may call me Mri-Lan.”

Satine smiled back. “Alright, Mri-Lan.”

The two stuck to each other’s side for the rest of the evening, swapping gossip about other party guests, laughing over drinks, debating politics, bantering about the news, and stealing as many finger foods as they could manage. The longer they hung out, however, the more and more Satine felt she had met the young woman before; everything about her - her face, her eyes, her expressions, even her manner of speaking - engulfed Satine in a peculiar sense of deja vu.

As the party grew quieter, couples settling into slow dances or corners to talk, Mri-Lan and Satine found a table and some crackers to enjoy in peace.

“Do you have family, Mri-Lan?”

The redhead smiled. “I do. My husband and I just got married a few months ago.” She flicked a button on her wrist communicator and a blue holo of a dashing young man popped up. “This is Gen-Dar.”

Satine leaned in and looked him over. “He’s quite handsome.”

“He is.” Mri-Lan beamed. “I also have a couple of brothers.” She swiped to a new holo image of a massive, burly man. “This is Har-Gar, my eldest brother and this,” she swiped once more, “is my younger brother, Sur-Kan.” The boy was a few years younger than Mri-Lan and was as slender as his elder brother was wide.

“They’re so different.” Satine marveled. “And yet you all still manage to look alike.”

Mri-Lan grinned. “It’s a family trait.”

As Satine studied the picture of Sur-Kan, something hit her. “Do- do all Stewjonians hyphenate their names?”

The senator nodded. “Yes, it's part of our culture.”

Satine took another sip of her martini, her throat suddenly feeling dry. “Mri-Lan, what was your maiden name?”

“It was Kenobi.”

It was all Satine could do not to spit out her drink.

She looked at Mri-Lan with wide eyes. “Is that a common last name on Stewjon?”

The senator gave her a half-smile. “Is that really the question you want to ask?”

Satine lifted her chin. “You’re related to Obi-Wan Kenobi, aren’t you?”

Mri-Lan smiled. “Yes, he is my second older brother.”

Suddenly, Satine’s entire night made sense - her easy conversation with Mri-Lan even in the midst of their political differences, their friendly banter, the familiarity of Mri-Lan’s smile and gestures.... even the timbre of the senator’s voice was the same as Obi-Wan’s even though her accent was quite different.

“Oh,” was all Satine could bring herself to say.

The senator smiled. “You know Obi-Wan quite well, don’t you?”

Satine swallowed. “Yes, he is a dear friend.”

Mri-Lan gave her a peculiar look. “What is he like?”

Satine paused, feeling a pang in her heart at the longing she saw in the young woman’s eyes. Memories of Satine’s own sibling, Bo Katan, bubbled up, nearly choking her. She shoved those emotions down to where they usually rested deep inside her mind.

“To be honest, he’s a lot like you just...” she grinned wryly, “a great deal more infuriating.”

Mri-Lan laughed. “You haven’t seen me at my worst, Satine.”

The blonde woman smiled. “Thankfully, you haven’t seen me at mine either.”

“A toast then,” Mri-Lan held up her glass, “to new friends and old ones.”

Satine clinked her glass against hers. “And to hopefully seeing more of each other in the future.” She took her sip and studied Mri-Lan’s face. “Perhaps I could tell you more about your brother.”

Mri-Lan turned her hopeful face to Satine. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I’d like that.”

Satine watched as Mri-Lan finished her drink. With a smile, Satine finished her own, thinking about how much Obi-Wan would like his sister. For a moment, she contemplated introducing them but then, reality crashed in and made her realize the chaos that would cause; images flooded her mind of the two Kenobis teaming up on her to tease and banter. That would never do - Obi-Wan was a handful as it was and to add a smaller, female version of him would just be too many Kenobis.

Exactly why Korkie and Obi-Wan could also never meet.

#Obitine #too many kenobis #i might make this a series IDK #just watchign satine and anakin meet various kenobi siblings #and cousins #and obi-wan not realizing he is related to any of them #obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan #satine kryze #korkie is a kenobi

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clareguilty · 4 years ago

Text

To Guard You and to Guide You

My first reward fic for my follower giveaway! Dutch/Arthur/Fem!Reader Rating: Explicit | It’s smut.... Word Count: ~2000

Part One

It’s late into the night when you hear the thunder of hooves on the trail. You live too far out for anyone to be passing by. If someone is riding this way, they’re coming for you.

Any business that comes calling this late at night is likely to be trouble, so you grab your rifle before peering out the window. The moon is almost full, and you see two riders coming up the trail towards the house.

Wait. You recognize those horses. A white stallion and a dark coated mare. Two broad shouldered riders.

“Dutch! Arthur!” you call, flying off the porch to meet them. “What brings you out here?” Their gang had moved camp a little farther south, and you hadn’t seen them since. They promised they would come back around next time they were in the area.

Dutch laughs boisterously. “We’re putting as much distance between ourselves and the sheriff of Valentine as possible. Of course, we couldn’t resist paying you a visit.” He rears The Count to a stop, sliding out of the saddle and striding up to pull you into his arms. He’s in high spirits, and he lifts you and spins. Your own laughter carries through the trees.

Arthur is smiling as well as he leads the horses around to the back of the house. You make a move to follow him, but Dutch’s arm wraps around your waist and he pulls you towards the door. “I’ve got a bottle of brandy just for you,” he nuzzles into your neck.

He does indeed have a bottle of brandy. As well as a nice comb and a beautiful necklace that you doubt you’ll ever have reason to wear. You admire the gifts with flushed cheeks, debating if you should ask where Dutch got them.

“Robbed a fancy stagecoach a few weeks ago,” he tells you anyways. “The fine lady had these with her, and I thought they deserved to go to someone as lovely as you.”

Arthur is just coming in from the horses, and he snorts and rolls his eyes. You lean into him as he wraps his arms around you. He kisses you gently, his lips lingering at the corner of your mouth. “He’s always like this after a good score.”

Dutch feigns insult. “Is it so wrong of me to treat our lady? She deserves only the best.”

“Yeah, she does,” Arthur says. “Which is why I brought her saddle soap and gun oil, and a box of ammunition.”

It’s exactly the kind of gift you expect from Arthur. Subtle, practical.

“Y’all are too kind.” You shake your head. “I can’t accept all that.”

“Think of it as recompense for harboring two dangerous outlaws.” Dutch grins.

“Dangerous outlaws? Is that what you consider yourselves to be?” While you knew Dutch and Arthur were wanted men, and they had described to you the nature of the crimes they committed, it had been a long while since you saw them as dangerous. They were sweet and doting and compassionate.

Dutch’s eyes gleam in the low light. You realize you may have kicked the hornets nest. “Arthur, did you hear that?”

Arthur chuckles, and his voice is suddenly right at your ear, low and authoritative. “You don’t think we’re dangerous?”

“Well-” you stammer, “You just- I never- You’re so sweet and kind.”

They’re crowding you from both sides now. You know they’re enjoying this game far too much. Tripping over your feet, you stumble back into the wall. Dutch pins you in place and leans in so you can feel his breath on your skin. “Maybe we should remind you just what kind of men we are.”

The low growl of his voice sends a thrill down your spine. The arousal makes you weak at the knees, and your head feels light. You know Dutch and Arthur would never truly hurt you. They’re just riled up from their latest score. The thrill of the chase and a hard ride, and now they want to celebrate their success.

“Arthur,” Dutch orders, “undress her.”

He’s rough with you. More so than ever before. But he brushes a gentle kiss over your shoulder as he yanks your blouse off. You’re taken by surprise, but you let him manhandle you out of your clothes. He hoists you over your shoulder as though you’re a sack of feed. He playfully smacks your ass, and you yelp.

The room spins as you fall onto your bed, sprawled ungracefully as Arthur climbs over you. He unties his bandana from around his neck and quickly lashes your wrists together. You struggle weakly beneath him, unable to hide your grin. You’re enjoying this just as much as they are.

Dutch watches with a gleam in his eyes. You wonder what he has planned.

Arthur has his own ideas, and sinks between your legs, kissing his way up the inside of your thigh. You whine as he teases you, diverts his attention to your hips and stomach. All you want is for them to touch you, to take you.

“Please,” you whine.

“There’s those pretty sounds,” Dutch pets your hair. “Been missing you.”

You gasp as Arthur finally touches you where you need it most. He presses two fingers inside you, stroking your clit with his tongue. Dutch watches as you arch you back and buck your hips against him. Unable to resist, he pinches and rolls your nipple between his fingers just to watch you pant and moan.

“Arthur!” you gasp as he crooks his fingers and sucks. Living alone, you rely on yourself for pleasure most of the time. It’s always overwhelming when Arthur and Dutch take you to bed. They never leave you unsatisfied. Often you wind up sore and exhausted when they take their leave.

You belong to them, and they delight in fucking you and making you come until you’re a shaking mess between them.

“You’re close,” Dutch murmurs. “I want to see you come undone.”

Arthur doubles his efforts at Dutch’s words, just as eager to make you fall apart. You pull against the bandana on your wrists, eyes fluttering shut as you try to watch him. He trails his lips down the column of your throat. He and Arthur both, devoted entirely to you.

You come with a breathy cry of Arthur’s name. He holds your hips in place until you’re shaking and on the brink of tears. When he pulls away his lips are slick and shining. He wipes the back of his hand over his chin, looking far too proud of himself.

You’re panting and shaking. Dutch and Arthur communicate wordlessly -- something you’ve always thought incredible -- and your hands are unbound. You reach for Arthur, eager to return the favor, but Dutch pulls you into his lap.

“Be a good girl for Daddy,” he pulls you in for a kiss. It’s eager and messy. He runs his hands over your skin, pinching and squeezing just to get a reaction out of you. You tug at his clothes, fingers fumbling over the buttons of his vest. It’s much more heated than the last time you saw him: a lazy affair during the hottest month of the year. He kisses his way down to your chest as you struggle to get his pants open.

Finally, you’re able to pull his cock free. Just as you wrap your fingers around his length, he lifts you off his lap. Your whine and pout are ignored, and instead Dutch pins you onto your stomach. He grinds against your ass, breath hot against your skin. You glance up to see Arthur, undressed. He’s clearly feeling left out, but he watches Dutch with fond exasperation.

Dutch comes to his senses a moment later, no longer mindlessly rutting against you. This time, he pulls you so that you’re lying back against his chest. He holds you by the hips and presses his cock into you with a low, satisfied groan. You’re still dripping wet from Arthur eating you out, but you aren’t anticipating the sudden stretch. Dutch doesn’t even give you time to adjust before he’s thrusting up into you, pulling you down by your hips to meet his every motion. Your head falls back against his chest, and you cling to his arms as he fucks you.

And then Arthur is there, rubbing his thumb over your clit so that you tighten around Dutch’s cock, and he only fucks you harder.

“How much more can you take?” Arthur asks gently. He brushes your hair out of your unfocused eyes, thumb trailing over your cheek.

“I don’t know,” you gasp.

He grins. “Then I guess we’ll just find out.” He’s more insistent now, intentionally trying to drag another orgasm out of you.

You come quickly, squeezing around Dutch’s cock.

Dutch is close too, you can tell from the change in his breath. His voice is low and rough when he speaks. “I’m going to fill you up so good. You’re going to be good for Daddy and take it all. Let me breed you good.”

The words make you shudder, and you rock your hips down against his. “Daddy, please. I need it.”

“That’s a good girl,” he croons. He drives his cock into you as he comes, squeezing your hips so hard you know you’ll be covered in purple handprints tomorrow. You can feel his cock twitching, can feel the heat inside you.

He stills, relaxes beneath you. A few panting breaths and he pulls out, both of you shuddering. You don’t get a moment of reprieve as Arthur immediately pulls you to him and begins fucking you again. “Just a little bit more, darling.”

You cling to him, your head rolling slightly with every thrust. He’s more gentle than Dutch in the way he holds you, but he fucks you harder. It’s nearing too much. They’ve never been this rough with you before. You’re a mess, dazed and uncoordinated in his arms, Dutch’s seed spilling out of you around Arthur’s cock.

Arthur slips a hand between you. You’re oversensitive, but he knows just exactly how much pressure to put on your clit.

“No,” you whimper. “Too much.”

He slows, reach up to take your face in his hands. You struggle to meet his eyes. “Can you give me one more?” he asks.

Now that he’s stopped moving, you want him to go back to fucking you. You’ll do anything he asks. “Yes,” you nod. “Please, Arthur.”

He kisses you so sweetly, once on your lips and again on the tip of your nose. “That’s it, doll.”

You want him to move, but he gently lays you on your back before he starts thrusting again. “Come on,” he murmurs. “One more for me.” He’s always been able to take you apart so easily, and your vision goes white as you come one final time. He keeps fucking you, though much more carefully.

It’s bliss. Mildly uncomfortable bliss considering you’re sore and bruised and fucked beyond anything you thought possible.

Arthur spills inside you just as Dutch had. You feel used, claimed.

Its a few moments before you’re able to keep your eyes open, and you blink in the dim room to see Dutch with his trousers fastened back up, a bottle of whiskey in his hand.

“Da-” you catch yourself. “I need a drink of that.”

He chuckles and insists on tipping the bottle to your lips himself. You stumble up from the bed, pushing away Dutch’s offered hand. The inside of your thighs are a mess, and you grimace as you wet a cloth at the basin and do your best to wash up.

“Do you need anything?” Arthur asks from where he’s pulling on his own clothes.

“I need a good night’s sleep.” You were already tired from a hard days work. Now, it’s well past midnight and you’ve just been fucked within an inch of your life. You’re swaying where you stand.

He chuckles. “You’ve certainly earned it.”

You climb under the blankets, eyes already heavy before you’ve even laid down.

“One of you get in here with me,” you grumble. The bed isn’t big enough for all three of you, but you’ll let them fight over who gets to sleep at your side.

Thankfully, whatever argument they have is silent, and you’re nearly asleep when Dutch lays against you.

“You know,” he whispers, trailing his fingers over the marks on your hips. “We’re going to be moving even farther south soon.”

“You’re going away?” The thought fills you with dread. The gang only moves when it’s too dangerous fir them to stay in one place, and from what you had heard, they never used to run into this much trouble before.

“We don’t have a choice,” he presses his lips to your hair. “But we miss you enough as it is already.”

“What will we do?” you ask. You already worry so much about them. Not being able to see them wears on your heart, never knowing if they’re safe or even alive.

“I know it’s a difficult choice for you, but you’re always welcome to come with us -- if you truly want to. We would love to have you with us. You would be safe. You would want for nothing. I could have you whenever I want.” He pulls you closer to him.

You know it’s not the time to make such decisions. You’re barely able to keep awake long enough to answer. His words are like a dream. Spending every day with Dutch and Arthur, watching over them, knowing they’re safe at your side.

“I’d like that,” you murmur absently. You think Dutch says something more, but you’re already asleep.

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#reward fic #dutch van der linde/reader #Dutch Van Der Linde #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan/reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan/dutch van der linde/ reader #dutch van der linde x reader #rdr2 fanfic

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lyrabythelake · 4 years ago

Text

Dear Malon

I wrote this short fic a while ago for an LU zine but realised I haven’t posted it anywhere else, so here you go!

Dear Malon,

I can only hope these letters are finding you. Admittedly, I haven’t had much experience with time-travelling postmen before, nor do I know anyone who has, so my faith in his reliability is limited. However, I do like to imagine my words have reached you, that you know I am safe and well and that I am on a wondrous journey with friends by my side. I know how you worry.

It seems like months since I last wrote, though I know it’s been only days. Our ultimate purpose on this quest is still unclear but the boys never lose hope. They fight with a determination unparalleled by anyone I’ve met and every day I become prouder of them still.

Occasionally I am filled with dread at the way they look up to me as their leader. It’s a great honour that they see me that way, but I am terrified I won’t fulfil their expectations of me. I wake in a cold sweat each night, the afterimages of each of them in harm’s way because of my negligence burned into my mind…

“He’s writing again.”

Eight heroes sit under the cherry blossoms in the still afternoon. The trees are in full bloom and the pink petals fall gently into the deeply grassed meadow and the trickling stream, washed away in a rush of fresh silver water.

They look to the ninth at Four’s words, hunched over the paper with his hair falling over his face, shielding him in his concentration towards the words he writes. Petals rest in his hair, on his clothes but their gentle presence doesn’t catch his notice, nor do the other heroes’ muttering only meters away. His sword is within reaching distance, always prepared for an attack, but otherwise he is a picture of peace, one the others dare not disturb for its rareness.

“Where do you think he sends them?” Hyrule asks in innocent curiosity. It is a question -among others- they’ve all asked themselves at one time or another. They have their theories, even discussed them at times when Time himself isn’t around.

“I bet they’re love letters,” Sky muses, his wistful gaze undeterred from the Hero of Time and the scratching of his quill.

“What? No way,” scoffs Wind. He is not quite as versed in love as some of the others, but he is practiced in the art of longing and desire.

Warriors is the first to raise his eyebrows.

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“He’s never talked about anyone before,” Wild argues.

“So?” interjects Legend, “not everyone likes to flaunt their love affairs like the Captain.”

“I don’t flaunt anything!”

“The old man keeps his emotions close to his heart,” murmurs Twilight, drawing the attention of them all despite the softness of his words, “Love is beautiful yet fleeting, like the cherry blossoms in spring. He’s right to treasure it and keep it close.”

“Uh oh, the ranch hand’s off again,” snorts Wild and there is a ripple of laughter in response.

“I think it’s nice he has someone to write to,” states Hyrule and the others agree. They’ve all known the wasteland of loneliness at some point in their lives and it has left its scars on them all.

It is a while before Time, lost in a world of his own, puts his quill down and gets to his feet. He folds the paper neatly into four and slips it into the deepest of his pockets, away from prying eyes and ready to hand over to the postman whenever they might see him next.

His thoughts drift and swirl like the blossom petals that fall around him, content and serene with just an ounce of sorrow like that which comes with the ephemerality of spring. The others’ lighthearted chatter dips and bays as he treads along the bank of the rushing stream.

He thinks of his wife, worlds away, and wonders what she is doing. Wonders if he’ll ever get to see her again.

Dear Malon,

This time of year reminds me of you.

It was around this time, many years ago, that I married you with a promise that the worst of my adventures were over. That from then on, my life would be simple, wrapped in safety with the woman I love. I think you knew back then that it was a promise I could never keep. I could run from it forever, but adventure always seems to find me.

This adventure is different to the others I’ve been on. With the boys here each battle comes with a new terror I never felt when fighting on my own, though I am certain I wouldn’t be alive today without them.

The responsibility I feel for them goes beyond just our age difference and the mutual respect we afford one another. I never called myself a hero. That title has been forced upon me despite my assurances that I couldn’t be further from it. I look at Hyrule and Legend sometimes and the others that have suffered, even if not directly, from my hand and feel all their suffering and sorrow tenfold in the form of heavy guilt…

“I think we should go south.”

Legend’s statement is met with confusion from most and narrowed eyes from Time, an expression missed by all but Legend himself.

“Why south?” asks Warriors curiously. Legend is grateful his words are not dismissed immediately. He supposes it’s not often he makes bold suggestions such as this one without proper reason to do so, so it’s bound to draw their attention. He may have the experience, but he has no qualms in leaving the day-to-day leadership and tactics to Time, Twilight and Warriors.

“I have a good feeling about it,” he replies confidently, like the argument he’s giving isn’t totally redundant.

“You have… a good feeling…”

“Yes. It’s not like we have anywhere we particularly need to be.”

“Don’t you think we should go to the castle?” suggests Twilight, prompting a collective look to Time for the final decision. He knows this land best after all.

Time’s frown has become increasingly more pronounced throughout the brief debate, his eyes fixed on Legend suspiciously.

“Let’s go south,” he decides eventually, his gaze not leaving Legend, missing the way Twilight raises his eyebrows but otherwise holds his tongue. As they set off, Time falls into step beside Legend, his gait revealing nothing of the emotions Legend expects he is feeling.

“You had no right to read it,” he says after a while, and his voice is not angry but rather fiercely neutral.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Perhaps I would have believed you if the letter hadn’t mysteriously disappeared from my jacket this morning.”

Legend says nothing. He was sure he had got away with it. His curiosity had momentarily surpassed his guilt long enough to sneak a glance at the heartfelt (and very private) scribbled note before returning it to the old man’s jacket when he was distracted.

It took a simple question to a merchant in the castle town after that to determine the whereabouts of one ‘Lon Lon Ranch’.

Dear Malon, the letter had said, and in his haste to read it, Legend had almost mistaken the scrawled name for someone else’s entirely.

We moved between worlds again last night and the nine of us have found ourselves somewhere very familiar to me. My first thought was to drop any heroic duties and run to you there and then before it struck me how selfish that would be.

You see, homesickness is a perpetual ailment among the boys (and myself) and they have given up so much to embark on this journey with no discernible end. I cannot in good conscience refute that to return to our Lon Lon Ranch. It kills me to do so, particularly as all I can think of is seeing you again…

The boys are inevitably curious about the purposeful path Time leads them along, but he can’t quite bring himself to answer their inquisitiveness with a succinct answer. He has a one-track mind, all thoughts geared towards the relief of his destination and all other sounds fade into the background to make way for it.

They reach the ranch before nightfall, his companions’ confusion only increasing at the sight of the woman standing outside it. The way he falls into her arms is answer enough; the warmth of her embrace has never felt so inviting.

The others’ voices are a mere echo of disbelief, hilarity and the ending of bets behind him as he focuses on the relief and utter contentment that comes with being home after far too long. The stress of the past weeks, the constant worry for the boys and their respective worlds, melt from him immediately, leaving him as light as a feather.

The Hero of Time has never been one for excessive emotions, but as he clings to the familiarity of his wife, he almost thinks he could cry.

“Did you get them?” he asks, hesitantly, “the letters?”

Her smile is like the sun as she whispers back.

“I treasure every one.”

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #time/malon #loveletters #fanfic #lyra writes

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hufflepuffhermione · 4 years ago

Note

I’m on a Dad Josh kick - let’s go with 37. “Welcome to fatherhood.” if you feel like it? Thank you!

More fluffy future fic for you, because I also cannot get enough of Dad Josh.

Thanksgiving 2010

Josh closes the door behind him, pausing for a brief minute to ensure there’s no crying. He’s finally managed to get Noah down for a nap in the Pack’N’Play they’ve set up in what used to be Liz’s bedroom. He had refused to go down that morning for a pre-Thanksgiving nap, but by the time Abbey was starting to clear away the plates, it was clear that he was not going to last much longer.

That didn’t mean he went down without a fight, however.

Josh takes a deep breath when he puts his ear to the door one last time and hears silence. At all of seventeen months, Noah has definitely inherited his father’s stubborn streak. But if he’s down, he’ll get a good two hours of sleep and then they’ll have to fight him to step again that night.

Such are the joys of having a toddler. He wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Still, Josh thought he knew exhaustion. He’d certainly had his share of sleepless nights and had kept going for years on the few hours of sleep he could manage to snatch. But fatherhood is a different kind of tiring, and he isn’t as young as he used to be. He hasn’t slept through a whole night in three weeks.

That isn’t Noah’s fault, though. That’s the fault of the little bundle currently in the arms of the former President of the United States.

“She’s a good sleeper, this one,” Jed says, looking up at Josh as he enters the living room. Donna and Abbey and Zoey are all in the kitchen, and Charlie is somewhere with their six-month old, also trying to induce a nap.

Josh chuckles and takes a seat on the couch next to Jed. “Only during the day. At night, she’s wide awake for every feeding and hates to go back down again.”

“Welcome to fatherhood. Still, a nicer reason for sleepless nights than being stuck in the situation room, huh?”

“Infinitesimally better,” Josh replies, reaching out to stroke his daughter’s light hair. He hopes she’ll look just like Donna.

Jed smirks. “You do know, Josh, that while the word ‘infinite’ refers to a limitless amount, the word ‘infinitesimal’ actually indicates a very small number, so what you’re telling me is that it’s only barely better to wake up to your daughter crying than to troop movements in Kazakhstan?”

“See, sir, I don’t dread going into the Oval Office anymore because I know President Santos won’t lecture me on vocabulary.”

“Nonsense, you miss me in there,” Jed scoffs. “Will I ever convince you to call me Jed, though?

“Not a chance.”

His face softens as he asks the question he’s been waiting to ask this whole time. “You’re really stepping down at the end of the term?”

Josh bites his lip and nods. “Yes.”

“Why?”

He clears his throat. “Um… quite a few reasons. You know as well as anybody that working in the White House can burn you out, and very rarely does a Chief of Staff last longer than a term. Leo was unique.” It still makes his heart clench to think about Leo, and it’s not lost on him that the length of Leo’s tenure was not disconnected from his death. “And I’ve been in there for almost twelve years, give or take a few. I love the work, and I know it’s the most important work I’ll ever do, but… there are more important things in my life now.” He looks down to smile at his daughter. “And several doctors, including your wife, have told me I’d benefit from a lower-stress lifestyle. I want to be around to see my kids grow up, sir, and there are some potential obstacles to that but I’m doing all that I can to stay healthy and be around for them.”

“Those are all excellent reasons, Josh.”

“Do you know, it’s interesting, this summer when I was debating whether or not I’d stay on if we got another term… something you said came to me.”

Jed nods. “What did I say?”

“It was during the whole debacle with the Surgeon General, and Ellie made a comment to a reporter, and you didn’t fire the Surgeon General because of it and…” Josh shakes his head and smiles. “I didn’t think it was the right move, because it would look like you did it because Ellie wanted you to.”

“And what did I tell you?”

“That when I had a daughter, I’d discover there are worse reasons in the world to do something.” Josh lets himself chuckle. “When Donna and I found we were having a daughter, well… that’s the moment I knew that even if we won, I wasn’t going to go back for a second term.”

Jed looks down at the infant in his arms, who has just opened her eyes. “I think she appreciates that,” he says. His arms are starting to feel weak—while the reduced stress has certainly kept his health in check, he’s still prone to weakness—and so he shifts the baby into Josh’s arms. “I’ve kept her away from you long enough.”

“She’s named after you, you know.”

“Josie?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Josh says. He meets his daughter’s bright blue eyes and can’t chase the feeling of being mesmerized.

“I had my suspicions.”

“Well, Donna’s father is Joseph, so it’s partially for him. And for Josiah, of course. And it sounds a little like Joanie—my sister,” his voice tightens imperceptibly, “but it’s still something all her own.”

Jed reaches out to put a hand on Josh’s arm. “It’s lovely.”

“I can’t get enough of her. I mean, I felt the same with Noah, but I wasn’t sure with the second if I would… but it really doesn’t go away,” Josh whispers reverently as Josie closes her eyes again. “I want to be here for all her moments. I missed Noah’s first steps because I was in the situation room. I don’t want to… I mean, I know they won’t remember it, but I will, and now that Noah is going to start remembering things… I want to be a part of his life. I want to be a part of Josie’s life. I don’t want to be absent because I’m too busy with work.”

“Admirable. What next for you, then? I find it hard to imagine you tolerating unemployment well.”

Josh shakes his head. “No, I don’t do boredom. I’ve got a couple offers from universities—I might teach a few courses at Georgetown—and I could always do consulting. And I may have reached the peak of my career, but Donna certainly hasn’t hit hers. I’ve got big plans for her. When Haake out in the Wisconsin 2nd retires, which is still a little ways off but he’s in his seventies and I know he’s starting to think about it, I want her to run for his seat.”

“Donna in Congress? Well that’s an idea. You’d move to Wisconsin?”

“Part-time, probably. I could consult from anywhere and frankly, make a lot more money doing that than drawing a government salary. But I don’t imagine we’ll ever fully leave DC.” He lets out a sigh. “But Haake’s got another three or four terms left in him, so we’ve got a while before that happens. For now, she’s staying on with Mrs. Santos but I know the President is hoping to poach her and bring her to the West Wing.” He looks down at Josie and chuckles again. “Your mama’s really quite in demand, isn’t she?”

Jed loves the scene in front of him; while years ago he might not have been able to imagine Josh as a father, now he can’t imagine the younger man as anything but. “You’re really at peace with leaving. I never thought you’d get out of politics willingly—I figured they’d have to drag you out by your ankles.”

“I’m not getting out of politics, just… taking a backseat,” Josh says. “I’ve got other plans, too; there’s a Senate seat in California opening up in the midterms and I want it to be Sam’s.” He quiets, blinking reflectively. “How do you do it, sir? Leave the White House?”

Jed pats Josh’s knee and stands up slowly. “As long as you keep calling me sir, I feel like I never left,” he jokes. “You see the bigger picture. Realize there’s more to life.”

Josh leans into the back of the couch and shifts Josie so that she’s on his chest and shoulder. “You couldn’t have convinced me of that five years ago, but…there certainly is.”

“I’m proud of you, Josh,” Jed says, and Josh doesn’t think he’s ever received a better compliment. “Now, I think we’ve gone too long without bothering our wives, and I’ve found some room within me to consume some pie.”

Josh leans his head back and smiles. “I’ll join you in a minute.”

He closes his eyes, enjoying the feeling of his daughter resting on his chest, and lets his breaths align with hers, until Donna comes into the living room to announce dessert and finds her husband and daughter asleep in the living room.

“Fatherhood takes it out of you, doesn’t it?” she says softly to wake him.

He opens his eyes and sits up, smiling. “Never a more worthwhile endeavor.”

#jessbakescakes #josh lyman #josh x donna #the west wing #tww fic #alli's writings #i almost didn't put donna in this lol but i figured she should make an appearance #she's important #but anyway dad josh has my heart #and this kind of got away from me #but it fits into my headcanon future with all the other fics i've been writing lately #and like... if a fic isn't three times the length it's supposed to be it wouldn't be my writing right?

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lyssismagical · 4 years ago

Text

evermore

Just a Solid Vent Fic

I wanna do 30 days of Taylor Swift-inspired fics (folklore and evermore) lmao but idk yet we’ll see lemme know tho

As a compromise for Tony not being able to pay Peter’s tuition to MIT thanks to his full ride, Tony bought an apartment right beside campus for Peter to live in, to ensure no awkward adventures trying to be Spider-Man with a roommate.

Peter’s still adamant about getting a job and paying for his food, phone bill, and any other things like clothing or entertainment.

And balancing classes, patrolling, and a job, isn’t easy, of course. But it’s always been better for him to work hard than to give himself time to think. It’s not like his mental health is on hold, but it’s easier to put it aside when he’s got so much to do all the time.

It doesn’t help that he’s also on the debate team thanks to MJ, and in the robotics club thanks to Ned.

When November rolls around and it brings the final projects, Peter pushes himself to the limit to keep up with everything.

He starts dropping his sleep to only a nap whenever he can squeeze it in, working all afternoon, classes all morning, and Spider-Man all night, and he starts making up excuses for anything that isn’t a number one priority.

He stops seeing his friends, stops calling May back, stops replying to Tony’s worried texts, stops helping out with his professors or the librarian or his classmates. He stops cleaning his apartment, letting dishes pile up on the counters and laundry go unwashed.

It’s bad, and he knows that, rationally and logically, he knows.

But that doesn’t stop him from doing it anyway.

Three weeks, he tells himself.

And he keeps pushing.

MJ shows up at his apartment out of the blue when he’s studying away, and he barely manages to clear the fog in his head to stumble for the door.

“I can’t talk right now,” he says before she can even say hello. “I’ve gotta study for my physics exam.”

“No, you’ve gotta chill the fuck out.”

He shakes his head, leaving the door open as he turns his back and heads into his kitchen for a quick snack so he can get back to his work. “No, I have to study.”

“Oh my god, you live in a garbage dump,” she says, eyes going wide as she takes in the state of his apartment. “When was the last time you washed a dish? Or, gross, your hair?”

He doesn’t bother responding, rolling his eyes and downing a protein bar. “Two weeks, now, and then I’m done for a month.”

“At this rate, I don’t know if you’ll make it through the next two weeks.”

Peter can’t help but roll his eyes again, part of him hating how much he’s lashing out despite wanting help, needing help, but unable to find the strength to stop it from happening as he brushes past her again.

“I know you’re stressed, I know you’re anxious about exams and papers and labs, but, seriously, Peter?” she says, following him to where he’s working in the living room, papers and binders and textbooks strewn across every surface. “You’re a genius, okay? You’ve been getting excellent grades all year. The only reason you might not do well on these projects is because you’re working yourself to death.”

He shakes his head, feeling very suddenly like he might cry. “It’s not that easy. Just… I don’t want to deal with this right now, okay?”

MJ doesn’t take that as a good answer, though, sitting beside him on the old couch. “I know you, okay? I know you better than most people do. I’ve seen you in some of the worst states you’ve been in. I know this. You can’t pretend that this is okay or normal or that this is you doing fine. I don’t believe it for a second.”

He opens his mouth to fight back, to argue, to try to convince her otherwise, or maybe just to kick her out. But he hesitates.

After the Snap’s reversal, she was the one who devoted all her time to taking care of him. He was such a mess of PTSD and depression and emptiness, but she was there. She kept the lights on for him, she brought him food and water, held him after nightmares, talked him down from panic attacks every other day. She was there, despite everything, she was always there.

Tony was too far and he never wanted to bother May, so he regularly would drop by her fire escape where she would patch him up after patrols, and occasionally, let him sleep next to her and make sure to get him to school on time.

She’s always been there.

She’s held him together, kept him sane, helped him through it all.

It wouldn’t be fair to get pissed.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, shoving a hand through his mess of greasy, tangled curls. “I’m such a mess, I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to be a bitch, but I just… I don’t know what I’m doing. I feel like I’m drowning.”

And she nods because she’s always understood, always known what he means. She puts her hand over his. “You deserve a nap. C’mon.”

He goes to shake his head, looking to where his lab is only half-done, he’s only a few chapters into the textbook to get prepared for his exam, rough notes scribbled out for a paper.

“No, c’mon. You’re taking a nice nap. You deserve it,” she repeats, tugging more insistently at his wrist.

But he shakes his head this time, pulling his hand away. “If I stop, I won’t be able to start again.”

“Peter-”

“I’m serious, if I take a nap or a break or take a second to breathe, I will crumble and I won’t be able to put myself back together in time for these due dates. I won’t get back up. I just-” He stops, taking a deep breath and rubbing at his wet eyes. “I need to keep pushing for the next two weeks and then I can fall apart.”

MJ shakes her head, fingers wrapping around his thin wrist. “That’s not healthy. And it certainly wouldn’t be right for me to let you do that.”

“I’ll fail my classes if I don’t do well on these assignments and exams. I need to keep going. I know it’s bad, but if I get into bed, I will fall into a slump and I won’t get anything done.”

Surprising both him and what seems like herself, she nods, holding onto him a little tighter like he’ll disappear before her very eyes. “Fine. But I’m going to stay here with you and make sure you don’t die over the next two weeks, alright? And you have to listen when I tell you to eat or watch stupid reality TV shows with me.”

He hums out an agreement, letting himself slump into her side, eyes focusing in on his mess of homework laid out before him.

“Come on. Step one, is getting you showered and in clean clothes because you smell like you spent the night in a dumpster.”

MJ does exactly as she promised she would. She calls it a ‘mental health sleepover’ and they set up camp in the living room.

She calls in sick for him at work for most of the week, telling them that he caught the flu and wouldn’t be back until after his exams, and even then, he’d already booked most of Winter Break off to go home to New York.

There wasn’t much she could do, in all honesty, it wasn’t like she could force him to sleep or take a break without a fight, but she could make him healthy meals and stop him from going out patrolling, which was enough to take a big load off his shoulders.

And she occasionally can convince him to watch those dumb reality TV shows, which occasionally makes him fall asleep on the couch for at least an hour or two.

It helps, of course, but it doesn’t solve any of the problems.

As soon as he’s finished exams, he’s going to drop, he’s going to fall, he’s going to drown, let the waves take him.

And nobody will be able to help him then.

“I booked your flight home,” MJ says over dinner and while he’s finishing up his lab report. “My flight’s a few hours after yours, so I’ll be with you until you board and then the Starks will pick you up.”

“Thanks. I really owe you one,” he says, only half-listening as he starts on his paper.

She grabs him by his shoulder and makes him turn to her laptop screen. “Say yes to the dress time. Your paper can wait a bit.”

“There’s only so much I can procrastinate,” he says but he’s already closing his laptop and tucking himself into her side, and shoulders finally relaxing.

She starts the episode, on a low volume, and presses a quick kiss to his temple.

By the time they’re onto the second episode, Peter’s slurring out his insults to the dresses some of the women pick, making fun of the different styles, and blinking getting longer and longer.

“That neckline?” Peter goes, giggling into MJ’s shoulder. “Especially with those shoes?”

“You’re a bitch.”

“I know, but seriously?” he laughs again, a little window into the person he once was. “I mean the first option wasn’t bad, but the choice of a grey dress in the first place…”

MJ’s voice goes all soft and gentle when she next speaks up, “Come on, go to sleep, you can afford to take a little break.”

And he nods sleepily against her shoulder, tucking himself just a little closer, making himself small against her side. It’s simple, for now.

As soon as he’s done his last exam, he can feel the adrenaline wearing off, disappearing from within him, all energy draining from his very veins.

He goes straight home afterwards, ignoring everybody who tries to stop him for a chat. And as soon as he makes it to his apartment, he goes straight to bed, tugging the sheets right over his head.

He shouldn’t do this, he knows. He should call MJ, ask that she drop everything for him again because he can feel himself slipping, but he won’t. He can’t. He doesn’t even know when the last time he saw his phone was, let alone have the effort to leave his blankets and try to find it. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t have it in him to care.

He feels empty and exhausted and strung out. Carved hollow. Putting everything he has into the past few months, he feels like he has nothing left to give.

There’s a knock on his front door, but he doesn’t move.

A few minutes later, his phone rings, somewhere in another part of the apartment. It rings again and again, a symphony for him to pass out to.

Time passes strangely when he’s this deep in a depressive episode. He doesn’t know how long he’s been huddled under his blankets, hiding from the world. It could’ve been anywhere between a couple hours and a few days, he doesn’t know.

His phone continues ringing, far away and echoing through his dreams, tears sliding down his cheeks at random intervals, hands trembling where they’re tucked under his chest.

He feels like he’s drifting away, collapsing into himself, fading away into nothingness.

He feels empty, hollow, gone.

He gave everything he had into school and work over the course of four months, and he has nothing left to give anymore. He’s nothing more than an empty well.

And he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to pull himself together, pack, get a flight home, and pretend to be one hundred percent for Morgan.

He’d rather just die here, in this cave he’s built, ghost-like and fading away already, than have to face another soul.

When he hears his front door unlocking, he knows he should be worried. Nobody has a spare copy of his key except for Ned, who already went home to New York a few weeks back.

He knows it should be at least a little concerning that somebody is breaking into his apartment, but he can’t find it in him to care. He doesn’t have the energy to move or hide or try to protect himself.

He just curls up a little tighter and hopes that this won’t be his last day.

“Peter?”

He lifts his head, just enough to see over his cave of his blankets.

And standing in his bedroom doorway is Tony.

“Hi,” he breathes, curling up a little tighter, knowing he’s safe.

Tony slips into his room and sits at the end of his bed, one hand on Peter’s ankle. “MJ called when you wouldn’t answer your phone or let her in. She knew something was up.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I saw something like this coming after you finished your senior year and spent two weeks sick and depressed. I thought you’d be home in time before you started feeling so run down, but I guess I was wrong.”

Peter doesn’t know how he’s supposed to respond to that, so instead he lets his head fall into the pillows again.

“I’m not going to make you do anything yet, I think you could use a bit more time here. Though, Morgan thought two days sleeping was plenty, I think another one might do you well. But tomorrow, we’re going to get you fed and showered and your apartment clean, and then this weekend, we’ll get a flight home. Sound good?”

He nods, though he’s pretty sure he would agree to pretty much anything so long as the decisions are taken out of his hands.

“Come here,” Tony murmurs, sliding into the space beside Peter, arms open. Peter finally feels at home when he crawls into the awaiting hug. “MJ mentioned Say Yes to the Dress bingeing, you feel up for making fun of more dress choices?”

Peter laughs half-heartedly against Tony’s chest, tucking himself into him like a child would, and nods, breathing in the soothing scent of motor oil and expensive cologne.

He knows he’ll fall apart again, he knows that it’s not going to be a permanent solution, but the time being, he has Tony’s arms around him, a reality TV show quietly keeping them company, and the relief of having time to feel miserable before he has to pick himself up, it’s enough for now. It’ll be enough.

He’ll be okay with people like Tony and MJ at his side.

He’ll be okay.

Taglist: @littlemissagrafina @fancyxparker @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @misskirkstark @you-get-killed-walk-it-off @kitkatwinchester @emo-girl10 @justme--emily @hold-our-destiny @imalivebecauseirondad @spiderman-peterman @dykeragee @maryserrao @heeeyitskay @parknerandirondad @lilacsandlilies4 @loveliestdisappointment @joyful-soul-collector @genderfluid-and-confuzled @fallenstar07 @gyurolls @sdottkrames {Let me know if you wanna be added or removed}

#lyss writes #irondad #peter parker #tony stark #michelle jones #mjpeter #spideychelle #if you want #platonic or romantic idc #irondad and spiderson #irondad fic #spiderman #iron man #tw mental illness #tw depression #tw university #lmao i feel like i need to include that just in case other people don't even want to hear about it anymore #tw dissociation

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